#Very much the opening lines of Get Better by Frank Turner | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

weshallc · 3 years

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This is so exciting, can’t wait to see what happens next! (No, I honestly do forget)

Berns Night (Revisited) 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

Call the Midwife AU (Crown Jewels, everyone but Paddy and Bernie at Mount Busby)

Chapter Three: OF MICE AND MEN

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men. Gang aft agley. An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain. For promis’d joy!” To A Mouse by Robert Burns 1785.

“Liars and Lovers Combine Tonight, We’re Gonna Make A Scene.” The Captain by Biffy Clyro 2009.

The largest reception room at Mount Busby Farm would have once been very grand, with Queen Anne furniture and Regency coffee tables. The only thing that remained unchanged was that the original fireplace still gave up warmth and light provided by nature, and the windows let in the light from the same star constellations and the same moon.

The Two Loves preferred antique furniture of a later period and in their 80s comfort was paramount. The room was stocked with love seats, chesterfields, recliners. bean bags, generous cushions, and a rather charming gold settee that suspiciously looked pre-war. Just no one was sure which war. Everyone mocked it, but everyone fought to sit on it as it was very comfy. Patsy often talked about replacing it, but Delia wouldn’t hear of it. “You don’t throw your memories out with the rubbish and there are more memories than just ours hidden within these cushions, Cariad.” That was always the end of it.

The most current occupants of that particular settee to be making memories were Tim Turner and Lucille Anderson. Phyllis looked over at the awkward teen, who was no longer as awkward as he had once been. He sat comfortably chatting to his companion, both of them laughing at intervals. Lucille often finishing Tim’s sentences or him proclaiming, yep that’s it or knew you’d get it when they appeared to reach a level of understanding. Of course, when she asked the student nurse about her new friendship, she would just reply, brushing the older nurse off. “Oh, he is a dear boy; He makes me laugh.”

He was certainly doing that from where Matron Crane was sitting on a leather tan Whitworth dining chair, probably by Frank Hudson. Years of heavy lifting before the introduction of patient hoists and transfer boards had taken their toll on the matron’s back. It was why she had found herself in a more managerial role much earlier than she would have planned. She looked at Student Nurse Anderson and thought maybe the NHS was in more tender capable hands than the shitstirrers would have them believe.

“I am wondering if we should start,” youth minister Tom Hereward was on his feet. “I am not sure how long baby will sleep in a strange house.”

“I have been called many things in my time, but not sure strange is one of them,” laughed Delia.

“Oh, I have Deals, it’s fine,” reassured Patsy.

Tom turned pink. Trixie leaned over to him, “They are joking,” and sat back onto the giant purple pouffe she was sharing with Valerie. “I know, I live here. I have to put up with it all the time.”

“So. Erm who is in charge, who has the most authority here.” Tom was still trying to create some sense of order.

“Well, Julia is the vicar,” chirped in Bobby, trying to offer her husband some support.

“But this is not the church,” Rev Julia responded with a warm smile.

“Another shock there then, it’s all coming out tonight, Patsy.” Delia couldn’t help herself when she had an audience and a bottle of Prosecco was being passed round.

“Matron Crane is on the council,” Lucille reminded everyone.

“No, I don’t think that matters lass, it’s not a council matter.” Phyllis shook her head.

“Well, someone needs to take the lead,” Tom said with a hint of irritation.

“I will! On the authority that I am a young woman on her only night off of the week,” struck up Val, “but I have agreed to come here and discuss plans for Bernie’s birthday instead of having two for one sex on the beach.”

“It’s a cocktail, and its happy hour in the Fourteen Teacups on a Tuesday,” Trixie interpreted for everyone.

“That’s ambitious having a happy hour in the Teacups, isn’t it?” said Fred, who had managed to wedge himself into a deep red Chesterfield.

“Yeah, apparently Ursula gives you the right change, that’s why they call it happy hour,” Tim smirked.

“As I am representing the Crown. I will continue,” said Val and she did, “we want to put on a Burns Night for Bernie’s birthday like in the old days. Now Tim has told us Paddy is half Scottish.”

“Why isn’t he here?” asked Bobby.

“Well, he said it would look suspicious if he left Bernie on her tod behind the bar on a Tuesday night,” Vi explained sitting on a scarlet love seat next to Fred.

“Yep, in case our two Tuesday night regulars rush the bar at once,” snorted Val.

“I think it’s more that it would look suspicious if he actually just left Bernie alone for five minutes,” Trixie corrected.

Lucille felt Tim squirm in the seat beside her. She knew he thought the world of Bernie, but didn’t like to hear her relationship with his father discussed in public. This was inevitable being a small village with one pub, one church and two of the village's most popular inhabitants linked to both. She tried to ease his tension.

“I think it’s lovely, just shows as my grandma used to say there may be snow on the roof, but there is still fire in the grate.”

As everyone surrendered to laughter, Matron shared a smile with the vicar, both of them confirming Lucille might be familiar with the saying, but maybe not its meaning.

Delia was the first to keep a straight face, “But they are only bairns, wait until they are mine and Pats age then the fire may need a little bit of stoking.”

“Yes, Deals, but remember we have never required the use of a poker.”

Val swiftly continued, “Paddy doesn’t wish to be involved.”

“Why?” Reggie asked, perched on his wooden stool.

Val motioned towards Tim, who was still recovering from the last topic of conversation.

“Because it would look ridiculous, his words not mine.” Tim continued, “and I quote, Wilf had the works, I would look like I was trying to pull a stunt to impress Bernie by looking like I was dressing in drag and taking the piss.”

Tim looked at his knees, and Lucille gave one a quick squeeze. She knew this wasn’t easy for him.

Everyone else also looked at their knees. The mood was solemn.

“We can all understand Paddy’s reasons.” There were a couple of nods and sighs in response. “But we aren’t putting up with any of that nonsense,” Val added with a grin.

This was met with a very large and unanimous cheer.

“Well, I’ve already looked up the Turner tartan,” Trixie handed an iPad over to Patsy via Val.

“That’s very smart,” approved the artist.

“Sorry I hate to throw a spanner in the works, but how are we going to afford all this?” butt in a pensive Vi.

“We’ve already thought of that,” grinned Delia, ”Mount Busby will cover the cost of the costume.”

“That’s very generous,” sniffed Evie, who had nearly dozed off in a leather recliner.

“Not really,” explained Patsy. “I have a friend that works for Kilts 4 U and they are very interested in looking into the possibility of making an alpaca lined sporran.”

This was news to Reggie who followed anything relating to his charges with great interest, “What’s a sporran?”

“It’s where he keeps his spare change,” Fred enlightened, or at least tried to.

“It’s the little purse that men wear at the front of the kilt, Reggie,” Violet elaborated. He seemed reassured by this.

“So anyway, in return for a few samples,” Patsy continued, “my friend will be happy to hire out the full regalia for the evening.”

“It’s not long now until Burns Night have you got some sort of prototype ready?” quizzed Evie.

“Lady K is working on them as we speak. She loves nothing better than fiddling with a bit of alpaca wool,” Delia replied gleefully.

“Lady K?” Phyllis queried.

“Yes, she is very creative,” reassured Trixie.

“I don’t doubt it, Trixie, but she is one of Bernie’s clients. What if the lass sees what she is up too”

“Don’t fret Phyllis,” Patsy interjected, “I find that Antonia is much less forgetful when she has an occupation to challenge her and I am certain she won’t let the cat out of its proverbial bag.”

Jack sat on the floor accidently banged his head against the fire surround he was leaning against, “Can’t imagine Berns thinking; oh look Lady K is sticking bits of alpaca wool to a man’s bag he hangs in front of his todger. That must be something to do with Paddy and my birthday”

Vi was quick to admonish Jack, but when even Tom started to laugh, she decided to let it go.

“What about the little knifey thing they keep in their sock that he stabs the Haggis with?” Fred was beginning to get excited.

“Sgian dubh,” corrected Vi.

“All part of the traditional dress,” Patsy added a tone to her voice to reassure everyone that she had thought of everything.

“So that’s the gear sorted. Me and Reggie are in charge of the beer. What else?” Fred’s eyes were wide, thinking they actually might be able to pull this off.

“Well, myself and Evie have created a menu, pretty much on the lines of what we used to do in Wilf’s day.” Violet opened a small notebook and put on her reading glasses.

Clearing her throat she read, “Cock-a-leekie soup, Scottish salmon and tattie scones or scotch egg for starters.”

“Cock a what?” shouted up Jack.

“Chicken and vegetable soup to you, young man. There will be a just vegetable option too.” Violet’s voice began to take on the air it adopted when addressing an audience. “Then we have the Haggis or vegan Haggis, neeps and tatties and a whisky sauce.”

“What about those that might not wish to partake in the Haggis?” Tom asked nervously, as he might.

Evie spoke up before Vi could respond. “There is always the Fourteen Teacups for the likes of those that don’t wish to have Haggis. It’s a Burns Night. If you don’t want Haggis, then stay at home and order in a pizza.”

“What’s for pudding?” Bobby struck up, squeezing her husband’s hand.

“Cranachan which is raspberries, cream, oats and whisky, or Clootie pudding with whisky sauce or whisky ice cream or a Scottish cheese board with oatcakes.”

Murmurs of approval were aimed in Violet’s direction.

“That’s a lot of whisky?” Lucille remarked.

Violet agreed, “Yes, we need just a house whisky for everyone for the toasts Val, I will leave that to you, but you need to pay the piper with a good quality malt.”

Silence broke out in the previously buzzing, over occupied living room.

“Piper!” Several people groaned at once.

Fred, who was not going to let anything get in the way of this Burn’s Night declared, “Look, we will just have to bung on a recording.” Turning to Tim and Jack, he said, “You lads look up the Red Hot Chilli Pipers on your phones.”

Tim reached for his phone, swiping the picture of Lucille and him with Alpaca Colin. But Lucille touched his hand, making him hesitate.

“I don’t think that would be very suitable, Mr Buckle going to all this trouble with such a delicious menu and Mr Turner all dressed up in the finest regalia and then having some squeaky din coming out of an iPhone.”

“Your right lass, it just won’t do,” supported Phyllis.

“Well, does anyone know a piper?” Fred replied wearily.

“Surely we can find a professional one online?” contributed Julia

“A professional piper that’s free on Burn’s Night at this late notice,” chided Phyllis.

“I know a piper.”

The voice came from the back of the room. Everyone turned to look at the slight dark-haired woman sat on a dining chair. “Well, I think we all do.”

“Do we, Jane?” Julia asked.

“Yes, the busker that stands outside the town hall in Appleby Thornton.”

Everyone started talking at once;

“I only go into town every second Tuesday to get my hair done.”

“Same here I only go through if I have a doctor’s appointment.”

“Well, it’s the cost of the parking isn’t it, it’s free at Tweaven Retail Park and more shops.”

“You can get it on t’internet delivered to your door.”

“I haven’t been since Marks and Spencers closed.”

“Debenhams is closing next week such a shame, that shops older than me, always been a department store in Appleby Thornton.”

“It was one of the first in the country to have a lift, you know.”

Jane cleared her throat. “There are a lot of good things about Appleby Thornton that are not always obvious.”

“Here, here!” chimed in Val, “there is still a Primark.”

“Oh well, let’s be grateful for small mercies,” stung back Trixie.

Much to Delia’s disappointment, Val bit her lip. The ex-nurse and market gardener loved a full house. She cherished her quiet times with Patsy too, but she was the more sociable of the pair. The farm was large enough for Patsy to have her office and art studio and not be disturbed while Delia fussed the alpacas with Reggie. Trixie moving in had been Patsy’s scheme, but Delia was the one who had benefited most from their new project, even if she would never let their new employee know she was a project.

Delia enjoyed listening to Trixie’s anecdotes and gossip. She felt reconnected with a world that was moving so fast. The Two Loves were business women and technology hadn’t passed them by. It was the music, the celebrities, the trashy telly that Patsy despised and Delia loved that made having Trixie and her friends around delight Delia.

Delia’s carer probably wasn’t as up-to-date with pop culture as Trixie and her friend. Val was now a frequent visitor to Mount Busby, as she and their new lodger had struck up quite a friendship. Nurse Bernie always looked a bit behind the door when the other two were in full flow about some reality TV show.

But since Trixie had moved in, Nurse made Delia’s blood pressure check the last visit on her rounds and she drank tea, sitting and chatting with Trixie. Bernie didn’t need to watch Love Island. She had her own romantic paradise in Poplar-on-Tweaven and Delia couldn’t be more happy for her.

Val had bitten her lip, her new friend was still a bit of an enigma to her. She did know Trixie might talk as if she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but in the last few months she had gleaned enough to know that spoon had been tarnished sometime ago. So in spite of all her bravado, Trixie was as familiar with Poundland as she was with Prada.

It was Julia who cut through the chatter. “I believe I am familiar with the young man you are referring to. He has a small dog with him if I am right?”

“Yes, Reverend.” Jane was beginning to believe she had dreamt the piper and maybe also Appleby Thornton.

“He’s rather good, as I remember.”

Jane was beaming as she nodded.

“So problem solved,” Fred rubbed his hands together with glee, “tot of whisky, a bowl of water for the pooch, bob’s your uncle, sorted”

“No, it certainly is not.” Trixie’s tone caused everyone to alter their gaze, “this man is a professional musician surely, if he has a regular spot he has a license. I am sure Chummy is well acquainted with the gentleman and his story. We can ask her.”

Inspector Noakes had been unable to attend the meeting because of work commitments, and Peter’s Tuesday evenings were spent running a youth football team that Jack and Timothy had both enjoyed being a part of. Alas, Tim had become too rangy and prone to injury, and Jack had become too lazy and prone to chips.

Trixie continued, “He deserves an appropriate wage for his efforts.” She turned to Val. “I believe the Crown has an entertainments licence.”

Val nodded and smiled reassuringly at her friend, “Paddy does, leave it with me and I will also make sure he and the mut are fed and provided with transport both ways.”

Trixie relaxed and shared a smile with the aromatherapist sitting at the back of the room. “Do you know his name?”

“Kevin.”

Fred let out a huge sigh. “So we are all sorted then?”

“It would appear so,” replied Lucille, grimacing at Tim.

“Apart from Dad.” groaned Tim.

Followed by an echo of sighs.

“Leave your dad to me, Chick.” winked Val.

#call the midwife #berns night revisited #january 2020 seems like a lifetime ago #hope it has a happy ending #hate those angsty slow burn au fics

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evcryopeneye · 3 years

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@pcachlovc asked: ♫ (hhh i fORGOT WHO I SENT IT FOR THE LAST TIME I SENT THIS but??? feng wu n chengze, always our good bets?)

Golden - Fall Out Boy How cruel is the golden rule? When the lives we lived are only golden plated. I knew that the lights of the city were too heavy for me. Now I carry karats for everyone to see. I saw God cry in the reflection of my enemies, and all the lovers with no time for me, all of the mothers raise their babies to stay away from me. Tongues on the sockets of electric dreams, there the sewage of youth drowned the spark of my teens.

The Opening Act of Spring - Frank Turner Oh the birds are ringing in the opening act of spring and I have fallen down and I am so much worse than I have ever been. The seasons are acting strange and I know that something has to change but there is no path that I can choose that will not bring somebody pain. Oh please forgive me for the things I must do. Oh though I have hurt so many people its never my intention to hurt you.

Fast in My Car - Paramore Been through the ringer a couple of times, I came out callous and cruel. My two friends know this very well because they went through it two. The three of us were initiates, we had to learn how to deal, when we spotted a second chance, we had to learn how to steal. Hollowed out and filled up with hate, all we want is you to give us a break. We’re driving fast in my car, we’ve got our riot gear on and we just want to have fun.

Outsiders - Against The Current For every broken bone and every lie you’ve told. Every time you’re lost and you can’t find home. This is for the ones who always feel alone. We are outsiders, living inside a broken world. We are outsiders, and I know sometimes it can hurt but it gets better you’ll make it though. We’ll stay gold not black and blue. We’re outsiders but we’re not hiding anymore - this is who we really are.

Stop The Clocks - Enter Shikari There’s a cinema in me, it plays counterfeit scenes, all my worries and blunders and you said ‘that makes two of us.’ And all your life you just exist, and all your life its moments missed, and all the time you wait in line, what’d ya find? Well that makes two of us. Stop the clocks I’m killing time. I don’t ever want this to end and you said ‘that makes two of us.’

Blood Under The Bridge - Frightened Rabbit It’s alright, it’s alright, it’s just blood under the bridge and I’m too tired to fight, the affliction will be fixed, oh it's alright. It’s just blood under the bridge put down the knife and come watch the blood under the bridge go by. So tie your raggit fuckups in a neat little knot and put it on the shelf behind the picture we bought. I found a way to make the best of a flaw and realise this is not the end, it's an uncomfortable pause.

#&&char: Feng Wu #pcachlovc #HAVE SOME FEELINGS

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bbclesmis · 5 years

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The inside story of the BBC adaptation of Les Misérables... by the man who sexed up War and Peace

On a summer’s morning in a park outside Brussels, one of European literature’s most wretched characters is having a laugh. In Victor Hugo’s gargantuan 1862 novel Les Misérables, the naive young Parisian seamstress Fantine is dealt a rotten hand: she loses her wealthy boyfriend, her daughter, her job, her hair, her two front teeth and her life – all within the book’s first act.

If you are one of the 130 million people to have encountered Fantine in the world-conquering stage musical (or 2012’s big-screen incarnation of it, in which Anne Hathaway enacted the character’s misery through an Oscar-winning outpouring of tears), you will know her as a figure of abject tragedy.

