#I’m so scared for Glastonbury now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonlight-rider25 · 2 years ago

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Down with the sickness! part 1

Summary: Part of the Eadith’s Lady series

Eadith is exsposed to a frightening sickness, she needs her own room at the inn; leaving you alone with the boys and to fend for yourself. What will this ‘alone time’ result in? Stay tuned for part 2 to find out!

Word count: 5219

Warnings: PG 13+, mentions of dead bodies, angst, bits of lust.

You’ve been in Glastonbury for two days now; the pained and ill seeking you out at every hour of the day. Eadith and yourself have gotten little rest since arriving and you’re both on edge of hearing from multiple mouths there's a family West of town plagued with “the sickness”. So far, none of your patients have been showing signs of the sickness but the townspeople speak of the bizarre illness that has all but wiped out the large family. The words they speak to you make it hard not to fill your brain with worry. You desperately try to extinguish any more thought of the nonsense as you’re bandaging up an older gentleman's arm in a sling.

“The devil himself is spewing from their bodies!’’ The man before you says elaborately with his one good arm.

“Alright, Mr. Tompson, be sure to stay away from the house, and be sure to bathe often.” You tell the man trying to ignore the irrational comments he's telling you.

Eadith casts you another unhopeful look as she turns to drop another tooth from the poor woman whose mouth is infected with rot.

“It is but superstition..” Uhtred says under his breath behind you to Osferth.

You turn and send them a slight smile trying to show your agreement there is nothing to worry about, but inside you have your own known fears that illnesses can come and go quite abruptly, often leaving little to no survivors in its tracks.

Eadith has finished with the lady's mouth and is wiping her hands as best she can on her apron as she approaches you.

“Still at the inn are they?” She asks, referring to Finan and Sihtrick who are too scared to be in the sunlight with any talk of sickness.

Eadith chuckles at your remark and the men cast each other confused looks.

“Of course" You reply with a smirk. “Not sure why they seem to think they're safe surrounded by strangers in the dark and not in the open air..”

“Illnesses can spread quicker in confined…small areas” You tell the men. “They’re just as likely to pick up any sickness from the Inn as they are here in the open air with the sick.”

Osferth nods, though you're not sure if he truly understands what you’re telling him. Uhtred stares off into the distance watching the small gathering of people waiting their turn to be treated at the opening of the fence.

It's hot and miserable in the afternoon sun beats down on the thin tents canopy. You’re sure the remaining crowd of people will refuse to be turned away for a second day. You sigh and roll your sleeves back up trying desperately to gather the energy to stand there till the crowd has disappeared. Uhtred and Osferth get antsy sitting in the same spot for so long and walk around the town not too far out of ear shot. Eadith takes her chance and scurries over to you while you’re applying some ointment to a small child's chest and shoulders for a nasty sunburn.

“I’m going to ride out to this ‘house of sickness’ after we’re done here” She tells you quietly glancing around the crowd.

“Eadith no!” You tell her sharply.

“Oh come on, you can’t believe in this nonsense of ‘Gods Sickness’!” She says hastily.

“No, but I believe there are some illnesses even we, can not battle.” You tell her with a slight glare.

She sighs “What if it's just a poor outcast of the town in need of some hydration or better nutrition? We can’t leave them out there to die alone.” She says still quietly so the people around don't hear.

You shake your head and hope the young boy whose shirt you fastening backup does not understand what you and Eadith are speaking of.

“We’ll go.” You say finally, eyes scanning the remaining patients slightly calculating how much longer your day will be. “But you’re in charge of informing the men.” You inform her.

Eadith bites back a smirk on her lips while narrowing her eyes slightly, shaking her head.

You look back to the child

“Keep as much of your skin covered from the sun from now on, you hear me?” You inform him sternly with a smile.

He runs off back to his mother who inspects your work and nods in your direction before they turn to leave. Eadith and yourself quickly file through the remaining patients as the sun begins to fade. Uhtred and Osferth finally close the wooden fence and help you both gather your tools to bring back to the inn.

At the inn, you’re greeted by a very intoxicated Finan and Sihtric who are too eager to make your acquaintances. Osferth and Uhtred take seats next to them leaving you and Eadith to carry the remaining luggage back to your room. You fill your arms as full as possible and follow Eadith down the dimly lit hallway to your shared room.

“Don’t bother changing, just gather some fresh provisions and let's head out,” Eadith instructs you, already filling her bag with clean water and fresh herbs.

“Eadith, I really don’t have a good feeling about this...” You tell her hoping she’ll allow you to just eat and go to bed after another long day of endless caring for people.

“Please.” She asks you calmly. “I just need to make sure there is nothing we could do to help them.”

You sigh and rub your head trying to dismiss the tiredness growing in your mind. You allow your eyes to fall closed for a moment and open them to her face peering back at you with a helpless and desperate expression on it.

“It’s your fault if I die,” you tell her, half joking half warning.

She smiles and continues packing her bag with provisions and you follow her lead out the door.

You cloak your heads with your hoods and scurry through the crowded ale house, hoping not to be seen by the men. You make your way out to your horses and strap your supplies to them before mounting. Eadith is already off when you hear a faint cry of your name. You turn to find Osferth standing in the dimly lit doorway of the ale house, with a very concerned look on his face.

“The house to the West..” You tell him. “...I promise I won't let her do anything stupid.”

He nods but remains still with a slight frown on his face as he watches you ride off into the setting sun. As you ride fast, trying to catch up with Eadith you remind yourself what you told him. Don’t let her do anything stupid.

You finally arrive at an old-looking house barely standing by the looks of it, in the middle of nowhere. There are no lights on inside and no sign of life around outside. You hold out the old rusted lantern; for Eadith to strike to life and slowly make your way to the front door.

“Hello!?” Eadith yells out. “Is anyone here?” She asks, peering through the dark windows.

You gently push the front door open and see the same empty darkness you were greeted with outside.

“We are healers, is there anyone here who needs tending to?” You ask calmly inside the house.

The dark empty house sends a slight chill up your spine. No sounds fill the halls but the slight roar of the flame in your hand and the shuffling from your and Eadiths feet. You wrap your arm around Eadiths and walk further into the house. What little furniture that remains is thickly painted with dust and seems to have been undisturbed for quite some time. You peer around each of the small empty rooms seeing no signs of life.

“Do you truly believe someone could live here?” You ask her quietly, still scanning the room with the faint light.

“Humanity amazes me more and more each day…” She replies, peering around the house as well.

You bob through the few rooms of the dark empty house finding nothing but abandoned emptiness and thick dust causing you and Eadith to sniffle more and more.

“Well…I feel better knowing no one is suffering out here.” She tells you as you reach the front door again.

You both pause when you hear a slight thud outside. You turn to look at Eadith who seems to be curious, rather than terrified like you at the moment.

“Over there.” She says calmly looking out towards the side of the house.

You swallow hard telling yourself it's probably an animal or something as you trail behind her in the growing darkness. She stands before a small hastily built shed and you hear another ‘thud’. You both jump at the sound and look to Eadith as what you should do. She stares back at you with a worried look on her face before turning back to the small crooked door and reaching out for it. She rests her hand on the knob for a moment looking back at you.

“Please…Eadith” You tell her quietly.

She looks back to the door and turns the knob in her hand.

“DON’T!” You shout as the door swings open with a loud crash.

Out rushes a racoon with a few babies attached to her as she rushes past yours and Eadiths feet. You both step back in fright but are quickly distracted again by a large figure coming at you from the door frame. You gasp and jump back again while Eadith, closer to the door, still instinctively reaches out and catches the figure in her arms.

You stand gasping as the figure falls against her. Her face is terrified but she gently and carefully settles it politely on the ground before the two of you.

“Eadith!” You shriek.

She backs slowly away from the corpse, her chest rising and falling rapidly in fright. You hold the lantern to the body and see what you fear most. The corpse can't be more than a week old, by the smell and the fact that most of all the flesh is still intact, just discolored. There on the ground before you lay a tall deceased man; pale face and hollow eyes, sunken into his head from deterioration. His fingers are darkened and blacked, along with his nose and around his lips. His face has large gashes and sores on it, which make your stomach begin to turn; knowing what they’re a sign of.

“Eadith, you didn’t..” You turn to your friend frantically.

“I touched him.” She cuts you off bluntly. “I touched him, surely I am infected, stay away from me!” She instructs, backing away with tears streaming down her face.

“THE BLACK DEATH” Finan yells frantically.

“SHHH” you instruct him. “Please do not alarm the townspeople!” You hush him.

Uhtred grabs him by the arms and seats him harshly on the bench by the horse stalls.

“Plague..” Sihtric whispers to himself quietly while he stirs anxiously in place, combing his fingers through his hair with a terrified look on his face.

Osferth turns and looks to you with worry on his face but remains collected knowing now is not the time to be frantic. Eadith remains seated on her horse a few yards away from you and the men to ensure not to infect the rest of you, if it is indeed; plague.

“Eadith will bunker down for two days time.. alone!” You tell the men hushly in a calm voice. “We must keep her possible exposure quiet so as to not raise suspicion.”

“I told no one,” Osferth says quietly “Where you were headed..”

“Yes, so no one else needs to know Eadith… could have been exposed.”

“She touched the man! She's infected, she must be!” Finan blurts louder than you wish he would.

Uhtred again quiets the frantic man.

“I will get her settled in our room. I am to be the only one to come in contact with her or anything she touches.” You instruct the men. “I have been exposed before and I should have the best immunity out of us all.”

The men nod reluctantly. Saddened and disapproving looks on all their faces as they do.

“None of you are to breathe a word of any of this to anyone though.” You add sternly.

Sihtric turns away from the group, his hands on his head. “We’re all going to die!” He whispers panicked to Uhtred.

Uhtred shakes his head but casts you a concerned look and you take a deep breath before continuing to address the men.

“I need someone to make a distraction inside, so I can get Eadith into our room through the window, without watching eyes…”

You don’t even finish your sentence before Uhtred grabs the nearby ale cup and dumps it over Finan's head with a satisfied smirk.

Finan sputters and gasps from the dripping ale falling against his face.

“Shall we fight, my friend?” Uhtred asks, slapping Finan's shoulder playfully.

Finan stands and faces Uhtred briefly before Uhtred trails off towards the entrance of the ale house, Finan following behind, still wiping the liquid from his head.

“I believe that's your cue, my lady” Sihtric shouts before him and Osferth trail after them.

You rush to Eadiths side, carefully help her down from her horse trying to touch her as little as possible.

“Through the window, do you remember which one it is?” You ask her peering around to see all the other figures following Uhtred and Finan inside.

You scan the side of the building trying to remember which window your room leads to.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!” You hear yelled from the inside of the inn.

“Fighting!?” Eadith asks, surprised.

“..Not quite what I had in mind, but it'll do,” You tell her hurrying up the hill to the alehouse in the dark.

With Eadith settled into your room, you wash up outside scrubbing over and over again trying to rid yourself of whatever possible germs could be lingering. The sun has been down for a few hours now and you desperately await a hot meal and a soft cot to rest your head. …when the realization hits you; Where are you to sleep?

The men are inside at a table gulping down ale, when you approach them.

“I won in case you were wondering, Y/N!” Finan informs you as you approach the group.

Uhtred shakes his head with a large smirk on his face.

“Very uneventful fight actually.” Sihtirc protests.

“Well, it served its purpose” You add with a quick grin. “However.” You continue glancing around at the men. “Where am I…”

You stop pondering the thought for a moment. You realize you cannot share a room with four men, that would not go over well at all in such a little town with the uproar of plague already in the air. The men are eagerly awaiting your response and you smile as you still turn the thoughts over in your mind.

“...Would someone mind fetching me a plate of food?..” You lie coyly.

Uhtred stands and makes his way towards the barkeep while you settle yourself in his seat. The men seem to have also forgotten the tiny tidbit of the fact that you’ll be forced to sleep outside alone tonight. You turn to Osferth quietly, trying not to attract attention to yourself from Finan and Sihtric.

“Could you possibly spare a blanket for me tonight Osferth?” You ask quietly.

He turns to you with a puzzled look.

“And, perhaps, not bring light of it to the others..!?” You add with a painful smile.

His eyes widen and he shakes his head to you.

“Yes, of course my lady” He says quietly.

You pat his hand softly with a small smile on your face. Osferth the meek, the kind, and the discrete. You never realized how much of an ally the baby monk would be to Eadith and yourself while wandering the road with warriors.

You finish your meal in peace as the men have headed for bed, you half disappointed, half exhausted and don't care, climb into the dry scratchy staw beneath the blanket Osferth had promised to leave you. The horses whimper amongst themselves and you try desperately to fall asleep, praying to all Gods that no man will stumble out in a drunken mess; eager to find a sleeping, unwatched lady alone. You hear a pack of coyotes in the distance and anticipate the horses pacing in their stalls around you, before you slowly drift off to sleep.

You awake to the shout of a man and sit upright out of your sleep. Panicked, you look around to find daylight peeking through the cracks in the horse stalls and figure the shouting must have come from outside. You gather yourself as best you can and flip the blanket off yourself revealing it being covered in straw and to your surprise, there being more than the one Osferth left for you. You peer around more carefully scanning the horse stalls and spy a pair of feet just outside the empty stall you chose to take for the night. You quickly stand and approach the feet, sure you are to find a recovering drunk man that you're lucky enough did not discover you in the dark. You stop when you see the closed peaceful eyes of the Warrior instead, laying without any blankets on the straw at your feet.

You quietly cover Uhtred in the blankets you peeled off yourself just moments ago, and try not to feed into the thoughts of how easily it could be just to slip in under them, besides him. Instead you smile to yourself and leave the nobel man to rest, sure he had a worse nights sleep than yourself; keeping watch over you throughout the night. You knew it would be near impossible for the men to allow you to sleep alone outside unguarded, but you also knew they needed their rest as much as you did. It had been far easier displacing all 4 of the men out to the stables than just leaving yourself. You wonder how Uhtred knew you'd be out here all alone. Surely, he had drank his fair share of ale last night like the other men. Regardless; the idea of him wandering around looking for you makes you smile a little more.

Inside the ale house; Sihtric, Finan and Osferth are gathered around chatting at a table.

“Morning, sunshine!” Finan yells playfully as you appear in the doorway.

“Have you seen Uhtred?” Osferth asks politely, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I haven't..” You say biting the smirk off your lips as you strut over to the bar to gather food to bring to Eadith.

The men make no more note of Uhtred's absence and continue with their conversation while you carefully pluck the items from the counter and make your way down the hall to Eadith.

You tap lightly on the door and hear her faint voice behind it beckoning you in. You open the door slowly peeking in to make sure she's not too close as you enter.

“How are you feeling?” you ask her gingerly.

“Fine so far, thank heavens,” She tells you. “How do I look?” She teases turning a little.

“Fair and pale as usual.” You tease back with a giggle.

You place her meal upon the table closest to the door.

“Not feeling warm, feverish?” You ask looking a bit closer at her now to ensure she indeed is fine still.

“No, believe me, I am in high spirits to tell you I feel quite well!” She says before coughing into her hand harshly. “Just the dust,” she tells you with a slightly concerned tone.

You nod but feel your stomach begin to tighten reading the expression on her face.

“Well, you just take it easy and rest for now anyway,” You tell her kindly. “Please let me know if anything new arises,” You tell her before turning and leaving.

As you turn and latch the door behind you, you hear her faintly cough again from the other side of the door and you close your eyes gently before a single tear begins to trail down your cheek.

“Lord please!” you begin softly “Please, I beg you… spare her.”

You sit in the courtyard after half a day's work, the people have clearly all had their share of spreading gossip to the new people in town and can deal with their aching teeth and open wounds for now. The sun shines brightly and you feel your forehead dampen with sweat as you sit alone silently, thinking of your dear friend just a few yards away.

“Y/N.”

You turn and see Uhtred waltzing towards you. You quickly snap out of the dreadful mindset you’re in thinking of Eadith and wipe your forehead before he sits down next to you on the soft grass.

“How's Eadith?” He asks calmly as if he didn’t know that was precisely what you were thinking about.

“She’s good…” you say, peering down at your hands that are gently fiddling with a small twig in your lap.

