#barmy art time

[barmy-demon]

They “kissed”

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday Scottish actor Richard Madden born June 18th 1986 in Elderslie.

Richard was raised by his mother, Pat, a classroom assistant and his father, Richard, who worked for the fire service. He also has two sisters, Cara and Lauren.

His parents were “hippies”, he says, and their house was pretty open, with friends always piling in for big vegetarian meals. Madden spent a lot of time outside, in the woods behind their house. He has several injuries: he shows me where he shot his dad’s old air pistol and blew off part of his finger, then managed to wreck the same finger when he nailed a wooden plank to his skateboard, then crashed it, so apart from the Hippie parents it was much like most of our own days as bairns.

Despite growing up wanting to be an actor, Richard was very shy during his childhood. To overcome this, at age 11, he joined Paisley Arts Centre’s youth theatre program. In 1999 he was given the lead role as Sebastian Simpkins in BBC1’s children’s TV comedy series Barmy Aunt Boomerang, that’s him aged 12 in the first pic with co-star Toyah Wilcox.. By 2000, he’d made his feature film debut in the Iain Banks adaptation, Complicity.

After high school he was accepted to the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow, Scotland and in 2007, he graduated.

Less than two years later, Richard had a recurring role as Dean McKenzie on the 2009 BBC series Hope Springs. Soon after, he landed the role of Ripley in the 2010 movie Chatroom, a film about a group of teenagers who encourage each other’s bad behaviours after meeting online. In the same year, Richard played punk band Theatre of Hate singer Kirk Brandon in Worried About the Boy, a TV film about the life of British singer-songwriter Boy George.

In 2011 Richard landed his breakthrough role as Robb Stark in the HBO fantasy-drama series Game of Thrones. Also in 2011, he played gay paramedic Ashley Greenwick on the short-lived British comedy-drama Sirens. During hiatus from filming Game of Thrones in 2013, Richard was cast to star as Prince Charming in the 2015 Disney film Cinderella.

Richard won his first Screen Actors Guild award in 2014 for the Discovery Channel mini-series, Klondike. He played Bill Haskell, one of two adventurers who travel to Yukon, Canada during the Klondike Gold Rush in the 1890s. He further enhanced his reputation as a good actor when he appeared in the BBC drama Bodyguard in 2018, the following year he played Lieutenant Joseph Blake in the film 2017 and was Elton John’s manager/lover in the biop of the star Rocketman.

In January 2019 Madden won a prestigious Golden Globe for his role as war veteran David Budd in the BBC show Bodyguard. He also appeared in the 2019 war movie 1917.

We last saw Richard in the movie, Eternals, which was okay, but nothing great, he is one of several actors being touted as the next James Bond,

Last year Richard starred in the Amazon Prime series Citadel, I've watcheit and was not really impressed with it,I think he does pull of the American accent well, but I noticed there have been people saying he doesnt, Madden revealed he spoke in the accent for two years straight to prepare for the series. The show has been earmarked for a second series. Richard is set to appear in the feature film Killer Heat next, it is in post production.

In July 2019, Madden received an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. When asked about his personal life during a New York Times interview following speculation about his relationships and sexuality, Madden stated: “I just keep my personal life personal.”

Madden was recently named one of ‘Scotland’s Sexiest Men' following a new study that identifies the most attractive features for men, he has competition though, also in the running are Bathgate’s David Tennant and Glasgow’s James McAvoy,

Richard, quizzed on what he would like to do next he sad “I’d like to do something in comedy. It’s nice to not… I mean we go to work every day and we’re like, ‘You’re gonna die today,’” he said, adding that he wanted to “do something fun for a minute.”

[dreamy625]

Overture and beginners - chapter 5

< Chapter 4

Words: 1412

Content: Very slightly smutty

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

“Pssst.”

Steve looked around warily, “Hello?”

“Over here, behind the van.”

Recognising the voice, he checked hastily over his shoulder before ducking behind the rusty old Transit. “What are you doing here? Your dad’s just inside you know.”

“He won’t see us here. Look what I got!” She waved a small cardboard box at him. When he just blinked in incomprehension, she pulled out the foil strip inside and showed him the side with the days of the week printed on it. Steve might be fairly innocent in the ways of women, but even he knew what that was. 

“Put them away!” he hissed. “Someone might see.”

Katie put the packet back in her handbag. “So what do you think?” she asked, suddenly uncertain, worried that she had gone a bit too fast.

“I think you’re very brave,” said Steve seriously, “to go into one of those clinics.”

“Oh, that was fine. I’ve been before, with other people. Other people who should have gone earlier,” she added with a wince. “That’s why I know it’s important.” Noticing that her boyfriend still looked rather bunny-in-headlights, she rushed on, “No pressure… just so we don’t have to be worried… and to be prepared… for when, if...”

Steve’s anxious expression cracked into a soft smile, “You are amazing. And just so you know,” he looked down, suddenly finding the pavement fascinating, “I, er, did go to the chemist, so it’s not all on you.”

She could imagine exactly how embarrassed that little errand would have made him and couldn’t help smiling a dopey smile at him. Glancing up, he smiled back.

“I would kiss you if I wasn’t so scared of someone seeing,” he whispered.

“I’ll imagine it.” She closed her eyes for a second and puckered her lips, “Mmm.”

Steve snorted, “You’re barmy, you!”

“Just a little bit.” She started walking backwards away from him - “See you Saturday.” - then turned and ran up the street.

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

Saturday afternoon found them once again, taking advantage of the elder Raffertys’ fortnightly visit to Great Aunt Margaret in Barnsley, rolling in the sheets of Katie’s yellow-frilled single bed. With Steve’s shifts and numerous band practices, and Katie’s need to conceal the existence of a boyfriend that her father had such a strong aversion to, they’d only managed to see each other for a chaste few hours at the City’s art gallery in the intervening two weeks, so when finally alone they’d wasted no time, peeling off clothing the second they got through the door and down to their underwear by the time they landed on the mattress in a tangle of limbs. 

“Oh, I have missed you,” muttered Steve into Katie’s neck as he slid his hand up the smooth plane of her back and unclipped her bra.

“I can tell,” she commented cheekily, brushing her hand lightly across the rapidly-growing bulge in his boxer shorts. Caressing his bum, she couldn’t resist giving one of the perfect pert cheeks a little pinch. 

In revenge, the kiss he was about to bestow on her collarbone turned into sucking, hard.

“No marks!” she squealed. “I had to wear a polo neck for three days in a row after last time!”

Her weedy attempts to push him away were useless, so she reached under his arm and tickled him. His surprised ‘Ah!’ broke the suction, but he took the attack as a declaration of war and started to tickle her back - maybe not a fight he should have picked as he turned out to be way more ticklish than she was! However, despite his slight frame, he was stronger and, amid the breathless giggling and wriggling, he managed to tip her onto her back and pin her hands above her head. 

“Do you give in?”

His grip on her wrists was loose and she could have pulled away if she tried, but she didn’t want to. “Okay, I give in… if you kiss me!”

That seemed like a pretty good bargain to Steve.

Building on the success of their previous experiments, they graduated to putting their hands to work on each other simultaneously, the shared sensations adding a new level of intimacy and inching them closer to the eventual goal that they’d both acknowledged with their parallel visits to purveyors of contraception. 

Steve came up for air, “We could… do you want to try…?”

Katie bit her lip, thinking. There were butterflies in her stomach, but only little ones. She nodded, then reiterated, “Yes, I want to.” Steve smiled in response, but then he seemed to freeze, profound indecision showing on his face. “Do you? Want to?”

“Yes.” He scrunched his eyes up. “No. I mean, yes, but… argh… not now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Do you want to stop?”

“...No…” The conflicting forces of desire and caution could be heard in his voice.

“So…” She’d stilled her hand during that discussion, but not moved it away from its grasp on Steve’s dick, and now she made a tentative half-stroke. “Just hands then?”

“Hands is good. Hands is very good.”

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

After a mutually satisfying conclusion and a quick cleanup, they laid side-by-side with the covers pulled up to their chins in the chilly room. 

“Sorry, I just… not here. I just feel like they’ll know.”

“Aw but they’re out, they’ll be gone for hours yet.”

“I can’t shake the what-ifs. What if they come home early, what if someone heard us through the wall or… I dunno… psychic parent vibes or something.”

He was smiling so she felt it was okay to laugh, “You are silly.” She lifted herself on one elbow so she could see him better. “Is it so different from what we just did anyway? And would it really matter if they did find out? I’m eighteen after all…”

“YES! Your dad will actually kill me!”

“Oh come on, you’re exaggerating.”

“He said he’d break both my legs AND both my arms! I’m not so worried about the legs, but I need my arms for playing.”

“But how would he know, psychic vibes aside? I’m certainly not going to tell him.”

“Because,” he said, pulling her down into his arms, “if we do this, I won’t be able to wipe the grin off my stupid face for at least a week afterwards. Everyone will know!”

“You are funny,” she murmured, nestling her face against his neck.

“Hilarious. Now, it’s nearly tea time, so I’d better go. Just in case.”