Yet here she is in the Belgian sunshine, as played for the cameras by Lily Collins – the 29-year-old daughter of musician Phil – bonnet off, flirting on the lawn with her lover, Félix (Johnny Flynn), while her giggling girlfriends lark about on a swing, like a Fragonard painting come to life.

In her pale empire-line dress, hair plaited with flowers, she looks almost bridal: untroubled and in love. Later this month, you’ll have a chance to meet this unfamiliar Fantine for yourself, in the first episode of the BBC’s lavish new six-part series. With a screenplay by Andrew Davies, it attempts to show us an aspect of Hugo’s classic we’ve never seen dramatised before; one that is, well, less miserable.

Until last year, the director – 50-year-old Tom Shankland, best known for the lost-child drama The Missing – was ‘one of those few people in the universe who didn’t know much about the musical or the film’, he says. But after receiving Davies’ screenplay, he plunged into the novel and found a story bristling with ‘so much life and drama and violence and tragedy that the label “costume drama” just can’t contain it’.

Setting out to make a version that would ‘bring a level of 21st-century psychology to the realm of 19th-century melodrama, keeping one foot in then and one foot in now’, his spiritual guide would be David Lean, who, in cinematic masterpieces such as Lawrence of Arabia, proved ‘so brilliant at judging when to be intimate and when to be epic. I think that was always going to be the game with Les Misérables: how not to lose our heroes against this vast historical canvas.’

It’s day 79 of the 89-day shoot and sitting in front of a monitor – headphones clamped to his ears, an approving smile on his face – Davies is the first to admit to being no fan of the musical. ‘I hated it,’ he tells me, ‘couldn’t bear it.’ Yet when he first read Hugo’s book six years ago, he was struck by a sophistication that, he felt, no adaptation had come close to capturing.

In the sprawling saga, set in a nation discombobulated by Napolean’s defeat at Waterloo, Davies says he found ‘such a lot of resonances with our time now. There are the haves and have-nots, the extreme strata of society in terms of riches and poverty. I thought how good it would be to show that on television.’

At the moment we join the narrative, in 1815, he says, ‘France thought it’d had a revolution, now it’s got a monarchy again and it’s back to the bad times. So while people like Fantine can have fun for a bit, they are always in danger of dropping through the cracks. There is no safety net, no welfare state. If you take one wrong step, you’re f—ed, basically.’

To anyone else, the prospect of reducing Hugo’s 1,500-page leviathan to six hours of primetime drama would have been daunting. But to Davies – who, at 82, is British television’s undisputed doyen of the literary adaptation, as the brains behind such memorable series as 1995’s Pride and Prejudice, 2005’s Bleak House and, in 2016, War & Peace – it was an itch that just had to be scratched. ‘I felt it had never been done properly before,’ he says. ‘But then I always think that. “Hmmm, you need my version of it.”’

His first step towards reclaiming the story from the musical (‘a very partial version of the book, more concert than drama’) was to introduce the viewer to Fantine not when she is plummeting into the abyss, but, as Hugo does, before she has the slightest inkling of her fate. ‘As for Fantine, she was pure joy,’ writes the author early on. ‘Her magnificent teeth had clearly been given her by God with one purpose only, and that was to laugh.’

During a break in filming, Collins, towelling dressing gown now slung over her dress, tells me she spent her childhood summers in Switzerland (‘where I would dream in French’) and begged the filmmakers for an audition the moment she heard the project was in the pipeline – with Davies’ emphasis on this happy phase of Fantine’s story part of the appeal. Not only did it free her from the spectre of Hathaway’s portrayal, it also deepened her sympathy for the character. ‘Because you get to see just how in love she was with Félix; it heightens the heartbreak.’

The result contributes to a telling of Les Misérables that the bullish Davies suggests may rank as ‘the most psychologically satisfying version there has been so far of the book’. Having set out to improve upon the musical, he now finds himself wondering if, in places, he’s also surpassed the novel. ‘We tell Fantine’s story more fully than I think Hugo did,’ he says. ‘We’ve explored the Javert and Jean Valjean relationship more deeply, too.’

If Fantine is the book’s emotional heart, then the intense cat-and-mouse struggle between Jean Valjean – the convict who serves 19 years’ hard labour for stealing a loaf of bread before rehabilitating himself as the mayor of Montreuil – and Inspector Javert, his jailer-turned-stalker, is its moral centre. While the lawman is a monstrously rigid incarnation of the unbending principles of justice, Valjean, who works his way back from brutal to beatific, represents the possibility of grace.

As Javert, David Oyelowo, the British actor who made his name in BBC drama Spooks and forged a Hollywood career with such acclaimed performances as Martin Luther King in Selma (2014), was the first cast member to sign up for the new Les Misérables, on which he also served as executive producer.

‘Partly why I really wanted to play Javert is that, having read Andrew Davies’ script and then the book, he remained enigmatic to me,’ Oyelowo says, speaking over the phone from his Los Angeles home about a character often dismissed as more archetype than man.

‘I didn’t see him as a simplistic villain, but as a very complicated human being. I felt there was a lot of work for me to do in order to explain some of what one might call his malevolence, his drive, his ambition and especially his attention towards Jean Valjean. I found something primal in his fastidious, continuous, inexorable need to get hold of this man.’

Back on set in Belgium, I spot that man – or at least the actor who plays him, Dominic West – loitering in his breeches outside Vilvoorde prison. With its brick-vaulted ceiling and cracked paintwork, the abandoned 18th-century building south of Brussels is an atmospheric kind of place. Shankland says it has a ‘melancholic aura’; a production assistant says it smells of ‘dead rat’.

Inside, in a recreation of the book’s Montreuil bead factory, Collins’ Fantine is sitting with her fellow grisettes (among them Lily Newmark and Erin Doherty) at long wooden tables strewn with black beads, waiting for make-up designer Jacqueline Fowler to give them the once-over. This seems to involve her making sure they haven’t washed behind their ears. ‘I like to see sweat,’ she explains afterwards. ‘And neck hair. None of the girls have make-up on today; it’s a very natural, realistic look.’

Later, the costume designer Marianne Agertoft says that she, too, favoured a pared-down style, so historical pedants had better beware. ‘We’ve kept bonnets off the women quite a lot of the time, even at moments when they would have worn them then,’ she tells me. ‘Why? Because they can very much get in the way.’

Outside, West (also an executive producer), who slotted in Jean Valjean between shooting seasons four and five of American melodrama The Affair, admits he found Tom Hooper’s 2012 film of Les Misérables so ‘bloody awful’ that he walked out of the cinema before it had finished. So when he was first approached for the new series, he hesitated. ‘I thought, “It’s a musical, it’s been done, we’ve just seen the film and why do it again?”’ he explains, while Fowler (previously seen applying her make-up brush to the abs of Poldark’s Aidan Turner for his notorious topless scything scene) attends to his stick-on sideburns. ‘Then I read the book and it just knocked my socks off. Best thing I’ve ever read.’

West is similarly enthused by his character, whom he describes as ‘the greatest superhero in literature, a strongman who spends the whole time rescuing children and saving entire communities’. He treasures Valjean as an anomaly in television drama: a public servant celebrated as a figure of high moral standing. Isn’t it also pretty rare, I suggest, for West, a 49-year-old Old Etonian who sealed his reputation playing a morally dubious Baltimore cop in The Wire, to be the good guy? ‘It is,’ he says. ‘I’ve played a lot of villains and I don’t want to do it any more. [Portraying] Iago and Fred West in one year was annihilating. To live with Valjean, as I have for six months, is invigorating: it opens your soul.’

Oyelowo acknowledges that there will be those surprised to see him cast in ‘the kind of role which, to be perfectly frank, even 10 years ago probably would not have been afforded me’.

Born in Oxford in 1976 to black Nigerian immigrants, he says, ‘Something I have found problematic with period drama over the years, in terms of what we have done in Great Britain, is to deny just how long people of colour have been part of the fabric of British life – and European life as well, as it pertains to Les Mis.’

To those viewers who struggle to reconcile him with Hugo’s ‘slimy spook’, Oyelowo would say, ‘I am sure a lot of French people think it’s not right to transpose Les Mis on to British culture, which is what we’ve done by having the characters speak English and talk in London or posh English accents. But if you are going to make something that doesn’t stink of mothballs, you’d better be speaking to the world that we live in. And I think the show that we have cultivated absolutely does that.’

For all that the series strives for contemporary relevance, it also remains an epic feat of historical reconstruction that required a roving six-month shoot across Belgium and northern France, a principal cast of more than 100 (which also includes Olivia Colman and Adeel Akhtar as the dastardly innkeeping Thénardiers, and Sir Derek Jacobi as the irreproachable Bishop of Digne), a tapestry maker, a horse handler and 3,000 extras.

For producer Chris Carey, the high point of the process – its literal pièce de résistance – was the episode at the barricades, inspired by the 1832 French uprising which, in Hugo’s words, ‘turned the centre of Paris into a sort of colossal, impenetrable citadel’. To shoot those scenes, says Carey (whose last production was the thriller Apple Tree Yard), ‘We used a real street in a real French town, Sedan in northern France, which looks how Paris looked pre-Haussmann. And we blew it up over the course of two or three weeks. You can imagine the complications of keeping the town happy and on side when you are running through the streets at 5am with bayonets and cannon firing.’ I can also imagine such an operation burning through the kind of budget of which most BBC dramas could only dream. ‘You can’t do that stuff on a shoestring,’ concedes executive producer Faith Penhale, ‘but I won’t tell you a figure.’

West gives a less guarded assessment. ‘In terms of American budgets, this is nothing. This whole series is probably costing less than an American pilot would cost,’ he says. ‘We do these things very cheaply, which is not a good thing… For what we have to do, it’s peanuts.’

Does he in turn receive a significantly smaller fee for a drama like this than for something like The Affair? ‘I couldn’t possibly tell you,’ he says. Perhaps because they’ve blown a sizeable chunk of the budget on the services of a certain Mr West? ‘No, they have not,’ he yelps, before offering an answer to my previous question: ‘Yes, I do, very much less.’

If money is in relatively short supply in Les Misérables, then so too is sex. One of the most curious aspects of Hugo’s book is that, although it was written by a man known for his erotic appetites (it is said that on the day of his funeral, on 31 May 1885, the brothels of Paris pulled down their shutters as a sign of respect to a valued client), sex scarcely gets a look in. ‘It’s odd,’ says Davies. ‘We had this sudden realisation when talking about it that both Javert and Jean Valjean appear to be virgins.’ You might have assumed that Davies, who has long since had a reputation for sexing up the classics, would set that right – he is, after all, the man who injected incest into War and Peace and whose Pride and Prejudice planted the image of Colin Firth’s Darcy in a figure-hugging wet shirt in the nation’s consciousness – but no.

‘I don’t have to have sex all the time in things,’ he laughs. ‘I’m an old gentleman now.’ And indeed, although Fantine is taken to bed by Félix more than once in the first episode, their scenes together are characterised by a coyness that borders on prudery. In fact, the only real nudity to speak of in the drama’s first hour – which opens with jaw-dropping aerial views of the battlefield of Waterloo, a grim patchwork of uniformed corpses and dead horses – is a disarming shot of Valjean’s bare bottom. ‘Yeah, when I leave prison I get stripped off and thrown my old rags, so we thought it was a good excuse to get my ass out – somebody did, anyway,’ West tells me with a wolfish grin. ‘Let’s hope they can CGI it all right.’

Talking of ideal forms, before I leave the set I ask Davies if at any point in the process he felt the story of Les Misérables had already found its perfect expression in Hugo’s pages, and that the act of wrestling it on to the screen was always doomed to feel like a succession of compromises? ‘No,’ he says, with unwavering confidence. ‘It’s just finding its perfect medium now. If TV had been around at the time Victor Hugo wrote, I believe he would have made it as a six-part television show.’

Les Misérables starts on 30 December, at 9pm, on BBC One

Benjamin Secher, The Telegraph, 08.12.2018

#les mis bbc #bbc les mis #Interviews #Lily Collins #fantine #david oyelowo #javert #dominic west #Jean Valjean #Andrew Davies

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phroyd · 6 years

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Officially, “Respect” is a relationship song. That’s how Otis Redding wrote it. But love wasn’t what Aretha Franklin was interested in. The opening line is “What you want, baby, I got it.” But her “what” is a punch in the face. So Ms. Franklin’s rearrangement was about power. She had the right to be respected — by some dude, perhaps by her country. Just a little bit.What did love have to do with that?

Depending on the house you grew up in and how old you are, “Respect” is probably a song you learned early. The spelling lesson toward the end helps. So do the turret blasts of “sock it to me” that show up here and there. But, really, the reason you learn “Respect” is the way “Respect” is sung. Redding made it a burning plea. Ms. Franklin turned the plea into the most empowering popular recording ever made.

Ms. Franklin died on Thursday, at 76, which means “Respect” is going to be an even more prominent part of your life than usual. The next time you hear it, notice what you do with your hands. They’re going to point — at a person, a car or a carrot. They’ll rest on your hips. Your neck might roll. Your waist will do a thing. You’ll snarl. Odds are high that you’ll feel better than great. You’re guaranteed to feel indestructible.

Ms. Franklin’s respect lasts for two minutes and 28 seconds. That’s all — basically a round of boxing. Nothing that’s over so soon should give you that much strength. But that was Aretha Franklin: a quick trip to the emotional gym. Obviously, she was far more than that. We’re never going to have an artist with a career as long, absurdly bountiful, nourishing and constantly surprising as hers. We’re unlikely to see another superstar as abundantly steeped in real self-confidence — at so many different stages of life, in as many musical genres.

That self-confidence wasn’t evident only in the purses and perms and headdresses and floor-length furs; the buckets and buckets of great recordings; the famous demand that she always be paid before a show, in cash; or the Queen of Soul business — the stuff that keeps her monotonously synonymous with “diva.” It was there in whatever kept her from stopping and continuing to knock us dead. To paraphrase one of Ms. Franklin’s many (many) musical progeny: She slayed. “Respect” became an anthem for us, because it seemed like an anthem for her.

The song owned the summer of 1967. It arrived amid what must have seemed like never-ending turmoil — race riots, political assassinations, the Vietnam draft. Muhammad Ali had been stripped of his championship title for refusing to serve in the war. So amid all this upheaval comes a singer from Detroit who’d been around most of the decade doing solid gospel R&B work. But there was something about this black woman’s asserting herself that seemed like a call to national arms. It wasn’t a polite song. It was hard. It was deliberate. It was sure. And that all came from Ms. Franklin — her rumbling, twanging, compartmentalized arrangement. It came, of course, from her singing.

Because lots of major pop stars now have great, big voices, maybe it’s easy to forget that most Americans had never heard anything quite as dependably great and shockingly big as Ms. Franklin’s. The reason we have watched “Showtime at the Apollo” or “American Idol” or “The Voice” is out of some desperate hope that somebody walks out there and sounds like Aretha. She established a standard for artistic vocal excellence, and it will outlast us all.

She, along with Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, Otis Redding, Tina Turner and Patti LaBelle, changed where the stress fell in popular singing. Now you could glean a story from lyrics but also hear it in the tone of the singer’s voice — agony, ecstasy and everything beyond and in between. Roots, soil, pavement on one hand, the stratosphere on the other.

I know. That does just sound like the art of singing. But when gospel left the church and entered the body — the black body — we called that soul. And a good soul artist could make singing for sex sound like she was singing for God. They call that secular music. But it just repositioned whatelse could be holy. Almost nobody — and even then, maybe just Ray Charles — did as much toggling between and conflating of the religious and the randy with as much sincere athletic imagination and humor andswagger as Ms. Franklin.

“Dr. Feelgood (Love Is a Serious Business),” the hit from 1967 that she co-wrote, never fails to chill, arouse and amuse. Ms. Franklin performs it with a mix of exasperation and smoldering anticipation. That song’s never sounded better or more theatrical than it does on “Aretha Live at Fillmore West,” from 1971. Its structural brilliance is that there’s no robust chorus or melody, just Ms. Franklin, her piano, a blues groove and her mood. She wants a friend to get going so she can have sex with her man. But who’s been shown the door with this much flair?

The song starts, “I don’t want nobody always sitting around me and my man.” You could bake a pie in the pause between “nobody” and “always.” And when she gets to “sitting,” she takes a deep, five-second drag on the “s” so that it sounds less like a consonant and more like a lit fuse. The remaining six and a half minutes put you in exhilarated suspense over when her top’s gonna blow.

There are so many things to love about this performance: its sexiness, its playfulness, its resolve, all the space in the arrangement for Ms. Franklin’s singing to stay low until it takes off high, the way that once she finally connects with Dr. Feelgood himself, the crowd audibly connects with the song or, really, just more deeply connects, since people had been shouting stuff like, “Sing it, Aretha!” between her pauses. You can feel in that moment the hold Ms. Franklin had over anybody who ever saw — or heard — her sing. She worked with bottomless reserves of swagger.

We tend not to think of Ms. Franklin that way — as an artist of bravado and nerve and daring, as a woman with swagger. We tend not to think of her this way even though nearly every song she sang brimmed over with it. (She sang about taking care of business — the old “tcb” — and, consequently, having her business taken care of, as much as she sang about respect.) Swagger we left to the Elvis Presleys and James Browns and Mick Jaggers. But “swagger” is the only word for, say, her approach to the music of other artists.