“She…she was asleep when I brought her her midday meal..” You continue trying to tell as much of the truth without sounding alarmed.“...I’ll check on her again this evening and hopefully she will still be fine.”

“No signs of illness today…. That is a good sign she's not infected, yes?” He asks you, watching as you fiddle nervously with the twig.

“Yes.. No symptoms is a good sign..” You say softly, finally looking up to meet his striking blue gaze peering back at you.

He reaches out and softly encapsulates your hands in his, not breaking his intense stare.

“You’ll tell me the moment she shows symptoms… right?”

You hold your gaze with him for a moment and contemplate telling him the truth…but what good would it do, what’s done is done and no one can undo that. If Eadith is indeed sick with plaque, only time will tell if she’ll survive it or not, and currently, the survival rate is not on her side…

“...Of course,” you lie telling him finally, entranced in the blue glaciers that melt your heart.

He smiles warmly at you, satisfied with your answer, and peers down at his massive hands holding your little ones. He lightly brushes his rough fingertips across your knuckles before pulling them up and pressing a small light kiss on them. You smile faintly back, trying to shake the dreaded thoughts from your mind of Eadith, and quickly remember a subject that will do well at that.

“How'd you sleep last night?” Your smile growing more genuine.

His face begins to fluster as he smiles and shakes his head at you.

“Was it not cold without any blankets?” You ask sarcastically.

He nods while chuckling “It was, a bit I must admit.” he tells you gazing in different directions still laughing with you.

“How'd you know I was there?” You ask, calming your laughter a bit.

You smile while tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and look back down at your hand in his.

“...I may have caught a baby monk sneaking a blanket out there for you..” He says with a smirk still rubbing your knuckles gently. “Did you really think I'd allow you to be left unguarded all night?”

“Do you really think someone would look out in the horse stables for an unguarded vulnerable lady?” You ask with a snicker.

“Of course not!” He says surly. “Not when they were met with my ugly arce on the floor in front of you!” He tells you laughing again. “I don’t think anyone would want to lay down beside me, there on the straw and manure..”

You flash your eyes up at him, biting desperately at your lip, recalling how easy it would have been to wake in the middle of the night and roll a yard or so in his direction and be snuggled up next to the man you crave with all your being.

Uhtred clearly reads the look on your face, and his eyebrow furrow “What's that look for?” he asks, still chuckling.

“..Nothing..” You state plainly shaking your head trying to dismiss the tension.

He watches you closely as you retract your hand from him and rest your chin carefully on it while taking a moment before gazing back up at him. He stares at you for a moment in silence, and you allow it as you take in the image of the man leaning back next to you on the grass, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Perhaps it could be like this…you wonder to yourself. Maybe we could be friends by day, traveling on the road together, spending the nights tucked between each other's arms, and it could be just like this. Simple, wonderful, and beautiful, just like this.

You both hear Uhtred's name being called in the distance, and just as quickly as the idea came to your mind, it comes to a screeching halt.

Uhtred turns and looks in the direction his name is shouted from, you see Sihtric and Finan waving for him by the entrance of the alehouse and sigh quietly to yourself knowing he's to be whisked away, along with your momentary bliss.

"Keep a close eye on Eadith and please tell me if you discover anything." He says gently while standing.

You nod looking up at him, squinting as the sun blinds you from the ground. He extends his arm out to help you up and you gladly take it. He stands before you; smiling and eyes gleaming. You imagine if you were a couple this would be the part where you'd be able to feel his plump soft lips pressed ever so tenderly against yours before parting. Instead, he pats your shoulder softly as he turns away. You stand watching him and fold your arms across your chest as he makes his way back to the men beckoning for him. He stops and turns back only a few paces away from you.

"..I'll bring more blankets for us both tonight." He says all too calmly.

"What!?" You stare blinded by the sun at him trying to read his face.

"You'll be in the stables again, yes?" He asks nonchalantly, backing up the hill towards the men.

You uncross your arms and peer harder towards him.

"I….yes uh, I suppose so…" You tell him.

"Then, I’ll be sure to bring more blankets tonight." He says with a smirk as he turns and continues on towards Finan and Sihtric.

He leaves you standing there baffled in silence as you watch his tall figure stride away. How can he make it so effortlessly simple; the way he turns your core to liquid and sets your heart on fire. You watch as he takes huge steps up the small hillside to the dirt path of the alehouse and admire how his hair softly grazes against his huge broad shoulders as he does.

How you have dreamt of running your fingers through those thick long locks entranced in the heat of passion. You imagine he'd be hot to the touch and warm your fingertips instantly on contact with your soft nimble hands. When you'd kiss his neck he'd taste salty but savory, and he'd leave your mouth wanting as he pull away from you. You hastily shake your head dismissing the thoughts and realize you should probably be gathering some fresh herbs and supplies for treating the sick the next day. You make your way much less easily as Uhtred did up the small hillside, and make your way to check on Eadith again before heading out to the pastures to do so.

You rap lightly against the hardwood door waiting patiently, to see if Eadith has awoken yet from her slumber. You can't help but envy her just a hint, at the fact that she has this time to rest all day barely interrupted. Life on the road makes it very hard for an individual to catch up on sleep. You hear her stir from behind the door and gently turn the knob in your hand peering behind the large dark wall before entering.

"You're awake!" You say delighted as she sits up in bed.

Her hair is a mess and her face paler than you recall but you try your hardest to ignore these perhaps not signs of illness. She smiles brightly at you and waves for you to close the door.

"How's the cough?" You ask abruptly, trying not to sound too eager.

"I'm fine! Really! It's just from all the dust in the old abandoned house."

You flash her a suspicious look and she giggles to herself as you do.

"I feel fine, really. I wouldn't let you come in, if I didn't!" She tells you confidently.

You grab the untouched meal from the table you left earlier and carefully walk it over to her and set it down gently next to her bedside table.

Closer to her now you can see, perhaps her pale complexion, was just the lighting or even just her complexion coming out a deep slumber. You smile faintly to yourself and pour her a fresh glass of water. You reach out hesitantly and she shakes her head back and forth disagreeing with you coming so close to her. But, you keep your hand extended out towards her.

"If you are to meet our maker; you're not going alone!" You say firmly.

She tilts her head up to you and squints slightly, before hesitantly reaching out and taking the cup from your hand. She smiles back at you and takes long satisfied gulps from her cup.

"Honestly, how are you feeling?" You ask her again more sternly this time.

She finishes her mouthful with a satisfied 'ahh' before turning to face you, serious and stoic as can be.

"I feel as though our maker; has decided to wait a bit longer to meet me." She says with a smile growing on her face.

She takes another long sip from her cup as you watch as her hands stay steady, and calm as ever before.

"Almost this time tomorrow you better have those horses ready for us to get out of this God forsaken town!" She tells you with a laugh.

You giggle with her and pat her feet gently under the blankets.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves here, you still have another long day and night before you're clear to leave this room." You tell her kindly.

You lift yourself from beside her, and sigh as you begin to take your leave.

"Send for me if you need anything," you tell her warmly before shutting the door behind you.

This time when the door is shut; you sigh a slight breath of relief. You know the first 24 hours are the most crucial and if she indeed was infected. She should be showing obvious signs of it by now. Not that she's completely out of the clear, but you walk back down the hallway towards the inn. Relieved that so far, she indeed, is doing just fine.

COMMENT FOR PART 2!

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maccasmccartney · 2 years ago

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Shameless post about Paul at Glastonbury and how great he is incoming!…

I want to start off by echoing what has been said by the vast majority of us who cannot believe the immense performance that Paul can do at his age. It has to be said because it just isn’t normally done, it feels almost superhuman, and to me, he is.

I was extremely lucky to be in the crowd on Saturday at Glastonbury, wishing I didn’t have a bladder and not being able to feel my legs after standing for 4 hours waiting for his set to start. But it’s Paul, and I would never pee again if it meant I could be at the front, waiting for him to perform.

I was right at the front and we were all jammed in together, literally couldn’t move. A small part of me was scared of the reception he would receive, because last time Paul’s voice was televised was the olympics/golden jubilee, and it was slated. But I was proved totally wrong when Paul started singing. His voice sounded stronger than it had been in a while, and the crowd were so warm and welcoming straight away, the words to ‘can’t buy me love’ just flowing from everyone’s lips as though they were engrained in their hearts. I knew then, the crowd was right there with him, and this would be a special night.

And this is a crowd of mixed ages but predominantly young people, who wouldn’t know some of the wings or solo stuff, but they were grooving right along with the rest of us, and that made me happy they were so respectful of Paul.

There was some surprises in the set list, ‘Juniors Farm’ being one of them that I freaked out when he started playing. One song I never expected to hear live was ’Spite of all the Danger’. At that moment I felt this was something monumental, the staggering history of these songs, Paul and The Beatles’ journey. It was a feeling that was part nostalgia, part keening loss of George and John and the passage of time.

It was also one of the most unexpectedly emotional of Paul’s gigs. When Paul played ’Here Today’ you could hear a pin drop as everyone drank every word Paul was singing, almost as though noise would severe the connection Paul was having with John at that moment. Same thing with ‘I got a feeling’ with John’s voice. When Paul said ‘“It’s like we’re back together again.”’ I was moved but also surprised at his emotional bluntness. Paul was never anyone to let his emotions show, but I can see that has changed now, which is lovely to see.

Let me tell you, I’ve never heard ’Get Back’ and ’Live and Let Die’ played to such an enthusiastic crowd, rocking out to ’Helter Skelter’ like they were at a heavy metal concert, this a song from nearly 50 years ago! It really makes the songs, and for nearly 3 hours, I could not keep the grin from my face.

I started my morning shift on Glastonbury farm after 3 hours sleep, a bounce in my step despite it being 5.30 in the morning. The sun was shining and everyone I spoke to that day were telling me how great Paul had been. I do feel like I’m protective of Paul, which is silly because his legacy is already cemented. But I feel a surge of pride regardless, his performance was a triumph, hailed as maybe the greatest performance ever. Perhaps it is because I feel he only ever deserves love, well he got it from me and thousands of others that night.

#paul mccartney #Glastonbury #the Beatles

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rebelwrites · 4 years ago

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First In Line

Jax Teller x Reader

Requested by @rocketqueen

Prompt: “I don’t think you realise just how many people want to date you...I mean you’ve got a queue longer than the one to get into Glastonbury” -

Looking around your living room, a smile formed on your lips. Tonight was the weekly pizza and beer night. You only had a small house but somehow everyone managed to be comfortable, it was cozy.

You were sitting on the floor between Jax’s legs, this was your spot, always has been and always would be.

“Hit me” You smiled leaning your head back against Jax’s groin, looking up at him.

“I swear its like having a pet” He smirked as he held a piece of pizza in front of your mouth so you could take a bite before taking the slice off him.

“Thank you” You said, sticking your tongue out at him.

Everyone just wished you would hurry up and get together, seen as you both acted like a couple anyway.

“So I was thinking” Juice smiled “lets play a game, we each go around and say two truths and a lie and then the others have to guess which one is the lie”

“How old are you again?” You winked at him.

“For that you are going first” Juice laughed, making you groan.

“Fine” you huffed “right so I have never had a boyfriend because no one shows any interest in me”

As soon as you finished speaking you heard Jax choke on his beer. Leaning your head back you looked at him to make sure he was okay.

“Carry on” he nodded.

“I have always been too scared to learn how to ride and when I was about 8 years old I got stuck in the washer machine” You said resting your head on Jax’s knee feeling him playing with your hair.

“Definitely the boyfriend thing” Chibs nodded followed by everyone agreeing.

“Nope the lie was getting stuck in the washer machine” You said trying to read the room.

“Just so you know there are plenty of people interested in you darlin’” Jax said.

“Well where are they then” you sighed “because I sure as hell don’t see them”

“I don’t think you realise just how many people want to date you...I mean you’ve got a queue longer than the one to get into Glastonbury” Jax whispered running his hands through your hair.

The rest of the room fell silent thinking that Jax was going to confess but it never went any further.

It was now 1am and everyone apart from you and Jax had fallen asleep where they were sitting.

You and Jax were sitting out on your front porch, a blanket wrapped around the two of you, smoking, drinking coffee and watching the stars, your head was resting on his shoulder and your whole body felt a peace, it always did around Jax. You didn’t have to pretend you were better people.

This was one of Jax’s favorite times, just you and him. In fact in his head he pretended that you were together.

One thing that you couldn’t stop thinking about was what he said earlier that night.

“Can I ask you something?” You whispered.

“Darlin’ you know you can ask me anything” Jax whispered kissing your head “what's going on it that pretty head of yours”

“Just what you said earlier” You said softly “about how I have a line as long as the Glastonbury queue of people that want to date me, were you being serious?”

Jax was slightly taken back by the question, he hated how you didn’t believe people were interested in you for more than just a one night stand.

“Look at me” Jax whispered, placing his fingers under your chin, moving your head so you were looking into his eyes. He smiled lovingly at you, his heart was melting at how beautiful you looked in the moonlight, there was something so raw about this moment.

“I was being serious” He whispered running his thumb across your cheek “and I know your next question is going to be how do you know, I know because I am first in fucking line darlin’, I always have been”

The words got caught in your throat at his revelation. It took you a couple of moments to process what he said.

“But why?” You mumbled “I am obviously nothing special”

“Hey, I never want to hear you say you aren’t special again okay” he whispered, linking his hand with yours, brushing his thumb over the top of your head. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel sparks and butterflies right now.

“Okay” you nodded.

“I didn’t want to fall in love, or need someone. I really didn’t want anything especially with the life I live. But then you appeared and I started wanting everything, when I look at you, I see the one I love, the one I need, the one I am meant to be with”

Silent tears were falling down your cheeks, you couldn’t believe that the person you saw as your best friend had been in love with you for so long and you have no idea.

“And if you gave me a chance I would spend every single moment showing you how much I love you” He whispered, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

You didn’t know where the confidence came from, you felt a buzz and not just from the beer. Reaching up you place your hand on the side of Jax’s face, feeling his lean into your touch. You took a deep breath before closing the small gap that was between the two of you, your lips connecting with his. And in that moment everything felt right, nothing else mattered right now and it was like it was just you and Jax.

Your lips moved in sync, the passion and love being spoken in words that you didn’t know how to say. Pulling away you rested your forehead against his, a large smile gracing both of your faces.

“You don’t know how long I have been waiting for this moment Y/N” he whispered “so what do you say? Wanna give us a shot and be my girl?”

“Do you think I would have kissed you if I didn’t want to give us a shot” You giggled before letting a long yawn escape your lips.

“Come on lets get you to bed” He whispered kissing you softly.

You were now laid in bed, wrapped up in Jax’s arms, things still felt like a dream and you just hoped that come morning it wasn’t a dream.

“So are you really scared on learning how to ride?” Jax asked as you ran your fingers across his bare chest.

“Yeah” You whispered feeling slightly embarrassed.

“But you ride with me all the time” He said running his fingers down your arm.

“Yeah I know but I’m not in control of the bike” You said looking up at him.

“Do you want to learn to ride on your own?” He asked.

“Yeah I do” You nodded listening to his heartbeat.

“Well then tomorrow, you and me will go for a ride into the middle of nowhere, so its just us and I will teach you how to ride” He whispered, you could tell by the sound of his voice he was smiling.

“Jax I can’t” You mumbled.

“I won’t let anything happen to you darlin’, I will be right behind you until you feel you are confident enough to ride on your own” He whispered kissing your head “Now beautiful, get some sleep”

“Night Jax” You mumbled letting your eyes flutter close, letting the sound of his heartbeat be the lullaby you needed to drift to sleep.

Jax couldn't help it, he stayed awake a bit longer to watch the angel, his angel sleeping peacefully on his chest, he didn’t think this day would come, the day that he could finally call you his girl but here he was, on cloud nine and he only had Juice to thank for wanting to play a silly game.

