#across the barricade

[mostlysitcoms]

Gerry: Just so I'm clear, are you saying that the British government dub the voice of Gerry Adams because it's too sexy?

Grandad Joe: It's like a fine whiskey. *Leans in* And I have that on good authority, boy.

Derry Girls. "Across the Barricade".

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

4K [kpop group] FANCAM [hit song with fast choreo] [member] focus:

[daisyjewels]

My barricade day project! Necklace inspired by the death of Enjolras, one red bead for every bullet <3

"This smile was not ended when the report resounded. Enjolras, pierced by eight bullets, remained leaning against the wall, as though the balls had nailed him there. Only, his head was bowed." (LM 5.1.23)

[leefi]

just completed my final american rite of passage by experiencing my first ever shooting and when I tell you this dumbass fired off 20 shots (I counted) at the man he wanted to kill and only managed to hit him in the thigh. Not even getting the artery. never experienced so much second hand embarrassment for a person in my life

[thepiecesofcait]

So about five weeks out from opening we had our OG Grantaire experience some Life Stuff that meant they were unable to continue in a role with solos (we kept them on as Mabeuf!) and, seeing as we had already cast everyone else comfortable singing by themself between our dual cast leads, it didn't take too much convincing for me to jump into my favourite character's role.

Grantaire is no where near my range, and I stress-sang this solo about 30 times each night before curtains up, but it's mine and I'm so fond, and I did not at all realise how visible the talk with Enjolras up the back of the stage was but that hair-flip makes me cackle and one day I WILL animate it.

Shout out to this scene being responsible for my mom asking me - after we watched this footage for the first time with the cast - exactly what the relationship between Grantaire and Enjolras was. Such a great conversation that didn't at all have me praying for a localised asteroid touch down.

[jomiddlemarch]

Let’s stop all the clocks

“Erin? Erin Quinn?” 

Erin looked up from the book in her lap. It should have been one for one of her classes, but she’d decided to give herself a break and read the absolute trash Michelle had been going on about in the long phone calls that cut into Erin’s coffee budget. It was a quick read, she’d give it that, but she didn’t actually want anyone who knew her full name to have any idea she’d wasted even a second of her time on it and she tried to tuck it under a fold of the saggy, oversized cardigan she’d put on without thinking twice as she ran out the door. She’d been late, as per usual Mammy would say, and she’d consoled herself with the anonymity of train travel in a major metropolitan center. It wasn’t Derry. She’d not meet anyone who recognized her from Adam, as one of her lecturers had said, an idiom she’d not heard before but suspected Sister Michael would have adored.

She tried to place the man, who spoke with the same faded accent she had herself, though a little more posh. He looked like a generic example of thirty-year-old man, nondescript brown hair with no sign of a receding hairline, a bit of scruff around the jaw, broad shoulders, the usual American uniform of jeans and some themed sweatshirt, a bit ratty around the cuffs, not sharp in the least. She had no idea who he was, but anyone would admit he was entirely forgettable.

She, evidently, was not, as he knew her well enough to identify her with her head down, her hair bundled back with an elastic, wearing the glasses that had rapidly become more than an aesthetic choice for someone scaling the heights of academe. She’d said that once to Mammy, just so her mother would reply Catch yerself on in her most exasperated manner. 

“That’s me,” she said, trying to sound impersonally polite and not guarded.

“You don’t remember me. Not at all,” he said. Grinned. His eyes were blue and he was more handsome than she’d thought. It was the smile and the complete lack of being insulted that she hadn’t a clue who he was that made him appealing. And the blue eyes. His hands were nice too. 

“M’sorry, no,” she said.

“Dee. From Peace Across the Barricades,” he said. “Dee Foster.”

All Erin could remember was Clare screaming her head off, convinced the deaf boy was going to murder her in front of them all. And James clumping about in those pink waterproof trousers, calling himself a lad when he was the least laddish boy who’d ever lived.

“You gave me an Ulster Bank key-chain and some Rolo as a gift?” he said. “I think there was also a pencil.”

It came back to her in a flash. Maybe like the one people said you had before you died.

“Oh my God, Dee! Dee Foster!” She repeated his surname, as if she’d ever known it, as if she’d remembered him quite well in a fond, old-timey fashion, and not as the boy she’d made the most gauche pass at, trying to stick out her unremarkable boobs and cock her head to one side while he’d gawked at her in astonishment.

“You’re looking well, Erin,” he said, still smiling.

“Did you even like Rolo?” Erin heard herself ask, the most absolutely stupid question she could have come up with. Michelle’s eyes would have rolled right out of her head at it, if she could manage to keep them open. A set of twins ten months after her wedding had nearly done her in, even when the boys started taking a nap outside of the enormous double-pram that had become her latest and worst enemy.

“They’re all right, yeah? I prefer a Mars bar, if I have the choice,” he said. 

“Rolo are nice though,” Erin said. “If you like a caramel center, there’s none better.”