It didn’t matter whether it was a Negro spiritual or something by the Beatles. It was all wet clay to her. The Supremes, Frank Sinatra, Leonard Cohen, Adele, Simon and Garfunkel, James Taylor, ? and the Mysterians, C & C Music Factory: She oversaw more gut renovations than a general contractor. In 1979, she took the occasion of B.B. King’s “The Thrill Is Gone” to allow her backing singer to exclaim that she (and they) were “free at last.” Toward the end of her funked-up, very fun version of Sam & Dave’s “Hold On, I’m Comin’,” from the 1981 album “Love All the Hurt Away,” she tossed in some “beep-beeps” and a couple of lines from “Little Jack Horner” because she knew she could make it work.

If good soul music is like good barbecue — slow cooked, falls off the bone — by the 1980s, she’d become a pit master, yelping and barking and wailing, but also talking in songs, sermonizing. You know the char and gristle, the bits of sugar and salt and fat on, say, a perfectly done slab of ribs? Most of this woman’s songs were blackened that way. Yet if Ms. Franklin told you she was going to take a classic R&B song and throw in a little nursery rhyme, you’d be nervous. Did 1986 really need a cover of “Jumpin’ Jack Flash?” Probably not. But she did it anyway — and robustly — and threw in a “hallelujah” while she was at it.

But, by that point, Ms. Franklin seemed well on her way to becoming somebody who might have relished the culture’s doubt. She loved music too much to be vestigial or nostalgic or relegated. She wanted — you know, what she wanted. And eventually respect was tricky to come by. I, at least, remember sitting on my bed watching the 1998 Grammys and hearing that she’d be filling in for Luciano Pavarotti and rolling my eyes. Ms. Franklin knew. She went out there, sang some Puccini, and left the nation in shock.The Queen of Opera, too?

Is it possible that despite the milestones and piles of Grammys (the now-defunct female R&B vocal performance category seemed invented just for her; she won the first eight), despite famously having been crowned the greatest singer of all time in a vast Rolling Stone survey, despite being Aretha Franklin, the Greatest was also rather underrated — as a piano player, as an arranger (who had a greater imagination when it came to coloring a song with backing singers), as an album artist? Despite the world’s bereavement over her death, despite her having been less a household name and more a spiritual resident of our actual home, despite giving us soundtracks for loneliness, for lovemaking, for joy, for church, cookouts and bars, despite the induction ceremonies, medals and honorary degrees, despite her having been the only Aretha most of us have ever heard of, is it possible that we’ve taken her for granted, that in failing to make her president, a saint or her own country, we still might not have paid her enough respect? Just a little bit.

Phroyd

#franklin #aretha

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wearebadcode · 6 years

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‘Frank Turner universe’ fic. Chapter II: I.I. 2013. The first polaroid picture

Chapter summary: Beca and Chloe attend their first Frank Turner show together, in Atlanta, where Chloe realizes maybe her feelings for Beca are not purely friendly...

Also on AO3.

Someday in November, 2013.

Beca was outside the Bella's house. She was lying down the grass with her headphones on, listening to some music obviously. It was one of her favorites things to do on her days off. Those days were reserved to do absolutely nothing but to lie down and not feeling guilty about procrastinate, pretty much being the woman's attitude on a daily basis.

She was listening to 'Tape deck heart', Frank Turner's album which he will be going to tour along the US with during that year. The very same tour Beca and Chloe buy tickets for to attend to months ago, being set for 10th of November, here in Atlanta.

Beca opened her eyes to find Stacie poking at her right cheek, with a funny expression on her face. The woman was funny, yeah, but Beca would rather not to be bothered at times like this, when she was trying to find some kind of spiritual silence out the Bella's house. That was the reason why she was outside at the grass instead of being inside the house. With a not amused smile, Beca paused the song she was currently listening to, and took her headphones off to pay attention to Stacie.

“Woah, easy, Mitchell. Don't smile too broadly. It might crack your jaw. Jeez”.

Beca rolled her eyes. “Is that better?” said the petite woman, who softened her expression.

“Not really, but I appreciate the effort. Anyway. I know you'd rather not be disturbed, but Chloe is looking for you. She says she has something she wants to show you, I don't know. Let her know you're here or something”.

“Will do, Conrad. Thank you so so so much for the heads-up, you're so kind. Now I'm smiling broadly to you, see? I'm suuuuuper nice”.

“Okay, you can stop now. I'm going inside. Text Chloe”.

Beca chuckled as she saw Stacie walking away towards the house. Then she grabbed her phone and texted Chloe: I'm outside, lying on the grass, listening to some music. Usual deal with me. You should know it by now, Beale. Come join me.

Coming! replied Chloe.

“Hey, you” said the redhead, who joined Beca on the grass outside the house in a matter of minutes.

“Hey, yourself. Stacie said you wanted to show me something?”

“Yep” Chloe sat beside Beca.

“What is it?”

“Look at what I got. Brand new” Chloe showed a squared box to Beca, who was patiently waiting. Then the redhead passed the box to the brunette, who finally opened the box.

“Okay, this is sooo cool. But should I be impressed or something? I mean, okay. But I don't get it. Is this a big deal and I forgot why?”

“That could have happened, but not in this case. No, silly. Don't you get it? A camera...” encouraged Chloe.

“Yeah, a polaroid camera, in particular”.

“C'mon you almost got it. You can make it, Bec. A polaroid camera which takes pictures makes...”

“Dude, I don't know. A camera takes pictures”.

“Well, aren't you smart. Besides, I got to that conclusion, not you. No, but I'm not talking about any camera, but a polaroid camera. C'mooooooon, is not that difficult, really. A polaroid camera that takes pictures makes...?”

“Uh... uh... A polaroid picture?” answered Beca.

“Yeah! A polaroid pict-”

“Oh my god! A polaroid picture, of course! I get it now! But in the stillness of the moment it takes for a polaroid picture to capture our faces forever” sang Beca, as she understood the reference Chloe was trying to make her understand.

“Well, that took you forever but I've decided to forget you already since you sang that verse with your beautiful voice” let out Chloe with a satisfied smile, while looking directly to Beca's eyes and watching her face blush a little.

Ever since they met, Chloe would always go like these on Beca -like complimenting her voice, a particular aspect of her, anything really; even looking at her like she did before: like Beca was her only focus-, just like that, just like without even thinking about saying it. Yeah, that was the way Chloe was made, but with Beca was... different. It'll always be different with Beca, she knew that when she met her at the activities fair the year before -Beca's first year-.

And when she almost "jumped" her on the showers the moment she heard her sing. They sang together while harmonizing and looking into each other's eyes, even each other's lips. And once they finished the verse they were singing, they felt that each other's eyes were looking far down their respective eyes to look at her boobs instead, smoothly.

And that time in initiation night at Hood Night Party, when Chloe ran directly towards Beca when she saw her standing alone in one of the old amphitheater seat rows. She grabbed Beca by her wrists, moved the woman towards her -despite the small space that separated the two of them- so their foreheads were almost pressed together and declared she was "very glad" that she met Beca because she thought they would become "really fast friends". That quick interaction they both shared almost led to think that they were about to kiss each other, since both women were looking at each other's eyes and mouths, again.

No wonder why Beca and Chloe were so close to each other and why the two women shared that special bond everyone seemed to notice, even Jesse, who Beca was dating since the end of last semester. You don't stepped into someone's shower, looked at her eyes, lips, boobs and then almost kissed her without shaking things up. Being "things" referred to the relationship Beca and Chloe shared ever since their first meeting. They'd always have this unspoken thing between them due to their firsts interactions.

That was Chloe had been thinking for about a while now: maybe she doesn't feel what she was supposed to feel -friendship- about Beca, but something more. A crush maybe. That allowed her to let out those spontaneous, sweet, cute and flirty compliments to Beca without any shame or shyness. Not being cut out that way at all, it was who Chloe was.

Beca, for her part, mostly backed up at Chloe's compliments due to her awkwardness in these kind of situations: being considered as a minimum invasion of privacy and space. Beca wasn't the flattering and flirtatious kind, not to mention the touchy kind. So she rarely answered the same way Chloe addressed to her. Besides, Beca was dating Jesse so it would be awkward-ish.

The most normal thing for Beca to do to answer Chloe's compliments was to roll her eyes, mostly, to go silent and then clear her throat or just to shrug and to smile shyly. She understood Chloe's forward nature because the redhead always showed herself that way to everyone, but Beca always suspected that she was a little too forward with her. She also understood that due to the showers episode, which seemed to be the most perfect explanation to justify their behaviors with each other as well as the nature of their relationship/friendship.

Beca rolled her eyes at Chloe's compliment. “Yeah, I like Frank's voice better. Anyway, what's your deal with the polaroid camera?”

“Right. Well, so as he sings: let go of the little distractions, hold close to the ones that you love. 'Cause we won't all be here this time next year so while you can take a picture of us” Chloe began to sang softly as Beca did before. “So I thought maybe we could take a picture of us at the concert. You know, a polaroid picture to show we've been watching to see where the time goes, to keep it with us forever. I don't know, it seemed nice when I thought about it”.

“Okay, you can be honest with me. You had it all planned since we bought the tickets, hadn't you?” teased her Beca.

“N... No? Okay, I had. I thought it was a great idea, if you ask me”.

“It is, Chlo. That could be a Frank Turner's shows tradition from now on. Our tradition. A polaroid picture for every single Frank Turner show we ever attend to. What do you say?”

“Well, I think it's an offer I can't refuse” said Chloe, with a Marlon Brando-ish voice.

“Dude, what kind of noise is that? It's creepy”.

“Oh, of course. I forgot you don't like movies. It's an iconic line of The Godfather, you ignorant”.

“Shut uuuup. Anyway, look what I was listening to when you came looking for me” Beca showed Chloe her laptop's screen, which showed iTunes interface currently playing a song of 'Tape deck heart'.

“God, I love this album. It's like his most mature yet. Couldn't think of any better chance to go see him perform live than now on this 'Tape deck heart' tour, honestly”.

“Right?! It's like the perfect album to listen to after a breakup. Like on an endless loop”.

“Woah, Bec. Are you trying to say that...?”

“What? Oh, no. No, no. It's all good with Jesse. I was just... I mean, look at the titles of the songs and also the order of them. Recovery, Losing days, The way I tend to be, Good and gone... I mean I would be listening to it”.

“Well, let me tell you I get that. Frank's always a great company choice, so...” Chloe smiled tenderly at Beca, who smiled back at Chloe. “I'm crazy about Good and gone, by the way. What a lyrics”.

“Dude, I looove Good and gone. I'm starting to think you can read minds, Chlo. The same thing happened with Reasons to be an idiot“.

“Maybe I know you so well...”

“Yeah, maybe you do”.

Both Beca and Chloe looked to each other and shared the same affectionate smile. Then Beca turned the volume of her laptop on so the two of them could listen to 'Tape deck heart' since the beginning. Lying on the grass outside the Bella's house. Together.

November 10th, 2013.

“Bec, you ready?” Chloe asked just as she went up the stairs to join Beca at the attic room, since the brunette had to share it with Amy, due to the lack of space for all of the Bellas to have an individual room.

“Give me a second “ Beca answered, getting more frustrated by the moment. Chloe noticed by her tone and body language.

“Are you okay? What are you looking for this desperately?”

Beca smiled and chuckled nervously, then brought her hand to scratch the back of her head and looked at Chloe with a worried expression.

“Uh... I can't find my ticket”.

“What? Bec, how is that even possible? I saw you put it right on your desk right after we bought them” Chloe said, looking at Beca's desk just in case. The redhead joined the brunette in the ticket-search-task, looking over, in, on and under everywhere Beca's space, literally.

“Ugh, I don't know dude. I thought the same and well... It isn't there. I literally looked everywhere. I don't know where I put it. Shit, Chloe. What are we going to do if we can't find it?”

“Okay, relax. I'm sure we'll find it eventually. We still got time, don't worry. Let's find your ticket. Okay, now focus. Where were the last places you'd put it?”

“Uh... Under the laptop? Over the table? Inside my shoes?”

“What?! Inside your shoes? What kind of person would do that? Anyway, so those places are a nope. Let's think again. What do you usually keep your things? Like it has to be a visible place or space, right?”

“Uh... Reasonably yeah, necessarily no. I mean look at this place, it's a disaster. Like Amy has all her clothes here and there, piled up on the sofa, which I don't know if it's a sofa anymore. Her shoes are also all over the flo-”

“Wait!”

“What?!”

“Amy! What if...”

“Do you think Amy has it?”

“No. I'm thinking maybe she kept it by accident, since this place is... Well... THIS place” Chloe said as she walked towards Amy's side of the room, sidestepping Amy's clothes that were on the floor.

“Dude, we'll never find the damn ticket around all this... I don't even know how to describe it”.

“Bec, just calm down. Come help me look, okay? We'll find it”.

“Ugh. I'm gonna kill Amy”.

The two women looked over everywhere, pretty much the same process they followed when looking at Beca's side of the room for the ticket earlier.

“Wait a moment” Beca said. “Amy has this box where she puts mostly food just in case she gets hungry at nights, but I've seen her put some other stuff sometimes”.

“Okay! Let's check Amy's box, then!” encouraged Chloe.

Beca and Chloe then looked under Amy's bed for any sign of that box Beca mentioned. Once they found it, Beca opened it to check if her ticket was really there. It was.

“So you were right. We found it! You got your ticket! I told you we would, you should give me more credit you know” said Chloe.

“I'm so happy right now I could even give you a hug” Beca held her ticket up to her chest, like it was her most precious possession.

“Woah. So bold, Mitchell. You should hold yourself” Chloe mocked.

“Be serious, Beale. We got a concert to attend to. Let's go before it ends, shall we?”

Beca and Chloe went walking down the stairs right to step out of the Bella's house as they reach the door. Before they left, they heared the voices of some of the Bellas wishing them a nice concert and a fun night. Both Beca and Chloe thanked they as they walked awayaway the house. After a while, Beca asked:

“Dude, where's the Uber? It should be here by now. Shit, we're gonna end up missing this concert”.

“Hey, don't jinx it. We're gonna have a suuuper nice night, you'll see. Look, the Uber just got here” Chloe waved at the vehicle to let know their driver that they were there, just waiting for the vehicle to pick the women up. “C'mon, let's jump on it”.

“Hey. Are you Beca?” said the Uber driver.

“I am” Beca answered.

“Oh, hi there. I'm Kate. Okay, get in the car. Where to?”

“We're going to Center Stage Theater? Like the show venue” said Chloe, to which Kate nodded as she started the car.

“Oh, so you going to see Frank Turner live, huh?”

“Do you know him?” Chloe asked with an astonished tone.

“Oh, yeah. I even saw him live once. You're so gonna love him. He's awesome. He's a very nice man, so grateful and full of energy. He's lovely, really”.

“Niiiiice” said Chloe, as she shared a look with Beca.

“We're gonna be there in time, right?” Beca asked Kate.

“I'm going as fast as I can. At what time does the show begin?”

“At 8.00. So we're kinda in a rush here”.

“Okay, let's go faster then. We're gonna make it there on time”.

After what felt a long ten minutes to Beca and Chloe, Kate got there as she said to them in a matter of minutes. Kate looked through the car window and said to her passengers: “So we're finally here. Seems you to are right on time”.

“Kate. You're awesome” Beca said.

“Oh my god, our heroine Kate. Keep the change” Chloe said as she paid for the ride.

“Thanks, girls! Hey, have fun, okay? See ya'!” Kate said goodbye to Beca and Chloe, who did the same and began walking fast towards the venue.

“We dit it, Bec. I told you we would, it's destiny: we had to see Frank together for the first time”.

“You're a nerd” Beca chuckled. “Shall we?”

“Pleeeeease!”

Both women finally entered the venue and made it into the room Frank was going to play. It was quite huge, actually.

“Oh my gooood, this is awesomeee” said Chloe as she looked through the room.”I’m sure Frank sold all the tickets, it's full. Look at that”.

“I would, but I can't barely see. I hate being this tall, ugh”.

“I'm not that tall myself, you know. I'm only a few inches taller than you. Okay, let's move forward. Ready? Hey, excuse me. My friend is over there and I got to get to her, she has my beer. Mary!! I'm here, I'm coming now” Chloe began to scream, looking ahead of her, dragging Beca by the hand along with hers. The redhead looked at Beca for a second and saw a light smile on her face. Once they stopped at the point the visibility seemed okay for the both of them, they both glanced at each other and began jumping and screaming.

“This is perfect. We're gonna see him so close, Beca! There's literally nobody taller than us ahead of us”.

“Tall people are the worst, ugh. Thanks for dragging us here” Beca looked and smiled at Chloe.

”I got your back, so you'll go on” replied Chloe, who wkinked and smiled back at Beca. “See what I did there? Frank’s ‘If I ever stray’ reference”.

”Yeah, Chlo. 100 points” Beca mocked and chuckled, which Chloe responded the very same way.

Suddenly, the light went off and people began cheering and clapping. Beca and Chloe got closer to each other so they could hear one another. Chloe put her arm over Beca's shoulders, and Beca reciprocated the action.

“You ready, Mitchell?”

“Let's do this”.

They dropped their arms and joined the people around them cheering and clapping. They suddenly saw a few men going up the stage and they could hear how the crowd cheering went wilder and louder. Those few men were The sleeping souls, Frank Turner's backup band, who waved at the crowd as they began taking their respective positions. Frank followed them and joined them up the stage, he grabbed one of his acoustic guitars and raised his arms for the crowd to cheer, who replied with more cheering and clapping. Beca and Chloe turned to face each other for a moment.