SOA TAGLIST

@chibsytelford @talicat713 @corebore123 @nothingeverdies @teapartydreams @mrspeacem1nusone @khyharah @itmejado @beth-winchester21 @rocketqueen @auroraariza @trulysuccubus @haynsey @witching-hour @destynelseclipsa @edonaspanca @abbiesthings @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @jadesamhart @lady-pswrld @ly--canthrope @hennessyauntie @gemini0410 @i-love-scott-mccall @est11 @mystic-shadows42 @sugary-x-sweet @starrynite7114 @skyofficialxx @terminallygenius @lauraashley93 @leaalfred @angelreyesgirl89 @sheeshgivemeabreak @marquelapage @meteora-fc @penny4yourthot @justahopelessssromantic @ilikechocolatemilkh @mayans-sauce @xbreezymeadowsx @ben-c-group-therapy @-im-fantastic- @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @milaxmariex @cubblycie @little-diable @hotdamnhunnam @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead

#jax teller oneshot #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #jax teller fanfiction #jax teller #sons of anarchy

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path-of-my-childhood · 4 years ago

Text

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

#thanks to anon who brought this to my attention!#🖤#taylor swift #the times #article #about taylor #folklore album #folklore era #evermore album #evermore era #twitter.com/hendopolis/status/1342959069792002050

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bumbershots · 4 years ago

Text

A CERTAIN ROMANCE

CHAPTER TWO: MONDAY THROUGH FRIDAY

Author’s note: Hello! Thanks a lot to everyone for reading this, I’m over the moon with the messages you sent after posting the first chapter. Keep them coming, and enjoy! ~ Alex

Story Masterlist ** Word count 2.3K **

If she was prettier and a bit smarter. If she were special, like the Instagram models that Teen Vogue features in their cover nowadays. She would have the guts to take three steps towards him and ask if he is who she thinks he is.

Harry is standing once again across from her, and she doesn't even know that he is wearing his beloved woolly jumper that has a picture of the planet Saturn on it, just for her. The girl wonders if they've heard of Styles on that planet, too. Of course they have, she scolds herself looking away from him at last, not believing her luck. For the third time on a Thursday, at half past three, he's jumping in the train right after her. The first time could've been luck, second one was a lovely coincidence but a third time? It's a charm. That's what her grandma would say.

But she isn't brave enough to walk up to him, not because of who he is, but the pressure and build up around the entire situation. What if he's a dickhead? She frowns at the thought, knowing it can't be true, not when his eyes, the so-called windows of the soul, are that nice.

They're both in a corner of the train this time, conversations start to sputter around as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot. He seems to be busy, reading Keith Richards' autobiography, she wants to talk to him about it, it's been a while since she read it though she still remembers it clear as day. The next one is his stop, she sighs in defeat at her own cowardly nature and takes out her mobile only to look busy.

Harry wants to talk to her, this is the third Thursday in a row, he's afraid there won't be a fourth one. He's back from his last meeting with Jack and Fernando, everything is set to start the renovation. He won't be taking this route anymore, it's now or never. But it's harder than he thought, to approach her and that's it, he doesn't know what he's supposed to do once he stands before her.

The speaker announces his stop, but instead of leaning away from the wall and walking out of the train, he flips the page of his book, letting the doors close and stays on the carriage for the next station. He is so nervous, a bit scared of his bold choice to stay on the line without a well defined plan. He's never been this nervous about talking to someone, the butterflies on his tummy at the mere sight of her are restless. Maybe if he scoots closer, little by little, he can nudge her side and mouth her a polite "hello," a warm smile afterwards so she doesn't think it's a come on. Except it is.

Harry closes his book, deciding that it's stupid and honesty is the best way to anything. He will just greet her and ask if he can buy her a cup of coffee someday, easy, breezy like Jack says. His green eyes follow her out of the train, they just reach Colindale station, before he can process what is going on or even move, the doors close and the vehicle is moving back to the tunnel. Away from her and his last chance. His mouth is dry and it's like he stuffed it to the brim with cotton.

He got off on Burnt Oak and switched direction, he was so mad at himself, the deep frown on his face said it all. This was supposed to be his chick flick moment and he ruined it by not doing anything at all. He keeps his face glued to the door closest to him, waiting for her to come up and smile at him in that knowing way. Perhaps then he would stand tall, mention that cup of coffee after introductions are made and she will agree. But she doesn't come back on the next station, or the three following ones. Harry gets off the train with a cloud looming above him, the wind is blowing in that nasty way that announces a storm following suit. The singer hurries to his home, trying to beat it.

The rain comes out of nowhere in full force just as Harry walks through his front gate, dashing to the inside of his house. He decides to fix himself a light lunch to keep his mind from wondering if she made it to her destination before the rain caught up with her. A text message from Jack does the trick, he sent him the address for Freddie's birthday. Harry can't believe that's tonight.

"Hello stranger," Gemma's voice greets the musician after the second ring. "All right?"

"All right, just forgot about plans I had for the evening," he hated to cancel dinner with his sister, "come with me?" Harry's tone is hopeful, she can almost picture his adorable cherub face, eyes sparkling.

"Is it with your teenage friends?" He hums trying to come up with a lie, "Harry we can have our dinner tomorrow night instead, I don't mind." As much as she loves her brother, that doesn't extend to that certain group of acquaintances.

"They're not that bad!"

"Baby brother, have fun with the lads, I'll see you tomorrow, pick me up at eight o'clock." She states before ending the call. Harry huffs before finishing his veggie wrap and jumps in the shower.

Perhaps he should've told Gemma that his mood tonight wasn't the best, that although he wanted to go out and about, he didn't want to do it alone. But her reasons to avoid his less mature group of mates are valid so he grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for the flat where the party is held.

A few years ago, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Harry genuinely loves the fittings of his outfits before tour, playing his music for thousands. But he realised, as well, that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Tonight he's hearing anecdotes of how his friends sold almost everything they owned, to be able to afford a trip to the World Cup in Russia the year before. He knows that England almost made it to the final, but to see the agony and pain reflected on Freddie's eyes as he tells the story is truly humbling and heartbreaking.

"They had to escort me out, an hour after the match ended." The birthday lad finishes with glossy eyes. "I've never felt so powerless in my life, the world just seemed so unfair from then on, you know?" Harry doesn't, but he nods and finishes his drink. "But enough about good old me, what about you?"

"Same old, touring for a while, back in British soil before I take off again." He doesn't like giving rehearsed answers to his friends, but they're surrounded by at least a dozen people carrying out their own conversations while straining to hear what Styles says.

"Thinking about the next album already?" His friend's amazement is genuine, "can't believe what you'll hit me with next!" Freddie was his rocker friend. The one with an expensive vinyl collection, the one to never miss a Rolling Stones show, the one that religiously attended Glastonbury every year. Remembering this, Harry relaxed and decided to share with him a topic that left him vulnerable.

"You can expect a lot of break up songs that's for sure," he tries to joke but Freddie's smile falters a bit.

"How long has it been?"

"It'll be a year next month." He can't believe it still feels so recent and not at the same time. "I'm getting used to it." Freddie sighs and nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry you have to go through a shit thing like that, you're one of the good ones H," the green eyed musician is blushing, waving his hand at his companion in an attempt to dismiss his words. "It's the truth I mean... look around us, Jack has been on and off with Alexis for years," the two men observe the couple they're discussing, nothing seems wrong with them but Freddie's words are true, Jack has a habit of calling it quits with the redhead once she brings up marriage. "Kiera and Mosas cheat on each other all the time, we're not even sure if they're still together at this point... last but not least you have Alf, Christophe, Ruben and myself, four emotionally unavailable men who can't commit because they can't get their shit together." Silence takes over the two friends, it's deafening even though the background music can be heard loud and clear.

"I made some shitty decisions too, that's what drove her away," Harry wants to continue, the tequila shots seemed to have loosened his tongue.

"No, no, no you listen to me," Freddie's hands hold his younger friend's face carefully. "I know you're not a dishonest scummy man, you're allowed to make mistakes in a relationship and learn from them... don't be like Alf," he lets Harry's face go and nods towards the tallest guy in the room, "he had a brief relationship with a Portuguese girl, charmed her socks off and when she planned to move here guess what he did?"

"What?" Harry knew the answer, but he wanted to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

"He cuts her off! Ghosting is what they call it nowadays. Just like that... and you think he learned, except that he doesn't!" His friend is now sounding too frustrated. "I saw him do the same thing to Al, perhaps it was a bit different she already lived here but she wanted more and just—" he can't finish his thought and Harry feels for his friend. "We all do that, it's a trend."

"Must be something in the water." The curly one tries to joke and he earns a soft smile from the birthday guy, along with a heartwarming hug. "You can always ring me Freddie, to chat and if I'm home see each other." Harry knows this is something new in their friendship, but he feels it necessary, after so many years of knowing each other. He can tell that Freddie is trying to find his way into adulthood, something that Harry had to experience at a much younger age due to his career.

"Thanks mate, I would really like that." Harry is about to ask Freddie about his family's well-being when a figure entering the room caught his eye, she was wearing the burgundy coat like that first Thursday he was lucky enough to lay eyes on her, high-waisted trousers. The newsboy cap was missing though, but he was glad because it gave her curly hair the freedom it lacked before.

Of all the places where he thought they might meet again, his friend's birthday party was certainly not on the list. She was here, greeting Jack and the others, pulling her sleeve to show how uncomfortable she was at making small talk with Alexis and Keira. She has to crane her neck up a bit when talking to, well pretty much anyone in the room.

This is the miracle he's been waiting for, he thinks just as the song changes to The Beach Boys' and a small smirk threatens to expand on Harry's lips, he does want to ask her if she wants to dance like the sixties tune suggested.

"Harry it's nice to see you again!" Fernando stands in the way blocking the view between the musician and the tube girl. He cringes a bit at the nickname and makes a mental note to learn her name, the sooner the better.

"Fer, I have missed you since we last saw each other earlier today," the architect laughs and so does Freddie. "Would you like a beer?" Forever polite Harry asks.

"No, I'm driving tonight but I'll fetch one for my sister," he says stepping around the bar where Harry and Freddie have been leaning against for the past hour, "I'm starving though, do you mind if I order something Fred?"

"I have some pizza in the fridge man, help yourself." Fernando thanks him before nodding to the person standing behind Harry.

"This beer alright?" Harry turns around just in time to meet a pair of chocolate eyes staring at the guy behind the bar and nod in acceptance. "You already know Freddie and this is Harry," the curly guy is speechless, now up close she seems prettier than before and real. "Harry this is my sister Alma." She smiles in a sweet way that makes the pop star wonder if he's about to go into cardiac arrest.

"I saw you in the tube, Hampstead station guy!" Her voice was nothing like he had imagined, it was raspy and a hint of an accent he couldn't quite put his finger on was swimming through her words.

"That's me..." he admitted, the pink blush from his cheekbones migrating to his ears. Alma thought he looked adorable.

"Do you wanna dance?" She asked after a big gulp of her beer. All star by Smash Mouth just started playing, that was definitely not what Harry wanted to dance with her. Not that he had a secret plan to woo her with his moves, he wasn't the best dancer.

But he took her hand and let her lead the way to the unofficial dance floor, that on a regular day was the dining room. Oblivious to all the eyes focusing on them, Harry allowed himself to enjoy the unexpected turn of events, he had already wasted precious time not talking to this marvellous woman. Like Freddie said, he had to learn from his mistakes, instead of repeating them.

///

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///

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#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles oc #harry styles series #harry fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles ou #harry styles fan fic

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seasurfacefullofclouds1 · 4 years ago

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oof I'm so excited and happy that he was like "ofc the tour is happening" I was actually begining to be scared ... didn't want the whole niall situation to repeat itself. im just excited for the future. I know he loves making music but him ACTUALLY confirming that he's doing stuff for lt2 makes me so fucking hopeful and excited

I’m thinking of Louis’ cover choices, actually... he covered Beautiful War, 7, Through the Dark, LBD, and Drag Me Down.

Given that he was going to break free in six months, imagine the power and anticipation in choosing those lyrics!

And imagine what Louis had planned for the tour— what songs would he be singing today?

He would have been going to Glastonbury now, free of Syco, for the first time in years.

#11 july 2020

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 4 years ago

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would you do prompt 9 with Jaeden Martell x Evans!reader?

9: “I don’t think you realise just how many people want to date you…I mean you’ve got a queue longer than the one to get into Glastonbury” (I had to Americanize this one a bit!)

“Don’t,” you said to your dad as he went to go pick up your vibrating phone from where it was sitting, face down, on the coffee table. You already knew who was calling, and you were pretty sure your dad knew too. It was Jaeden, his co-star and your friend. Friend being the key word - you wanted to be more and you knew he did, too, but you were insecure and you told him you were scared and somehow you’d both ended up yelling at each other in a Starbucks parking lot on a Saturday morning. It was Sunday morning now and your dad had just gotten you donuts, noticing you were sad, and hoping he could bribe you into talking.

“Are you not gonna answer it?” Your dad asked. You shrugged.

“It’s Jae. I already know it’s him,” you grumbled in response.

“What, did something happen? Is that why you were acting so weird yesterday?” He’d been on set most of the day yesterday, trying to film at the courthouse that they could only use on weekends, so you hadn’t really seen him since the fight.

“I don’t know,” you replied honestly. You sat up, putting your hands in your sweatshirt, and looked at your dad. “We were getting coffee and then suddenly we were talking about how we like each other, and then I said I’m insecure because I am, and then that turned into talking about trusting each other, and then I said we aren’t together so why does it even matter, and then...”

“Okay, sweetie, breathe,” your dad said, interrupting you. You sighed and started chewing on the sweatshirt sleeve for a minute before talking again.

“Basically, we both like each other. But I made it sound like I wouldn’t trust him, which isn’t true, and he’s beating himself up about it when it’s a me problem and I don’t know what to say or how to say it, so...” Your dad didn’t know how to respond at first.

“Did you tell him that?”

“No. I haven’t said anything because I’m scared we’ll get into another fight. And how healthy is that? We’re not even in a relationship and we’re fighting.”

“You’re only fighting because there’s a missed communication. You should answer him. Or text him, whichever you want to do. But you shouldn’t wait. That’s how stuff gets confusing and that’s how you get hurt.” You nodded, knowing that he was right. He was more than right. He knew you, and he knew Jae from working with him so much, and he knew that the two of you were kind of meant for each other. But he also knew that you were both stubborn as hell.

“Okay,” you said quietly.

“No donuts until you do.” You laughed a little, sniffling, and your dad took the box of them to the kitchen. You turned your phone over, cringing when you read the words I’m sorry in a text from Jaeden. I’m sorry. I over-reacted. Can we just talk?

Can you come over? You texted back. He typed for a second before responding with a simple on the way text. You went to your room and tried to make yourself look a little bit more presentable, but you must have lost track of time because you walked downstairs and he was getting out of an Uber and he looked at you through the window. You opened the front door and stood there for a second, unsure of what to say.

“I was stupid,” you said.

“No, I was stupid,” he responded. “I thought about it all night last night. I over-reacted and I didn’t listen to what you were saying. But I want to date you, Evans, I really like you.” You sighed.

“I wanna date you too. But I don’t know if you realize just how many people want to date you, too. I mean, you have a line longer than the line to get into freaking Coachella.” That made him laugh a little bit.

“And so do you. But I like you. And I want to date you.” You extended a hand and he took it, following you back out to the driveway and toward your car. It was the only place you could be sure your dad wasn’t listening in.

“What number do you think I am? On that list?” You asked him after a minute of just sitting there, looking at your steering wheel, trying to come up with what to say.

“I think you’re number one. If you want to be number one.” You smiled at him.

“Yeah. I think I am too.”

#ask games #jaeden martell

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alwaysdowntohidewithyou · 4 years ago

Text

Florence Welch Interview

Transcript of Florence Welch’s interview with John Seabrook for the New Yorker Festival.

October 11th, 2019.

New York, NY.

Edited for clarity.