She suddenly heard how she was related to Colm. Any minute now, Dee would make an excuse to flee and she would not be able to blame him.

“Yeah. It’s a funny thing, seeing you here,” he remarked. He leaned back more in the plastic seat. It seemed fleeing was not the the top of his list.

“They say it’s a small world,” she replied. “Doesn’t seem that way on the subway, all crammed together, all sorts—”

“No, not like home and that was a small place,” he said.

“Small in some ways, miles apart in others,” she said. There was a long pause, a sort of companionable one where she was able to recall she had indeed put on some blush and a bit of mascara before she’d left the flat. Apartment, they called it here, though her American friends were always terribly charmed when she spoke as she would have at home. They found it quaint, she knew that, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t the most likable person, so she had to play the cards she had been dealt. Being the winsome and quirky Irish lass had gotten her this far…

“I regretted it, after,” he said.

“You regretted Peace Across the Barricades?” Erin said. “It fell far short of what he wanted, Father Peter, but it was well-meant even if he was rather full of himself—”

“I regretted turning you down, when you wanted to make out. When you asked and told me you hadn’t any moves,” he said. “You were wearing plaid pajamas and a choker necklace.”

She blushed as she hadn’t for a solid decade. 

“I shouldn’t have, it’s so embarrassing—”

“I said I regretted it, saying no. Even if you didn’t really know me,” he said. “You were so shy and also, what brass, to make such a proposition.”

“Michelle said you were a ride,” Erin offered.

“Christ, it takes me home to hear that,” he laughed. “Flattered, too, mind you.”

“I should’ve tried to get to know you. Not treated you like a, like a piece of meat. I’m sorry for that,” she said.

“I’m not,” he said.

“No?”

This was the oddest conversation she could recall and she spoke to Orla nearly every week.

“If you’d been more polite then, more considerate, there’d been nothing to talk about now. I wouldn’t have blurted out your name in a train station waiting room because I wanted to talk to you again. To see that smile of yours,” he said. “Make you blush.”

“You’re quite the charmer,” Erin replied. She blushed harder, if that was even a thing.

“You’ve been too long among the Americans, Erin,” he replied. “This is just Londonderry—”

“Derry,” she interrupted.

“Just so,” he said. “I wished I’d gone over to you, when our parents were all there, arguing. I wished I’d gone over and said something, anything, you wanted to answer. Given you the last Rolo, maybe. Taken the chalk from your hand and written something else on that board. Something you’d have remembered me by.”

“You wished it, eh? Past tense?” she said. She could never leave well enough alone and not everyone cared for her endless monologues about the niceties of the English language. She’d have taken the words back if she could.

“Present tense as well,” Dee said. “Where are you off to?”

“Back up to Boston,” she said. She felt the urge to explain what she did there, her studies and such, and clamped her mouth shut. He hadn’t asked and there was a runaway train taken over her tongue, God knows what she’d come out with if she allowed herself the leeway.

“Isn’t that lucky? I’m headed up there myself,” he said. 

“Luckier they don’t assign seats on this train,” she said. Fuck it, this was a chance she had to take. “If you wanted to maybe make that old wish come true—”

She broke off because he’d suddenly stood up. He was tall, had probably grown more after she’d last seen him, and she had to crane her neck to see his face.

“Or not. You probably have other things to do, work or something,” she said, trying to claw back any shred of self-respect. Her pride was long, long gone.

“I was only going to get some snacks for the trip,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the nearest shop with its racks of sweets and bottles of water, juice, all the brightly colored health drinks full of chemicals she could never stomach, though they were said to be good for a hangover.

“Oh, all right then,” she said.

He came back with a plastic bag filled with terrible American chocolate and more satisfying packets of crisps, Cokes, those weird cheese-filled pretzels she couldn’t ever get enough of even though they were inarguably rather disgusting.

“I got some Rolo for old time’s sake,” Dee said, then fished out a little plastic square and held it out to her. It said I love NY but the love was a red heart. “And a keychain. This is my move, Erin Quinn. I hope it’s good enough.”

After they’d moved back to Belfast, she kept her housekeys on it, the letters obscured by the scratches on the plastic, the red heart clear. They gave Rolo as a wedding favor, to the bafflement of their parents, and the knowing looks of Michelle, Clare and James. Orla had only nodded sagely and Dee knew well enough by then not to inquire what she was thinking.

@asteraceae-blue I decided to post this one first because it's a sunny Saturday morning here and that felt like rom-com energy, not angst

[dreamings-free]

By Lars Brandle | 26/10/23

As a member of One Direction and solo artist, Louis Tomlinson has seen more tears and wailing than a veteran midwife. Sometimes, that hysteria shifts into overdrive, with gripping, shirt-ripping and knocks to the body.

The British pop singer is used to wearing bruises as badges, the result of close encounters with overeager fans, he tells Australia’s commercial radio network Nova.