“Oh my god, Beca!!! I think I'm gonna die tonight”.

“I know, dude!!! Shit, I'm nervous. It's gonna be a great night, Chlo. I can feel it”.

They didn't have much time to exchange feelings, because Frank began to play first song's chords. He opened his mouth and began to sang.

Well, I guess I should confess that I'm starting to get old. All the latest music fads all passed me by and left me cold. All the kids are talking slang I won't pretend to understand. All my friends are getting married, mortgages and pension plans. And it's obvious my angry adolescent days are gone and I'm happy and I'm settled in the person I've become. But that doesn't mean I'm settled up and sitting out the game. Time may change a lot but some things they stay the same.

Beca and Chloe sang the chorus on the top of their lungs, as they joined Frank's singing and playing.

And I won't sit down and I won't shut up. And most of all I will not grow up. And I won't sit down and I won't shut up. And most of all I will not grow up.

Frank almost reach the end of 'Photosynthesis' when stopped playing and singing.

“Okay, friends. I wanna see you singing, I wanna see you dancing, I wanna see you clap your hands. We're gonna say one-two, one-two-three, okay, Atlanta? Are you fucking readyyyy?” Frank said instead.

Beca and Chloe shared a look and they both bring their arms up to the air and began screaming at Frank's requirement.

“Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh” they screamed at the unison as Frank began to play the song's chords.

“One. Two. One-two-three” Frank encouraged.

Now I'll play and you sing, the perfect way for the evening to begin. Now I'll play and you sing, the perfect way for the evening to begin. And I won't sit down and I won't shut up. And most of all I will not grow up. And I won't sit down and I won't shut up. And most of all I will not grow up.

Just as soon as the song ended, the crowd went even wilder than at the beginning of the show. Beca and Chloe shared a look and the both understood one another, since one look was all they need to read each other's mind. Wow they seemed to express.

“Okaaaay, Atlanta. Goodnight! How you doooooiiiiiing? My name's Frank Turner and this is The sleeping souls. Thanks for being here to listen to us tonight. Anyway, friends, welcome to show number 1494!!!” Frank screamed as the crowd joined him. “Fuck yeah, let's hear it!!!”

“Did you notice? He won't stop smiling. I loooove him!!” said Chloe as she approached Beca so she could hear her.

“He's a fucking rock 'n' roll star. I mean look at him, he won't stop moving” Beca replied.

“Okay, friends” Frank addressed the crowd. “So ‘The sleeping souls' and I are here in the US touring with my new brand album 'Tape deck heart', which was released earlier this year. I know there are people here tonight that followed me through the years, but for those who just joined: we're gonna play 'Tape deck heart' songs, too. So this song that follows is called Plain sailing weather”.

As the concert went by, Frank's interactions with the crowd increased, which to the crowd seemed to respond like Frank was their dearest friend. The atmosphere was great: people cheering, singing, clapping, jumping, enjoying.

“Dude, best night ever. Even with his back pain, he won't stop moving or jumping. This man is everything” Beca pointed out.

”I'm so in love right now I could burst into love tears”.

“Oh, get over yourself, Beale. Behave” Beca cracked up.

“Whaaaat? I legit love him, he's incredible”.

“I bet Kate was right, huh?”

“Soooo right! I wish she was our drive back to Barden” both Chloe and Beca went silent as they hear the chords Frank was beginning to play.

“Is that...?” asked Chloe.

“It is”.

“My jaaaaaaaaaaam” screamed Chloe, who turned to look directly at Frank, leaving Beca smiling at the redhead's reaction.

You're not as messed up as you think you are, your self-absorption makes you messier, just settle down and you'd feel a whole lot better. Deep down you're just like everybody else. She's not as pretty as she thinks she is, just picture her after she's had kids. I bet she sits at home and listens to The Smiths. Deep down she's just like everybody else.

Beca poked Chloe's shoulder to turn herself to her, so they could be in front of each other, to sing the chorus of 'Reasons not to be an idiot' together.

So why are you sat at home? You're not designed to be alone, you've just got used to saying no. So get up, and get down, and get outside 'cause it's a lovely sunny day but you hide yourself away, you've only got yourself to blame. Get up, and down, and get outside.

“Dude, you hate this song” said Beca just as the song ended.

“Oh my god, totes. I've been wanting to hear it live since that night back in Portland, I knew it right when I heard it”.

“Yeah, I figured since you spoke heavens of it. That's part of Frank's magic, I guess”.

“I guess”.

Both women smiled at each other, with affectionate smiles and reminded just like that for a few seconds. Then turned to the stage again to follow the concert. A few songs were played after 'Reasons not to be an idiot' just to get to another 'English keep my bones' hit.

“Dude, dude, dude, DUDE!! This is my jam” yelled Beca, who was looking at Frank, then turned to look at Chloe, who was staring at her with could be passion in her eyes.

The redhead had this habit of staring at Beca whenever she did something Chloe find nerdy, adorable even. But she never looked at Beca the way she was looking at her right now, at Frank's show. Chloe's eyes could speak her mind: the woman was passionate enough about music, but if the combo mixed music, live music, Frank Turner's music and Beca being passionate about singing Fran Turner's music at a live show... Well, that was everything. The thought hit Chloe as she watched Beca singing on the top of her lungs and being all passionate the song Frank was playing and Frank himself: she has a crush on Beca, her best friend, her platonic soulmate. The song came to an end and Beca began jumping and screaming while she looked at Frank.

“Wow. This song is like so relatable. I mean and on the worst days, when it feel like life weights ten thousand tonnes, I sleep with my passport, one eye on the backdoor so I can always run. Totally relatable” Beca pointed out

“Well, I hope you'll never run” blurted out Chloe.

“Won't do, Beale. Not anytime soon, at least” answered Beca, which left Chloe went blank. “Dude, I'm joking. Of course I won't leave, you weirdo. Chill”.

“For what it's worth, I also love 'I am disappeared', by the way” Chloe diverted the attention.

“I mean who wouldn't love a classic trapped-in-life-so-need-to-runaway song, right?” Beca asked and Chloe nodded in response.

“Alright, Atlanta” began Frank. “It's been a lovely night, thank every single one of you who came here see us tonight. I hope you'd had a great time with us. I also hope to see you along the way. Okay, so we're gonna play one last song and I want to see all of you fucking singing, and fucking jumping and fucking go craaazyyyyyy. This one's called Four simple words. Atlanta, you fucking reeeeeeeadyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”

Because we're all so very twenty-first century you're probably listening to me on some kind of portable stereo. Maybe you're sitting on the back of the bus, or it's running up your sleeve and you're across from your boss, or you're sitting in the bedroom on your own with the light down low.

“ C'mon, Atlanta. Sing with meeeeeeeeeeee”.

Chloe and Beca grabbed each other by one another lower backs and joined Frank and the crowd.

I'd like to teach you four simple words, so the next time you come to a show you can sing those words back at me like they're the only words that you know.

Frank encouraged the crowd to sing while moving his arms to the right and to the left repeatedly.

I want to dance, I want to dance. I want love and lust and a smattering of romance. But I'm no good at dancing and yet I have to do something. Tonight I'm gonna play it straight, I'm gonna take my chance. I want to dance.

“C'mooooooooooooooooooon everybody, sing along!!!!” Frank screamed.

Beca and Chloe, still with their hands on one another lower backs, began jumping while singing the lyrics to 'Four simple words' until the song came by its natural end.

“Thank yoooooooooouuuuuuuuu, friends! Take care! We'll see along the way!” Franksaid as he waved at the crowd while began walking off the stage, along The sleeping souls.

“Duuuuuuuude, that's it? Okay, what a show. Frank's insane. The energy, dude” said Beca, who turned to face Chloe.

“I'm stunned, this man is legit the love of my life. This show has been insane, indeed. Here” said Chloe, as she was taking something from her bag, “come closer. We have to take the first picture, remember?”

“The polaroid picture, yeah. I remember. Let's take it, let's get this over with. I hate you for wanting to take a picture, by the way”.

“You hate being in pictures alooone, this is different. You're with me and we just got out of Frank Turner's concert. This is different”.

“Okay, a little. But for what it's worth there's no one I'd rather be in a picture with, Chlo”.

Chloe blushed a little and smiled at her best friend, who put an arm over the redhead's shoulders and took the polaroid camera.

“Smile a little for the camera, Beale. Here we go” Beca pressed the polaroid camera button and took the picture, as it began to print. The polaroid picture. Their polaroid picture. Which was destined to be a tradition from now on everytime they attend one of Frank's shows. Their tradition.

“I love it” said Chloe as she took the picture once it was printed.

“Agreed” replied Beca. “Now let's get home, shall we?”

They were waiting for their Uber to pick them up when Beca saw a merchandise stand just a few meters away the Stage Center Theater.

“Wait me here for one second, okay? I'll be right back” Beca walked away from Chloe towards the merchandise stand and began speaking to the man who was selling Frank's products. After a few minutes, Beca got back to Chloe, who was waiting just where Beca left her.

“What did you got?” Chloe asked, curiously.

“The most awesome poster I've ever seen. Look” Beca asked, as she unfolded the piece of paper she just bought. The poster had 'Tape deck heart' album cover printed on it, along with Frank's US tour dates. The album cover itself was a heart, as in the organ's anatomic shape, tangled with a tape old cassette by the heart's veins and arteries. Then was the title of the album, 'Tape deck heart', and a few decorations around the 'tape-heart'. At the bottom of the album cover was Frank's name.

“Woah, yeah. 'Tape deck heart's album cover is fascinating” Chloe agreed.

“Yeah, dude. A piece of art. So I decided to buy it just to put up on my bedroom wall. And to remind our first Frank's show. My particular polaroid picture, you know. It's not that I need to look at it to remind tonight, but still. I want to have it just right beside me. I don't know, it's silly” Beca said, first looking at Chloe; then at the floor.

“Okay, first. You are a nerd, but still adorable. And second, it's not silly. Actually, I think it's the most "romantic" thing you've ever said. I mean you want to remind tonight, what an honor!” Chloe mocked at last.

“Okay, stop pushing or it won't be a second time”.

“A second time?”

“Uh... I meant a second Frank's concert”.

“ Sure, Mitchell. Keep telling yourself that” Chloe replied as soon as her eye caught the Uber's lights as the vehicle approached both women. “What do you say we call it a night, yeah?”

“Let's hit home”.

Both Beca and Chloe spent the drive home silent, just watching through the car's windows, thinking about the night they just shared, probably. Chloe stared at Beca momentarily, as she caught the brunette distracted by looking at the roads they were passing by with the car. The thought that hit Chloe earlier at Frank's show was still there: she had a crush on Beca. A sentiment that it wasn't mutual or reciprocated, because the woman was actually with Jesse. I'll figure it out, she thought to herself.

Beca and Chloe were finally at the Bella's house after a twenty minute ride. Once they got into the house, Chloe went directly towards the fridge to grab a pair of beer bottles: one for her and one for Beca, who loved beer. None of the Bellas were awake, so Beca and Chloe had to whisper due to keep the volume down.

“Hey, Chlo? Would you come upstairs with me for a minute? I wanna put the poster up the wall and I'd like you to be there” Beca said in a gentle way.

“Sure, let's go”.

Once they were there, Beca pointed to the only available space the room wall had, just next to a photoset and between a bunch of few posters.

“I wanna put it right there”.

“Since it's the only available space the wall has left”.

“Right. Here, take this side. Help me put it up the wall” Beca said to Chloe, as she was walking towards the wall room. “Okay, be careful. Is it straight?”

“I think so, yeah” replied Chloe.

“How does it look?”

“Perfect” said Chloe, as she and Beca remained silent while staring together at the poster.

11 notes · View notes

stunudo · 6 years

Text

BAU Prep School AU: 2018

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. (image link)

2016- 2017 Class of 2018

Messy

September 29, 2017 11:17pm

Luke Alvez hadn’t expected this, despite his explicit instructions to his team to do so in the case of an emergency. And yet he found his phone ringing in the late-night weekend hours from an unsaved Virginian number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Luke Alvez?”

“It is, and you are?”

“My name is Frank Broadhead and I am—”

“The principal for the International School.”

“Why, yes, actually.”

“With all due respect, sir, but why are you calling me so late?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Alvez. Or Coach? Do you prefer Coach?”

“Semantics, please continue.”

“Right, well. Phil and I just so happened to find a few of your students breaking into our football stadium tonight. Now I wanted to call Aaron Hotchner myself, but young Mr. Malcolm has convinced us that you were the right call. Are you?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you the right call?”

Luke stared at the ceiling of his apartment and whispered a few choice curses beneath his breath.

“Are you pressing charges?”

“Now, Coach, we were very lucky to have apprehended the intruders prior to any hijinks. But, either you or another faculty member come and collect the lot of them or I am calling the police, followed by their parents.”

Luke could hear various protests in the background, this was not the way he wanted to spend his weekend. He also didn’t have a large enough vehicle to cart around multiple teenagers. “Besides Trevor Malcolm, who and how many are there?”

Luke grabbed his keys and double checked his back gate as he continued with the phone call.

“Well, I have a very aggressive young lady by the name of May Howard, a more demur girl named Azalene Curtis, a disrespectful punk who refuses to tell me his name and Mr. Malcolm.”

“Alright, Broadhead, tell Brooks to sit tight and I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alvez.”

Luke hit the end call button and sighed. It was late enough that the bugs and occasional cars passing by were the only noises on his street. He stared at his list of contacts for a solid minute before making the call, which finally connected on the fourth ring.

“Man, you better not be drunk dialing me.” Morgan’s voice was amused.

“Sorry, Derek, but duty calls.”

An hour later, HM Hotchner, Coach Morgan and Coach Alvez all stepped out of the large black Suburban. The rival school was cast in near darkness, besides a few lights in a first-floor wing. Luke led the way, Hotch and Derek shared a glance at his familiarity with the campus. When they reached the door, Luke was texting on his phone.

“K, should be just a sec for them to let us in.”

“Anybody know about this?” Hotch looked at his two current sports’ coaches with concern.

“Honestly, Hotch, I had no idea. I gave the guys my number in case they needed a sober driver, I wasn’t exactly expecting a full bail out.” Luke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Aaron nodded, he was grateful to have Alvez on his team.

“My whole focus has been putting in the work to stick it their football team come playoffs, Hotch.” Derek held up his hands as they were empty of precursors to the crime. “If I had heard Howard and company would be trespassing I would have nipped that in the bud.” Derek’s eyes lit up as someone opened the secure door wide.

A tall African American guy gave them an annoyed appraisal, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brooks.” Luke sighed. “This is my boss, Aaron Hotchner,” he paused as the shook hands. “And I’m guessing you’ve met Coach Morgan?”

“Brooks. Sorry about this.” Derek patted the man on the back as he led the way through the dimmed hallways.

“That bulldozer on your line?” Brooks started. “She’s a pistol.”

“Are the students alright?” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, the guys may have been on something, but they lost their buzz fairly quickly.”

Luke and Derek both groaned, Coach Phil Brooks led the way to the principal’s office as they passed through a waiting room. In a row, spanning the spectrum of fear to boredom sat four Submariners. Lena Curtis, May Howard, Trevor Malcolm and one Iggy Cruz. When their teachers and headmaster stepped into the room, they erupted into a slew of explanations.

“Sir, we didn’t even—” Trevor started.

“Coach, I am so sor—” May’s voice hitched as her favorite teacher looked at her with complete disappointment.

“Are you going to call my dad?” Lena squeaked, she had been crying.

“Enough!” Hotch raised his voice and the room quieted. “Submariners on your feet.” Even the coaches beside him straightened up at the direct order. Iggy was the last one to stand, letting a huff fall from his lips. “You will wait here with Mr. Morgan and Mr. Alvez. I am going to sort this out with Principal Broadhead, then we will discuss the consequences of your actions.”

October 2, 2017 12:58pm

Ms. Prentiss’s phone buzzed against her desk, but it didn’t register as she was reading going over the final act of The Crucible with her Sophomore class.

“Now Miller wrote this during the Red Scare, what parallels can you draw from the play and those events?” She looked out into the faces of some very bored and mildly confused teenagers. Her phone buzzed again, more obvious now in the silence left by the unanswering class. “Okay, let’s try this again. Red Scare? Anyone take post World War Two history, yet?”

Five hands were raised around the room, she sighed and nodded. Then Zachary Henkel’s hand shot up as if he was electrocuted.

“Yes, Mr. Henkel? What can you tell us about the Red Scare?”

“Nothing, actually, but Ms. Garcia is waving frantically and knocking at the door.”

The English teacher’s brow knit as realization sunk in.

“It’s time?” She asked the excitable guidance counselor.

“It’s definitely time. I don’t want to into details. But, hospital, go, you now.” Emily Prentiss gave a wilted glance back to the waiting class. “Go, Emily, I’ve got them.”

“Communism and Arthur Miller. You, go.”

1:14pm

The Kirsch Memorial Hospital felt like a maze, despite the now weekly appointments JJ had been having within. Emily soon found the birthing wing and signed in at the desk.

“Your partner is in room 13C. Breathe, Mama, you got this.” The beaming nurse said to Emily, who must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Right, thanks.” Emily gave a half smile and pinned her security tag on her blouse. The rooms were set up like hotel suites: very comfortable and spaced in pairs down a soothing hallway.

“Oh thank God!” JJ exclaimed as she saw Emily’s black hair peek through the double wide door.

“Or just Penelope, hey you.” Emily grabbed JJ’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t answer right away, I though it was an email notification.”