John Seabrook: I’m going to properly introduce you because I think a woman this accomplished needs a proper introduction. For those of you who read the New Yorker this week, let me assure you that I wrote this myself, no machine helping me. In ten years as a band, Florence and the Machine have released four chart topping, award winning studio albums. Lungs, 2009, Ceremonials, 2011, How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, 2015, and High as Hope last year. These many-layered works weave together a range of different styles, from the bands punky first single “Kiss With a Fist,” to the rich choral and percussive tapestries of songs like “Shake It Out,” to Neo-Soul such as “Where Is the Love” (sic), and to the startlingly honest lyrics of “Hunger.” Heartbreak and loneliness rarely feel as delightful and inviting as in a Florence Welch song. The music performs the very rare trick of remaining true to its indie roots while at the same time, sounding expansive and monumental. While British listeners sometimes look to Kate Bush as a musical antecedent, here in New York, we are maybe more inclined to think of Patti Smith, in her path-finding career as a poet who found a way to address the big issues of literature, death, love loneliness, and beauty in the idiom popular song. And we are especially inclined to think of you as following Patti tonight because you are literally sitting in the seat that Patti was warming only an hour ago.

The band has also released two live albums that established themselves as major festival headliners, with a sound big enough to fill the green fields of Glastonbury and deserts of Coachella—where the artist broke her foot performing in 2015. With lyrics intimate enough to touch each individual heart in the crowd of 100,000, Florence lent her extraordinary vocal talents to Calvin Harris’ “Sweet Nothing,” and her eye for clothes and visual imagery to the band’s 29 music videos. She has also recorded several outstanding covers including “Stand By Me,” “Tiny Dancer,” and Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away.” And finally, and most relevant to the discussion tonight, Florence is the author of this book, “Useless Magic,” which is a 2018 collection of her lyrics, poems, journal entries, and sketches, which will serve as our primary text for this evening. Here ends the introduction.

Florence Welch: (Laughs) Thank you so much for having me. Oh, British people find it really hard to hear the things that they’ve done.

J: I know, you’re so modest. It’s hard to hear all that.

F: Everyone’s cheering and I’m like, “Oh no.” This is my nightmare.

J: Let’s take a deep breath and not talk about your accomplishments any more.

F: Okay, good. That’s done, that’s done. (Laughs)

J: Let’s talk about—you’re on a bit of a hiatus at the present from touring. Can we start there? Talk about how that happened, where that came from.

F: Yeah, of course. Well, I definitely wanted to do the New Yorker, because I love the New Yorker so much. So, this was the last thing that I said yes to. I’m very glad I did, you guys are very loud! Yeah, the last—well, I’ve been touring, oh my gosh, I’ve been touring since I was twenty-one? And it is kind of a cycle of two years of—actually we did not stop touring between Lungs and Ceremonials, because we booked a U2 tour somewhere in the middle when we were supposed to be making the next record, and they were like, “You’ve got to do this. This is pretty big.” Like, oh. Okay. And you know, that was a big thing that helped get us going in America. But I was trying to make Ceremonials as well, so yeah, Lungs and Ceremonials was just sort of one—ugh, I don’t know how long that was. Like five years of touring?

And then I had a break. And it was also kind of a breakdown (laughs). Which is what happens when you don’t stop touring for five years. But actually, I don’t know. I don’t think that was because of the touring, I think it was then when the touring stopped, all the structures that I’d been using...with touring you’re kind of very taken care of, so you can be quite a high functioning fuck-up, which is what I was. Very high functioning, but so self-destructive and with such a lack of any will to take care of myself. People take care of you on tour. Like, if you show up and do the show, people get you dressed, and you ripped all your clothes, and they’ll carry you to a plane. The thing is that I never messed up any shows, which was weird. Like I would mess up hotel rooms, and my whole life, and my relationships, and blah blah blah. But never the shows, so, I don’t know what that was about (laughs).

Then I went back on tour for How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, after my break slash breakdown, and that was the first tour that I’d done sober and...yeah, it was amazing. The whole process of that record and kind of how heartbroken I was not just over a relationship, but also the breakdown of my relationship with partying and how those things that I thought defined me didn’t work anymore.

And this person really didn’t want to go out with me. Which now, in hindsight, I really don’t blame them for because I don’t know if you want to date someone who shows up at your house with a bottle of vodka shouting, “Why will you not go out with me?” And they’re like, “Because of this. All of this.” And I’m like, “I don’t understand!” Now I kind of really respect them for that. Like, “Oh wow, ‘cause like you had a sense of self, and you had self-respect, I get it!” But yeah, How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, was a huge healing process, and when I came to the end of it, I did this thing where I dove straight into making High as Hope. I think I’m a person who works in extremes, so again, I didn’t stop working for...I just didn’t stop. I don’t know how to relax. I think that’s probably clear, so I started making High as Hope immediately and that meant that the next tour came around really fast. Although I would say that these shows that I’ve just done have been my favorite I’ve ever done, I loved them.

J: Where were they?

F: Well, all over the world. They were in loads of different places. But it was again, like a year and a half of travel and I’m not a natural traveler. Like I’m not—

J: You don’t like flying I think? F: Oh my god, I’m so scared of flying. It’s the worst! I had hypnotism on it and it wore off (laughs). Nobody told me that hypnotism wears off! Or I just think my anxiety is so powerful that it destroyed the hypnotism. It like, defeated it. I remember reading that the lead singer of The Liars is also really afraid of flying. I think it could be a lead singer thing as well, ‘cause you think that you are the center of the universe and if something really dramatic and catastrophic is going to happen, it should happen to you. So I think there’s a level of ego involved with the fear of flying that I’m hoping in time, I will dismantle.

I find travel in itself, and being away—especially without kind of the crutch of, you know, partying—I get lonely and it’s hard. Although I love the shows and performing, it’s such a big part of me, I...after this tour, I was just worn out by the travel. I was like, I just need to not get on planes for awhile, and I really need to just stay in one place, and try and be like, a human, because although performing runs in my veins, touring is so monotonous, and it starts to feel like you’re losing your mind—and I don’t have much left to lose. So I need it.

J: And there really isn’t any better way to do it probably, right?

F: I keep wondering. I was like, to my manager, “I’m thirty-three, I can’t sleep on a bus anymore!” She’s like, “This is how it is.” You know, I keep trying to think of ways to make it more holistic, but we’ve tried everything and there’s just no getting around the travel because people want to see you, and I’m so lucky to have the fan base in so many places that I do, and I appreciate people and I want to see them. But it means you’re going to have to sleep on a moving vehicle. Which is fucking weird (laughs). When you’re not passed out drunk it’s weird.

J: It’s not like, you curl up in your bunk and the bus takes off and you wake up in the next place the next morning?

F: I don’t know, my brain is so juttery anyway, like sleeping on something that is juttery is a nightmare for me. When I’m trying to sleep on a bus, I’m already someone who tends to get really stuck in their head, and my head is a place that rattles around, so to be in the actual physical representation of that every night, is like a nightmare. I’ve always had a hard time sleeping since I was a kid, and I’m a really light sleeper, always kind of dreaming. I don’t know if I ever get that deep, so yeah. Some things are easier when you can just pass out drunk.

J: Right. We’ll get to that part. Let’s jump back to the beginning of your career. We’re talking about a decade here, so it’s really not a great deal of time but you hit the ground running. I thought we would sort of go through your life by talking about a few songs and your professional life. We’re gonna start with “Dog Days Are Over,” which isn’t the first single I think from the album. I think—

F: “Kiss With a Fist,” yeah.

J: In a way, this is the second single, but perhaps ultimately the bigger hit from the album. I’m not sure, but I feel like this is a song where you first discovered your sound? Or at least for me, I feel like this is where I first heard your sound. Maybe for a lot of us. So I wondered if you could talk about how this song happened, and the lyrics are up here. We can talk about a few of those too. But talk a little, generally, about where this song came from, and how it fit into what work you’d been doing at the time.

F: Ehm, what was I doing? I think I was still at art college, and I—or maybe I’d dropped out?

J: You were at Camberwell College of the Arts, for one year.

F: I wasn’t a very committed art student. I made a lot of installations. I already loved patterns and fabrics and fake flowers and I’d make these big installations, and then kind of sleep in them, and pretend it was an art piece—I was just really hungover. Like, “It’s art! It’s definitely art. Don’t touch it!” I was making flyers for the first Florence and the Machine shows using the photocopier. So I’m sorry for the use of supplies and then not handing anything in.

I’d met Isa of “Isa Machine” fame. She is amazing and we kind of grew up together. She used to babysit my cousin, and then we kind of lost touch. So in South London, for awhile there was a big art collective that squatted the buildings that I lived really near, so when I was a teenager I used to break into all the squat parties, and they would bring all these christmas trees, and everyone would be wearing like, bin bags and crazy outfits, and I was like, “Oh I found them! I found my people!” I was at one of those parties and Isa was there. She was the DJ. She called herself “Laydee Isa,” but it had like seven E’s and seven Z’s. She was like “Oh, I used to babysit your cousin!” And I was like, “Heeey!” I was kind of out of it, I think. She said she had a studio, and that I should come down and make a song.

At the time, there were so many boys in bands. It was around that time of The Libertines, and The White Stripes, and The Strokes—it was a very band oriented time. So I had been writing some songs but because everything was on guitar, and I didn’t know how to play guitar, I just assumed that I would be a singer in someone else’s band, or I’d be a front-woman. I think there was a kind of internalized self-doubt as well. I know I’m not a trained musician. I didn’t have the attention span to sit and learn the piano, or the focus. I was good at singing. I think my attention span doesn’t work...I was like, “I’m already good at this thing.” I could never focus enough to properly learn, which I really regret, actually. I really regret that. So I didn’t have the sort of—I didn’t have the idea that I could make my own band basically. I thought I would be a front-person for someone else’s, but then I started writing songs, and there were so many guitarists about, and that’s how I wrote “Kiss With a Fist.”

They were kind of little gothic fairytales. There’s so much guilt and drama involved—I don’t know what I was. It was kind of like, I think I was already trying to process...I just think from an early age, I felt so much shame, and I don’t really know why. I don’t know where that came from. I think those songs were a way of trying to process what I felt was wrong about me, and through these metaphors—like, this idea that you’d done something terrible, but a bird has seen you do it. So you get the bird, and kill the bird and you eat it so that it can’t tell anybody what you did. I don’t know what the fuck I was doing. But then, you go to sleep, and you’re like, “It’s fine, I got the guy, I’m good.” But when you wake up, you try to speak, and all that comes out of your mouth is the bird singing what you did, and that’s the only thing you can say—which is so dark for a nineteen year old. I think I was just snogging people I wasn’t supposed to or something. But even before, I always felt sort of sensitive as a kid, and I don’t know. I felt like other people had a ticket to kind of get through life that I didn’t know. And how did you get that thing? And everyone seems to have a map, and I don’t. I think these songs were a way of trying to express through these little metaphors how it felt. I was already really obsessed with death in the way that you are as a teenager, and kind of imagining my own funeral all the time. I put these songs with guitars, ‘cause that’s what was around, so that would be like “Birdsong,” in which I wrote with Dev Hynes of Blood Orange. ‘Cause there were so many musicians about—like Kid Harpoon was around, Dev was playing with the Test Icicles at the time, and you could kind of play with anyone. Me and Dev were just sitting in the top room of a pub, and we kind of came up with that song just before we did a show together. That’s kind of how I would make the songs with whoever was around. Isa was sort of the first person who gave me the instrument, who was like, “Why don’t you just try and do something on this?” We called it the “shit keyboard,” it cost like 100 pounds, it was a Yamaha. It burned in a fire!

J: Before or after you used it?

F: After! It burned in a fire. She was the first person who—I think as well because she was another young woman, I think, as a female songwriter...I don’t know if this comes from, like—I had to kind of unlearn deference. I had to really stop deferring. That’s something that’s quite hard, especially when most of the people I was writing with were male. I was instinctively deferring because I was a young woman. I think with Isa, we were kind of the same age, and we kind of bossed each other around! There wasn’t any sort of power imbalance or anything. So she handed me this keyboard and she’s like, “Just do what you want.” The first song that I actually wrote, which you can tell because it’s just an ascending scale, was “Between Two Lungs,” and that was kind of the first thing that sort of felt like it really came truly from me. I was so excited by that, then that the next song we wrote was “Dog Days.” That was like, the first two. They’re not the most complicated chords, but because I never fucking played anything, I thought they were amazing! I was just like, “I’m making this sound? Can you hear this?” Like yeah, it’s fucking piano. It makes that sound for everybody. But because I was the one getting to put them in order and stuff, I just thought like, “This sounds incredible.” She only had like a little...it was in Crystal Palace, which is in South London, we didn’t really have any equipment. We stole drums from someone. The sound of the drums—which I now realize is the same beat as “People Have the Power” (Claps hands to “Dog Days'' percussive rhythm). Which is what we were doing in Patti’s show. We used pens and stuff, and it was kind of, the feeling of that song just came from a lot of enthusiasm, but not really any skill or equipment. So, that’s how it came about.

J: Can I ask you a little bit about the words in the song? “Happiness hit her like a train on a track,” and then later, “happiness hits her like a bullet in the back.” Is it happiness that’s chasing her here? Because it sounds like a celebratory song. Like, the dog days are over and now we’re gonna have some fun! But then it seems like happiness is the thing that’s after her.

F: Well it kind of always was in my mind because I would have such extreme feelings of joy but then I would end up staying out for like three days, so the happiness would always come back down to just terror and panic. I also think that my joy and excitement switch is very close to my panic switch, and I sometimes I don’t know which one is going to go. I think somehow I also equated—I was very mistrustful of happiness, and I think already by the time I was writing the song, I was a very messy person. Not like, untidy, but kind of messy emotionally. I think I’d already done quite a lot of damage to myself and others by that time. We start young in England. By the time I wrote this song, I think I was already, like...yeah, happiness hit her, like a bullet in the back, struck from a great height, by someone who should’ve known better than that. It was sort of like, I didn’t deserve this. You should know better, and I also knew I wanted to be a singer and a performer, and there is this sense that you’ve been struck from a great height, but you are the fucking wrong person (laughs).

J: Huh… okay (laughs). Let’s go from there into writing songs versus writing poetry, because the book is mainly songs, but actually there are poems in the back, and the preface has this interesting line, which I will read. “The act of singing gives the most mundane words and phrases reverence and glory, you can make a shrine out of anything.” I was just wondering, are there certain poems that don’t become songs, and why? Is there something that makes it a song, and something that makes it a poem?

F: I think the first things that I ever started writing when I was a kid was poetry. I mean it wasn’t good, but when I was seven or eight, I was writing poetry. Then I think when I started to think about actually writing my own poetry—like High as Hope is actually an album formed out of poems to begin with. It was a friend of mine called Robert Montgomery who was...he’s a poet, but also a visual artist, and he takes his poems and he turns them into big art pieces with neon lights, and he had said to me, “I think you’re a poet, and I think you should try and write some poetry.” So with that encouragement, I was like, “Okay, okay. I’ll try.” The first thing that I wrote, that wasn’t consciously in mind as a song, but it was a poem, was just a list of things that I thought I couldn’t put into a song.

J: That’s in here! That’s very interesting.

F: Yeah, it’s about getting kicked out of Topshop for drinking Rosé in the changing rooms. I was like, “I don’t know. It doesn’t sing well. So I guess it’s going here.”

J: But you also said in this poem that is not a song, “I’m not sure I can put these things into a song, these muddy trinkets, not beautiful enough. Too bloody and ragged. I always felt the songs should transcend the swamp.” F: Yeah, I think there was a way that I could use metaphor and my imagination to kind of beautify the things that had happened to me, or that I’d done, and in a way kind of own them. Like, when I talk about giving things reverence, I never wanted to actually have the songs written down because I thought that if you saw how sometimes ordinary some of the words are—like the word “kitchen sink” is in “Dog Days,” but when you’re singing something you’re turning it into a hymn almost. You’re giving it a spiritual quality, so I was worried that if the songs were written down, they would maybe lose that. So when I was writing, and I know it’s a song, I feel as if there’s a character or something that’s coming through me that’s bigger than me, and has very big ideas. It’s quite clear on things, kind of understands the bigger questions and I just have to let it happen. So when I was writing poetry, it was a different voice, and it felt like it was almost an even more personal voice because these things were just going to stay on the page. They weren’t going to be viewed with the grandeur of song. They were just going to live there, and who is that person? The drunk Topshop person?