Reluctantly she let go and sat up, feeling around the bed for discarded items of clothing. Steve stood up and pulled on his jeans.

“My parents are doing the quiz at the Admiral Rodney next Saturday evening. I can skive practice just this once, Kev’ll be out with his girlfriend, and I can bribe Chris to go to the pictures. We could have the place to ourselves? If you want?”

"I'd like that,” she said, tossing Steve his t-shirt.

As they were saying goodbye on the doorstop, Katie’s face suddenly registered alarm. “Get down!” she hissed, dropping into a crouch.

“Shit! Not your parents?” He looked genuinely terrified. 

“No, but Mrs Craddock from next door just came out her front door. Her and Mam are friends, and she’s a terrible gossip.” She craned her neck to get a better look. “Damn, she’s holding secateurs, like she’s going to do gardening or something.”

“What are we going to do?” Steve mouthed, still wide-eyed.

“She might be out there for ages… you’re going to have to crawl. If you stay close to the hedge, she won’t be able to see you. Wait for my signal when you get to the gateway, I’ll distract her, and then you run, okay?”

It seemed risky, but he couldn’t think of anything better, so he nodded. 

“Good luck,” she whispered, and Steve raised his hand in a salute.

He made his way slowly around the garden on hands and knees, smothering a yelp when he put his hand down on a slug.

“Oh my life is not at all ridiculous,” he thought as he squatted behind the gate waiting for the all-clear.

“Well HELLO Mrs Craddock, hasn’t it been a LOVELY day?” greeted Katie loudly.

“It rained, dear,” came the slightly puzzled response. 

But it did the trick, she turned away from her pruning to face her meteorologically-challenged neighbour. Katie raised her thumb behind her back and Steve sidled crablike around the gatepost and made a break for it.

Chapter 6 (final chapter) >

[freakingoutthesquares]

Sounds, 8 March 1986 Words: John Wilde, Photographer: Jayne Houghton Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

Meet the "new hard centre" in indie pop's choc box. John Wilde finds that Pulp have grown on him.

Pulp, neither putty nor pretty, meet Sheffield's steely stone gaze with a prickly, lawless grin or two. Defying, denying the commandment that equates Sheffield pop vultures with a stinging, heart-attack splutter... Pulp, some kind of self-made Christs, seem solitary and even freakish besides. Oddballs or oracles? Let's see.

Voice Jarvis Cocker, either the Alex Chilton or the Bamber Gascoigne of the new pop, first rallied his troops together over ten years ago, "Inspired more by The Sex Pistols than Jethro Tull" and intent on being "the Finnegan's Wake of post-punk". After more lulls than lunges, here they are. Last year's 'It' album dribbled out on Red Rhino, oblivious to the uncaring skies and hampered on its way by bitter Simon And Garfunkel comparisons. Musically too cautious and lyrically self-conscious, it mostly choked on the vitriol.

Then last month's 'Little Girl (With Blue Eyes) And Other Pieces' appeared; Pulp with a rocket up their arse and a racket in their hearts. A regenerated, most degenerated Pulp, swapping a casual canter for a scurvy disrespect. "A new hard centre," as guitar/violin Russell Senior quaintly puts it, staring into his mug of gin.

The EP's strange but endearing conceits have been swamped by the fussy over-concern towards its more, er, fleshy areas. There's a wry point buried someplace within the lust-lorn 'Little Girl (With Blue Eyes)' - 'There's a hole in your heart, and one between your legs. You've never had to wonder which one he's going to fill' - which has had their dissenters waving copies of Spare Rib and generally missing the seething satire of the line. Then there's (gulp) 'The Will To Power', a sturdy crack across the rib-cage of fascists and scumbags all: 'The only choice, the only voice in the darkness. 1933, where are you now, where are the broken bottles... where's truth and beauty?'

"We're not actually real-life fascists at all," states Russell with a sandpaper-dry smile and a swift shine of his NUM button. 'Little Girl', meanwhile, is as much a pure love song as 'Baby I Love You' or 'Baby Love'. This is what Jarvis tells me.

Whatever, this year's Pulp is a different kettle of spiders to last year's Pulp or the Pulp that have been lazing about in Jarvis Cocker's head for the last ten years. Just one year ago, I saw them in London, displaying all the hesitancy and spineless inhibition of 'It'. All that saved them was their apparent unsoundness of (collective) mind and their ragbag appearance, a look recalling the barmy escape party from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest more than anything. Twelve months on, Art Garfunkel is left picking the pubes from his teeth the morning after and Pulp turn into a monster, sort of.

This year, they know their onions, a five-sided mess of snide rustlings and furtive fumblings. The Velvet Underground skip behind the bike-sheds for a surreptitious snog with Ted Rodgers, that sort of thing. Violin shrill, guitar grind, drums à la Maureen Tucker, vocal deadpan though often impassioned, full of hemmers and hawers. Like those Velvets, they frisk and skit from 'Sunday Morning' tranquil to 'White Light White Heat' bedlam, a disquieting imbalance but a good one.

... "'It' was our puberty, a document of teenage crushes and talking about ideas when you don't know much about them, loving the idea of love rather than 'it' itself. The LP is almost embarrassing to listen to now for us, but it was accurate for that time. We didn't feel comfortable with all that smoothness. Now, the overall feel is not wafting away on clouds of marshmallows. It's more an underlying feeling of striving or longing for something that isn't quite there. It's more painful now - grabbing, clutching and missing."

Currently confined to a wheelchair following a three-storey fall out of a window ("I thought it was a door" / "I was exorcising a demon" / "Did it for a bet" depending who he's telling), Jarvis is unrelenting. Onstage, while the other four ends of Pulp run amok, nutty as a fruit cake, with this grumbling spire of noise, Jarvis sits there a long way from Val Doonican and 'The Green, Green Grass Of Home'. Limbs twitch, eyeballs bulge and bounce, body snaps in short convulsions. Most interestingly, as the songs persist to their fickle climaxes, Jarvis clutches the chair arm, his hands sliding in time to the clumsy beat, his body wincing and starting, the chair a sex object. Thrilling. But they're not just as sexy as your sister.

Neither wilfully opaque nor bleeding bloody awkward, Pulp are many shades, fitting into the Sheffield brute-funk mosaic not at all. "We are ten times more Sheffield than any of those bands. Just because it's from Sheffield, why does it have to sound like a steel factory? You go to Grimsby, you don't expect fish-slapping, or the noise of trawlers. We stem from our industrial culture more than Chakk or anything like that. We're just not what the current image of Sheffield is supposed to be."

And so what? Pulp are not perfect, but they make most indie pop seem like it has its head packed with cotton. Pulp have only marginally more charisma than Leslie Crowther but have the gall and nerve of a madman. Pulp will barely rise from cultdom, they're too full of nonchalant anarchy for that, but in the small pond... they will be nasty and endure. They'll annoy the living, shitting hell out of you, and you'll rub up to the person next to you because of it. They're haywire and, like The Raincoats or The Mekons, they're better for it. Their songs build and build and, unlike bubbles, they explode and still last.

Jarvis?

"It's like someone once said... as soon as you realise that except for love and art it's all a bucket of shit... well, that's true about us."

Pulp. Nowhere near the bucket.

[khaosophist]

I should befriend that mindflayer...He came to me with respect,and in my abysmal self-confidence, told him I was no scholar. While I had access to the archives before the guild priest. It was wonderful to finally feel like I was a step ahead. I still remember all the promises that priest made to me, and broke...The look on his face when he saw me there transcribing...

I was obsessed with dark elves. So I copied down the map of Nasgaroth, the region they come from. I listed each province. I was all proud I had gotten that knowledge in person. But then, I go to this section that's like a daycare for the LARP, and, carved in wood, is a map of Nasgaroth, the names of provinces written in pencil, worn out by time. The Black River, now seems a black sea. The map I copied was an Imperial Map. The one I saw here, was something else, hidden behind the mundane. Suddenly, everything I worked for was put into doubt. In that doubt I weaved the Idea of Ancient Nasgaroth. Once a great center of the planes in the times before stars were born, where the only light came from the souls of those that took their place in the darkness, and the chaos they weaved. I painted, the process itself like a history unfolding before me, as I saw Auroreal titans create the world through the colours of their souls. They calcified, and through aeons became weeping statues, black ichor falling, and falling, until the world was drowned. With time the Ichor recessed, and corpses became the continent. The chaos roared around the world, and radiated into the flesh of fossilized titans. Life arose. Chaos elves. The city of Zaetch eventually arose, and the Gate crackled to life, and the darkness was now enlightened by the light of chaos. Myriads of species, Star dwellers too, came to trade, and share knowledge. Darkness, blood, and chaos danced to the tune of oblivion. Until the proto-humans gave birth to the sun God. A hateful light for anything inhuman. A tyrannical order. But many prefer order over their own will.

Natives of ancient Nasgaroth survived by fleeing to the onyx mountains of Aman. In the darkness, robbed of Chaos, eradicated by the hegemony of humanity, Chaos began to be forgotten, reduced to disorder, rebellion, foolishness, and narcissism. In ruminations bereft of the primordial soul, chaos elves became dark elves. The corpses drifted. The black sea, becoming a black River. Zaetch almost Forgotten. But, I remember. Chaos has consumed us, and changed us, and revealed this to me through coincidence. But I suspect I'm Barmy.