“You really need to stop being so professional.” JJ’s laughed cut short as a contraction started.

“Where are we at?” Emily watched the monitors they had on her girl and her bulging belly.

“Six minutes apart, but only dilated to 4,” JJ grunted. Emily rubbed JJ’s back with her free hand, as the pain eased so did JJ’s grip on the bed rail and Emily’s left hand.

“Good job, its like you’re ready to have a baby today.” Dr. Savannah Hayes smiled at the couple as she entered the room on her rounds. Emily watched JJ with immense pride as JJ sighed at her OBGYN.

“Ya think?”

Oct. 8 3:40pm

Matt Simmons had wrapped up his Sociology class early, telling the kids to enjoy the fresh air before a set of storms was due in for the weekend. Between his amazing stories, his looks and his more relaxed teaching style he had quickly won the hearts of the student body. He regularly received assignments early and was asked more than once if he was single, for their mothers or aunts. He politely declined the offers. Today he made his way down to the sound booth at the back of the Rothschild Auditorium to help set up for the coming musical. Rehearsals varied by day of the week as Lucas Turner was a lead this year and had recruited a few other football players for backstage work as well. The actors wouldn’t be in until 5:30pm. Matt found Alex Blake already playing with the levels as the set crew started showing up after the final bell. She held her chin in her palm, scrutinizing the coloring below.

“How’s it going?” He leaned against the door frame, his large arms folded across his chest. Alex jumped at his appearance, holding her chest. He tried to bite back his amusement, but her rueful smile told him it wasn’t going to be met with a scolding.

“Matthew! Damnit, I thought reporters liked an intro before they make an appearance.”

“Getting hard of hearing in your old age, Doc? Better keep up.”

“I am as quick as ever, thank you very much,” Alex tilted her head.

“Yeah, I bet,” He smiled at her confidence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What’s up with the ‘Ms.’ Did you decide to forget your PhD?”

Alex sighed, spinning to face him and away from the control desk. He had leaned back in another chair, all young and firm and handsome. “When Dave and I split, I wanted a fresh start, so I left the Doctor title behind as it was always paired with Rossi.”

“I was sorry to hear about that, and Ethan of course.”

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes at the mention of her late son. “So, what exactly brings you to teaching? It’s not exactly high adrenaline, which I recall you always chased.”

“Hannah had a rough go of it last year and I, well, I needed a change of scenery.” Matt flinched but didn’t go into greater detail.

“Did your sister ask you to keep an eye on Hannah?” Alex’s voice was low and soothing.

“Are you kidding? She barely talks about Hannah, no, Hannah and I have been close since she was little. I figured there was going to be at least a temporary opening and I reached out to Hotch.”

“JJ probably loved that.” Alex smiled, turning back to the stage.

“Yeah, well, she has her hands full now.”

“True. You sure you want to give up your nights to help run sound?” Alex teased.

“I like to be useful, plus, something tells me the Director can keep me in line.”

She gave him a look before rolling her eyes at him, “Welcome to life in the Theatre, Mr. Simmons.”

6:08pm

Jake wasn’t certain his feelings meant anything in the grand scheme of things and that thought alone made him panic. But the gnawing in his gut was getting worse with each passing day. There was something about being in the wings, the dust and ancient currents were like layers of reality, secluding and enclosing them. Michel was going over their lines and Jake was trying not to stare or break their concentration.

Michel was had contoured today and felt drastically more confident now that the itchy school blazer had been discarded. They had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows and left the top buttons open, despite the draftiness of the theatre. Now if they could just get their lines down they would earn their bad ass title for another week. After rehearsal they had a late dinner with their parents, who were briefly stateside and probably another hour of homework. So much for senior year slacking.

Jake was going to lose his nerve, but the romantic leads were going over their first scene and it felt like they would be called on for their entrances at any moment. Michel had turned to him now, “Can you read Jackson’s lines I just need to stop using the script as a crutch already.”

“Sure. But, you could always ask him to run lines.” Jake didn’t mean to sound snarky, but his self-consciousness came off as annoyance.

“Jake, you are literally doing nothing right now. Come on,” Michel huffed. Jake stood up straight and accepted Michel’s script from their out stretched hand. He leaned over the folded booklet and waited for Michel to start, their character was Bellomy, the leading lady’s father and they adjusted their stance as they got into character. Jake was transfixed, clearly, he understood acting, but watching Michel do it was like watching water boil or leaves change color. A natural transformation resulting in something completely different than who was there before.

“Oh lady le di le da loo…”

“Oh, lady le di le da loo…” Jake sounded it out choppily. Michel grabbed him tightly as the characters would greet each other in the show

“Hucklee!”

“Bellomy!”

“Neighbor!”

“Friend!”

Jake hadn’t let go of Michel, though a wall was meant to be separating the men on stage. He dropped the script and turned to his longtime friend and crush.

“How’s the gout?”

“What?” Jake looked down at Michel mystified.

“That’s the line, Jake. What’s wrong?” But before Jake could answer or Michel could stop him, his lips were on Michel’s.

Oct. 10 6:54pm

“Now ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise for the singing of our National Anthem?” The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium filled to capacity with Homecoming crowds. The F.B.I. Scarlet Submariners were on the East side of their home field as their opponents the gold and black Kingsford Knights were on the West side. The sun had set fifteen minutes prior, letting the overhead lights illuminate the turf for miles around.

Mr. Walker raised his arms and the Pep band began the familiar bars, as Sacha Kane began to sing. The song wrapped up with thunderous applause and the coin toss followed. The teams stood lining the field as the captains returned. Sitting and stewing in their jerseys without their pads were the benched senior Ignacio Cruz and sophomore May Howard. The defense took the field and Lucas Turner sighed as his right side felt empty with an unreliable substitute. Coach Morgan had made the call, which Headmaster Hotchner backed fully. Coach Alvez had given Trevor a comparable two-game ban and a parent-approved drug test as punishment for the theatrics at the end of September.

“It had to be Homecoming,” Derek thought to himself as his back up kicker botched a punt, leaving the rival team on the Unsubs’ thirty-yard line. They went into the locker room down by six at half time. Thunder rolled in the distance. As well-spoken as Coach Morgan was, he didn’t need to say anything, the team knew they had to step it up. He let them breathe before offering a few shuffles to the lines.

“Unsubs! Whose house is this?!” Coach Morgan bellowed to the cement lined room.

“Our House!” They barked back.

“Whose house is this?!”

“Our HOUSE!” A deep booming response this time.

“Search and destroy, guys! SEARCH AND DESTROY!” The sweaty and pumped up bodies of forty teenagers jogged back on to the field to the enthusiasm of their stands. They went on to win by eleven, just as the cascade of rain flooded the stadium. After everyone had showered, Coach Morgan called Cruz and Howard over to discuss their reinstatements for the following week’s away game.

“You two care about your school, but there are better ways to defend it. Use your God-given talents to help your team, or you never were an Unsub. Behavior, Analysis, Unity. Earn it.”

Oct. 11 5:24pm

Chloe’s phone went off as she helped set the table for dinner. Her gaggle of siblings were either taking up space in the kitchen, trying to snag a taste early or lounging in the adjoining living room. All of her friends were off to take group pictures before heading to dinner at some posh restaurant or another. What a difference a year makes, the memories of last year’s dance clouding her thoughts.

She glanced down at the caller id before answering. “Lucas?”

“Hey, Chloe, listen, are you busy tonight?” He seemed quiet, like he was secluded.

“Helping with dinner right now, why?” She propped the phone against her shoulder as she began dishing out the salad.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Homecoming. With me. Like a date?”

She had not seen this coming, but that was probably because she had avoided romantic entanglements like the plague they had proven to be.

“Lucas…” She let her voice hang in the air. “I don’t have a dress, this is really last minute.”

“Wear anything, you can go in jeans. I just, I just want to dance with you Chloe, I swear.” He sounded sweet, not desperate and demanding. But nervous and sheepish.

“Lucas, you can dance with anyone there, you’re classically trained.” His nerves seemed to be infectious.

“They’re not you, Chloe. Please think about it? Call me back when you’re done with dinner. I won’t be hurt if you say no, but just think about it.” Lucas waited for twelve seconds before she replied.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later!”

“Later.” Chloe ended the call and turned back to find her entire family had sat down to eat around her.

“Who was that?” Her mother Anita asked suspiciously.

“Lucas, Lucas Turner.”

“Well, what did the boy want?” her mother sat down and patted Chloe’s seat beside her.

“He asked me to go to the Dance tonight.”

A mix of ‘ooohs’ and teasing burst from her siblings, her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head as she fell into her usual spot.

“Do you want to go, doll?” Her father asked as he started cutting into his steak. She shrugged and then nodded.

“He’s a good guy, then, not going to get fresh?” Chloe smiled at her mom’s concern.

“He’s a sweetheart. He was there for me when I broke up with Brayden in the first place.” The name drew a stunned silence among the Roycewood family. It had gone unspoken for so long.

“Alright then, it’s settled. Aimee, you’re to help your sister get ready right after dinner. You hear?”

“Sweet! Of course, Mama.” Chloe’s thirteen-year-old sister replied, the excitement of dresses and make up turning her weekend magical.

“Thanks, you guys.” Chloe tried to bite back a smile, but her cheeks were determined to stay up.

“Anything to keep that smile on your face, doll.” Her dad nodded.

Next Chapter: The Show(down)

@mentallydatingspencerreid @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @cynbx @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @wheresthewater @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @thismiss02 @literallyprentissstwin @usercorgis

@natalie-fangirl

#criminal minds #BAU Prep School AU #cm #Luke Alvez #Derek Morgan #hotch #Aaron Hotchner #Alex Blake #Jennifer Jareau #Emily Prentiss #Matt Simmons #BAU Team #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds au #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #CM Series #CM Fanficiton Series #Unsubs Class of 18

15 notes · View notes

kieren-fucking-walker · 6 years

Text

A soundtrack for your WIP

I was tagged by @quietborderline, who is wonderful and this game is wonderful! Music is so important to my writing process and if you’d asked about my series then this would be so easy but I’m gonna do it about my Big Bang (I got two votes for this and 1 vote each for two of the others so this it is!) which… I am struggling to get the right kind of songs for this one so I’m hoping this will help!

Tagging @superhiro @dont-offend-the-bees @gold-from-straw @kelspots and anyone who wants to join in!

A snippet of your work in progress

The theme song for your WIP

The theme song for your protagonist

The theme song for your antagonist

The theme song for your protagonist’s love interest (if they have one)

The theme song for the main pairing of your WIP

The theme song for the opening chapter (if it’s a long fic)

Song for the current chapter/page (if it’s a long fic)

Any other songs you’d like to mention and why:

All my answers are under the cut to avoid clogging up your dash!!

All the songs mentioned have spotify links <3

1. A snippet of your work in progress

“Todd has no idea what in the hell is going on right now, but he kind of wants to put his head through the steering wheel. He’s ninety percent sure that this guy is actually insane and he doesn’t know if that makes this situation better or worse. Nothing about it is good that’s for certain, but if the guy could go to sleep or at least shut up for long enough to let Todd think all of this through he’s sure he could come up with some kind of solution to the problem this is turning out to be. Normally he’s quite good at thinking on his feet. Normally he doesn’t have a person in his trunk. It’s less than ideal for everyone involved.”

2. The theme song for your WIP

Lemon to a Knife Fight - The Wombats

Basically a song about being in way way over your head without being at all prepared for what’s happening. The fighting side of it is less about Todd and Dirk fighting, and more about Todd fighting with himself over the situation he’s found himself in.

“I’ve clawed my way out of here before, but I keep on coming back.” “I’m not getting out of here this time, I brought a lemon to a knife fight.”

3. The theme song for your protagonist

Panic Station - Muse

Todd is very much panicking about his entire situation and he needs to get up and DO SOMETHING. He has a choice to make but he’s freaking out and doesn’t want to.

“Trouble will surround you, start taking some control.” “You’ve arrived at Panic Station.”

4. The theme song for your antagonist

This story doesn’t really have an antagonist. It’s just Todd arguing with himself and I guess the vague overhanging threat of being killed by the people he works for? I don’t have a song for this other than maybe I am Shit by Crywank (which frankly is an eternal Todd mood anyway.)

5. The theme song for your protagonist’s love interest (if they have one)

I guess you could call Dirk the love interest? I’m gonna call him the secondary character because even though he is the love interest that’s not really the right term for how this fic plays out.

Roll with the Punches - Lenka

Because Dirk is the eternal optimist and frankly will roll with any situation (but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want it to stop, or at least a break. Please?)

“Suddenly everything's thrown in a spin, no time to grow a thicker skin, what kind of situation am I in now?” “All I want is a little stability, some time without any bruises.” “When life tries to knock all the wind out of you, you've got to roll, roll, roll with the punches.”

6. The theme song for the main pairing of your WIP

One Step Ahead - A Great Big World

Such a lovely song about being scared and filled with doubt and pulling through anyway with the help of the other person. This is always a Brotzly song for me but it seems to fit here.

"Nobody else would forgive my mistakes, nobody else would have stayed."

"How did you know down in your bones that I'd come around?"

7. The theme song for the opening chapter (if it’s a long fic)

It is a long(ish) fic but it’s not going to be chaptered so I can’t really answer this.

8. Song for the current chapter/page (if it’s a long fic)

Same as above.

9. Any other songs you’d like to mention and why:

Because I copped out on some of the others, here’s a few more.

Recovery - Frank Turner

Mostly about post-fic but there’s a lot of life rebuilding that needs to happen and this reflects that.

Keep the Car Running - Arcade Fire

It just feels right? But also for Dirk, a song about being scared and constantly running away from something you don’t really understand but with hopeful overtones.

Run Away With Me - Carly Rae Jepsen

This is mostly for fun, but come on it’s essentially a weird road trip where they kinda fall in love. It needed to be there.

Be Who You Are - The Kooks

A song about coming to terms with yourself and trying to work out who you are which is pretty much what happens to Todd in this fic.

Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself - Jess Glynne

A song about forgiving yourself for your fuck ups. He’s gonna need that.

Kamikaze - Walk The Moon

A song about facing down your demons and taking a dumb risk without knowing what will happen? It just works.

Next in Line - Walk The Moon

Somewhere along the way they start falling a little in love. This works for that.

Thank you so much!! This was so fun and it did help <3

#music #writing adventures #wips #big bang #thank you for this!!!

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alex-writes-things · 3 years

Text

100 Things I Love

1. Poetry and beautiful quotes from literature

2. Feeling it start to rain on a hot day or when you’ve been exercising

3. Sitting in a dimly lit room, writing and listening to music

4. Old typewriters and record players

5. Kelly Macdonald/Joanne Davidson

6. People who ship Wolfstar, Flemson, Cazzie etc

7. Watching someone play with children or be affectionate with children

8. Huge open fields

9. Laying in said fields with my girlfriend (hi beth if you’re reading this)

10. Queer women represented in fiction

11. Drinking fanta on a hot day

12. Cities, especially Rome, especially in summer or when it’s raining

13. Watching storms and rain from a window

14. Smiling when I think of old memories

15. Line of Duty (sorry, had to mention it)

16. Listening to music very loud through headphones

17. Looking at people in cities and towns and wondering what their story is

18. Trains, and the feeling of looking out of your window and watching miles fly by

19. Making/finding and giving gifts

20. At concerts when they hold out their mic to the audience and everyone screams back the lyrics

21. Beth’s laugh. And her voice. And pretty much all her mannerisms 😊

22. Cats

23. Hozier, Frank Turner, Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton, The Head and The Heart, The Strumbrellas, and countless other artists that make me feel at home with their music

24. Pretty flowers and bright green lawns and huge houses with hidden ruins and statues and secrets!

25. Watching someone in love look at their person

26. Road trips and car journeys

27. Theme parks and running from one side to the other so you don’t miss your favourite ride

28. Talking to my friends

29. Talking to people that I don’t often talk to and falling platonically in love with little things about them

30. Coming home after a long day

31. Being accepted after coming out to someone or mentioning that I have a girlfriend

32. Reading all day and being so gripped that I forget anything else exists

33. Texting someone at 1am and getting a reply

34. Being told that I helped someone or made their day a bit better

35. Holding hands (with Beth), hugging (Beth only. Like sorry. But no hugs.), leaning on (Beth’s) shoulders.

36. Sleepovers, and staying up so late talking that the sky starts to lighten outside the window

37. Finally understanding something I’ve been struggling with

38. Walking

39. Packing bags for holidays, school trips and days out

40. When someone sees that you’re upset and doesn’t say anything but helps quietly

41. Lesbians. Girls. Women. Girls that love girls. Literally lesbians.

42. Picnics

43. Stargazing and cloud watching either with someone I love or by myself

44. Beaches early in the morning

45. Running through the shallow waves on a beach with a dog at my heels

46. Finding pretty rocks and shells or cool creatures out in nature, watching other people do this too!

47. Sleeping beside someone you care about and you see their sleepy smile and messed up hair in the morning

48. Willow trees and clear chalk rivers

49. Mountains and tall buildings and anything incomprehensibly huge

50. Casual touches between people who are completely comfortable with one another

51. Writing poetry when I’m alone

52. Being alone, especially on a journey or home alone

53. Fish, and seals, and whales and dolphins and all of those crazy sea creatures that exist

54. The fact that there are so many humans out there that live and create and love and hate and feel things? And we’re all stuck in our one life. I hate it but I also think it’s wonderful

55. Sexual and romantic tension in books. It isn’t necessary but sometimes it’s what makes me fall in love with a book even more