J: You even talked about that—“This new voice, this me voice, is it conversational? Confessional?” Actually there is a poem (New York Poem (for Polly)) I put up here. This is one of the poems from the book. It’s a beautiful poem and it also has your parents and New York in it. So I thought it would give us a jumping off point for your parents. Your mother and father both appear in several of your songs, and have been part of your life. Your mother is a renaissance scholar...

F: Yeah, she is. She’s very smart.

J: And what’s her focus? What’s her specialty?

F: Her focus is the renaissance, above all else. I think even in our childhood her focus was definitely the renaissance (laughs). She’s written four or five books on renaissance studies. It’s funny, she’s always having...she’s always horrified by my exquisitiveness (sic), and how much I love clothes, and bags. But I’m like, “You write books on renaissance shopping, and when we go to museums, I have to stop you from touching things. You love stuff too! Just stuff in the past.” So she’s very interested in what people wore, and textiles, and how people shopped, so she’s read a lot of books about that. And I love shopping too, mom!

J: Didn’t she say to you, when you said you could remember every single outfit you wore, “What a horrible waste of a brain?”

F: (Laughs). I was like, “Oh, you know how I remember things mom? I remember things by what outfit I wore.” She went, “Oh what a waste of your brain.” I was dyslexic as a kid, and she’s worked so hard to get into the upper echelons of academia, and she just keeps getting more and more titles that I can’t even remember now.

J: She’s a provost.

F: Oh, she’s a provost! She’s a provost, yeah, but it just keeps going up. So I don’t know—

J: Dean?

F: No, she’s been that, yup. But I think it’s higher now.

J: So what’s next, chancellor?

F: I think that’s next! But she’s such an impressive person; she would tell me that when I was a baby she was trying to finish papers, or finish books, and she would rest me on a photocopier—it seems like me and my mum both love photocopiers. She just kept working, but I think...none of her children went into academia, and she’s a huge advocate for higher education. That was something that...I was really dyslexic when I was in school, and I couldn’t spell and I struggled at school. I mean, I still don’t think I can do my times tables. Numbers is like a foreign language to me. She’s very staunch; she’s so within herself. She’s incredibly strong, she’s been through so much. I always felt like I was unacademic, emotional, and creative, and sometimes she would look at me as if she had given birth to an octopus. Like, “What is this thing?” I always really looked up to her though, for her drive and her work ethic, and how much she...we’re both very hard workers, I think. I definitely got that from her. And obviously her love of the renaissance has affected me (laughs).

J: And your father comes from, well a journalism family, right? His father was the editor of The Spectator?

F: He was the editor of The Telegraph. I think maybe and The Spectator. I think maybe both, yeah.

J: Okay. And he was a frustrated writer? Or a wishy was-writer, became an advertising guy?

F: Yeah, I think my father is incredibly charming and charismatic and he should have been a performer, really. He is a sort of poet as well, and he was always so imaginative, and would tell me stories when I was a kid that he would then...he was like, “I’m writing a book now!” He moved to Russia when I was fourteen to write a Russian crime novel that my mother tries to pin all my therapy on. Like, I think there’s other stuff. Like not just Dad moving to Russia to write a spy novel, I think there’s other things at play.

J: Did that in fact have a big effect on you?

F: I don’t think it was just that (laughs). I think she’s deflecting slightly. He’s a really creative person and actually he was much more encouraging of me going into the arts. My mother was so desperate for me to go to university. She just didn’t see music. She saw music as a dangerous career, it wasn’t a “forever” career, she was worried I was going to get hurt. She was like, “Get a degree, get some stability, and then do your music thing.” She would, every time I got paid, be like, “It’s not forever money. Put that away.”

But my father, he was always—I mean they’re divorced, so they were like two sides of, you know—they had very different opinions about lots of things. So they didn’t work together. He’s a true bohemian at heart, and he tour-managed us for our whole tour that we did with MGMT around Europe, and England. He did it in his camper-van! MGMT offered us this tour, and it was the first tour we’d ever got. It was a huge break for us actually. We didn’t have any money, and we couldn’t afford a tour bus, so my dad took his sundance camper-van, and we drove all the way around Europe! I mean, MGMT are out there, but I think they thought we were really crazy. So we would just show up there, pots and pans clanking, like, “We’re here!” The first show we did—I mean, I did the show as an early, pre-Lungs era shows where I’d be wearing one of Rob’s t-shirts, drunk and screaming and that was the show. It was excellent (laughs). Then I fell off some speaker stacks. We all had to share a dressing room, as well. That was really cute. Then MGMT came off stage after that show, and they all came off stage, and they’re all like, “Oh my god. The ghost Andy Worhol was in the fucking audience.” Then my dad walked in.

J: Oh, that was your dad? F: It was my dad! Because he had this grey hair, and he kind of dressed as an Andy Worhol, and was right up front. I was like, “Yeah, this is my father, who is managing us.” Then I moved from the tour bus, and then I brought my girlfriend on tour with me. I was like, “Yeah, just come with us!” We got banned from MGMT’s tour bus for being a bad influence (laughs). Which, if you know MGMT, that’s a big achievement.

J: Yeah, that’s a big achievement. Congratulations! Well that gets me into the next subject, which is drinking. Which we both have in common.

F: (Laughs) J: So after the success of Lungs, you were thrown into the world of success and fashion. In particular, you became a darling of fashion. You did the costume ball—anyway, when you read your interviews from that time, you bragfully...in interviews you’re falling apart! You’re drinking at your hotel—you set your hotel room at the Bowery hotel on fire? But the bar bill was more than the hotel damage cost!

F: Yeah, it is (laughs).

J: Anyway, I guess it’s not surprising that with this life came drinking, but it got to a point where it was not manageable.

F: Yeah, I remember waking up and I mean, when you wake up and there’s a huge flame mark on the side of your room, but you’ve been asleep in that room, and you’ve got to figure out where it came from, you’re like, “Was there a fire? And I slept through it? Dope.” Like that is really...I called my publicist at the time, and was like, “Something’s happened!” He was like, “Oh my god, yes, ‘cause there’s a huge bill on my credit card.” I was like, “I think it was the fire.” That was the bar tab. The fire was cheaper than the bar tab.

It was hard. I’ve grown up in South London, and that whole scene is like punk on a pirate ship, it’s sort of pirate folk, and everyone fends for themselves, and the whole gig is like an extended drinking game where you just have to play in the middle. And the game carries on. It was just like an interlude. That is the scene that I grew up in, and I was kind of insecure, I think, about singing pop music.

J: In your family? F: Just in general, and I kind of thought as a way to subvert that, I would just party the hardest. I think as it was a very kind of male dominated scene—like the indie scene that I came up in—it was also a way to kind of outdo everyone. I was very proud of the fact that I could drink as much—and more—than all of the guys. I was the only woman on the first NME tour, and we were opening and they were fucking terrified of me. I think I came into the second show with a black eye, dressed as a bat, jumping off things. I think that’s kind of what I understood, that that was rock and roll, and if you couldn’t go the hardest, you were letting rock and roll down. You were letting these legendary people down.

I was someone who struggled with hangovers, just because I could go...I had insane endurance, but also people would come up to me who I thought were the craziest drinkers and drug-takers I’d ever met, and be like, “Woah. You go harder than anyone I’ve ever met!” I was like, “Oh my god.” But I’ve always had a lot of energy, but I think really why I would stay out for so long is my...you know that sense of shame I spoke about in the beginning? That was there before any of the drinking and the drugs. I already had that. Then to escape that, you know, it would give me an escape from that, but the things I did, or the things I would say, or the way I would treat people just confirmed the way that I felt as a kid. It was just like, you are bad. There is something wrong with you, and then I would carry on trying to escape it in that way, but it would just keep getting worse.

My psyche is pretty fragile; I’m not actually someone who should have a lot of stimulants. They gave me a vitamin shot today, and I’m like, “I’m fucked. I’m high on vitamins! I’m going to have to go to hospital for vitamin overdose!” That’s from a b12 shot. So I don’t know what I thought I was doing when I was partying. Some people are tough, I’m kind of a fragile person. I have a fragile sense of self. The hangovers that I had didn’t seem normal, they were like, “I’m dying. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, like I feel like my skin is—” Maybe it’s ‘cause I drank more than everyone else? I don’t know, but it’s a particular quality that was telling me this does not work for me, but I kept doing it, again and again, and it was always the same feeling. You’ve been doing that in whatever way since you were fourteen, and by the time you get to 27, it’s just—ugh. I didn’t want to feel that way anymore, and it was so repetitive. At some point, the fun bit had gone. As much as I tried to get it back, I just couldn’t. When the fun goes, I’m sorry to tell you if any of you are umming and ahhing, it does not come back. The first year that I stopped, I felt like I’d really lost a really big part of who I was, and how I understood myself. I also felt like I was letting down rock and roll history ‘cause I couldn’t cope. I had to kind of rebuild from scratch a little bit. The thing is that now, I don’t know, it’s almost like the idea of rock and roll that we had...we’ve seen it so many times, it doesn’t end well. I don’t want to be part of that story. J: The 27 year old story.

F: Yeah, I was 27 when I stopped and my mum, literally the speech she gave at my party, where I’d arrived already out of my mind drunk; like I was on the table and she was trying to make a speech. She was like, “Please, just keep her alive. Please.” I laughed about it at the time, but if I think about it now it makes me feel so sad for my mum and how scared she must have been. I feel like at that point there’s...this poem is kind of about that, because I felt like there was a split, there is the person who carried on partying, and didn’t come back. So there’s this ghost version of me. Then there was the person who got to carry on living, and doing the things that I’ve done. It really feels much more rock and roll than anything I ever did when I was drinking. I was doing shows, and connecting with people, and that to me—especially with everything going on in the world—to be conscious and to be present and to really feel what’s going on, even though it’s painful, it feels much more like a truly reborn spirit of rock and roll. It feels like that’s what it should be about right now.

J: The last album was sober, and this song is a remarkable song. It’s maybe not specifically about drinking, but it’s confessional nature I think is what’s a part of whatever transformation you went through. So could you have written [Hunger] as a drinking person? Or do you feel something changed in your songwriting?

F: Oh my god, no. I could have never, ever. I don’t think I could have written this song. I couldn’t have even written this for How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful. In the recording of How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful, I was sober but a lot of the songs weren’t sober because I’d written them when I was drinking, so it was like trying to pull things that were just a big mess. Like, “Okay.” I was in a terrible state. In your first year of your sobriety you’re just insane. So I definitely couldn’t have written it then, but sort of four years down the line, what started to happen was I decided to see underneath—’cause when you’re out there drinking there’s so much surface chaos. You literally can’t see beyond what you did last night as you’re trying to clean that up, and make sure nobody finds out what happened, and who saw? And was there a camera phone? You’re just living in this constant...you can’t ever get any further than the drama that just happened yesterday. So after some time, and some time getting to re-know myself, I started looking at the stuff that was underneath that, that was at the core of it. That’s when I felt able to write this song. I think also I just wasn’t so ashamed of myself at the time. When you’re drinking like I was, you carry around so much shame, and so much of that has lifted that I felt able to say and be honest about things that I just never, ever would have.

When I was really in disordered eating, I would make pacts to myself every night that I will never tell anyone. That was the thing. You can carry on what you’re doing, but you can never tell. Living with that kind of—

J: You kept that promise, because I think when your sister saw this song, she read the first lines, and said she never knew.

F: No, she didn’t. Like, my mum didn’t know. My sister was like, “You better tell mom. You’re putting this out as a big pop song.” I was terrified. I was so scared. I luckily had really good people around. I had my manager, Hannah Giannoulis; she heard this song, and she… I was doing it as a thought experiment. I was never going to release it. I was like, “This is an experiment. This is not for public consumption.” And she heard it, and was like, “This is a really important song.” I was really scared. I was so scared of anger. I’m really bad with anger anyway, but I think it’s because I have so many years of internalized anger against myself for what I was doing, or the way I was behaving that to say it, I expected anger. I expected people to be furious with me for putting something like this out there in a song. I tried to put it off, I pushed back the whole touring schedule. Actually when it was released, people were so kind. I don’t think I gave people enough credit. It was so liberating and it changed me as a performer actually, because once you’ve said your most shameful thing, it’s almost like you’ve got nothing left to lose. So the performances just became so much more open and free, and also when the people who listen to your music accept you at your worst, it is the most beautiful thing. I felt so connected with people on this tour. I’m so grateful to everyone.

#florence welch #florence + the machine #fatm #edited for clarity aka removing florence's adorable rambling that she always does while she collects her thoughts #i love this interview so so much but the quality is pretty poor and therefore pretty inaccessible to non-fluent engl speakers and hoh people #so i put my typing skills to work #if there are any other interviews you'd like transcribed let me know!#this is how i'm putting off writing oof oof oof #also really cant tell if she's saying mom or mum? it sounds like when shes referring to her she says mum #but then if shes speaking to her its mom

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tunafishprincess · 5 years ago

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Hunter Prince (Dark Medieval Fantasy AU fanfic).

Chapter 1: Darkness before Dawn

Two households, both alike in dignity. (Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Prologue, Shakespeare)

The remains of the human army were scattered against the grounds of the small village. A particularly gruesome image if he ever saw one.

Not for long, he thought with a grimace, as members of their forces crept in to take whatever scraps they could find. The sound of bones crunching and tendons popping nearly made him vomit on the spot. The pungent smell of the dead did not help matters. No doubt the entire place would be cleared before daybreak, the bellies of his countrymen filled and ready for the return march ahead.

He adjusted the sword at his hip. It was too large for someone his size, stuck between man and troll, but he could use it well enough. Years of training had prepared him for this.

His upper lip snagged his tusks. By the Void, he wished his teacher were here. Alas, Blinkous of Galadrigalia would not step anywhere near a battlefield of this sort. Too many bad memories and old wounds, he told the boy as he aided him into his armor. Though the troll knew all the ins and outs of swordplay, he refused to pick one up, preferring the company of books and his students to the glory of war and conquest so many of their kind revered.

Alas, unlike his dear tutor his fate left him no room to avoid this type of work. It was times like these he wished he’d been born of another destiny, one where his status and birth didn’t determine his lot in life.

Fog clung to the earth and sky, drenching the area in miserable dampness. Even within the chainmail and furs the biting cold snuck into his veins, burrowing inside like sparrows at the advent of winter. He shivered as another frigid wind tore through the lines of soldiers, so howling and fierce he almost believed it to be alive. Perhaps they were. More than once his mother spoke of the old gods.

He wondered if the weather was indicative of their current mood. Out of respect, he whispered a small prayer. It was the least he could do.

Half-frozen mud squished beneath his feet. As a child he heard wondrous tales about the Grand Canals of Arcadia, yet to see it in person left him rather disillusioned. Of course, by Spring this narrow, barren valley would be a rushing river, carrying the winter snows out towards the southern seas, but now it was little more than a makeshift border between these territories.

His gaze rested on the town before him. Though he lacked the intellect of his mentor he understood well enough their reasons for this ‘visit.’

Dying embers rose from the makeshift chimney as the night’s frost glistened off the roofs and doors. As the troops searched the area for food, weapons and mead, he could not help but feel a tinge of sadness.

Humanity had slowly been encroaching on their lands due to the excess of ore and salt deposits, huge commodities in a kingdom that survived largely off of cattle and farmland. Twas no wonder that within a few years several new settlements had sprung up across the boundary, despite their warnings of retaliation.

But this was only supposed to be a skirmish. A scare tactic, nothing more. Instead, his father’s forces had massacred the entire population.

Crimson mixed with dirt and early morning frost. Here and there he saw them, those who fought thrown haphazardly across the mud and those who tried to flee huddled and died together in small piles. While tradition deemed the enemy warriors to be burned, the soldiers of this regimen did not adhere to such rules, taking what they liked however they pleased instead.

He opened his eyes and then closed them; it mattered not. His stomach lurched.

A large hand covered his mouth.

It was not his own.

He stilled. Seconds ticked by before the wielder bent down, gruffly remarking into his ear, “Do not sully our sire’s reputation, half-blood. Purge your conscious elsewhere. Tis no place for the battlefield, especially our own.”

A battlefield was it? He wanted to laugh but found no energy to do so. Instead, he swallowed back his emotions, tilting his head upwards to face the other.