Speaking of, I had looked for the queen of Nasgaroth, ironically finding that the orphans knew where she dwelt.

I want to thank the orphans for letting me bring them dry wood. I want to thank them for their hospitality even if I'm anything but straightforward. I want to thank them for accepting the motto of the moment we coined: "No Gods, No masters, nor parents!" In french it sounded better "Ni Dieu Ni Maitre, Ni parents!"

I'm also an orphan, something they made me realise. I still have the braid I made.

I hope Sinestra found a story that was more than what the empire made her believe was possible. What are the odds an abomination like me meets the imperial treasurer?

I want to thank Talios for sharing his beliefs about me. The first, that the art exhibits would not have happened if I hadn't posted my art throughout Bicolline a few years prior. Second, one that I don't believe in, is that I am famous in my own way.

I want to thank Carcajou, and the other guy that was with him, for believing in my name, and accepting my gift of a painting.

I want to thank the children for believing in me.

I want to thank coincidence for those full leather "merlin boots" that go up to my calfs. Because I bought them at Merlin's plumoir at $10 dollars, after I saw basic moccasins for $250, of which the maker responded to me after I told them it was over budget: "What did you expect? It's real leather! " Well fucking sorry for being poor, fuck. It was heartbreaking.

I want to thank the people that saw me carry my tower shield full of dry wood for the orphans and helped me.

I want to thank those two weird dudes that came to see me as I was taking wood for the guild fire and asked for something. I only remember a bit, the first question I answered that I served no god, and after they offered money, I told them money was meaningless to me. Man, what WAS that about?

Thank you for the friendship that pizza maker showed me.

I hope someone missed me.

I am Khaonon Chaosheart. Sometimes I feel chosen by chaos, sometimes I don't. But that's how it goes.

Azerath Metrion Zynthos? Lol.

All stars are chaos. (Except the sun God, he's a douche) Also, this is Bag, my goblin homey.

[kcsplace]

10 Questions for 10 Writers

Thank you to @strangethings-everywhere for the tag! Love doing these, especially as I procrastinate!

1. Is writing a hobby or a way of life?

I'd be a dreadful writer, so luckily for all, it's a hobby

2. A journal full of notes or a clean completed manuscript?

So many journals. So, so many. Shelves on shelves on shelves.

3. Who or what inspired your writing?

It's probably a result of my love of books and reading. My dad always read to me, and skipped baby and child books and read me LOTR from literal birth. He figured it was more the sound of his voice than anything that was important so he might as well read something he enjoyed. I often fell asleep quickly and he wouldn't notice so I missed HUGE parts of the books and so when I read the trilogy for myself when I was older, I was very, very confused as to the plot.

4. Which is worse: Someone you ‘idolize’ reading your first draft or listening to you sing?

Reading my first draft. Honestly reading anything I'd written full stop, but even I can't handle how awful my first drafts are. I am an okay singer. Not great, but not awful, plus a song would be over sooner!

5. Has writing from someone else’s POV changed your perspective?

I'd say it's definitely broadened my perspective and forced me to face the odd inconvenient or painful truth, and on occasion even been cathartic

6. Tumblr, AO3, LiveJournal, or FFN?

AO3 for sure. I am old, I started out with websites that don't exist anymore, mailing lists and that nonsense. Then LJ, then AO3. If it's a short, bare bones, silly thing, I might just throw it straight onto Tumblr, but if its longer and actually thought out, it's all AO3 all the time baby

7. AO3 word count? And are you satisfied with it?

846,116! It's decent, especially as about half of that is one fic alone. Which I really need to get out of the "planning and plotting the sequel" stage and into the "actually writing the damn thing."

8. What movie/book gripped you irrevocably?

The Martian as both a book and a movie (even though some movie changes drive me barmy JUSTICE FOR DOCTOR BECK)

9. What’s the highest compliment you could ever be given, and have you been given it?

Either that someone missed out on sleep because they couldn't put it down, or wanting to make art/podfic of a fic. Those two, I will propose to you. I've gotten the first a few times (esp with a long fic I wrote) and then for the same fic someone created gorgeous cover art for it and a "trailer" which floored me

10. What defines your writing style?

Oh God, probably excessively long sentences. Seriously, unnecessarily long sentences. I don't mean to do it, they just happen! Honest!! I've gotten better at catching them and chopping them up, but better isn't good!

[angel-anachronism]

𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬 (series)

Chapter I: The Sparrow

CW: AFAB reader (they/them), nothing! (at least for this chapter, the yandere actions didn't happen yet). Please ignore my rusty writing, I haven't written in so long, but I promise the next chapters will be better written

MASTERLIST

<<Chapter II>>

"Checkmate! I won!" the girl in front of me laughed and clapped her hands. I lazily put the pawn I was holding in my hands down on the table. Chess wasn't exactly my forte, but Olga cheated this time, I swear! 

How did she cheat exactly? I was simply daydreaming, not really paying close attention to the chess pieces. Well...it is practically my fault. But she still used my time to be vulnerable as a way to win! I sighed as I looked out the window at the outside view from the recreation room. I could see the giant garden, where Miss Hoffman would usually make us play croquet and learn the adequacy of a "proper lady" as she would call it. All I think is that this can make someone barmy on the crumpet*.

The redhead in front of me kept giggling as if she earned something wonderful. "Good job, Olga!" was all I could say, with a small smile on my face. Even if I may have lost due to my habit, a win was a win after all. Olga was a friend of mine, not my best friend, but she was indeed a very good friend! I met her on the day I arrived here at this forsaken boarding school, and she showed me nothing but compassion...except for the times when we were competing at various games, but nobody is perfect per se.

Speaking about friends, I looked at the clock. It was a quarter to twelve. I gave Olga a nod as I got up, dusting off my dress.

"I'm sorry to say this, but I'm going in the gardens. Please tell Miss Hoffman that I'm going to take a breath of fresh air and then come back"  I smiled at her. Maybe I can feed the little bird families in the trees while I'm at it, and also meet my secret friend.

Olga gave me a bored look, which made me snicker. She always did this when I told her that I was going somewhere she wasn't interested in. "Again? But what about our four-hour recreation time? You know, time goes slower when you're bored..." 

"Oh, you won't miss me too much, will you? I'm just going outside to admire nature." I giggled. Olga gave a small sigh before smiling at me, looking rather melancholic that I was leaving her. But I wasn't gonna leave her for too long, I was just going to spend this one hour outside.

I quickly went to the coat rack and took my navy bolero that matched my flowy uniform skirt, a black boater hat, decorated with hatpins in the shape of flowers, and my trusty small satchel where I usually stored the book I was reading that moment.

At this point, this has become a daily routine. Wake up at six in the morning, drink a cup of hot water with a squeeze of lemon juice, cleanse my face, wash my teeth, brush my hair, meet my fellow schoolmates, spend four hours learning etiquette, arts and science, and during the 4 hour recreation time, go into the garden and try to look beyond the tall hedges. I just can't help getting curious on the outside of this campus. I always hear small children laughing, young men and women enjoying their time together, and just things that I would probably enjoy if I wasn't stuck in this hell of a school.

As I got to the garden, I was greeted by the cobblestone path and the not-so-friendly-looking statues at the entrance to the building. One of the statues depicted the tall build of the founder of this school, Gus Reinhart. I knew this from all the stories Miss Hoffman told us at the beginning of autumn when we all arrived here. 

Oh, how much I wanted to leave this place. Sadly, I'd have to return home back to Hampshire, where my parents probably eagerly waited for me so I could go into the big world, with all the other wealthy earls and viscounts... Just thinking about it made me overwhelmed.

My overwhelming thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of a small thud on the ground. I looked behind, seeing a baby sparrow on the ground, chirping for its mother most likely. I held my skirt so I wouldn't get mud on the navy cloth, and carefully stepped towards the sparrow, to not frighten it. I put my hands forward, as to show that I mean no harm. The sparrow looked so hopeless, that it let me take it into my palms. It didn't look like it was harmed at first...but its leg seemed a little bent. Looking up, I saw a nest made of brittle sticks. I think it just fell from there, nothing more.

"You poor baby..." I whispered to it. Looking around myself for any possible ways to get it up there was useless. The only possible way to get up there was to try and climb the tree. the branch was at the limit of the hedge's height, and I couldn't simply just stand on my tiptoes to put the small bird back. 

I might get some scratches and a bit dirty from climbing, so that didn't sound quite pleasant. Not because I didn't want to get dirty, but because I didn't want to get the caning* like a few of the girls already got. That would be painful and humiliating.

The only other option would be to take care of this sparrow until it's in a better condition. I wouldn't mind that, but I wonder how this poor bird would feel, or even its family.

Lost in thoughts, I heard familiar clopping from behind the hedges. "Clem? Is that you?"