56. Fajitas, burritos, guacamole, street food, dim sum, Vietnamese restaurants

57. Watching plays and musicals

58. How much opportunity there is in the world, and how much we still have left to learn

59. Cliffs

60. Wind in trees, in hair, in clothes

61. Finding beautiful things out about people I love

62. Listening to someone tell me their childhood stories (to an extent haha)

63. Playing guitar especially when I’m alone

64. Figuring out the chords to a song I like on my guitar

65. Vicky McClure/Kate Fleming, Martin Compston/Steve Arnott, Adrian Dunbar/Ted Hastings, Kelly Macdonald (again), Scarlett Johansson, Keeley Hawes, Jennifer Lawrence

66. Being truly alone or being in a crowd with nobody that knows me

67. Black nail polish

68. Jewellery especially rings and earrings

69. Denim jackets, cord jackets and other kinds of jackets like this

70. When people smile at each other across the room

71. When people scrunch their noses as they smile or laugh or something

72. Reading people’s head canons about tv shows and fandoms they’re passionate about, even when I don’t agree

73. Analysing poems in English class (don’t ask why)

74. Watching banter between old friends

75. Rediscovering music I haven’t heard in a while

76. Salt and vinegar crisps

77. Leaving school at the end of term with my friends

78. Singing with my friends

79. The Midnight Library (Matt Haig), Children of Blood and Bone (Tomi Adeyemi), Red White and Royal Blue (Casey McQuinston), A Good Girl’s Guide To Murder (Holly Jackson)

80. Enamel pins

81. Stationery of all kinds, but especially notebooks

82. Antiques shops and old book shops

83. Edinburgh, York, Cambridge, Snowdonia, London, Rome, Palma

84. The sound of people laughing, people shouting, people chatting

85. Acting

86. Having fun and doing stupid things with my friends, my girlfriend, my drama group

87. Wearing nice clothes and then the feeling of being complimented on them

88. Climbing mountains and canoeing

89. The taste of cold water on a hot day

90. Online/window shopping just for fun and not to buy anything just to look

91. Crying at a sad book, film, poem or TV show

92. Finding out a famous person that I look up to or respect is part of the LGBT+ community

93. Researching for a project I care about

94. Frogs, rats, kittens, dinosaurs

95. Pretty ukuleles and guitars

96. Finally understanding something in a maths or chemistry lesson and feeling like I’m not as stupid as I think

97. Huge communities of people coming together

98. Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, ancient mythology, literature from a very long time ago

99. The film 1917

100. Finishing a good book and never wanting to let it go ever again

0 notes

buttonpusherdiy · 5 years

Text

2000 Trees 2019 : Festival Review

Words by Daniel Wilkinson

It's early July and I'm making my yearly pilgrimage to a beautiful farm devoid of phone signal for a weekend of top tunes, no sleep, and toilet queues at everyone's favourite Reuben-themed festival 2000 Trees.

Thursday started late, after waking late, bombing down the M5, negotiating the new site layout and hauling a barn-sized tent up the hill to where my local friends had set up many hours before.

Our first band of the weekend Conjurer are immense. They've built up a huge fan base on word-of-mouth and reputation, massive songs and hard work (just check out their tour schedule this year). Their live show is faultless, their songs rise and fall, twist and turn, yet remain cohesive and catchy.

After finishing off too much cider and putting up the tent we wobbled over to the much expanded Forest Sessions stage for Press To Meco. The Forest is far more popular than it was probably meant to be – the clearing in the trees with the tiny stage for intimate acoustic sets regularly draws crowds that would struggle to fit in many small venues and PTM played their chilled-out set to an equally large crowd squashed between bark and bush.

Press to Meco : Photo Credit - Gareth Bull

Xtra Mile acts Jamie Lenman (of Reuben) and Frank Turner (of Million Dead – but everyone knows both these things right?) are pretty important to 2000 Trees and it's attendees, having camping areas unofficially then officially named after them, the festival wouldn't be complete without a set from at least one of them in some form. They are both welcomed to the stage like somewhere between Gods and old friends, playing hits old and new before I collapsed embarrassingly early, face down in my tent.

Jamie Lenman : Photo Credit - Dominic Meason

Friday begins like all good festivals mornings - painful and early; to the sound of peacocks and the taste of fresh watermelon.

I'm pretty late to the Slow Crush and Brutus show, metaphorically, and just about managed to not be actually late to Slow Crush's early set at the Neu Stage. Their heavy brand of shoe gaze works well first thing in the “morning”, the ethereal guitar work from their recordings sounding just as strong live and generally being a nice way to start the day. Their set was punctured by another Belgian lot's soundcheck blasting over from the Main Stage and almost of a good chunk of their crowd thinking Brutus had started early.

I missed Brutus during previous festivals having only gotten into them this year and was pretty excited for their set immediately after Slow Crush's, more specifically hearing them play Cemetery off this year's release “Nest”. They did not disappoint ripping through album opener “Fire” and then on to “Cemetery”, where drummer-vocalist Stefanie manages to turn her vocal performance up to 11 while drumming like a beast and remaining note-perfect on song's more melodic ending.

The final act of Friday's Belgian Trio, Raketkanon, were enjoyed from under one of the eponymous trees, safe from a very enthusiastic crowd and vocalist Pieter-Paul Devos's dingey-based crowd surfing.

During a gap in our otherwise busy schedule we checked out Gouge Away on the recommendation of tour-mates Slow Crush. Another new act for me they brought some energetic hardcore to the Cave before we headed over to the Axiom for Crazy Arm's blend of folk, punk, classic Springtstein-esque classic rock. I've enjoyed them in previous years playing the random busker stages after dark and they lost nothing being amplified and upgraded to a larger stage.

The Wildhearts were the Wildhearts; brash, melodic, charismatic, and were joined by Frank Turner for “Let 'Em Go” off their latest album (Turner sighting 2). Rolo Tomassi were brash, melodic, charismatic, a whirlwind of abrasive riffs and screeched vocals giving way to more melodic newer material.

Rolo Tomassi : Photo Credit - Joe Singh

Skinny Lister are another one of those bands I love to see live, especially in a festival scene, their pop-folk being easy on the ears and to have a little dance to with the little people. By the time Cancer Bats started in the Cave I was about ready to finally eat some food that day and was able to grab some authentic Italian pizza that had been taunting me all day, the stall conveniently situated next to the stage so we could enjoy both.

Cancer Bats - Photo Credit - Gareth Bull

Frank Turner sighting number 3, Möngöl Hörde, were Friday's headliner of choice, packing out the Axiom with Turner looking like a human mirror ball. Much less serious than his solo work and much more aggressive, my cider-ravaged self may have enjoyed this more on better days.

Saturday began at my parents house because I'm just old now and had you suffered like I suffered on Friday you'd take the opportunity to sleep in a real bed!

Vukovi started Saturday on a recommendation, bringing a lot of energy and some catchy tunes to the Main Stage, singer Janine Shilstone announcing this was her “first dingy” as she surfed the lunchtime crowd in an inflatable. Sunshine Frisbee Lazerbeam were next, being a big fan of Johnny Foreigner. After that we caught Sœur's second full set of the weekend. Sœur are just grand. Melodic, grungy music not unlike the Pixies meets Shakespeare's Sister, wicked musicianship and stage presence, and the reason I only caught about 2 songs from John and John of John.

Soeur : Photo Credit - Gareth Bull

A were this year's blast from the past and I confess I've been a fan since I was fresh-faced and short-haired. Despite playing quite youthful Rush-flavoured pop-punk with lyrics bemoaning their elders technological illiteracy and keeping things “punk”, A came out embracing the fact that they are now much older, with children and mortgages. Jason Perry asked the crowd to cheer so his children sitting stage-side wouldn't think their “old man” was a failure, chided bassist Dougie Poynter for finishing his run with the band because “they don't pay enough”, and confessing his Just Eat jacket was worn entirely for the attention. And they managed to organised what might possibly be the slowest and least aggressive circle pit ever.

MØL were quite the opposite, a mix pummelling blastbeats and dark atmospheric passages contrasting the afternoon sun, the only smiles to be seen plastering sweaty bodies emerging from the pit.

The Skints are one of the few things I remember from my first 2000 Trees, watching them from my tent far too early in the day while feeling very sorry for my alcohol-ravaged self. While a reggae band might stand out on the bill they were the perfect band for everyone from crusty hippies to small children to cynical teenagers to have a little dance to in hot evening, with a great sound, tight musicianship and well-crafted songs.

2000 Trees regulars and local-ish lads The St Pierre Snake Invasion were back with their new album playing the Cave at more respectable time than their usual allotted slots. They powered through their well-received set including album closer “I Am A Lonely Tourist”. For this particular track they were joined by a rather overwhelmed 5-year old named William who, after much encouragement and fist-bumping from frontman Damien Sayell, blasted his kazoo and shouted along like a champ to rapturous applause.

The St Pierre Snake Invasion : Photo Credit : Ben Morse

Clashes often give rise to the question: do you go for something reliable or try something new? Instead of trying to answer that we did both. Every Time I Die played their only UK set of the summer on the Main Stage, spurring on many a crowd surfer and circle pit. Once we'd had enough of that we strolled over to the Axiom for Wicca Phase Springs Eternal. The gothy trap project of Tiger's Jaw's Ben Walsh was a bit of an outsider on this year's line-up but was well received by the small crowd swaying along.

I went to see The Armed expecting something akin Employed To Serve and The Locust (as the timetable suggested) but didn't quite get either the technicality of ETS or the madness of the Locust. They did however a great stage presence even if their vocalist spent most of the set in the crowd stretching the limits of the microphone cable, and Groot handing out pastries.

The Armed : Photo Credit - Ben Morse

Deaf Havana closed the festival with a flashy light show and some big tunes. I've never been one for the headliners, the exceptions in recent years being Refused and At The Drive-In, but I found myself swaying and nodding along with an enthralled crowd, James Veck-Gilodi's voice soaring over the dark Cotswolds countryside.

Our final night of 2000 Trees was finished off in a typical fashion with chips, silent disco, and a guy playing a Jailhouse Rock/Killing in The Name Of mash-up on the Camp Reuben stage.

Until next year!!!!!

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weshallc · 4 years

Text

BERNS NIGHT: CHAPTER THREE.

So much love to the most patient person in the world @lovetheturners and all you folks who are willing to take on another chapter.

A Call the Midwife AU in the Crown Jewels Series.

Chapter Three: OF MICE AND MEN

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men. Gang aft agley. An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain. For promis’d joy!” Robert Burns, To A Mouse 1785.

The largest reception room at Mount Busby Farm would have once been very grand, with Queen Anne furniture and Regency coffee tables. The only thing that remained unchanged was that the original fireplace still gave up warmth and light provided by nature and the windows let in the light from the same star constellations and the same moon.

The Two Loves preferred antique furniture of a later period and in their 80s comfort was paramount. The room was stocked with love seats, chesterfields, recliners. bean bags, generous cushions and a rather charming gold settee that suspiciously looked pre-war. Just no one was sure which war. Everyone mocked it, but everyone fought to sit on it as it was very comfy. Patsy often talked about replacing it, but Delia wouldn’t hear of it. You don’t throw your memories out with the rubbish and there are more memories than just ours hidden within these cushions, Cariad. That was always the end of it.

The most current occupants of that particular settee to be making memories were Tim Turner and Lucille Anderson. Phyllis looked over at the awkward teen who was no longer as awkward as he had once been. He sat comfortably chatting to his companion, both of them laughing at intervals. Lucille often finishing Tim’s sentences or him proclaiming, yep that’s it or knew you’d get it when they appeared to reach a level of understanding. Of course, when she asked the student nurse about her new friendship she would just reply, brushing the older nurse off. Oh, he is a dear boy; He makes me laugh.

He was certainly doing that from where Matron Crane was sitting on a leather tan Whitworth dining chair probably by Frank Hudson. Years of heavy lifting before the introduction of patient hoists and transfer boards had taken their toll on the matron’s back. It was why she had found herself in a more management role much earlier than she would truly have preferred. She looked at Student Nurse Anderson and thought maybe the NHS was in more tender capable hands than the shitstirrers would have them believe.

“I am wondering if we should start,” youth minister Tom Hereward was on his feet. “I am not sure how long baby will sleep in a strange house.”

“I have been called many things in my time, but not sure strange is one of them,” laughed Delia.

“Oh, I have Deals, it’s fine,” reassured Patsy.

“So. Erm who is in charge, who has the most authority here.” Tom was still trying to create some sense of order.

“Well, Julia is the vicar,” chirped in Bobby trying to offer her husband some support.

“But this is not the church,” Rev Julia responded with a warm smile.

“Another shock there then, it’s all coming out tonight, Patsy.” Delia couldn’t help herself when she had an audience and a bottle of Prosecco was being passed round.

“Matron Crane is on the council,” Lucille reminded everyone.

“No, I don't think that matters lass, it’s not a council matter.” Phyllis shook her head.

“Well, someone needs to take the lead,” Tom said with a hint of irritation.

“I will! On the authority that I am a young woman on her only night off of the week,” struck up Val, “ but I have agreed to come here and discuss plans for Bernie’s birthday instead of having two for one sex on the beach.”

“It’s a cocktail, and its happy hour in the Fourteen Teacups on a Tuesday,” Trixie interpreted for everyone.

“That’s ambitious having a happy hour in the Teacups, isn't it?” said Fred, who had managed to wedge himself into a deep red Chesterfield.

“Yeah, apparently Ursula gives you the right change, that's why they call it happy hour,” Tim smirked.

“Why isn’t he here?” asked Bobby.

“Well, he said it would look suspicious if he left Bernie on her tod behind the bar on a Tuesday night,” Vi explained sitting on a scarlet love seat next to Fred.

“Yep, in case our two Tuesday night regulars rush the bar at once,” snorted Val.

“I think it’s more that it would look suspicious if he actually just left Bernie alone for five minutes,” Trixie corrected.

Lucille felt Tim squirm in the seat beside her. She knew he thought the world of Bernie, but didn’t like to hear her relationship with his father discussed in public. This was inevitable being a small village with one pub, one church and two of the villages most popular inhabitants linked to both. She tried to ease his tension.

“I think it’s lovely, just shows as my grandma used to say there may be snow on the roof, but there is still fire in the grate.”

As everyone surrendered to laughter, Matron shared a smile with the vicar, both of them confirming Lucille might be familiar with the saying but maybe not it’s meaning.

Delia was the first to keep a straight face, “But they are only bairns, wait until they are mine and Pats age then the fire may need a little bit of stoking.”

“Yes, Deals, but remember we have never required the use of a poker.”

Val swiftly continued, “Paddy doesn’t wish to be involved.”

“Why?” Reggie asked perched on his wooden stool.

Val motioned towards Tim, who was still recovering from the last topic of conversation.

Tim looked at his knees and Lucille gave one a quick squeeze. She knew this wasn’t easy for him.

Everyone else also looked at their knees, the mood was solemn.

“We can all understand Paddy’s reasons.” There were a couple of nods and sighs in response. “But we aren’t putting up with any of that nonsense,” Val added with a grin.

This was met with a very large and unanimous cheer.

“Well, I’ve already looked up the Turner tartan,” Trixie handed an iPad over to Patsy via Val.

“That’s very smart,” approved the artist.

“Sorry I hate to throw a spanner in the works, but how are we going to afford all this?” butt in a pensive Vi.

“We've already thought of that,” grinned Delia, ”Mount Busby will cover the cost of the costume.”

“That’s very generous,” sniffed Evie, who had nearly dozed off in a leather recliner.

“Not really,” explained Patsy. “I have a friend that works for Kilts 4 U and they are very interested in looking into the possibility of making an alpaca lined sporran.”

This was news to Reggie who followed anything relating to his charges with great interest, “What’s a sporran?”

“It’s where he keeps his spare change,” Fred enlightened or at least tried to.

“It’s the little purse that men wear at the front of the kilt, Reggie,” Violet elaborated. He seemed reassured by this.

“So anyway in return for a few samples,” Patsy continued, “my friend will be happy to hire out the full regalia for the evening.”

“It’s not long now until Burns Night have you got some sort of prototype ready?” quizzed Evie.

“Lady K is working on them as we speak. She loves nothing better than fiddling with a bit of alpaca wool,” Delia replied gleefully.

“Lady K?” Phyllis queried.

“Yes, she is very creative,” reassured Trixie.

“I don’t doubt it, Trixie, but she is one of Bernie’s clients. What if the lass sees what she is up too”

Jack sat on the floor banged his head against the fire surround he was leaning against, “Can’t imagine Berns thinking, oh look Lady K is sticking bits of alpaca wool to a man’s bag he hangs in front of his todger, that must be something to do with Paddy and my birthday”

Vi was quick to admonish Jack, but when even Tom started to laugh, she decided to let it go.

“What about the little knifey thing they keep in their sock that he stabs the Haggis with?” Fred was beginning to get excited.

“Sgian dubh,” corrected Vi.

“All part of the traditional dress,” Patsy added a tone to her voice to reassure everyone that she had thought of everything.

“So that's the gear sorted. Me and Reggie are in charge of the beer. What else?” Fred’s eyes were wide thinking they actually might be able to pull this off.

“Well, myself and Evie have created a menu, pretty much on the lines of what we used to do in Wilf’s day.” Violet opened a small notebook and put on her reading glasses.

Clearing her throat she read, “Cock-a-leekie soup, Scottish salmon and tattie scones or scotch egg for starters.”

“Cock a what?” shouted up Jack.