“I’ll do no such thing, brother.” He added softly, “I am a warrior.”

Bular shot him a doubtful glance. “Is that what your nursemaid tells you?”

He regarded the other in annoyance. While others would be cowed by his elder brother’s fearsome regalia (the blood-colored armor a stark contrast against the gloomy landscape), he held his head high, refusing to back down.

“Blinkous is not my nursemaid. He knows more about tactics and battles than you ever will.”

“Tactics mean nothing in the heat of battle. It is brute strength that decides the victor, not fancy parlor tricks and maneuvers.”

“If that were true, you would have won the Battle of Killahead and the Battle of Glastonbury Tor,” he pointed out, tongue sharp and ready to cut. Eager to best his brother through the only medium he could, he continued, “Now, is there a particular reason you have graced me with your most honored presence? After all, we all know what a comforting elder brother you are.” Without thinking he ended his counter with a barb. “I almost wish her Highness were with us today to see what loving siblings we’ve become. Perhaps then she would allow you to return to court.”

Darkness swept over his brother’s features as pallor overtook his own.

An insult like that would not go without reparations. Though Bular was his elder, there was no love lost between the two. Losing face in court had drastically damaged the other’s reputation and rising stardom amongst the ranks of their kingdom’s military. Their sire had seen to it that Bular had a legion to command, but he would never regain the powers he once wielded so long as he and the Queen continued to be on the outs.

The same Queen who bore him.

He scowled, eyes burning like bright coals in the night. “Mind your words. The next time you act so brazen I will not hesitate to remove one of your horns, shared blood or not.”

He nodded curtly. As loathe as he was to admit it, he should have stayed quiet. Had they been common Gumm-Gumms, only one of them would still be standing at such an affront.

Bular leaned forward, claws tightening around his head as he spoke. “The Queen and her elk may choose to coddle you but I will not. It is I who am in charge here, not you. Your bearer can keep her impure minions in her so-called court for all I care.” His eyes narrowed. “From the look on your face, I can already tell I’ve wasted too much time in bothering to try and teach you. Know this, little brother: the only reason you stand here is at father’s request. Remember that.”

Without warning Bular yanked him by the hair at his nape so that he fell backward. His brother’s followers chuckled at the display.

How humiliating. Cheeks burning, he quickly returned to his feet, storming off in the opposite direction, lest he made more of an embarrassment of himself amongst his brother’s soldiers.

It was a familial power play and one Bular would always win. While he was faster than the older male he could not hope to match his brother’s brute strength and height.

No matter how smart or cunning he could try to be, he would always be half-flesh.

James, Son of House Lake, First of his Name, Heir to Two Thrones—it was an endless list of empty titles. Here, on the “battlefield” and in front of his father’s battalion, Bular and his army saw him as nothing more than a whelp playing soldier.

A bitter sigh escaped his lips.

He was starting to wonder if they were right.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Death nipped at their heels. Her ally’s fatal injury didn’t help matters. He limped behind, holding the wound at his chest with his dominant hand while the other scrambled for purchase up the steep hilled terrain.

The tall beautiful trees that greeted their arrival now sent a shiver down her spine, no longer so beautiful and majestic as she’d been led to believe. Stepping into the forest had robbed them of sense and direction, the burning village behind them their only indication of navigation. Not even a full moon could penetrate the dense canopy above them, which rustled and swayed like the sea.

These were not the lands of her brethren. She’d been born on Arcadian grounds, far inside the midlands where the capital stood. The forests there were colorful, evergreens and cedars that happily shaded the berry bushes she once plucked from as a child.

She knew she’d passed the boundaries but the look of the landscape. Here, the woodlands were dark, primal and contorted in manners she had never seen. No berry bush or fruit-bearing could ever hope to grow in harsh lands such as these.

Branches snagged at her cloak, threatening to impede her every step.

Claire bit back a sob. It was all her fault. If only they had kept moving instead of resting for the night. But she had underestimated her enemies’ desperation. The assassin struck right as the armies across the border arrived, leaving them no time to regroup or find a healer.

Not that Sir Kanjigar could recover from such a wound. They’d been lucky he’d not petrified immediately, though she wondered if that would have been a better fate than the encroaching death before her.

She clutched her chest as he finally keeled over.

“No, you must get up!” She said, joining his side. “We can still make it.”

Inwardly, she knew it was a fruitless endeavor, but the innocent young girl she was before all this still clung to the faint hope that everything would turn out well and good.

“I’m afraid this is where our journey ends, milady,” he said, grunting as the poison worked its way through his system. “A thousand apologies.”

She shook her head. Wetness gathered at the corners of her eyes. Sir Kanjigar had been all she had left. She had left everything behind for this.

Her hands clutched at his chest. “No, this is not where you shall spend your final breath, Sir,” she ordered, hoping she sounded as authoritative as her birthright. Listen to me: you are the Trollhunter. You have survived countless battles. We will find a healer, but you must get up. Think of Trollmarket. Think of Draal. They would be lost without you. I would be lost without you.”

“It is not—"

“I will not allow you to die. I forbid it!”

She could barely stand to look him in the eyes. They both knew what was to come.

Her fist smacked against his cold ground, again and again, until at last, he spoke.

“Milady,” he wheezed. “Enough.”

He lifted her chin with his remaining hand. It pained her to see him in such a state.

Sir Kanjigar of Trollmarket was like no other. He was a battle-scarred old warrior, face etched with the centuries of service he’d provided both kingdoms. Countless Nuñez had relied on his aid and counsel throughout the years. It broke her heart to think she would be the last.

“I cannot take you the rest of the way,” he stated, stroking her face like her father once did. “You must part with me. The longer you stay here the faster our pursuers can find you. My son…will live on. The Amulet will find a new champion; it always has. But you must hurry. Dawn will break soon. Our liaison lies a day’s journey to the north of the sunrise, just beyond this forest. Get there. You will know him when you see him. He will take you to safety.”

Her chest shook, body numb and unwieldy. “This isn’t fair. I can’t do this without you.”

“You must. The fate of your family and the kingdoms obligates you.”

The amulet began to blink. Slowly, he removed the device from his chest, the magic dissipating from his body. Her throat seized at the sight. The poison had spread throughout his upper and lower halves.

“May the Grace of Daya guide you through the Void to your ancestors,” she recited as she took his last gift.

His lips perked up as his vision began to fade into white. “And…may the Mother guard you…for all your days.”

She nodded. She could not look away as he gave his last breaths, determined to stay by his side.

It was in this small moment she allowed herself to grieve. Grieve for her family’s misfortune, grief for her inability to protect her kingdom and people, and grieve for the lives lost in order to get her this far.

Her gaze flickered to the sky. His words proved true; dawn was coming. She didn’t have much time.

“Goodbye dear friend,” she whispered, wiping her tears before setting off on her journey.

Her feet scurried across the cold forest floor. Leaves scattered in their wake. Now, without her protector, the forest took on a more sinister nature. The hairs on her neck prickled in dread as she traveled silently through these woods. Every sound made her heart lurch. Though she knew it merely her mind playing tricks, she could not help but think of the assassin, and whether or not he brought any others.

No, she could do this. Her fingers squeezed the amulet within the folds of her robes. The cold metal reminded her of what she must do.

Though her heart bled for the lives lost, she willed herself to go forward. Once she found a safe place she would properly mourn her fallen comrade. For now, however, she needed to move.

A sound intruded, wrestling her out of deep thought.

She didn’t even have time to scream when the creator of the noise came upon her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

She squirmed within his grasp. Jim adjusted his hold. The human was petite, but her eyes held a ferocity that promised far more than what she could likely give.

“Unhand me, fiend!” She hissed.

Had it been any other day he would have. Humans were a strange sort. Though his mother imbodied their appearance, she was of another sort of being all together, born of magicks and a world no longer accessible to their kind. It was one of the reasons his sire took her hand after all.

Amongst others.

But today was different. Whereas before he had placed humanity out of his mind, now, after the carnage, an unsettling sensation of responsibility weighed down upon him. She had not caused this battle. Her only fault was being the wrong species in the wrong place. If Bular or one of his soldiers found her she would be carved up and eaten like the rest.

And Jim could not allow that to happen.

Leaves crunched beneath unforgiving feet. The marching had begun. Quickly, he pulled her behind a thicket of gathered trees, hoping his scent would cover her own.

“Please stay silent, miss,” he whispered. “They will hear you otherwise.”

Her body tensed at his words. Around them, the procession grew louder. Armor clinked together, held in rhythm to the vibrating beat of their drums and deep barking songs. He dare not translate the words to the human, knowing what revulsion they would bring.

He could not help but examine her. The night was dark but his eyesight blessed him the vision before him. Dark windswept hair framed her heart-shaped face, highlighting the contours of her cheeks and rose-colored lips. While he had little experience with human ages, he guessed her to be near his own more or less.

His heart thumped wildly against his chest. This was the first time he had ever been so close to a maiden. He wanted to speak, to impress her with his knowledge of her native tongue, but instead kept quiet, desperately wishing not to embarrass himself in front of her.

As the marching began to fade, he loosened his hold on her. It was only just. She quickly pulled away; he let her. A few tense seconds fast before she broke it with her words.

“How could they?” she spat, fingers clenched around the sides of her cloak. “Honorless barbarians. They were only miners and their families and they slaughtered them.”

He lifted an eyebrow, realizing she knew not who or what he was.

He would have found it refreshing, if he wasn’t so overcome with guilt.

“Can’t say I disagree at this point,” he mumbled, throat tightening at her remark.

Was this what being a warrior was about? Jim bit the inside of his cheek. More than once he had sat at the foot of his sire, listening to the tales of old, when magic ran wild and honorable knights protected their kingdoms. Every battle had a story, a purpose, and an ending. Even the Battle of Killahead had its place in his father’s halls, sung to bring about nostalgic melancholy in those there and not there.

So where was the glory in murdering these innocents? How had a border skirmish broken out into slaughter?

It set him on edge.

By the Void. Jim shook his head. He could scarcely believe what had happened. This was his first excursion with the company and he hoped it his last. Being put in his brother’s battalion had been a foolish error on the head advisor’s part. Not that anyone could persuade the troll outside the king himself. Sir Dictatious was the complete opposite of his brother.

It was no wonder they hated each other.

The girl continued to rant. “How dare they attack Arcadian soil. Do they want to start another war with the kingdoms?” Her voice grew hoarse. “Does the Treaty of Avalon mean nothing now?”

“A war would be most disagreeable for everything I should think,” he answered.

She blinked, cheeks reddening as she straightened out her linens to curtsy.

“Excuse my manners. Thank you for your assistance. I am utmost in your debt. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

With whom indeed. Jim glanced at her outfit and features. This was no peasant, he gathered, but someone more highborn, though how much so he could not determine by sight alone. While her cloak was ratty and riddled with holes the cloth beneath was well-made, shielding her from the Darkland winds. She lacked the pockmarks and blemishes other humans tended to carry too.

His eyes widened as he realized how quiet he had been. He coughed into his hand, head bobbing. “It’s Jim, milady.”

“Thank you, Jim. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who survived.”

He winced. She believed him human. He supposed, in the darkness, night-blindness would suggest it as such. While taller than most of their kind he was significantly shorter than a majority of trolls.

“You’re traveling alone?” He asked. Perhaps he could return her to her group before she realized who he was.

She paused, shoulders shaking. “My companion…He didn’t make it.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said and he meant it sincerely. “Is there anything I can do? A lady such as yourself shouldn’t be out here alone. Where are you heading to? Perhaps I can lead you there.”

Already he formulated a plan to get her away, far from the Gumm-Gumms that still lingered in these forests.

It would have worked, he could have gotten her as close to her destination before disappearing at daybreak, if something else hadn’t spoken up instead, breaking the fragile peace between them.

James of House Lake.

Instantly, he drew back, back ramrod straight at the power the voice possessed. It chilled him to the bone, clinging to his eardrums in a soft echoing whisper. He knew not where it came until the girl fished it from her robes. He thought it one of Blinky’s strange time devices until he noticed the pulsating blue magic that lay beneath its metallic parts.

“Did,” he began in a breathless manner, “Did that thing just say my name?”

Her brows furrowed. She held the circular object out plainly, squinting as she looked between it and himself.

“But it’s never chosen…who are you?” She asked, pressing forward.

Jim accidentally backed into one of the trees, horns biting into the bark. A familiar scent was picked up through the air, coupled with equally familiar footfalls.

His breath caught in his throat. Through the blackness, he could see the figure approach.

A haphazard plan based on foolishness and Gumm-Gumm tradition arose within him. His cheeks burned at what he was about to do. He had hoped—no, that kind of life was not accessible to one such as he.

He looked back to the girl, confusion, and fear spreading across her face. She did not deserve this fate he would bring her, but he could not bear to see her die this day.

“I am so very very very sorry for what I am about to do,” he said, inwardly praying to the Void for his actions.

He muffled her scream with his gloved hand, the other tilting her neck for access.

The taste of copper met his tongue and suddenly he understood why so many of his countrymen developed a taste for it.

It was over in an instant, but he knew, somehow, that he had changed both their futures.

Whether for better or for worse was yet to be determined.

The bushes rustled behind them, branches snapping as his elder brother strode onto the scene.

Carefully, Jim lifted his mouth, wiping the red from his lips with the back of his hand. The girl below him held the nape of her neck tenderly, eyes shooting daggers at him.

Bular regarded the two with an unimpressed brow. “Father will be most displeased when he hears of this.”

“Salutations to you, brother,” he replied.

The girl shuddered within his grasp, now likely putting together the pieces of his identity. “What have you done?” She whispered, face alike to a corpse.

The other balanced his broadsword on his shoulder, clearly taking pleasure in Jim’s act. “A messenger arrived from the castle. Our arrival is expected.” He looked the girl up and down, measuring her with a growing sneer. “If you wanted a bloody fleshbag for your intended you should have just asked. I’m sure one of my men could have found you one with more meat on her bones than this twig.”

“It seems our taste in wenches diverges. I quite like twigs.” Jim sent his brother a cold smile, refusing to react to his insult.

Bular sniffed, features smoothing over into disinterest as he set off back towards the legion. “Have it your way.”

Once his presence was gone, the girl collapsed, her shivering now full-blown shakes.

“This is disastrous,” she cried.

Jim shared the sentiment and wanted to voice it, but thought better of it. Scooping her up into his arms (and ignoring her feeble protests), he began his march towards home, knowing that his actions would not go unpunished.

#trollhunters #jim lake jr #tales of arcadia #trollhunters fanfic #dark fantasy #jlaire #bular #claire nuñez #medieval

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penniesforthestorm · 4 years ago

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“There’s something wrong here”: Twin Peaks Recap, Season 2, Episodes 20, 21, and 22

Well, here we are. (Long strange trip, etc....) Below are the annotations for the final three episodes of the original run of Twin Peaks, along with some additional theories and observations. This has been a tremendously fun exercise; if you’ve been following along, pop on over to my inbox any time--I’m always up for more discussion. Stay tuned for my rundown on Fire Walk With Me, and very soon we’ll move onto The Return. Until then, I’ll see you in the trees...

Episode Twenty: “The Path to the Black Lodge”

-Windom Earle’s “pawn” was named Rusty Tomawski, and he was traveling with a band when their van’s tires broke down. Hope he made it to that great gig in the sky...

-Deputy Andy Brennan, on the environment: “Styrofoam never dies as long as you live.”

-Doc Heyward, to Ben Horne: “It’s what’s in your heart you should be worried about.”

-Wheeler’s business partner in Brazil has been murdered, so he’s trying to make tracks. Buddy, we hardly knew ye...

-Briggs shows Coop and Truman the Project Blue Book files on Windom Earle, including a tape of him discussing “dark sorcerers called Dukhpas” that inhabit the Black Lodge. Coop realizes he has mistaken Earle’s reason for coming to Twin Peaks in the first place.

-At the RR, Bobby Briggs and Shelley Johnson have about as much of a serious discussion as we’ve seen them have. This is the thing about Bobby--he might be a brat, but deep down, he truly loves Shelley. I believe he wanted to love Laura, too.

-Coop and Truman talk with Audrey, Donna, and Shelley, and confirm that they have all encountered Earle in various disguises, and that Leo Johnson wrote out the poem.