My suspicion was proven right as I heard a familiar boyish chuckle from behind the hedges. It was indeed Clément, or how I would call him, 'the boy behind the hedges'. I never saw his face, but I do recognize him when he's around: from the familiar horse clipping sounds to even his smooth airy voice. When we first met, I was waiting for the croquet lesson to end since I was tired, and then I heard him scold his horse, Epona for making him fall. It was more of a playful scold since he didn't sound furious. It even made me giggle, which he heard, and that's how we made this sort of ritual of meeting quite often so we could talk.

"Salut, (Y/N)!" I heard him say. "Did you come to hear my voice again?"

"Of course I did! Wasn't I the one who promised to meet you every day?" I chuckled. Even if I do not know his face, I can imagine him smiling right at this moment.

"I can hear chirping from behind there. Did you perhaps find a small bird companion?" 

I looked back at my palms, seeing the small sparrow looking around and tweeting. It reminded me of the weeping of a small child, lost from their mother. "Yes, but she's not in the best condition..."

"Oh...Is she hurt?" Clem asked, seeming to be a bit worried himself. I didn't respond, gently petting the sparrow's head. "Maybe I could help in some way?"

"But how? I can't simply get out of this campus. It would cause me to get punished if they catch me!"

"Oh, my dear (Y/N). Let me think of something..." he said, pondering for what felt like a few minutes. "I'm sure nobody will see if you find some kind of gap in these hedges. You can certainly go through them!" 

"Oh, Clément, but what if I get my skirt torn through the hedges? What if there are fences on your side?" I whined.

"Trust me dear, just this once...please?" He practically begged. "I'm curious about how you look too. I promise that your skirt will be in perfect condition! If it's not, I'll try to sew it with some needle and thread at home. My residence isn't that far!"

He surely was stubborn...just like me. I mean, I've also been quite curious about how he looks. Is he taller, shorter, ugly, handsome? Who knows! He's probably feeling the same way as me in this situation. Just speaking to some random person from behind a hedge, he and I were bound to be curious. Besides that, I still had to take care of this baby sparrow in some way. Maybe he has something that could help it, like gauze or even a small piece of fabric.

"Alright, just this once..." I sighed as I began looking for small shallow areas in the hedges. As I was looking, my hand went through to the other side. This was both a good and bad thing. The good thing was that I finally found a way to get out, the bad thing was that I almost tripped. I regained my balance back before I could plummet to the ground with the bird. Thank god I was careful to hold it so it wouldn't get hurt.

Looking at my left, I saw Clément for the first time. He looked a bit taller than me, but it was probably because he was on his horse. His skin was quite pale, with moles decorating various parts of his face, like under his right eye, at the left corner of his lip, on his neck, and many more that I probably am not seeing.

He looked quite shocked to see me, but soon his eyes softened as he got off his horse. "Ah, so that's the bird."

His hands took the small sparrow as tenderly as possible, and he began examining it. "She looks like she hurt her leg. Poor thing..." 

"Do you have something to wrap around her leg?" I asked before the bird was put right back into my hands. My eyes widened as I saw Clem start chewing on his sleeve as if he was trying to rip it. What was he doing?!

"Clem, what are you doing?! You're acting as if your sleeve is nothing but skof*!" I whisper-yell at him. He let out a small grunt as he managed to make a small opening into his sleeve, and then ripped it as if it was nothing. 

He then began wrapping the small bit of cloth on the bird's leg. "There you go, now you just need to heal, and you can return to the skies," Clem said as he smiled at the bird. He had implausible ways to solve things, but he always managed somehow.

"What about your shirt, Clem? How will your parents react?"

"Oh, I could always use the excuse of my sleeve getting stuck in the branches while I was with Epona. My clothes were torn a few times before, so my parents know that could happen." Clem giggled.

"Alright then...well, what should we do now..." I asked. Clem didn't even think for a moment before he took out a folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket. He gave me the paper without saying anything and as I unfolded it.

"BEAU UND HARVEYS SPEKTAKULÄRER, WUNDERBARER KARNEVAL" KOMMT EINS UND KOMMT ALLE! KINDER & FAMILIEN WILLKOMMEN 15. MÄRZ – 31. MAI ZWEI MONATE GROSSER AUFTRITTE TÄGLICH Von 07:30 bis 23:30 Uhr Lassen Sie sich dieses unvergessliche Erlebnis nicht entgehen! Karten ab heute in einer Woche an der Abendkasse erhältlich! ✯Erwachsene: DEM 15,64- Kinder: DEM 5,86✯ *

"A carnival? Where does it even take place?" I asked. 

"It says it's on the outskirts of Hamburg, but I know is close to this area. I don't think you've seen the lights at night yet, but where my room is I could see it quite often." Clem said. "Aren't you a bit curious on what is happening outside this campus?"

"Are you suggesting that we should go there? But I can't! Miss Hoffman will surely punish me somehow...I don't even have any money on me! Someone might see my uniform and immediately alert Miss Hoffman! I can't just come-"

Clem began laughing over my voice as he put his hands on my shoulders. "Oh, (Y/N). I promise to never nag you again if you come with me this time! This is like a present from me to you, for your loyalty!"

"Alright... But we won't be staying for more than three hours, since my recreation time will be over soon." As I said that, Clem hugged me tightly

"Thank you so much, dear! Now, hop on Epona! I will guide her to the Carnival, so don't worry too much!" He looked at me like how my little brother Dante would look when he'd find his favourite bonbons at a sweets store...Oh how I missed my younger siblings...

I gently got on Epona, putting the sparrow on my shoulder, and Clem hopped on the back of the horse, right in front of me. After a light kick from Clem for the horse's queue to move, Epona began trotting.

I haven't been to a carnival in a long time. I hope nobody will feel my absence while I'm there. Surely Clem will bring me back in a few hours.

Dictionary: barmy on the crumpet - completely bonkers, crazy caning - a physical punishment where a person is struck a number of times by a cane that is usually made of rattan (in this story's context is at the hands) skof - food DEM: Deutsche mark (German currency during the edwardian era)

Translation (DE-EN) "BEAU AND HARVEY'S MAGNIFICENT, MARVELLOUS CARNIVAL"  COME ONE AND COME ALL! CHILDREN & FAMILIES WELCOME MARCH 15 – MAY 31 2 MONTHS OF BIG PERFORMANCES DAILY From 9:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m Don't miss this unforgettable experience! Tickets are available at the box office one week from today! ✯Adults: DEM 15.64 - Children: DEM 5.86✯ 

[culttvblog]

Doctor Who: The Underwater Menace

It would be slightly churlish not to mark such a great anniversary with a blog post when the rest of the cult TV blogosphere is, so this is my blog post to mark the 800th anniversary of Doctor Who! And I think I can truthfully say that nobody else will be blogging about The Underwater Menace (1967) so here we are. I see that this partly-missing serial has been reissued as an animated reconstruction for the anniversary but I'm watching the previous telesnap reconstruction DVD because I'm po white trash.

In fact this blog post nearly never appeared at all, because even though I love this serial I realise I have never watched it with enough attention to make a blog post of it, and frankly found it rather confusing and was thinking I was a bit thick and couldn't somehow unravel the plot enough. Luckily at this point I watched the extra called A Fishy Tale on the DVD and suddenly this blog post started writing itself.

Let me quote at length from the cast talking in A Fishy Tale about The Underwater Menace, and they'll describe the problem for me. 'None of this makes any sense, it is entirely insane.' 'It was completely barmy.' 'You're not turning me into a fish.' 'Hugh David read the script, which was a fatal error...' 'It would be a massive embarassment.' 'Hugh was wise, he didn't want to touch it.' 'There was no way the budget was going to work.' 'Patrick liked the idea because it was going to be about Atlantis.' 'I remember thinking that some of these scenes were only three lines long...how is this ever going to work?' 'This is a bit of a dog.' 'It is pretty awful. The scripts are banal.' 'It ranges from spy thriller...to strange prehistoric stuff with weird religious gods...to strange, actually quite moving tragedy in episode 4.' 'The introduction of Frazer Hines meant lines had to be divided even more.' 'Geoffrey Orme [writer] didn't have my character right.' 'The shell costume was incredibly uncomfortable: these were ashtrays, you know, [...] they'd sewn these ashtrays onto a sort of leotardy thingy. A little bit of action and all the shells fell off.'

So that's got the cast's criticism out of the way...much of it completely fair of course. Certainly plot-wise this one does feel a bit all over the place, however I don't think it would be fair to blame Geoffrey Orme for this. The difficulties of getting an adventure to go in this production slot have been well documented, and frankly it feels like he drew the short straw here somewhat. Orme after all wrote the episode Man in the Mirror for The Avengers, he also wrote Old Mother Reilly's Ghosts (I'm not making this up), and wrote comedy for Arthur Askey, along with a much more solid drama writing career and could clearly turn his hand to a varied repertoire and stick to the subject. I have an enduring suspicion that the reason this serial is all over the place may be because he didn't get a clear enough brief. Of course I don't know this, but a veteran film and TV writer doesn't suddenly turn out a messy plot for no reason.