“What about those that might not wish to partake in the Haggis?” Tom asked nervously, as he might.

Evie spoke up, before Vi could respond. “There is always the Fourteen Teacups for the likes of those that don’t wish to have Haggis. It’s a Burns Night. If you don’t want Haggis, then stay at home and order in a pizza.”

“What's for pudding?” Bobby struck up, squeezing her husband's hand.

“Cranachan which is raspberries, cream, oats and whisky, or Clootie pudding with whisky sauce or whisky ice cream or a Scottish cheese board with oatcakes.”

Murmurs of approval were aimed in Violet’s direction.

“That's a lot of whisky?” Lucille remarked.

Violet agreed, “Yes, we need just a house whisky for everyone for the toasts Val, I will leave that to you, but you need to pay the piper with a good quality malt.”

Silence broke out in the previously buzzing over occupied living room.

“Piper!” Several people groaned at once.

Fred, who was not going to let anything get in the way of this Burn’s Night declared, “Look we will just have to bung on a recording.” Turning to Tim and Jack, he said, “You lads look up the Red Hot Chilli Pipers on your phones.”

Tim reached for his phone swiping the picture of Lucille and him with Alpaca Colin. But Lucille touched his hand, making him hesitate.

“I don’t think that would be very suitable Mr Buckle, going to all this trouble with such a delicious menu and Mr Turner all dressed up in the finest regalia and then having some squeaky din coming out of an iPhone.”

“Your right lass, it just won't do,” supported Phyllis.

“Well, does anyone know a piper?” Fred replied wearily.

“Surely we can find a professional one online?” contributed Julia

“A professional piper that’s free on Burn’s Night at this late notice,” chided Phyllis.

“I know a piper.”

The voice came from the back of the room everyone turned to look at the slight dark-haired woman sat on a dining chair. “Well, I think we all do.”

“Do we, Jane?” Julia asked.

“Yes, the busker that stands outside the town hall in Appleby Thornton.”

Everyone started talking at once;

“I only go into town every second Tuesday to get my hair done.”

“Same here I only go through if I have a doctor's appointment.”

“Well, it’s the cost of the parking isn't it, it’s free at Tweaven Retail Park and more shops.”

“You can get it on t’internet delivered to your door.”

“I haven’t been since Marks and Spencers closed.”

“Debenhams is closing next week such a shame, that shops older than me, always been a department store in Appleby Thornton.”

“It was one of the first in the country to have a lift, you know.”

Jane cleared her throat. “There are a lot of good things about Appleby Thornton that are not always obvious.”

“Here, here!” chimed in Val, “there is still a Primark.”

“Oh well, let's be grateful for small mercies,” stung back Trixie.

Much to Delia’s disappointment, Val bit her lip. The ex nurse and market gardener loved a full house. She cherished her quiet times with Patsy too, but she was the more sociable of the pair. The farm was large enough for Patsy to have her office and art studio and not be disturbed while Delia fussed the alpacas with Reggie. Trixie moving in had been Patsy’s scheme, but Delia was the one who had benefited most from their new project, even if she would never let their new employee know she was a project.

Delia enjoyed listening to Trixie’s anecdotes and gossip, she felt reconnected with a world that was moving so fast. The Two Loves were business women and technology hadn’t passed them by. It was the music, the celebrities, the trashy telly that Patsy despised and Delia loved that made having Trixie and her friends around delight Delia.

Delia’s carer probably wasn’t as up-to-date with pop culture as Trixie and her friend. Val was now a frequent visitor to Mount Busby as she and their new lodger had struck up quite a friendship. Nurse Bernie always looked a bit behind the door when the other two were in full flow about some reality TV show.

But since Trixie had moved in, Nurse made Delia’s blood pressure check the last visit on her rounds and she drank tea sitting and chatting with Trixie. Bernie didn’t need to watch Love Island. She had her own romantic paradise in Poplar-on-Tweaven and Delia couldn’t be more happy for her.

Val had bitten her lip because even though her new friend was still a bit of an enigma to her. She did know Trixie might talk as if she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but in the last few months she had gleaned enough to know that spoon had been tarnished sometime ago. So in spite of all her bravado, Trixie was as familiar with Poundland as she was Prada.

It was Julia who cut through the chatter. “I believe I am familiar with the young man you are referring to. He has a small dog with him if I am right?”

“Yes, Reverend.” Jane was beginning to believe she had dreamt the piper and maybe also Appleby Thornton.

“He’s rather good, as I remember.”

Jane was beaming as she nodded.

“So problem solved,” Fred rubbed his hands together with glee, “tot of whisky, a bowl of water for the pooch, bob's your uncle, sorted”

“No, it certainly is not.” Trixie's tone caused everyone to alter their gaze, “this man is a professional musician surely, if he has a regular spot he has a license. I am sure Chummy is well acquainted with the gentleman and his story, we can ask her.”

Inspector Noakes had been unable to attend the meeting because of work commitments and Peter’s Tuesday evenings were spent running a youth football team that Jack and Timothy had both enjoyed being a part of. Alas Tim had become too rangy and prone to injury and Jack had become too lazy and prone to chips.

Trixie continued, “He deserves an appropriate wage for his efforts.” She turned to Val. “I believe the Crown has an entertainments licence.”

Val nodded and smiled reassuringly at her friend, “Paddy does, leave it with me and I will also make sure he and the mut are fed and provided with transport both ways.”

Trixie relaxed and shared a smile with the aromatherapist sitting at the back of the room. “Do you know his name?”

“Kevin.”

Fred let out a huge sigh. “So we are all sorted then?”

“It would appear so,” replied Lucille grimacing at Tim.

“Apart from Dad.” groaned Tim.

Followed by an echo of sighs.

“Leave your Dad to me, Chick.” winked Val.

#call the midwife #a turnadette au without turnadette #al's fics

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sometimesalwaysmusic · 7 years

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JAD. Jad Hammoud (JH) is an Ottawa singer-songwriter who has gained experience playing many stages in Ottawa and surrounding regions, both solo and as the frontman of the defunct band, Tall Trees. We chatted about the importance of honesty in song-writing, his many influences, and his love for other local artists. Read on, and then check him out at an upcoming April gig opening up for John Wozniak (of Marcy Playground) at Pressed!

VITALS

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jadhammoudmusic

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/jadhammoud

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Jad_Hammoud

Latest release: Monster (Single, January 2017)

Upcoming shows: April 22, 2017 - John Wozniak, Jad. 7:30PM. $20/$25 doors. Pressed Cafe, Ottawa ON.

SA: How did you get your start in music? JH: In a van in 1999. I was either three of four, and The Backstreet Boys had just released "I Want it That Way". My mother was driving around the city with my twin sister and I in the back seat and the song came on the radio, so I started singing along. Apparently, as far as children go, I was fairly decent. Just to make sure she wasn't giving me too much credit, being my mom and all, she phoned a friend of hers to listen in and give his opinion (it wasn't illegal to use the phone while driving yet). He agreed with her, and it just went from there. It was unusual for me to not sing. I was always practicing, in a sense, and everyone in my life had come to know me as a singer or musician. I've always known that music is what I wanted to pursue, so when the time came, I ended up in the music program at Canterbury High School, where I specialized in vocal performance. University's been somewhat convoluted, but basically I've continued studying music there. Music has always been a significant and essential part of my identity. So I guess I owe it all to the Backstreet Boys?

SA: What bands would you cite as biggest influences on your sound? JH: The Backstreet Boys.

No no, I jest. I like to listen to a lot of diverse music, so I'm usually very influenced by whatever I'm listening to at the time.

One of my favourite artists of all time is Elliott Smith. I could honestly do an entire interview on why his music means so much to me and why I see him as one of the best songwriters of our time. Musically and lyrically he is so sophisticated but also knows how to maintain that sophistication in the simplest of songs. There is something about his music that transcends the surface of the human condition and undeniably evokes a very profound wave of emotions and in a way forces us to feel, process, and accept them. I will always be most connected to him and his music until the day I die.

Mother Mother has also always had a big influence on me, since I first heard "O My Heart" back in 2008. Ryan Guldemond is one of the most incredible songwriters of our time since Elliott Smith. Quote me on that. I guess you literally are. I've been lucky enough to meet the band several times over the years and I'm determined to open for them one day and get mentored by Ryan. It's going to happen. Another GREAT band is Vancouver's JPNSGRLS. I opened for them a couple of years ago, and have kept in touch with them. Their frontman, Charlie Kerr is an incredibly creative and clever lyricist, and he's been a sporadic mentor to me. He's releasing a solo album on April 21st under the moniker Matt and Sam's Brother (do yourself a favour and check him out).

I have to also mention Frank Ocean. He is a visionary. He is another true artist. Channel Orange and Blond(e) are masterpieces. Okay, before I get too invested, some other artists I adore (in no particular order) are Sufjan Stevens, St. Vincent (Annie Clark could curb stomp me and I'd be grateful), Grimes, Father John Misty, Leonard Cohen, Broken Bells, The Black Keys, Alex Turner, Wilco, Mac DeMarco, The Cure, David Bowie, The Strokes, Simon and Garfunkel, Arcade Fire, Anderson .Paak, The Smiths, Nirvana, Nick Drake, Bon Iver, Led Zeppelin, The Beatles, Gabriel Fauré and the list just goes on and on and on. I will undoubtedly have more come to mind within seconds of completing this.

Oh, and Freddie Mercury. That man was a gift to this world. Never forget. I just love music.

SA: Thus far in your career, what has been your biggest success? JH: I don't think you can ever prepare for the feeling that comes with seeing a crowd lined up down the street waiting to see you play. This was in the summer of 2013 when Tall Trees was still around and we hosted an album release. We had just graduated high school, and we rented out an entire hall in a church for the show. I remember designing and printing a small run of t-shirts and stickers, getting in touch with media and doing interviews, as well as renting light and sound equipment -- basically tons of effort went into organizing and preparing for it. I should give a special shout out to my friend Ben Compton -- he designed the poster for the show and the album artwork. He is an incredible, unique artist and I highly suggest you familiarize yourself with his work when you have the chance. Anyways, the turnout was overwhelming. I think something like 250 people came out and packed the room. I've never felt something that special.

We played Folkfest (now known as City Folk) right after that, and tons of people came out to that as well. It was so beautiful.

As far as a solo act goes, it would probably be the time I played a bar in Kingston packed to the brim with students singing along to my songs. But honestly, things are just beginning and the best is yet to come.

SA: On the other hand, what is the biggest challenge you have faced, and how have you dealt with it? JH: By far, being alone. After Tall Trees had come to a discreet end, I felt lost for a long time. Coupled with being painfully unhappy in university, I became very depressed. I felt that I could no longer write. I stopped listening to music, I stopped playing music, I stopped going to shows, I just lost my entire sense of self. This lasted for about three and a half years, and even now I'm still getting back to being at 100% again. So I guess it's something I'm still dealing with, and to be honest will likely always be dealing with. I feel like artists are never satisfied with their work, because in the process of creating it, they improved. I'll always be working on myself, and I try to find solace in knowing that it's part of my personal and artistic growth.

SA: How do you approach the song-writing process? JH: I wish I knew the answer to this... I don't have songwriting figured out, so songs are sort of born via differing methods and out of a need to write . More often than not a song will come to me as one or several fragmented ideas that I will develop and eventually synthesize into some sort of finished thought. Sometimes the music comes first, and other times lyrics will come first. Occasionally, I'll be blessed by Apollo (haha) and everything will come to me all at once, resulting in a song that writes itself. In the case of the song I'm currently working on, I had the music more or less figured out and let it sit and occupy my mind for a couple of weeks, slowly adding ideas here and there. Only now, after some recent experiences have I managed to put words to it, and even then I'm not 100% satisfied with them, so I'll be editing and rewriting both the lyrics and the melody until it's something I'm happy with.

Honestly, it never happens quite the same way each time... I'm very contemplative and introspective in a sense when it comes to writing. I like to search within and feel things out so that I'm not only effective in the communication of it all, but more importantly I'm affective, vulnerable, and honest. That's more important to me than anything. At the end of the day, it comes down to sitting down and just writing and working out your feelings. You can never get better at something you don't do.

SA: What are your thoughts on the Ottawa music scene? JH: Short answer: it's complicated. Slightly longer answer: it's really complicated. Long answer: This city has a lot of incredibly talented, skilled, and hard working artists. It lacks the means to nurture these artists and encourage their growth and development. At the same time, there are a lot of great resources for artists in the city, such as OMIC, Megaphono, City of Ottawa grants, OAC grants, and independent venues that support local music. The city is doing a lot and things are happening so Ottawa is well on its way. I have faith in that. I think the rest needs to happen on an individual level. Artists need to develop a genuine sense of community with each other. I'm only one opinion, and it depends on who you talk to/who you surround yourself with, but there is also an unspoken, overarching sense of competition, and it's kind of hostile. Hearing "I support you!" or "I want you to succeed." seems to come with a small asterisk attached to it that says "...as long as you're not more successful than I am". I think that for the community to truly thrive, artists need to genuinely support each other and work together to build something that everyone benefits from. Again, it depends on who you talk to. Don't get me wrong, I love this city and there are people who will absolutely disagree with me, but this is just my opinion based on my experiences and I feel I have to be honest about that. Nowhere is perfect, but Ottawa is working on itself to get better, and things can only go up from here.

SA: In your opinion: What is the best song you have written? JH: Oh god...I pretty much hate every song I've written. Not really, but I sort of go through this cycle where I'll write a song, think it's good, then feel it's pretty mediocre until enough time has passed and I come to realize it's actually good. There are a few songs that are very close to my heart...from the Tall Trees days, I'll always have a soft spot for "Girl On My Mind", "Cheers to You, My Stone Cold Queen", and "Marionette". As for the newer solo stuff, I'm really fond of "Knuckle Sandwich". It's a little dark but I think it's one of the most honest songs I've written in a long time. It came to me all at once and I wrote the entire thing in an hour or two.

SA: How has your song-writing changed, or evolved, between your experience in past projects, such as Tall Trees, and your solo work? JH: I was around 16 or 17 when I started Tall Trees, so I think that while I felt mature in my writing, I was still approaching things from a somewhat naive place. I've always been a very emotional, sometimes verklempt person, and so if anything my connection to that contributed a sense of maturity to those songs. Since Tall Trees, I feel I've undergone a lot of personal and artistic growth, especially after having been unable to write for the past several years. I am very aware that I am still metamorphosing today and I've come to embrace that, and in fact it excites me.

I would say that the biggest difference in the way I approach writing now would have to be in the way I view songs and the process. When I was younger, I always wanted to be cool, and I wanted my songs to be cool. I approached them honestly, but I was also preoccupied with wanting them to be cool and the verse-chorus structure was almost too present. I thought that songs had to be that way. Now, I think of songs as thoughts that we need to communicate, or things we need to disclose out of a profound visceral need. They are the things we have to say because withholding them would be too stressful on the soul. Some are observational, others emotional, some just to make a point. Following a strict structural guideline is not nearly as important to me as it used to be. I let the songs come and be what they will be, rather than trying to make them fit some preconceived notion of what constitutes a "good song". Art is art -- it is fluid, subjective, and will be what it will be. Good art is art that's made honestly and from the heart.

The last thing I'll say is that I'm no longer afraid to be completely honest in my writing. I used to hold back a bit because I thought people may find certain notions off-putting, but now all I want to do is be completely open and use that to connect with people in a way that transcends the surface. Growing up, I was always told I was too sensitive for a guy (social constructs are the worst) and I always wore my heart on my sleeve. I have felt unwanted, unlovable, and so very small. I have a lot of feelings, and an incredible amount of love for people -- I want them to feel loved. I want to do away with the notion that having feelings and being honest about them is a bad thing.

I just want to connect with people, and hopefully affect them in a way that they'll hold on to until the end of their days.

SA: A question for fun: If you had to pick your favourite local band in Ottawa, who would you choose and why? JH: So far, my answers have been long-winded, so I'll keep this one short and sweet. I like a lot of local bands, but recently I've been really into this local artist Trails. She's very young, but her music is so mature, honest, and unapologetic. I wish that I had been able to write that way when I was 17. A lot of love and respect for her.

SA: What do you have in store in 2017? Best wishes for your continued successes, Jad! KM: I've been in the studio working on an EP, so I'm really committed to that right now and planning the release. There'll be a small tour, maybe some merch, and I may or may not be playing some festivals soon (I'm still waiting to hear back). I graduate from university in April, at which point I'll be able to fully dedicate myself to music. Things are just beginning for me, and big things are coming, so (shameless plug) keep up with me and everything I'm doing. The best way to do that is on Facebook. Thanks for everything, Pierce. It means a great deal to me to be able to finally discuss the things I've been thinking about for so long.

#jadhammoud #livemusic #newmusic #ottawa #canada #gatineau #talltrees #trails #OMIC #megaphono #grimes #jpnsgrls

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liviasrightbrain · 7 years

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I’d just like to publicly thank Frank Turner for bringing songs into my life that I needed so badly, even if I didn’t know it until now.

Sometimes life is really fucked up. Mental illnesses are very real, and at times very debilitating. You can have all the joy and inspiration vacuumed out of your soul, and you’re left with vast, empty spaces, and bottles full of feelings that you don’t know what the hell to do with. For me, that’s where music always came in, and opened them one-by-one. But that went away for a long time, and I’ve been stuck with all this stuff sitting inside my head & my heart.

I can’t get enough of Frank’s music. Quite frankly, I have been brought to tears and back again. The words are real- they’re tangible. They’re clever, but honest. I aspire to one day write songs that have the same level of impact as his do.