-Ben talks with Audrey at the Great Northern- when she leaves to chase after Jack, Ben is alone in the office, but he suddenly jerks around as if he hears something. Cut to Pete Martell in the lobby, crooning a lament for Josie Packard: “Josie, I see your face...”

-Earle captures Major Briggs. “Garland, what do you fear most in the world?” “The possibility that love is not enough.”

-At the Roadhouse, Coop teaches Annie how to dance, calling her a ‘queen’. The Giant appears, waving his hands and mouthing “No”, in warning.

-OK, as much as I would go fishing with Major Briggs, that goes double for good ol’ Pete Martell. Up around Seeley Lake, right at the end of July so we could get some huckleberries, too.

-In this episode, we see repeated instances of people’s hands trembling: a woman at the RR, Coop, and Pete as he waits for Audrey...oh, and whose arm is that, reaching out of the blackness in the woods?...

Episode Twenty-One: “Miss Twin Peaks”

-another directed by Tim Hunter

-Leo frees Major Briggs, whispering “Save Shelley”

-Norma was the first winner of the Miss Twin Peaks Pageant (quelle surprise...); in the discussion, Annie mentions Laura Palmer.

-Cooper makes the connection between BOB and the Black Lodge, and also with Josie’s death

-Donna confronts Doc and Eileen Heyward about Ben Horne; what I’m wondering is, where are the other two Heyward girls? (Also, it pleases me that Donna and I have the same middle name; it’s a common one, but still.)

-Major Briggs is in bad shape at the sheriff’s office, but he manages to tell Coop and Harry: “Fear and Love open the doors” to the Lodges. He also mumbles “Judy Garland”...

-And the pageant begins! I guess one of Annie’s convent sisters must’ve been a Rockette at some point; her form in the kickline is impeccable. And how about Lucy Moran, pregnant and still knocking out fouettes, pirouettes, and landing a split?!

-Audrey Horne: “When something you care about is in danger, you must fight to save it or lose it forever.” Annie’s speech is, of course, perfect. Donna confronts Ben Horne, and Lucy chooses Andy. Exit Richard Tremayne, to the collective relief of us all...

-And Annie is our queen. Really, who could begrudge her? I’m glad she gets her moment with her crown, her roses, and the adoring crowd, before the darkness falls.

Episode Twenty-Two: “Beyond Life and Death”

-Andy, reassuring Lucy: “I’d help you have that baby right there in the elevator, in front of God and everybody.” I love them so! much!

-Coop and Truman confirm the entrance to the Lodges at Glastonbury Grove, among the sycamores. I do love Pete’s interruption: “King Arthur is buried in England! ...Last I heard...”

-The Log Lady brings the oil from her husband, and Hawk brings in Ronette Pulaski to confirm the scent. This is one of my favorite details: way back at the beginning, it was Hawk that kept watch over Ronette in the hospital. Who knows what she remembers from that time, but I love it that she instinctively turns to him for refuge when the scent scares her.

-Annie officially meets Windom Earle; she is quite reasonably terrified, but strong enough to maintain a little skepticism, like, what is this dude’s problem?

-Some loose ends, tied (sorta): Nadine fully regains consciousness (I still don’t know what to make of the Mike business); Donna, with her bags packed, confronts Ben Horne and her mother, Doc and Sylvia Horne show up. Congrats, Ben, you’ve infuriated two families...

-I had forgotten how much this cuts back and forth once Coop enters the Lodge; worth mentioning that Gordon Cole described Shelley Johnson as ‘looking like the babe without the arms’, and in the hallway of the Lodge, there’s a replica of the Venus de Milo

-The business at the bank, Audrey crossing paths with Andrew Packard and Pete Martell-- I’ve brought up before that the Eckhardt/Packard intrigue storyline never quite meshed for me, but I do like Packard quoting Marcus Aurelius like the pompous s.o.b. he is...

-Bobby, on the subject of Leo: “He’s probably up in the woods having the time of his life.” Well, in a manner of speaking, that’s not wholly inaccurate...

-OK, Theory Time (tm)!: Sarah Palmer, seen here delivering a message to Major Briggs. I believe that “Sarah” is a Lodge denizen, or intermediary of some kind, similar to the Giant or the One-Armed Man-- she is able to perceive BOB and the others, and to give warning, but cannot directly effect the outcome of a situation. Whether she always was, or whether, at some point, she was overtaken, I’m not sure, but I think this plays into her arc in The Return, and may explain some of FWWM.

-And into the Lodge we go. The Man from Another Place says, “The next time you see me, it won’t be me.” The Giant reveals that he and the waiter are “One and the same.” Coop meets: Laura (”See you again in twenty-five years”); Maddy (”Watch out for my cousin”), Caroline/Annie (”I saw the face of the man who killed me”/ “You’re mistaken, I’m alive”), and Leland Palmer (”I never killed anyone”). Windom Earle offers to take Coop’s soul in exchange for letting Annie live, and Coop accepts, but BOB intervenes.

-Cooper, regaining consciousness at the Great Northern: “I wasn’t sleeping.” And the mirror shows us the awful truth: a Return, of someone we hoped we’d never see, riding along with the last person we’d hope to see him with.

...Whew!! That’s all for now, though, of course, this is only a stop on the journey. Keep your owls close and your donuts closer, and...meanwhile...

#tv #recap #watching twin peaks again #long post #twin peaks

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cph-dreaming · 5 years ago

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Extract/dribbles # 12

Looking back on that day Sander knew he had once again been too much. Even when he was happy he ruined everything because of his inability to control his emotions. There would always be that look of fear on someone’s face, someone close to him, his mother, his sister, his uncle, Professor Mathysen. A fear, that he was loosing it once again. But he could deal with it, couldn’t he, as long as he would never see that look an Robbe’s face. Had he seen it that day? No, he couldn’t have. When he put Robbe down after the violent kiss he had forced on his boyfriend, the only look Robbe gave him was one of bewilderment. And joy. It must have have been. He was smiling, wasn’t he? Sander couldn’t really remember.

They went for a coffee at Caffènation before going home to Sander’s house, as he had to study for his last exam. Reluctantly he spent most of the afternoon at his desk, Robbe on his bed doing his own homework, when his mother knocked on the door.

“Robbe, sweetheart, are you staying for supper? You know, you’re more than welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Ms. Driesen, but I’ll better get home soon.”

“Robbe!” his mother said with a laugh. “It’s Elke, you know that by now! And are you sure?”

Sander knew that Robbe felt guilty every time he stayed at Sander’s after his mother had been released from the institution, acknowledging that lonely nights could still be hard on her. Sander of all people understood that feeling. But that day he needed his boyfriend’s presence in a way he couldn’t really comprehend, so he jumped from his desk on top of Robbe on the bed and pouted.

“Say you will, please? All night!” From the doorway his mother laughed at the two boys, mimicking Sander’s pout when Robbe looked up at her with an embarrassed look on his face.

“I’ll need to call my mama and make sure she’s ok. But yes, I’d like to stay... Elke.”

“You’re such a precious thing, aren’t you!” Sander’s mother said. “But I want a hand with supper from both of you.”

Sander kissed his boyfriend and jumped up from the bed.

“Call her! I’m going down to help.”

Downstairs Sander walked straight to his mother’s IPhone connected to the speakers in the combined kitchen/ living room of their two story apartment.

“No way, Mr. Driesen, don’t even think about it. We’re not listening to David Bowie now,” his mother said with a stern look on her face.

“Mum!”

“No way! I want to hear my own music for once. And it’s actually the playlist you made for me.”

Sander sighed, but smiled at his mum never the less. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and she was right. He had made that playlist for her, mostly because she sucked at Spotify, but he actually liked Scott Bradley’s Postmodern Jukebox. Though he rarely admitted it, most of the music he liked these days had been introduced to him by his mum and her brother, even Bowie. God, how he missed his uncle!

“Have you heard anything from Hendrik?” he asked.

“Well, he phoned the other day. He’s alright. There’s nothing new. The boys are getting older. They still don’t understand a word of Flemish.”

“Why would they. Hendrik’s been living in Copenhagen for ages now, Mum.”

His mother took him in her arms and kissed him affectionately on his cheek. When Robbe walked into the kitchen they had started singing together.

“I kissed a girl/boy and I liked it,” Sander singing ‘boy’ and his mother ‘girl’.

“I know this song, don’t I?” Robbe said quietly, which made Sander and his mother snort in unison.

It had been a perfect day, hadn’t it? Sander loved seeing Robbe interact with his mother, always a little shy, not trying to presume anything, unlike Britt who had always had that forced familiarity that Sander knew his mother had despised.

Sander had always been close with his mother. Their relationship had been one of mutual respect and simple caring. Being who he was, Sander knew he had forced her through some hard times but he never felt judged by his mother. He had always felt secure and cherished. And they had always laughed together. The rare times his uncle had visited Antwerp after his sister had moved out the three of them had stayed up all night, the adults sharing their red wine with him, listening to all the music his uncle had introduced him to. To this day his mother denied that they had shared a joint one night when he was fifteen, saying that that memory had to be weird figment of his imagination, but always with that special smile she reserved for him that just told him, ok, it might have happened, but we are never going to discuss that night ever again! Sander loved his mum.

Then he was diagnosed in the early summer the year before, shortly after he had met Britt, and a distance crept in between them. Was that the reason she so readily had accepted Britt into their lives, although Sander knew she didn’t really like her? Was it because she could make someone else monitor him, ask him about his meds, about his sleeping patterns? Control his drinking, his use of weed? Sander had an inkling his mother felt responsible, that she was scared she had failed as a mother. But with all of his energy being used on reconciling himself with his new identity he had never dared to ask her. Most of all he just missed what their relationship had been. And he felt guilty for failing her as a son. In the end their struggling relationship was just another victim of his diagnosis, another chip of wood in the cross he had been forced to bear.

But it had been a perfect day, hadn’t it? After supper Sander really tried to study. And failed. Miserably. The persistent feeling of bubbles in his blood stream constantly made him seek out Robbe, craving to touch him, kiss him, smile at him, making it impossible for him to stay seated at his desk where his notes only made him relive his professor’s slow drivel of meaningless words.

“Sander! Concentrate! Your exam is up in two days!” Robbe tried his best but he couldn’t hide that he relished in the fact that Sander needed his attention all the time.

Going to bed and brushing their teeth became a battle of laughs that day. Seeing Robbe nearly choke on his toothbrush made tears stream down Sander’s face for the umpteenth time that day. How could anyone look so adorable coughing toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror?

Back in his bedroom Sander put on ‘All The Young Dudes’ from Bowie’s Glastonbury 2000 Live recording, cranking up the volume, jumping onto his bed, playing air guitar, singing as loud as he could:

“Sander rapped all night about his suicide, kicking it in the head when he was twenty-five, who wants to be alive when you’re twenty-five.”

“Sander! Your mum!” Robbe tried, but Sander had to make him understand how happy he was. He dragged him onto the bed falling on top of him, kissing him, while singing “Hey brother, you guessed, I’m a dude!”

“Come on, Robbe! Sing with me!”

“Sander,” Robbe tried again.

“Sander!” his mother shouted!

Didn’t anyone understand how happy he was?

“Sander! Turn down the music, goddammit!” his mother shouted as she walked into the room. Sander jumped from the bed and took her into his arms, swirling her around to the music.

“And my mother’s back at home with her Beatles and her Stones.”

Maybe it was Robbe’s giggle that made his mother lighten up. His endearing sounds had that effect on people, Sander knew. His mother threw her arms around her son and pushed them to the bed falling on top of Robbe, the three of them laughing as if there was no tomorrow. To Sander it didn’t matter if there was. At that moment he couldn’t care less if tomorrow never came, why should he, when he was happy here and now.

#wtfock #wtfock fanfic #sander driesen #robbe x sander #Sorry for clogging up the tag with a wall of text #Why can’t I get the Keep reading to work #I am an idiot #bekind

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amuseoffyre · 5 years ago

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Crossing Paths - 909AD - Wessex

Notes: I know! Look! Back to this old bean for a bit of variety :D Also, this story covers two dates - 909AD and 947AD - which technically fit between Mercia (902AD), Priesca (917AD) and Lake Chad (978AD). The full chronological chapter index is here :)

909AD – Baltonsborough, Wessex

“Oh for Heaven’s sake!”

Crowley tilted his head to peer out of the deep shadow of his hooded tunic. It wasn’t the brightest of nights, lit by a single blade of light spilling holily from the partly-open doors of the church, bringing the smell of candlewax and incense with it. “Angel? S’that you?”

“Who else would be able to spot you?” Aziraphale demanded. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Crowley jerked his thumb towards the open doorway. “Got to put on a show for that lot. Waiting for my cue. You?”

The angel’s lips pursed. “The same,” he admitted and Crowley carefully and deliberately squashed down the temptation to point out they were both mucking around in the same place yet again. It happened a lot and they both knew it. No point flogging the same dead horse.

“Anyone in particular?” he inquired. “Or just a general flash of lights, glowy eyes, whoooo, mystic spiritual intervention sort of thing?”

“Um.” The angel fidgeted, tugging at the collar of – oh for Satan’s sake. He was wearing a bleeding cassock. That meant undercover, which meant it wasn’t even anything dramatic. Probably just some daft little blessing he could have done with one hand tied behind his back and standing on his head.

“C’mon,” Crowley coaxed, grinning. “How bad can it be?”

“It’s just one person, technically,” Aziraphale admitted. “A young lady. I have to make sure she is… very blessed. On behalf of her soon-to-be-child.” He peeked in at the church, the light casting a golden glow over his face. “Her name’s Cynethryth.”

“Sounds like a sneeze.” Crowley straightened up, listening. “Ah, hold on a tick… that’s my cue.” A sharp snap of his fingers sent a torrent of bitterly cold wind gusting at the doors. They crashed inwards and the wind whirled through the church, extinguishing every single candle and plunging the building into darkness.

People were screaming and gabbling prayers in a panic and he heard the angel sigh.

“Oh, really, Crowley.” He snapped his fingers. “Let there be light…”

The sense of panic and terror evaporated and Crowley felt the ripple of awe and wonder pouring out of the building.

“Angel…” He swung around, glaring at the wide-eyed Aziraphale. “Did you just… undo what I did?”

“Not… precisely,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. “I relit Cynethryth’s candle. That’s all.”

That’s all. Room of darkness, all candles snuffed out, and one miraculously popped back to life.

“Ugggggggggggh!” Crowley threw his head back with a groan. “Angel! I’ve been waiting here for a bloody hour and now, turns out I didn’t need to bother? I was meant to scare the living daylights out of them and everything!”

“Oh! Er… sorry, I suppose.” Aziraphale reached out consoling, then hesitated awkwardly. “Well, technically, I couldn’t have done it without you, could I?” He gave Crowley’s arm a single, careful pat. “So jolly well done.”

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

The angel offered a cautious smile. “Why? Is it working?”

It was so damned hard to stay annoyed with the soft idiot.

“Couldn’t say,” he said airily, though he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. He jerked his head back in the direction of the main street. “You can make it up to me with some mead.”

Aziraphale’s expression brightened. “I do like a drink with honey in it.”

“Honey, alcohol,” Crowley laughed. “Best of both. C’mon, angel.”

___________________

947 – Glastonbury

Aziraphale had always had a weakness for visiting places of love and devotion. Glastonbury was positively swimming in it, despite the old abbey still lying in ruins. The person he had come to find throbbed at the centre of the place like a heartbeat. Oh, he would do marvellous things, this young man.

The angel was so distracted by the sheer sense of peace about the place that he didn’t notice another man hopping frantically from foot to foot until he collided squarely with him and sent them both reeling.

“Ack!” The man caught his elbow as he staggered, keeping them both on their feet. “Oh! Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale stared in astonishment at the demon in holy vestments, bouncing urgently from one foot to the other. He had one hand over his face. “Crowley? Aren’t you– isn’t this sanctified ground?”

“Mm. Yeah. Bit nippy.” The demon hobbled and hopped by him. “Scuse me.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous!” Aziraphale hurried after him, slipping his arms behind the demon’s knees and his arms behind his back and hoisting him off the ground. Crowley yelped and clutched at him, as if he expected to… oh. To Fall. “Oh don’t worry, my dear,” Aziraphale scolded gently. “I’m not as weak as you seem to think.”