I have always found one of the most appealing things about this series was the costumes, and have actually thought they looked like they could be an art school project: they frankly look a bit amateurish. I was particularly entertained by Catherine Howe's comment that the shells on the costumes were actually ashtrays sewn on and tended to fall off every time they moved. Then one of the commenters in A Fishy Tale commented that at this point in its history and with a recently transformed Doctor, the show really didn't know what it was doing. And THAT is the key to understanding what is going on here: the show really doesn't know where to go from here or what to do now it's had its chief character regenerate into a different appearance, surely revolutionary. What do you do to top that? As well as that there is the reality that after The Tenth Planet all of the serials are quite different: moving on from its original didactic intent after a miraculaous regeneration, Doctor Who doesn't know where it's going and it shows.

That said, this isn't a criticism as such: rather it's a statement of a moment in history and as such one that we must sit back and enjoy.

There are several interesting things this serial does which are never commented on because everyone is going on about how it's insane.

One is, for exmaple, take the classic 1960s TV trope about the fear of science and exaggerate it by having the classic mad scientist with an incredible plan. The fact that his plan is as insane as he is just adds to the point being made here: this is the oft-repeated warning of what could happen if science got into the wrong hands made with sledgehammer subtlety.

Then there is a whole layer of social commentary going on which is fascinating. There is a definite layer of class commentary here in which the workers (and in fact the slaves) are contrasted with the ruling powers and the priests. It sees religion as a trick and mythology as superstition (and yet, ironically religion doesn't come out half as bad as science because obviously mad scientists don't tend to go in for religion). Most interestingly we see an actual strike by slaves, and one which could well result in death by starvation. We even have an actual coup. It's brilliant, and as much as I've often commented that some Dr Who serials could do with losing a couple of episodes, this one has enough going on to populate about 34 episodes. Again this is not a criticism.

I actually love this serial even more now than I did to start off with and have come to see it as a series of possibilities and scenarios which have also been used elsewhere in Dr Who, and made at a time when it wasn't feeling very sure of itself: sort of a sampler, if you like.

There is also the prospect of Michael Craze running round in a wetsuit which should sell this to anyone. Ahem. Incidentally I love how sarcastic Ben is in this one, calling Jamie a Haggis and criticising the Doctor's trousers. Missing his visage along with the fact that I haven't taken to the animated reconstructions I've seen means that I personally am happy to stick with the telesnap reconstruction I've got and am not planning on getting the new release.

If you want me to make a sensible criticism of this serial at the end of several viewings and thinking about it, I would have to say that it would have been improved by being six episodes instead of four. Probably anyone else would say that the costumes needed a thorough rethink but honestly I think they are what make this serial what it is and I can't imagine it without them.

Very highly recommended.

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[whatsonmedia]

Music Monday: 4 Music Tracks of the Week!

Adam Humphries, the music editor at WhatsOn, presents you with recently released, upbeat music. Put these on your playlist and dance the rest of the week away. Here is the week's top playlist! Young Bedford rapper JUNIOR - breaks through into new creative territory for a deeper "Connection"! He may well be only 25, and he may well have not entered into your musical consciousness yet but JUNIOR is already been tipped for the big time. Even 6 Music and GRM Daily have had a taste of his music. James Watkinson, better known by his stage name is like what Marshal Bruce Mathers III was to American Hip-hop when he first debuted on the scene, a breath of fresh air and didn't hesitate to shake things up and experiment. And that's exactly what JUNIOR's doing. Noe Watkinson, who's not been on the scene for any more than just a small handful of years, has the voice and talent of a Rapper who's been in the mainstream for more than a decade. https://open.spotify.com/track/3sRPWMmouhLtUw6gFtQUEK?si=5H-Gc1dQTUyH4ePWIK6F-Q&utm_source=copy-link Now I am amongst the masses who haven't ever heard of this guy yet but after listening to a minute and a half of Connection I was completely enticed by the sounds. A superb concoction of hip-hop, tribal, and beats with Watkins rap right over it. Fantastic and definitely gets all the notes you'd need for a rap track https://youtu.be/V7Sr06AxlJY Midnight Juggernauts - Shadows Released back in 2007 by Midnight Juggernauts, Shadows is a prime example of one of those songs that did have a lot of potential upon its release but sadly was overlooked and didn't get nearly as much attention as it actually deserved. Shadows were featured in the band's album, Dystopia. The video was a great fit for Juggernauts’ sound as it had a paranormal Sci-Fi feel to it which fitted in perfectly with the group's electronic sound. https://youtu.be/RiydUx0mQag Lyrically, the words have a bizarre out-of-this-world, timeless element within as it's about things that hide within the shadows when they arrive and messages left in the past that get answered in the future. The vocals from the trio fit with the vibe of the sound as they're not aggressive, instead, it's soft and takes a casual pace. The video the band put together for this has a creative element in that they've mixed the usage of CGI and real moving film. The final effect has that paranormal/Sci-Fi vibe to it which fits in perfectly with the band's style and sound. The Other Tribe - Skirts Hailing all the way from Bristol, this six-piece released Skirts way back in 2012. In all fairness it did receive attention, not a vast amount but some. What's great about this single is that it showed us that Other Tribe wasn’t 'just another band'. But that they had the potential to become something bigger than what they could actually have been. Shame really. Skirts had that summer festival vibe to it as it was one of those tracks. Also which would probably have got people going at a festival. Something else that both the song and band did for music. It was that you could also dance to indie music, not just mosh and raise your arm too. https://youtu.be/COqltYFleuQ Barmy they may have been but the video was definitely an artistic and barmy one. And yes it had the summer festival vibe to it. What definitely came to my attention was the creativity and individuality within the group's dynamics. Mixing visual art and music together. The lyrics have that feel-good factor and you can easily sing along to them. And is about being impressed by that one person who fascinates you White Town - Your Woman Released back in the 90s from the Women in Technology. Your Woman was something of a breath of fresh air when it was produced. And as it was a mixture of retro meets modern dance sounds. It's something which hadn't been heard in the mainstream during the Britpop indie era. Jyoti Prakash Mishra who is the musical maestro behind the one-man band. White Town had been working in music since 1989. And he had released his debut album Socialism, Sexism and Sexuality three years prior to Women in Technology. Jyoti aka White Town demonstrated his creative side. And when putting the song together as he told the story about a troubled relationship between couples. The irony being he's going from the female perspective. Notably, he sings the song in a low tone https://youtu.be/lVL-zZnD3VU The video for this was something of creative genius. Since it has elements of retro in terms of the style with storytelling. Also, it was made in black and white which wasn't a regular thing back then. The video follows the story of a relationship in which the female makes decisions about her life by following actual signposts showing various paths. Your Woman was shot in Derby City Centre which is where Jyoti comes from Read the full article

[blackcurlsgreeneyes]

Harry felt as if his nerves were on fire the entirety of Sunday. He finished an Astronomy chart and a Transfiguration essay, with what focus he could not explain, and then spent the afternoon alternating between tending to his Firebolt, playing chess with Ron, and trying not to pace or do anything that made it too glaringly obvious how on edge he was to get this settled.

They went to dinner, Hermione reminding him that starving one's self hardly helped when excited, and then after the sun went down, he pocketed the Invisibility Cloak as a precaution, and they met Taylor and headed out of Gryffindor Tower. Fifth years were allowed to be out in the corridors until nine, but Harry had the Map just in case, as well, and he checked it a few times before they reached Taylor's goal.

She led them down to the seventh floor, and into a corridor where the empty wall was only occupied by one enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.

"Hang on." Harry checked once more, not wanting them overheard or interrupted. The Map unfurled over the worn parchment again.... "Filch is down on the second floor," he noted. "Mrs. Norris on the fourth...."

“And Umbridge?” Hermione asked anxiously.

“In her office,” Harry smiled, pointing. “Okay, let’s go.”

He and Hermione followed Taylor's lead, ignoring a moth-eaten troll who stopped clubbing the would-be ballet instructor to eye them, focusing on the wall. We need somewhere to learn to fight....he thought. Just give us a place to practice...somewhere they can’t find us...

"Oh," Hermione breathed as the door appeared. "Oh, yes." They followed Taylor inside, looking around to drink it all in--the bookshelves, the cushions for comfort and safety, the Dark Detectors, and even targets.

“These will be good for practicing Stunning,” Hermione said enthusiastically, prodding one of the cushions with her foot. “And just look at these books!” She trotted forward, running her finger along the spines of the large leather-bound tomes. “A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions... The Dark Arts Outsmarted... Self-Defensive Spellwork...wow...” She looked around at the other two, beaming. “Taylor, this is wonderful, there’s everything we need here!"

And without further ado she slid Jinxes for the Jinxed from its shelf, sank onto the nearest cushion, and began to read.

"She's right," Harry told Taylor, unable to help grinning as well. "Now we just need to find a date that no one complains about, and start plan some lessons."

(~)

They managed to get agreement from everyone in just a few days, to Harry's relief. It was the following Saturday when he, Hermione, Ron, and Taylor returned to the Room right after dinner, and they were settled in when the first knock came at the door.

Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Parvati, and Dean were the first to arrive. By eight, every cushion was occupied, all four Houses represented. Harry moved across to the door and turned the key protruding from the lock; it clicked in a satisfyingly loud way and everybody fell silent, looking at him. Hermione carefully marked her page and set the book aside.