Leaning into the pit, “it’s by far my favorite part of the show,” he shares with Nova host Smallzy. “The minute you walk out to stage you feel that adrenaline. But literally the closer you get to the crowd, the more of that adrenaline you feel and by the end of the show, yeah I get down in the pit and just kind of immerse myself. And that feeling is absolutely amazing.”

There’s a line, he admits. And it’s sometimes crossed. “I kind of like getting in there and it feeling a little bit rough. I like that. That’s part of it. When they start ripping the clothes off me, it gets a little bit on top, you know? But yeah, is what it is.”

Zooming in from a rainy Berlin, one stop on his current European tour, Tomlinson reveals he’s “got a fat bruise on the back of the arm from the from the other night,” all because “some girl got me in the grip.”

Tomlinson also discusses his star turn in the feature-length documentary, All of Those Voices, which dropped on Paramount + earlier this month. There’s times in the life of a pop star “when it’s been incredibly liberating and times when it’s been tough as well. I’m hoping it gives an honest portrayal of that,” he explains. Was anything cut from the final edit? “Maybe some bad banter or shit jokes,” he quips.

The former 1D star also answers a smattering of fan questions — does he read DMs from randoms (occasionally), will there be a live album or new rock version of “Back to You” (no comment, but he does hint at something in the works), and the song he’s most proud of (“Saturdays.” There’s “something about it live, it feels special”).

[ embedded instagram post ]

Tomlinson’s tour reaches home soil next month for a run of U.K. and Ireland arena shows, in support of Faith In The Future, his second solo album.

Faith In The Future debuted at No. 1 on the Official U.K. Albums Chart last November, for his first solo leader and fifth including his work as a member of One Direction. In the United States, Faith In The Future debuted at No. 2 on Billboard’s Top Album Sales, and at No. 5 on the all-genre Billboard 200, his highest-charting set yet on both tallies.

[librarycard]

what if you wanted to be geoff ricklys best friend but geoff rickly said i am the lead singer of american rock band thursday

[thelastattempt]

Trying to criticise Louis for a fan’s misbehaviour is low. Most fans are respectful. They touch but don’t go too far. The kind of people who sexualise barricade moments are really creepy to me. It says a lot on how they think about touch and connection. Many artists like to get close to their fans, they crowd surf, I see it fairly regularly at small gigs with alternative artists. I remember a couple of years ago, Beyoncé jumped onto her crowd and crowd surfed. It was a beautiful and iconic moment and fans were hopefully respectful and didn’t touch where they shouldn’t. It is an act of trust and when fans cross that boundary, it is not on the artist. That fan who bragged about gripping Louis’ neck and seemed to make Louis actually have to grasp for breath, that was wrong. Louis’ security got her hand away from Louis’ neck pretty quickly. The next show, Louis kept his head and neck a bit higher and security were extra vigilant about fans getting too close to Louis’ neck. So clearly that was a bit far. When a fan sexually assaulted Louis by touching his dick, that was wrong, that was crossing a boundary and he said it was too far, a bit weird as a way to address that it was too far. Louis going to barricade isn’t an invitation to assault him. As I said, most fans are respectful and Louis trusts his fans and enjoys the connection and emotion in being around people he trusts. Fans should know better and most do

‘Louis going to barricade isn’t an invitation to assault him.’ Absolutely, 100% agree.

I do think it’s also an important point to remember that a lot of artists go to barricade or have some sort of crowd interactions, you’re right anon. The Hives did it just last night.

And that ultimately, if lines are crossed then these barricade moments will simply stop. As they should in those circumstance.

[daisychainsandbowties]

have decided that shannon’s nickname for lilith is ‘doom and gloom’

[mostlysitcoms]

Philip: Catholics really buzz off statues and we don't so much.

Sister Michael: I do enjoy a good statue, it has to be said.

Derry Girls. "Across the Barricade".

[werewolfetone]

Watching this episode of Derry Girls like I will not overshare about my personal life on the internet I will not overshare about my personal life on the internet I will not overshare about my personal life on the internet I will not overshare about my personal life on the internet I w

[thissying]

.

[doyelikehaggis]

Derry Girls | James Maguire/Jon | 3.7k words

After some well-needed advice from Claire, James goes after Jon when he escapes to the bathroom, and they have a real talk. No fake “lad” act, no talk of birds or beer. Heart-to-heart… Lips-to-lips.

[wlwgif]

DERRY GIRLS (2018-2022) 2.01 Across the Barricade

[3liza]

Trixie Mattel is right, getting to know your neighbors is the best inoculation against being annoyed by their noise. it only works up to a certain point, but for just regular footsteps or the occasional bass leaking through or a party once in a while, the anonymous Fucking Neighbors are people i will kill for doing their laundry at 10:14pm, but Steven and Ray who live upstairs and sometimes have to jog across their hardwood at 8:39am because they forgot to pick up their Clif bar before they put on their shoes for work are my good pals and i look forward to barricading the building together during the financial collapse.