He carried the demon back to the edge of the grounds, setting him down on the road by a grassy verge.

“Ohhh.” Crowley sagged in relief. “Ow.” He clutched on Aziraphale’s arm and tilted up one foot then the other. They looked like they were clad in boots, but closer to, Aziraphale could see the patina of scales. “Don’t recommend that. Not without shoes on.”

“What on earth were you thinking, going into a church?” Aziraphale demanded, steadying him.

“Orders,” Crowley replied with a wince as he set his foot back down on the grass. He sat down heavily, stretching out his legs, and pushed back his hood.

“Oh good Lord! Your face!”

Crowley grimaced and lifted a hand to gingerly touch his nose. It was swollen and blistered on both sides. “Yeah. Had a bit of a… run-in with the lad I was sent to tempt. No one mentioned the overzealous little bugger blessed his smithing tools.”

Aziraphale stared at him, then looked over his shoulder in the direction of the church. “I don’t suppose you were there for Dunstan? The monk?”

Crowley blinked slowly. “Ahhh. Yours?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale sat down on the verge beside him. “I don’t know if you’ll remember her, but there was a young lady in Wessex a few decades ago…?”

“Sneeze-girl?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Young Dunstan is her son.”

Crowley made a grumpy sound. “Typical. Should’ve been easy. He’s been double-crossed, beaten up, tossed in a ditch to die, accused of witchcraft and everything. Should be bitter and angry and all the easiest emotions to tempt.”

“And instead, you get one set for sainthood.”

Crowley made a face, shaking his head. “I swear they do this on purpose.”

“What’s that?”

“Sending me after ones who will become all… holy.” He mournfully looked at Aziraphale. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll have the full set by the turn of the millennium.” He heaved a dramatic sigh that – Aziraphale felt – was only a little over the top. “Knowing my bloody luck, at the end of the world, I’ll get the sodding Antichrist.”

“Oh, now you’re being ridiculous,” Aziraphale said gently. “This one is only tapped for sainthood. Hardly a world-changing Messiah or anything.”

“And Yeshua was only meant to be a prophet and look where that got us,” Crowley said. He dug his toes into the grass, wiggling them. “You here for Dunstan as well?”

“A little inspiration,” Aziraphale confirmed with a nod. “He’s a very talented young man.”

Crowley carefully touched the tip of his nose. “Well, he definitely knows his way around a pair of tongs, I’ll give him that.” He was quiet for a moment. “D’you think you’ll be long?”

Aziraphale chuckled, getting back to his feet. “Probably not. As long as I don’t get the same kind of welcome as you, I may even be done before the next bells.” He considered offering Crowley a hand to help him up, then thought about his aching, probably burned feet. “Can you wait here?”

Crowley sprawled back on his elbows in the grass. “Why? What do I get?”

“Only some of the best pre-sacramental wine in the country.”

The demon’s face split in a grin. “Stealing from monks? Angel, I’m shocked.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at him. “It’s not stealing when they give it to you as a gift,” he said. “And anyway, even if I did take it, it’s while on heavenly business. That technically means it could be considered a tithe.”

Crowley snickered. “Yeah,” he said, “keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh…” Aziraphale tried to glare, but from the grin on Crowley’s face, he wasn’t very convincing. “Do be quiet.”

As he turned and stamped back in the direction of St. Mary’s, he heard the demon laughing.

(For the nerds keeping tabs on me, this is St. Dunstan. ie. the Saint for the church in London wot was bombed in 1941 :D)

#fic: crossing paths #good omens #good omens fic #aziraphale #crowley

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sadpeopledancing · 5 years ago

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“I never thought of Nick as cool until my friends said so after he got the school bus with me. No doubt I told them they were way off, but I adored him growing up. My mum says he used to follow me like a shadow, and I did the same to him. In fact my mum, him and me became a little trio. I speak to my dad now and again, but because I didn’t live with him, Nick was the older male example in my life. He didn’t ever discipline me, but there was nothing I felt that I couldn’t share with him. I don’t think he’s ever scared off any potential boyfriends — that’s my mum’s job. In fact, it was my boyfriend Joe who pointed out that Nick is a bit of a father figure to me.

I have great memories of Nick taking me to gigs like the Sugababes and enjoying them even more than I did. Glastonbury was pretty memorable, too. I had my wellies ready for weeks. It was scorching, though, and we stayed in a tepee, dancing the night away to Scissor Sisters in the Block9 area wearing fake moustaches. It ruined festivals for me. Friends will invite me to V Fest and I get there and think, “Is this it?”

Sometimes I’m baffled that people want pictures with him, as if he were Barack Obama. I hope I’ve never embarrassed him, although I bet I’ve come close — like meeting Princess Eugenie at an event and not being able to shake her hand because I was carrying three pints of cider, or having a chat with Chris Martin without having a clue who he was.

I don’t tell people that I’m related to Nick. Why would I? I have another uncle who works for Virgin Trains, and I wouldn’t tell people that either.

I’m very proud of him. He works hard. He hasn’t changed since moving to London, thank God. We bicker, but we’re also honest — the whole family is. It’s not Christmas Day until we’ve had a row, usually about roast potatoes, but it comes from a place of love. I still get excited when he’s coming home. I’ll pick him up from the station in what he calls “Trollie’s taxi”. There are times when he’ll come back saying, “Oh, I’m not eating carbohydrates,” and I just tell him to shut up. He’ll be the one suggesting we go for McDonald’s next time. That’s Nick.

I know he’ll always be there for me. And if I don’t get to speak to him, I just put [Drivetime] on the radio after work. His voice will always feel like home.”

Strange habits: “He can’t stick to a plan. Ever. He’s always on time for work, but the rest of the time he’s useless. He’s always trying to fit too many things or people in.”

- Liv about Nick for The Sunday Times Magazine

#nick grimshaw #liv grimshaw #the sunday times #that last bit really had me at 4 am 🤧💖

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onhirel · 6 years ago

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A Chance Meeting

“Pfft. Look at those preppy girls.”

Sucy’s voice was dryly cutting, and Amanda looked up from the display of instant noodles at the supermarket at her friend...well, more accurately, her acquaintance. Sucy still scared her after the frog incident in biology, and she just wasn’t certain what Akko saw in the other girl. But, be that as it may, Sucy was part of their clique at school, and the six of them had decided to pick up some snacks and stuff at the store after school. “Preppy girls?” Amanda asked absently as her attention returned to the noodles. She was trying to decide on whether to get the big box of chicken flavored noodles, or splurge and get the individual packets and go for a variety of flavors like oriental and shrimp. Funny, though. She knew most of the preppy girls that went to their school, and couldn’t care less about them. Kinda surprising that Sucy would even mention them...

“Yeah, looks like they go to that prep school over in Blytonbury, that really hard to get into one.”

“You mean Luna Nova?” Amanda asked, hopeful surprise flitting through her as she turned to look down the aisle, but she didn’t see anyone that matched the description.

“...Yeah,” Sucy said as she narrowed her visible eye at Amanda. “Kinda weird to see you excited about them,” she said, and then grinned evilly. “You wanna prank them?”

Amanda hesitated. She hadn’t really mentioned Hannah to her friends, despite texting Hannah pretty regularly since they met at the fair. She had grown to appreciate the other girl’s sharp wit, and was very quickly considering her a long distance friend. Well...not really long distance, per se, she was only thirty minutes away, but they hadn’t had the chance to meet face-to-face since that night in the fair. It would be awesome if she were here at the store. Wouldn’t that be a coincidence!

Then she blinked, reality crashing down around her. It would be a coincidence for Hannah to have made the trip to Glastonbury just to happen to be at the store at the same time as her. It was almost a mathematical impossibility. And if some stuck up Luna Nova kids were hanging out in the store, then why not prank them? “Alright,” she said, a mischievous grin taking to her face. “Let’s go find the others.”

Five minutes later found them huddled with Cons, Jasminka, Akko, and Lotte as they explained their plan to prank the Luna Nova students. Lotte looked worried and slightly disapproving, but that was pretty normal for her. Cons looked...well, like Cons, dour and stern, and Jasminka was still smiling like she always was as she ate from a bag of salt and vinegar chips. No, it was Akko who was obviously the most excited about the idea of pranking the preppy girls from Luna Nova.

“What do you think, the bait and switch?” she asked, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, and Amanda grinned.

“Sounds about right. How about...condoms and lube?”

Then Sucy piped up, face decidedly evil. “And a cucumber...and like, the biggest zucchini you can find,” she said, and Jas nodded before making her way over to the produce section.

“Guys, I don’t know if this is a great idea,” Lotte cautioned, and Amanda scoffed as she waved a dismissive hand.

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s just embarrassing, no one’s gonna get hurt. You and Cons keep an eye on the targets, Akko and I will go get the condoms and lube.

Lotte just sighed heavily and nodded begrudgingly. “Fiiiine.”

It didn’t take very long after that, and soon she, Akko, and Jas were peering around the corner of one of the aisles at the four girls wearing the Luna Nova uniform, looking over various bags of chips and the like, and Amanda grinned wolfishly. Perfect! Then she blinked as she realized that one of them looked familiar, and it took her a moment to place her. That’s right! She was the dark haired girl who was with Hannah at the fair. Amanda felt annoyance prickle across her at that. Figures that she would show up and not Hannah! At least the other girl from that night wasn’t here, and she didn’t recognize the other three girls at all. Alright, now, how to distract them without them catching on that something was up...

“Amanda, is that you?”

She just barely bit back a startled yelp as she jumped, and the boxes of condoms (and not the standard, lame ones, she went all out for this...ribbed, studded, pretty much the most exotic of the selection they had at the store) fell out of her arms, clattering on the floor. She spun, heart pounding, but then froze as she recognized the sight of Hannah.

Oh.

Oh my.

It...it wasn’t fair for her to look like that! The baggy hoodie at the fair had hidden most of her physique, but the Luna Nova uniform that was cut to her form did no such thing, and Amanda almost started to drool at Hannah’s broad shoulders and very well muscled arms. Okay, looking like that? She could totally believe that she was the champ wrestler at Luna Nova. Okay, down girl, you might still be able to do the prank.

But then Hannah’s eyes flitted down to the floor where the boxes of condoms lay scattered, and then to the lube that Akko was holding and the *ahem* phallic vegetables that Jas had. “What are you doing?” she asked, voice obviously confused as she peered down the aisle and towards her friends.

“I...well, you see...we were just...” Amanda stammered, glancing at her friends, who seemed transfixed by Hannah’s appearance. And why wouldn’t they? Because dayum! No, wait, down girl! Stay focused!

Hannah frowned slightly. “Are you...trying to prank my friends?” she asked, and Amanda flushed. She was generally good enough at this sort of thing to not get caught so obviously red handed. Grimacing, she gave a short, terse nod, and tried to brace herself for the disappointed scolding that was sure to follow. But then, to her surprise, Hannah grinned as she crouched down to pick up the condom boxes. “Alright, I’m in. Here,” she said as she handed Amanda back the boxes.

“What?” Amanda asked, almost dumbly.

Hannah rolled her eyes, a smile still on her lips. “Your prank. I’m in on it. It’ll be funny. Now, I’ll go up and put these bags of chex mix in the cart and distract the others. Once Babs, Avery, Mary, and Blair have their attention on me, you guys come up and put your stuff in the cart. Think you can quietly get them underneath the bags of mix?”

Was this actually happening? Was Hannah, who had absolutely no right looking that hot, btw, really going to help them prank her friends? “Uh, yeah, we should be able to...”

Hannah grinned, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Perfect! Alright, you ready?”

The next few minutes were spent in heart-pounding excitement. True to her word, Hannah went first and dropped her stuff into the half full shopping cart before directing the attention of her friends at some of the other products on the aisle’s shelves, and the three of them quickly and quietly made their way to the cart. Heart pounding with the fear of getting caught, Amanda was nonetheless able to silently lift the bags of chex mix, allowing them to deposit their cargo into the cart. A quick glance up revealed the other four Luna Nova students with their backs still to them and Hannah smirking slightly as she debated the merits of sour cream and onion chips versus salt and vinegar. Mission success!

They wrapped their shopping up after that, wanting to get done ahead of the Luna Nova students. They managed it, and were waiting in the area just past the registers as the preppy students started to get their items scanned. You could almost count down to the moment when the contraband was revealed, and Amanda had to bite her cheek to keep from howling with laughter at the first horrified screech that the black haired girl from the fair let out when she comprehended exactly what lay beneath the chex mix. She whirled on her stocky, auburn haired friend with an indignant: “Hannah!”

For her part, Hannah was able to maintain a look of innocence as the others timidly plucked the offending items out, their faces bright red. “What? It wasn’t me! I mean, come on, it’s hilarious, but I never had the chance to, and you know it!”

Amanda had to turn away at the point. “Come on, girls, let’s go,” she urged, eager to get away so that they could all laugh properly. So Hannah was apparently the prankster of the group. God, could she be anymore perfect?

They were in the parking lot, all piling into the station wagon that Akko’s mom let them use when she heard her name being shouted, and she turned to see Hannah waving at her excitedly. Quirking a brow, she glanced at her friends who were watching her with curious eyes, and she realized she’d have to explain just who Hannah was now. But Akko grinned before making a shooing motion with her hands.

Shrugging, she jogged over to where the Luna Nova girls were standing around a big and very expensive looking SUV. “See?” Hannah was saying to the black-haired girl from the fair, “I told you I saw Amanda, Barbara.”

Barbara was watching her with narrowed, suspicious eyes, a residual blush still on her cheeks. “What a coincidence,” she muttered dryly.

Thankfully, three years in the drama club served Amanda well in this situation. “Hannah?” she asked, the picture of confused innocence. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Blytonbury, what brings you out to our little town?”

Hannah grinned. “Oh, nothing much, just having a house party with an acquaintance who lives out this way,” she said, and for a moment, Amanda’s blood ran cold.

“Oh? Who’s that?”

“Frank Casterly,” she replied, and Amanda almost let out a sigh of relief. Oh, good, the Casterly family. They adamantly refused to get involved with her brother’s, ah, business, and were all of them fairly clean cut.

“Oh, that’s cool,” Amanda said, nonchalantly stuffing her hands into her pockets. Then a thought suddenly struck her. “Oh! Hey! What are you guys doing in a couple of weeks?” she asked, barely able to keep her excitement at bay.

“What, like, in the beginning of October?” Barbara asked.

“Yeah! See, our high school’s drama department puts on a haunted maze every year at the fairgrounds for a grade. We have a lot of fun doing it, and we’ve even been regularly rated as one of the scariest haunted mazes in the entire state!” she boasted, puffing out her chest proudly. “It’s the last year for a lot of us, and so we’re going to go all out this year! I figured, why not invite you and anyone you want to bring along?”

Barbara looked unsure. “I don’t know, it doesn’t seem like something that Diana would be too interested in...”

Hannah, however, looked really interested. “Oh, come on, you know how she keeps saying she doesn’t get scared at anything. Horror movies don’t even phase her. I wanna see how she reacts to something like this!”

Barbara sighed heavily. “Fine, if we must...”

“Awesome!” Hannah crowed with a victorious arm pump before she turned to Amanda with a wide grin. “We’ll be there! Send me the details in a text, and I’ll let you know when we’ll be coming.”

Oh, the lead up was too perfect to ignore. “With the items in your cart, that won’t be the only coming you’ll be doing,” she said with a racy grin, and Barbara and the others stared at her for a moment, not understanding...and then Barbara blinked, a look of outrage on her face.

“YOU!”

Amanda was still cackling after she made the short sprint to the station wagon, insults and threats hurled at her back. And even as her friends questioned her on how she knew one of the Luna Nova girls, her mind was racing, half formed plans whirling about.

Hannah was going to be coming to the haunted maze. They would have to go all out this year!

#hamanda #amanda o'neill #hannah england #lwa #Little Witch Academia #non-magical au #autumn #Fair Verse #another cute thing #why do i do this to myself #got a whole plot for this figured out #buckle in kids

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