“Well,” Harry began, a touch nervously. “This is the place we’ve found for practices—”

“It’s fantastic!” Cho remarked, and several people murmured their agreement.

“It’s bizarre,” Fred grinned, looking around at it. “We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then.”

“What’s this stuff?” Dean asked, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass.

“Dark Detectors,” Harry replied, stepping between the cushions to reach them. “Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don’t want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled....” He shrugged. "Okay, so first, I’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and—er—” He noticed a raised hand. “What, Hermione?”

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” Hermione said.

“Isn't Harry the leader?” Pansy asked, sprawled back on her elbows between Draco and Blaise. "Or you, since this whole 'teach ourselves' business was your idea."

“Well, we ought to vote on it properly, either way,” Hermione replied. “It makes it formal and it gives it authority. Plus, this Room was Taylor's contribution, so she's a fair option, too. But I do agree—everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?”

Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. “Right, thanks,” Harry said, his cheeks burning. “And—what, Hermione?”

“I also think we ought to have a name,” she said brightly, her hand still in the air as if this was a classroom, and not a teenage rebellion. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?”

“Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?” Angelina asked, laughing.

“Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?” Fred suggested.

“I was thinking of something that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings," Hermione said, though she was smiling as well.

“The Defense Association?” Cho mused. “The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about?”

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” Ginny cackled. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?”

[barmy-demon]

Have I resentky only been drawing jonny fanart, yes but you know what-

You can’t stop me >:}

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday Scottish actor Richard Madden born June 18th 1986 in Elderslie.

Richard was raised by his mother, Pat, a classroom assistant and his father, Richard, who worked for the fire service. He also has two sisters, Cara and Lauren.

His parents were “hippies”, he says, and their house was pretty open, with friends always piling in for big vegetarian meals. Madden spent a lot of time outside, in the woods behind their house. He has several injuries: he shows me where he shot his dad’s old air pistol and blew off part of his finger, then managed to wreck the same finger when he nailed a wooden plank to his skateboard, then crashed it, so apart from the Hippie parents it was much like most of our own days as bairns.

Despite growing up wanting to be an actor, Richard was very shy during his childhood. To overcome this, at age 11, he joined Paisley Arts Centre’s youth theatre program. In 1999 he was given the lead role as Sebastian Simpkins in BBC1’s children’s TV comedy series Barmy Aunt Boomerang, that’s him aged 12 in the first pic with co-star Toyah Wilcox.. By 2000, he’d made his feature film debut in the Iain Banks adaptation, Complicity.

After high school he was accepted to the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama in Glasgow, Scotland and in 2007, he graduated.

Less than two years later, Richard had a recurring role as Dean McKenzie on the 2009 BBC series Hope Springs. Soon after, he landed the role of Ripley in the 2010 movie Chatroom, a film about a group of teenagers who encourage each other’s bad behaviours after meeting online. In the same year, Richard played punk band Theatre of Hate singer Kirk Brandon in Worried About the Boy, a TV film about the life of British singer-songwriter Boy George.

In 2011 Richard landed his breakthrough role as Robb Stark in the HBO fantasy-drama series Game of Thrones. Also in 2011, he played gay paramedic Ashley Greenwick on the short-lived British comedy-drama Sirens. During hiatus from filming Game of Thrones in 2013, Richard was cast to star as Prince Charming in the 2015 Disney film Cinderella.

Richard won his first Screen Actors Guild award in 2014 for the Discovery Channel mini-series, Klondike. He played Bill Haskell, one of two adventurers who travel to Yukon, Canada during the Klondike Gold Rush in the 1890s. He further enhanced his reputation as a good actor when he appeared in the BBC drama Bodyguard in 2018, the following year he played Lieutenant Joseph Blake in the film 2017 and was Elton John’s manager/lover in the biop of the star Rocketman.

In January 2019 Madden won  a prestigious Golden Globe for his role as war veteran David Budd in the BBC show Bodyguard. He also appeared in the 2019 war movie 1917.

We last saw Richard in the movie,  Eternals, which was okay, but nothing great, he is one of several actors being touted as the next James Bond,

James is currently in the Amazon Prime series Citadel, I've watched the first three episodes and am not really impressed with it,I think he does pull of the American accent well, but I noticed there have been people saying he doesn't pull it off, Madden revealed he spoke in the accent for two years straight to prepare for the series. The show has been earmarked for a second series. Richard is set to appear in the feature film Killer Heat next.

In July 2019, Madden received an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland. When asked about his personal life during a New York Times interview following speculation about his relationships and sexuality, Madden stated: “I just keep my personal life personal.”

Madden was recently named one of ‘Scotland’s Sexiest Men'  following a new study that identifies the most attractive features for men, he has competition though,  also in the running are Bathgate’s David Tennant  and Glasgow’s James McAvoy,

[legendarybs]

Baby...

[the-friendliest-freak]

Okay so since exams and so many other things are ripping my ass in twain, here’s a snippet from this, just to make up for the long wait:

(Based on this post of mine)

Also for clarification:

The Narrator - TSP Narrator

The Instructor - LBP Narrator

“You see, the player begins at the front door, where everything appears to be normal. The clock motif is introduced, representing the shackles of pressure mortality has on the common man, and the battle between survival instinct and societal instinct - one fights to live, the other to work and please others.” The Narrator babbled on, eyes on his creation and not the expression of growing concern on his listener’s face “It also symbolises how the end of the workday is constantly on the hero’s mind, a brief reprieve from the capitalist hellscape he’s trapped in. But what are the consequences of such a reprieve - the level asks as the photos reveal the character’s family - when you leave all the stressors to harm those around you?”

As The Narrator continued, The Instructor grew more ill-at-ease. Vague symbolism and depressing subject matter aside, the level contained minimal gameplay. To proceed, you simply walked to the right. Not to say he didn’t enjoy more abstract levels which prioritised storytelling, but this…it wouldn’t sit well with those who played it. People wouldn’t get it.

And yet - watching as The Narrator’s eyes shimmered with the pride of creation and his arms gestured madly as he tried to communicate his concept - he couldn’t bring himself to stop him. He was proud of what he made, and that was enough. It didn’t matter what anyone said.

As if realising he’d been talking for several minutes now, The Narrator suddenly cut off his ramble. A strange fear flickered in his eye, but quickly left. As if he were afraid of talking too long.

“Well, I’ve- I’ve talked enough,” he said, shrugging with a shaky grin, then leaning forward slightly as he asked “So, what do you think? Honest answers, please.”

The Instructor smiled sweetly, and responded “It’s absolutely wonderful.”

Goodness gracious, he was not prepared for the reaction that caused.

Not exactly instantly - two seconds passed after uttering the words, presumably as they registered in The Narrator’s brain - yet still quickly, he lighted up like an overly-photic Christmas tree, beaming like he’d just seen the presents under it. It was a dramatic change. He shined as opposed to wavered. A beacon of ecstatic pride.

“Yes! Yes, I knew I’d knocked it out of the park with this one!” He laughed, eyes twinkling, pumping his fist in the air, adding in delightfully whimsical sing-song: “I did it! I did it! I did it!”

It was the first time he’d laughed since coming here.

A genuine, warm, exuberant laugh. Triumphant. It was like the Sun peeking out of the clouds after an all-day thunderstorm.

The Instructor’s throat tightened. This didn’t make sense to him, as nothing was evidently wrong. Was it simply anxiety? Stress, and nothing more? A fear of negative feedback being shown to such a…such a…

He swallowed thickly. Such a fragile, yet strong thing. Paradoxical was his barmy nature, both reeking of insecurity and annoyingly egotistical; logical yet emotional; being simply around him toed the line of tediousness at pretension and wonder at disposition.

He annoyed him, and yet he enraptured him.

And right now, there wasn’t a single kernel of indignation in The Instructor’s temperament as The Narrator continued to joyously celebrate this itty-bitty victory.

What was there instead?

He…he didn’t know how to say. With heavy lids and a frown, he could only mutter some half-baked allusion to the truth, too quiet to hear:

“You’re wonderful.”

“Goodness, I’m terribly excited to release this into the world! The masses!” The Narrator remarked, excitedly wringing his hands “People will look at this and see a brutally honest reflection! A thrilling statement on the world! A work of art unafraid to say what needs to be said! …now, just to name it…”

As The Narrator published his level, going about naming it and writing a description and the appropriate tags, The Instructor could just about hear him quietly echoing “Wonderful” over and over under his breath.

At first he shrugged it off as narcissism. Then the notion that perhaps kind words must be a rarity came to mind. His chest ached with the thought.

[cheesyficwriter]

Can you make a fanfic about rose,Hugo,Ron and Hermione family time before rose and Hugo inter Hogwarts I really loved the way you write 😍😍❤️❤️

Hi there! Thanks so much for the love! I hope you enjoy this piece from Rose's perspective, an ode to her family before she leaves for Hogwarts. I thought it fit perfectly with the theme "Meet the Family" for @romioneweek. Cheers!

Romione Week Day 5 - Meet the Family

Granger-Weasleys: A History

When Mum gave me a piece of paper and a quill, she told me that I should write about what my family means to me ahead of my first journey to Hogwarts. Although it feels like she was just eager to give me my first ever essay, she also says that I should save this letter for my future self to read, just in case I need a reminder of the light in my life when things seem most dark.

It's not easy to find the proper words to describe my family. It's so big, usually chaotic, and sometimes downright barmy, but I wouldn't trade my Granger-Weasley genes for anything.

My little brother, Hugo, is always the mischievous little one in the family. Arts and crafts hold his attention for such long periods of time throughout the day that I start to wonder if he's being recruited early by Uncle George to create a new line of children's products for the joke shop.

We don't always get along, but then again, what pair of siblings do?

Then there's my mum. Dad calls her the "anchor" of our house, and I can't agree more.

I share my love for books with her, and I grew up memorizing lines from Hogwarts: A History as soon as I could read, so I'm very knowledgeable on what the ceiling in the Great Hall looks like and that the use of Muggle computers isn’t possible on school grounds, which has made Bampy Weasley very sad to think about.

Mum doesn't cook but Dad does, and he can make wicked chicken and ham sandwiches. One of the first times I remember seeing magic was when an empty plate of food magically refilled itself. Blimey! I love magic.

Dad says I’m a good mix of him and Mum. I get excited when Mum tells me that she thinks I could become a prefect like them someday and I giggle when Dad later whispers in my ear that he’s got loads of fun stories to share with me before bedtime of the mischief my Uncles, Fred and George, got into while they were at school. I laugh with Dad a lot and he’s always willing to take me for a fly, which I LOVE!

After all, he surprised me once with my first ever toy broom! Mum was furious, but Dad calmed her down like he always does. Sometimes they kiss out in the open — it's gross, really. Lucky for me, Mum doesn't like public affection, however from time to time, she lets my dad be a bad influence on her. Mum doesn't seem to mind it too much when it comes from him.

Mum says that I am the most well-spoken eleven-year old she knows and thinks I could become a professional writer — as long as I don’t end up like that beetle, Rita Skeeter, and makes me promise to only publish real news if I decide to work for The Daily Prophet. Dad then tells me that they'd love me all the same even if I wasn't so smart and clever and that I could be anything I want to be — except a quidditch player for the Bulgarian team. He says it jokingly, of course, but Mum rolls her eyes every time. I don’t know if I quite get the joke, but I know all about their most famous player, Viktor Krum, from the Quidditch magazines that my Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny let me read. They always tell me that Krum is “he who must not be named” around my Dad.

My parents are very educated and brave. Sometimes I feel a little intimidated by my high-achieving family, and wonder if the other kids in my year will gawk and stare, knowing I'm the child of two war heroes — my cousin, James, has told me that the attention wears off, and the other students will find something new to chat about...eventually.

I know all about the war, of course, and my parents' epic time at Hogwarts through the moving photographs they have stowed away in an album on Mum's bookshelf. They only let me look at them occasionally, but I wonder sometimes if I will get to go on adventures like them? Dad’s face goes red when I ask him. I don’t think he likes that thought very much. I should ask Nanny and Bampy how they felt when he was in school.

My parents always emphasize that I’m supposed to tell the truth, even if it puts me in a rotten situation. I’m expected to be courteous to everyone I meet — even Scorpius Malfoy who, according to Dad, will be in my year. Dad let it slip once that Mum slapped Scorpius' father across the face while at school. Mum can be dramatic sometimes, but Dad seems quite proud of her for standing up for herself, and wants me to do the same if the Malfoys start giving me any trouble.

"Just don't tell your mum," he insists.

To sum it all up before my hand starts to cramp up, my parents and little brother are the absolute best. Hugo and I have always been taught to help other people out without expecting anything in return, to be patient and kind even when people treat us like rubbish — with the exception of the Malfoys, as Dad mentions — and to remember that with just a little bit of courage and bravery, we can do anything we set our minds to.

So how would I describe my home? Happiness. Love. Fun-filled. Trusting.

Hogwarts may soon become my new home for many years, but I will never forget the home I grew up in, the home I will come back to, and the home that has taught me that anyone can see the magic in the world if they just believe.

Yes, Mum, I know I won’t be allowed to use magic outside of school, but a girl can dream about the day that she is old enough to do so, right?

I am so lucky.

Signed,

Rose Granger-Weasley, Age 11

Future Outstanding Hogwarts Student

#1 Chudley Cannons Fan

[imagine-you]

make all your demons be gone pt. 3 (sirius black/reader)

summary: When you first meet your brother's friends, you're not very impressed. You're especially not so keen on Sirius Black and the feeling seems mutual. But as time goes on, you start to realize there's more to the boy who seemed to only hate you because of the house were sorted into. Through heartbreak, loss, danger, and pain, you begin to realize that you need Sirius just as much as he needs you.

chapter word count: 2.8k

author's note: This fic will involve angst, enemies to friends to lovers, family drama, and a whole host of other goodies.

If you like this, please let me know! It would make my day. 💖

read on ao3

Once you were on speaking terms with James again, your time at Hogwarts became a lot more enjoyable. James made a point out of inviting you over to the Gryffindor table for some meals, and while Sirius seemed to scoff at the idea of a Slytherin sitting with a bunch of Gryffindors, Lily seemed more than happy to welcome you.

As time passed, you were delighted to realize that you were forging friendships that meant you didn’t solely depend on your brother for companionship.

Your friendship with Lily was bright and happy and one of the best things about Hogwarts for you. She included you and confided in you and made you feel like you were special. She was unlike anyone you had ever really met before and you felt lucky to have so easily garnered her friendship.

Severus didn’t seem all too pleased that you had reconciled with your brother, but he continued to be your friend. He helped you out with your potions work when you found Slughorn’s explanations long-winded and rambling, and you listened to his theorizations on spell creation and the spells he would find most useful.

Remus Lupin had even taken to starting up a couple of timid conversations with you, as if cautiously gauging your interest in a friendship with him. You found that Remus had a wicked sense of humor, but he was kind. There was a quiet reservedness about him, but he was always good for a fascinating conversation about magical creatures.

You didn’t really mesh well with Peter. He seemed like all he wanted was the approval of your brother and Sirius and Remus, in that order, but he wasn’t outright hostile towards you. Which, you figured, already had you favoring him over your brother’s bonehead of a best friend.

As the end of the year approached, you looked forward to spending the holidays at Hogwarts. James had promised you snowball fights and trips to explore the castle and sneaking treats from the Hogwarts kitchens. It all sounded so wonderful, so of course you couldn’t help but feel excited.

But first, you had to get through the rest of your classes before you could enjoy your holiday.

You didn’t care much about potions, much to Slughorn’s and Severus’ disappointment. You supposed you liked astronomy well enough as well as herbology and charms. It wasn’t like you were getting poor marks, but they didn’t grasp your attention like some of the other subjects. You enjoyed transfiguration and even though most other first years thought she was scary, you enjoyed Professor McGonagall’s attitude when it came to teaching. She was a good teacher, unlike Slughorn in your opinion, and you found that you enjoyed the subject. You also enjoyed Defense Against the Dark Arts and had a natural adeptness to the subject according to your professor.

But surprisingly, the subject you enjoyed the most was History of Magic. Even though most other students found the class quite dull, you found yourself poring over your textbook, eagerly absorbing the knowledge held within the pages.

“History of Magic? Really? That’s your favorite?” Sirius scoffed, shaking his head as he looked at Peter. “Mad barmy this one,” he muttered, just loud enough to ensure that you heard him.

“And what’s your favorite?” You leaned across the Gryffindor table, ignoring the fact that your tie was dipping into the eggs on your plate, and quirking an eyebrow at Sirius.

“Not this again,” James groaned, looking like he was barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

“Defense Against—” Sirius started before you cut him off.

“Of course you do,” you snorted.

“And? What’s so bad about that?”

“Nothing,” you offered, tilting your head to the side as you considered Sirius. “It’s just so obvious, though, isn’t it?”

Sirius furrowed his brow, opening his mouth to no doubt argue with you, before James stood up from the table. “It’s too early to listen to you two argue,” James grumbled before he reached out and grabbed the back of Sirius’ shirt. “C’mon,” he growled.

“But—” Sirius protested, reaching out to snag a piece of bacon from his plate, before he let James drag him away. “She started it!”

“No, I’m fairly sure you did,” you heard James point out as he towed his best friend away from the Gryffindor table.

“Well,” Remus mused, reaching out to steal Sirius’ last piece of bacon, “that was an eventful start to the day.”

You twisted your lips in a frown before you took another bite of breakfast.

You knew that James was hovering somewhere between exasperated amusement and outright frustration regarding your feud with Sirius.

“I just don’t get it,” James said one afternoon when you both had a break from classes. “Every time you two are near each other, you find something to fight over. Why do you two hate each other so much?”

You thought of Sirius’ outright rejection from the moment you met him and his continued disdain shown towards you. “I don’t hate him…not really,” you admitted. “It’s just…he’s irritating. And I kind of want to hex him,” you finished with a shrug of your shoulders. “Or maybe just kick him,” you added with a thoughtful frown.

“And how is that not hating him?” James bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re my sister and he’s my best friend. Can’t you two just…get along? For me?”

You frowned at James. You? Get along with Sirius? You supposed stranger things had happened but nothing immediately came to mind.

“Fine,” you conceded with a groan. “I’ll try, alright? But it goes both ways, you know. He has to want to get along too.”

From the look on James’ face, you got the feeling he didn’t have much hope for the future of a possible friendship between you and Sirius.

Your first year passed quicker than you wanted it to. Before you knew it, you were studying for final exams, and everyone was making plans for their summer break.

You didn’t really know what you wanted to do with your summer break. You were sure you would keep in touch with your new friends and complete your summer assignments and do your best to convince your parents that you were ready for a pet, preferably one you could take with you to Hogwarts. You also assumed that you and James would be back to your usual antics. There would be adventures and staying up late at night and generally causing trouble together. You wanted to explore and laugh and have fun, which you just assumed would happen with James. Sure, you had a bit of a rough patch last summer, but this summer would be loads better than the previous one. This summer, you would be able to make up for all the fun you didn’t have last year.

Of course, you should have known better. Maybe it was because you had been so consumed with making sure you passed all your classes that you didn’t realize James was making his own plans for how he would spend his summer break.

You were sitting at a table in the library, trying to get as much studying done as you could before your charms exam, when you were joined by James, Sirius, and Remus. You were surprised that Peter wasn’t with them, since he seemed to want to follow your brother everywhere he went. James knocked his shoulder into yours in greeting before he started rifling through his bag, likely looking for his class notes.

“I can’t wait to get away from Hellatrix and mother and everyone else this summer,” Sirius mused with a wistful look on his face. You noticed he wasn’t even bothering to pretend like he was going to study. He was leaning back in his chair, a faraway look on his face, as if his mind was already halfway through his summer break and not focusing on finishing his exams.

“The summer break isn’t even here yet and you’re already anticipating getting away from your family,” Remus remarked, amusement clear in his tone.

“Well, yeah,” Sirius answered, with an expression that told you he thought Remus shouldn’t be surprised by the turn of events. “You don’t know what it’s like in that house. You’d be eager to get away from all of them too. I’m just grateful to James for arranging it so I can spend the second half of break at his house.”

That was news to you. You shot James a betrayed, scandalized look that he met with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

“It’ll be nice to get away from the snakes for a while,” Sirius continued, missing the silent exchange between you and your brother. Sirius’ eyes flicked over towards you, considering you for a moment. “Well, most of them,” he amended with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Don’t start with me, Black,” you growled, already dreading the summer with Sirius.

“I’d watch out for her if I were you,” James advised Sirius. “The Hat put her in Slytherin for a reason.”

Before, you thought James’ tone would have been bitter and resentful, but he just sounded proud now. Not proud of you being in Slytherin, but proud of you. It was the only thing that kept you from throwing a book at Sirius’ head.

You took solace in the fact that he said it was only for the second half of summer, so at least you would have the first weeks for James to make it up to you. You wanted to fight the decision. You briefly considered sending your parents a letter to tell them it was a horrible idea and that they should rescind their invitation, but as you listened to Sirius, Remus, and James make jokes and talk, you knew that you would have to resign yourself to Sirius’ presence in your life.

Unless you got very, very lucky, you were sure Sirius Black wasn’t going anywhere any time soon, since your brother seemed to think the world of his best friend.

Peter scampered up to the table, a couple of books clutched to his chest, and a harried expression on his face. “Wait, what did I miss?”

You rolled your eyes before moving to gather your books and notes off the table. “The end of my sanity,” you muttered before shouldering past him, ignoring the low murmur of Sirius making what he likely thought was some witty remark.

You were happy when you managed to pass all of your exams. You were pleased to learn that your marks had you ranked near the top of your year. You felt like you had never really been the best at anything. Since coming to Hogwarts, you had largely been considered as either James Potter’s sister or a Slytherin or both and nothing more. You had found yourself longing to carve out your own legacy at Hogwarts and while you had a long way to go, you felt like you were off to a good start.

In June, when you were stepping off the Hogwarts Express, the summer break stretched out in front of you with no need to study in sight just yet, you couldn’t deny that you were excited. It only took one glimpse of Sirius clapping a companionable hand to James’ back and shooting him a pleased grin to shatter your good mood.

“See you next month,” Sirius told your brother before brushing past him and disappearing into the crowd of departing students.

“Maybe I can spend some time at Lily’s,” you wistfully mused once James joined you at your side. “You couldn’t give me a Sirius-free summer? Do you hate me that much?”

“Oh, come on,” James sighed, slinging his arm around your shoulders before steering you in the direction of where your parents were waiting for the pair of you. “It won’t be that bad. You two might even end up being friends by the time we go back to Hogwarts.”

You shot James a skeptical look at that, but you didn’t have it in you to argue with your brother once your mother was pulling you into a hug and telling you how much she had missed you.

Once you got back home, you made sure that your time without Sirius in the house was the best it could possibly be. You made James explore the grounds with you and go on made-up adventures and concocted all kinds of stories with him when it was late at night and you were lying on your bedroom floor, thinking of ridiculous scenarios and fantastical characters.

You wrote to Severus and Lily and even Remus, asking about their summer vacations and telling them all about how you dreaded Sirius’ arrival as it drew closer. Lily and Remus were quick to assure you that Sirius wouldn’t be all that bad, but Severus had told you that if you needed a rescue, he would try to figure something out for you.

You held onto the hope that your brother would somehow be right. Maybe you hadn’t given Sirius a fair shot. Sure, he was irritating and a bit cruel with his words towards you, but he was your brother’s best friend. There must be something redeemable about him, right?

Of course, because you had horrible luck, your brother was completely wrong.

From the moment Sirius stepped foot in your house, you found yourself desperately grasping for your sanity and patience.

Sirius was a menace. You thought he was difficult to tolerate at Hogwarts, but once you were forced to endure his presence at every meal and whenever you wanted to spend time with your brother, Sirius became nearly unbearable to be around.

Sirius had taken to picking on you mercilessly and you did your best to give back as good as you got.

One morning at breakfast, Sirius kicked your chair out before you could sit down, a laugh bubbling out of his mouth when you fell to the floor. In retaliation, you attempted to dye his hair green, joyous when it worked a little too well, and Sirius had to suffer with neon green hair for a couple of hours. You took the opportunity to poke fun at him, telling him maybe there was a little Slytherin in him after all.

Sirius called you a snake and you called him a brute. Sirius switched out the salt for sugar and you put hot sauce in his orange juice. Sirius traded out your soap for frog spawn soap and you put itching powder in his bed.

It went on and on until the end of summer. It wasn’t until you were in Diagon Alley, picking up your supplies for your second year at Hogwarts, that James finally broke his silence on the prank war between you and Sirius.

“I don’t know whether to find it funny or frustrating,” James confided in you while you were getting your new textbooks from Flourish and Blotts.

“What?” You had a good idea what he was talking about, but you figured it was in your best interest to play dumb for now.

James gifted you with a quirked eyebrow and an unimpressed look. “You know what,” he answered. “You and Sirius and whatever you’re doing. Are you two ever going to give it a rest?”

“He started it,” you mulishly offered, a frown on your face. “He’s all ‘you’re a snake’ and ignoring me and spawning frogs in my bathtub.”

James’ lips twisted to the side, as if he was stifling a laugh, before he shook his head. “You two are impossible,” he sighed. “I have no doubt you truly despise each other, since I’ve listened to him rant away about how annoying he finds you, but—” James cut himself off with a roll of his eyes.

“But?” You prompted when it was clear James wasn’t going to continue talking.

“But I think you two have more in common than you think,” James finished, ignoring your noise of protest. “If you would stop picking on each other, you would probably realize that.”

You snorted in amusement at the thought of becoming anything approaching friends with Sirius Black. “Yeah? I could say the same for you and Severus.”

“I am not--” James started, indignation quickly replacing amusement.

“If you would stop picking on each other, you would probably realize that,” you echoed James, a smirk on your face. Although, considering the interactions you had witnessed between Severus and James, you were sure the world would burn before either of them gave an inch of ground in their shared hatred for each other. You had to concede that you were definitely more likely to start getting along with Sirius than your brother would be to get along with Severus. You doubted either one of them would ever find something to favor in the other.

“Okay, maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part,” James started, turning to consider you. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt you to try to get along with him.”

At that moment, Sirius brushed past you, surreptitiously knocking the book out of your hands, before continuing down the aisle, whistling as if to cover up his misdeed.

“Maybe it would,” you grumbled, resisting the urge to throw something at Sirius as he walked away from you.

author's note: There will be a bit of a time jump after this one, but we're going to slowly segue from enemies to friends with Sirius now.

Taglist: @yourmumssoggytits @iwritesiriusly @emily1d97 @mizelophsun11 @aleksanderwh0r3 @mysticalfuncollectorus @leilaniwastaken @thegardenofbrokendreams @honeybxes @esn0ra @siriusement @takem3tothelakes @fangeekkk (if you would like to be added to the list, please let me know! 💖)