Slowly, I’m coming back to music. It isn’t as painful to do anymore. I don’t feel every movement and every error as much...I just let go. I can get lost in it, and that’s an incredible feeling.

I may be far behind in my college assignments, but I’m not even that stressed about it. I’ve felt the power of music again and it’s really all that matters. I’m slowly learning that self-care is probably the most important thing you can do for yourself. If that means extending the time I’ll get my diploma- so be it. If it means I’m recovering, happy, and living life instead of getting through it, than I’m glad.

“So try and get better and don't ever accept less Take a plain black marker and write this on your chest Draw a line underneath all of this unhappiness Come on now, let's fix this mess We could get better, because we're not dead yet” - Get Better // Frank Turner

#frank turner #music #mental health

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lazybarbarians · 7 years

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The Thief, by Megan Whalen Turner

Kalinara: So it was my turn to pick the book again, and I decided to step away from Star Wars for a bit. I did however keep things in the Young Adult field by choosing The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner.

The Thief is one of those books that is very hard to review, because it’s very easy to say too much about this very simple story. Fortunately, we have a cut tag.

Okay, so the Thief is a pretty basic story about Gen, a the titular thief of course, who has been recruited out of the king’s dungeon (he stole the King’s seal and was caught bragging about it) for a very important quest.

You see, the King of Sounis (Gen’s not-so-amiable host) is looking to marry the Queen of a neighboring kingdom, Eddis. Eddis is a mountain kingdom that separates Sounis from the enemy nation of Attolia. If Sounis marries Eddis, then he’ll have a clear path to attack Attolia.

Ragnell: Worth pointing out, Sounis is a dick.

K: Eddis however will have none of Sounis’s advances. So the Magus in service of the King has hatched a plan. In Eddis lore, there is a mythical stone, called Hamathes’s Gift, which is supposed to grant immortality and the rightful rule of Eddis to whoever holds it. The catch is that the stone’s power doesn’t work if it’s stolen. It must be given to its bearer for the power to work. But the loophole is that the stone can be stolen, and then given to someone else. The person who steals the stone and becomes kingmaker is known as the “King’s Thief”. This stone was lost many years ago, so now the throne passes through basic heredity like any other kingdom.

R: Told you, he’s a dick.

K: The Magus believes he has discovered the location of the stone and intends to use Gen to help him steal it so it can be given to Sounis. Sounis will then use the stone and its symbolic power to force Eddis to marry him and seize her kingdom that way.

The story is, at first glance, a very straightforward and entertaining quest story. Gen is our narrator and he is both charming and obnoxious. He travels with the Magus, the guard Pol, and two students, Ambiades and Sophos.

But it’s not quite that simple, Gen is a thief. He was in the King’s dungeon, having been caught bragging after stealing the King’s seal. Gen told us all of this early on. What he did not tell us is that he is Eddisian. And not just any thief. He is the Queen’s Thief. A role that has, like the role of King/Queen, become hereditary since the loss of the stone.

The amazing thing about the reveal is that it’s so seamless. Gen is our narrator, and his account is so frank, deft and thorough that it seems impossible for something that big to have escaped our notice.

R: It was a good reveal, but it struck me as kind of a cheat. It’s very sudden and she didn’t really give all that many hints that the narrator was hiding something.

K: I actually disagree with you there. It’s true that on a first read, there is very little indication that Gen is hiding something, but there is a lot to unpack on a second read. A lot of things that seem very abrupt are actually seeded from the very first chapter. But you have to know what you’re looking at.

The main thing is Gen is not actually intentionally deceiving the reader. As the end shows us, the story is his account as written to his cousin Eddis. He doesn’t mention being the Thief of Eddis because she already knows who he is. It’s not a matter of misdirection as much as it is a matter of interpretation. But from the reader’s perception, it completely changes everything, not just the chapters going forward, but all of the previous chapters as well.

Everything he says has a different nuance and meaning when you actually know the truth. For example, there is a scene when he is talking to the younger student, Sophos, and corrects his assumption about Gen’s family by stating that his sisters are happily married and his brothers are a watchmaker and a soldier. When I’d first read it, I’d assumed that Gen came from a middle class family but had instead chosen a life of crime. Once we know the truth, well, these well-married women, watchmaker, and soldier, also happen to be satellite members of the Eddisian royal family.

It’s not just bigger things like that though. Even little details have the same kind of dual perception. One example that springs to mind early on in the story is when the Magus, annoyed with Gen, demands that he stop chewing with his mouth open. Gen does so, which was difficult, as he had been chewing with his mouth open “assiduously” since he’d left the prison. The word means “with great care and deliberation”, and I had figured that meant that Gen was being deliberately obnoxious. But on reread, it’s clearer that what Gen meant was actually the “great care” part. Gen is a royal cousin of the Queen of Eddis trying to convince the Magus that he is peasant boy with more ability and ego than sense. He was carefully sticking to his masquerade.

I think this story says some really interesting things about perception and assumption. I am a person who often figures out twists before they are revealed, or at least, I often pick up on something not quite right, even if I don’t figure it out in its entirety. But I didn’t see this one.

R; Yeah. What struck me were the family details. From the description of the mother I was expecting them to get to Eddis and learn that he’s actually next in line for the position or something. So it was in line with everything, but still a major surprise when you find out he’s been in the position for a while and was actually the person the magus brought up earlier in the book.

K: And I think it’s because I went in assuming I knew what the story was. I read the first chapter went “okay, kid in jail, was skilled but sloppy and arrogant, got caught by his own ego” and figured okay, this is going to be a coming of age type quest story where the kid learns humility and wisdom. So whenever Gen said something about his life and his family and his backstory, I filtered it through that context. I thought Gen’s account was complete, because I was filling in the holes with my own assumptions. Just like the Magus.

Gen isn’t the only one concealing important facts on this mission though. Which makes it even more fun. Sophos is, in fact, the very disappointing heir to the throne of Sounis (nephew of the current King), who had been sent to study with the Magus because he was otherwise so hopeless. Pol is no mere bodyguard, but the Captain of a royal guard. While Ambiades is a traitor and spy. No one is exactly what they seem.

R: Ehh.. Ambiades you could see coming. He’s bitter, cruel, and acting strangely and is from an aristocratic line that lost their fortune. It was pretty clear he stole the food and honestly, I thought he’d taken the Gift too. Sophos was a surprise, though. Sounis is not only a dick, he’s kind of an idiot to put BOTH the living heir and the chance of a future heir in this basket.

K: Another part of the story that I find very interesting is the way they incorporate the myths and legends. Especially in terms of the Magus, who isn’t that bad a guy despite his mission. (He truly believes that uniting Sounis and Eddis would be the best thing for both countries.) The Magus starts from an idea that preserved records are better than the word of mouth tellings of the people who believe it, because of the way people change the story. He argues that the people of Eddis use the wrong, old pronunciation for their country when the rest of the civilized world has “moved on”. He is an academic in the driest sense of the word, but he seems to start getting an appreciation for how myth/religion and language are as much about people as they are historical record.

I think this growing appreciation for the human side of things is what helps him deal with his eventual defeat with some grace.

R: Yeah, and of the unlikeable at the beginning characters the magus is actually the one who turns out the best once you get to know him. I’m glad he made it through safely. I was more glad, though, that Ambiades didn’t. I really hated that kid.

K: Probably the last character worth noting is the Queen of Attolia. At this point, she’s more of a concept than a character. We know she’s beautiful, cruel, and that Sounis apparently fears her enough to allow the Magus to embark on a crazy artifact-hunting quest with his heir. But so far, she hasn’t even had as much development as Sounis himself. Though, given that the next book in the series is called “The Queen of Attolia”, that’s probably due to change.

#the thief #megan whalen turner #awkward marriage proposals #now I have a craving for olives #don't look at the man behind the curtain :-)

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writtingdrables · 7 years

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To Take You Home (You’re Leaving Already?)

Hey, so this is super late, and way overdue, but it’s the imagine based on/inspired by the song To Take YOu HOme by Frank Turner. So there we go. @chemicalimagines

It had been a long week and you decided to treat yourself. You’d been sitting at home working (even more than you had the rest of the week, which was insane) when you got an email from Bandsintown.com. You decided to open the email and you were face to screen with an ad for Frank Turner. Frank Turner was a man you had longed to see live, especially since he put on a good show and never and when that’s said it means he never put up with anyone’s shit. Frank Turner was a man who improved your life with his music, and you even had the words ‘She drew a line across the middle of my broken heart and said “Come on now let’s fix this mess”’ tattooed across your chest, right under your collarbones. The tattoo meant a lot to you as your friend sent you the song Get Better when you were feeling very low, and you had been in love with it ever since. So there you were, sitting at your vintage looking desk that you used cottage paint on, and then wore it off, staring at this ad for at least a minute before pressing buy tickets, letting the email redirect you to the webpage. Up until now, you had never impulse bought something so quickly.

A month or so had passed since you bought the tickets and the concert was short a week away. You made sure to cancel work that day because you were too busy getting worked up over the concert. You listened to every single one of his songs while dancing around your apartment. You were so ready to see him perform. And because you were one of the first people to buy tickets, you got front row, not that it was a big show anyway. So you made vegan banana pancakes and coffee while listening to Tape Deck Heart, and then you showered to Positive Songs for Negative People, and you did some work to Love Ire and Song. Come five o’clock and you started to get ready while listening to Sleep Is for the Week. You managed to get ready by six, make dinner, and be out the door by seven. The show started at eight, and you’d made it to the bar by seven thirty- record time. In your honest opinion, you couldn’t believe you made it by seven thirty because the venue was considerably farther from you than you thought it would be. A line was formed outside the bar and you groaned gently, pulling out some cigarettes from your pocket and lighting one up while leaning against the wall of the place. You smoked quietly, and every so often you’d see a few people looking you up and down until you gave them a hard stare, pursing your lips tightly. The doors opened at seven but the line wasn’t moving. I guess people were getting held up. You sighed and pushed past people while you finished your cancer stick. You threw it to the ground and crushed it under your foot. You made it to the front with some complaints and shouting but you didn’t care. You had waited too long and you had a ticket for the front of the show, within the closest proximity to the band and you didn’t want your spot to go due to some ass who cut in front of you. You showed your ticket to security and they let you by without a second glance. In fact, this urged them to call up those with a ticket for the front row. The only reason this was happening was because the venue was moved from a theatre to a bar as the bar turned out to be bigger and had a slightly bigger stage than the small community theatre. You we swaying to the faint songs playing while Frank was setting up, water in hand. He made small conversation with a few people while setting up the microphone or speakers, and once he neared his guitar your heart sped up. Nerves hit you because he was right there and had the potential to talk to you.

“Hey there.” He greeted with a smile, his thick accent coming through very clearly.

“Hi.” You awkwardly smiled.

“You excited?” He laughed out.

“Yeah, actually I am. I got off work all day. It’s been hectic.” You admit to the musician. “I somehow landed a good job during university, and now I’m burdened with work.”

“Meanwhile I’m at work right now.” A small chuckle escapes his lips. “It’s okay, I enjoy it. I hope you do too.” With that he got up and plugged a guitar in and tested the sound, nodding to the sound technician. You we stunned that he talked to you. Soon after he began talking to the crowd, greeting them happily, starting to play newer songs first. As the show progressed, you had new people around you. Never the same crowd twice which was odd for a show. It was probably due to the fact that people would give up their spots in order to snag a drink for the bar at the back of the room. As Frank started playing songs from Love Ire & Song, people slightly dispersed to get more beers and join the show once again, but to your luck a short man managed to squeeze in beside you. You stood beside each other for some time, bouncing up and down on the balls of your feet and singing back to Frank Turner with a passion in your hearts. You didn’t pay too much attention to him at first, a small punk with an agenda at being at a punky folk singer’s concert. Then as some songs got quieter and were less known you realised that the punk beside you actually had quite a good voice. Much different from Frank Turner’s, but beautiful nonetheless, more soothing to you actually. It was distorted however and you had a twinge of desire to hear it on its own. That could be forgotten and you knew it, because he was a stranger and it seemed improbable that the two of you would interact. He didn’t seem to take interest in you. You tried not to pay attention to the tattooed man who stood beside you, singing his heart out as you did the exact same. Your voice flowed out, and although you couldn’t really hear yourself, you sounded absolutely wonderful as an accompaniment to Mr. Turner.

“So we’re going to do something a little fucking unconventional here.” Frank Turner laughed out into the mic and you couldn’t help but smile. Just as he said that the short punk nudged you gently and offered you a warm smile as you looked over him. Your cheeks began to burn up and you gave him a small shy smile before turning away and allowing your hair to fall into your face. “So, this next song, it’s brought to my attention that it’s not only special to me but to very many people, so grab someone and sway, dance, laugh, and sing with them!” With those words he started playing To Take You Home. You felt a presence closer to you than usual and when you turned you saw the small punk retracting his hand and then extending it, trying to tap your shoulder. He was clearly conflicted and he was biting at his lip, toying with his lip ring. You groaned, why did he have to be pretty?

“Do you want to join me?” He shouted over the music and so you nodded gently and slid your hand around his waist and he slid his around yours. He pulled you into his side at first, grinning and singing as you both swayed from side to side. Somehow you both ended up facing each other after a small amount of time and both his hands were on your waist, while yours were on his soft hands. You couldn’t help but blush at how he was staring at you while singing. With him it felt like nobody else was in the room, just the two of you, the room, and the music. You were signing to each other, and eventually as the song got closer to the end you both drew closer together, and your voices died off and your foreheads pressed together. There was something unexplainable going on between the two of you. He slowly tilted his head to the side and dared enough to brush his lips against yours. Against them he whispered out the lyrics ‘A smile upon my face to let you know, that I would like to take you home’. You smiled and gently kissed the man and pulled away as the song ended. You held his hand throughout the show and jumped up and down as the songs got a more punk vibe going. Once the show drew to an end, Frank closed off with a thank you and played the song ‘Get Better’ at which you couldn’t help but sing back to with every ounce of raw emotion flowing into it. About a minute in you heard the man you had kissed add to the scream that came from on stage, and you couldn’t help but get emotional over the event. Of all things you thought would happen tonight, you certainly didn’t account for kissing a stranger, or even crying during the last song performed but you’d take none of it back because it was the most alive you felt. The bar was almost vacated, and you stood there with very few people around, watching the stage crew clean up and pack things away. The band had taken their instruments and unplugged everything a few minutes ago, and some people realised that they wouldn’t be meeting Frank. You sighed out gently and turned around almost bumping into the punk that you had kissed earlier.

“Leaving already?” He asked you with a slight accent. He was American, but from where you weren’t sure. The East coast maybe?

“I uh, yeah, I guess so. It’s kind of late and I have work tomorrow.” You admit, rubbing the back of your neck, trying hard not to notice how beautiful the stranger was, or how disappointment glazed his eyes as you fed him that information.

“Oh, um… I kind of thought that, or at least I hoped that the moment- moments- we shared meant something.” He coughed out awkwardly before proceeding to turn away. You grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving and bit your lip.

“Of course they did- do!” You quickly corrected. “I don’t just kiss strangers you know?” You let out an awkward chuckle that sounded more like you expelling air from your lungs with some force.

“I- I suppose not.” There was a pause as if he was thinking over what to say. “I’m Frank.” He stated as he took a step closer to you. A small giggle was let out and he looked down towards his feet as his nose scrunched up from his laugh. “Isn’t that something? You go to a Frank Turner show only to meet Frank Iero.” You laughed along with him and suddenly felt much more at ease. He was a comfort that you weren’t used to but appreciated very much. “I’m serious about earlier.” He suddenly said and you almost stepped back. Almost.

“About,” You were about to continue your sentence when he stopped you.

“Taking you home.” You swallowed and nodded, slightly hoping he was but being too afraid of his intentions. “It wouldn’t be anything you’re uncomfortable with. That we do I mean. I’d play some records, we could get to know each other, I’ll bum a smoke, and you’ll take my bed. I’ll get you to work on time and everything. I’ll even make breakfast, but nothing with animal products.” You nodded and took his hand properly.

“Alright. Okay. You have me convinced. What are you doing at a Frank Turner show anyway?” You asked as you both walked out into the crisp night air. He simply shrugged and kept smiling.

“I don’t know, I needed to go to a show. And Frank Turner came up, and I’d heard his stuff before and thought it wasn’t bad. The stuff on Love Ire & Song was really good, and Tape Deck Heart was one of my favourites. So I came out, and I found myself a pretty beautiful person to bring home.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“So what other bands do you like?” You inquired, pushing the matter further as you walked back to his apartment.

“True Zero, Misfits, Black Flag. Morrissey, Motorhead, and Aerosmith. That’s all good stuff. I like a lot of unknown stuff too, but out of the more known, Green Day, Reagan Youth, that kind of thing.” He listed off and smiled at you sweetly. “What about yourself?” After you had an avid discussion about music and how he’d never listened to Metric, or PUP, not even July Talk, you had somehow made it to his apartment. It was incredibly neat and organised despite Frank’s appearance. Everything was organised incredibly well. On his coffee table he had today’s paper with a notebook overtop, a few pens, and a photograph. Then he had a pile of coasters on the other end, with one out on the surface of the old wooden table. He had a shelf full of records and the record player was right beside the shelf, on its own little wooden stand. Right beside that, where a television would normally be was a rack that was occupied by a multitude of guitars. Some looked far more aged than others did. You looked around as he closed the door and locked it. He made his way over to the couch and placed his keys on the notebook that he had on the coffee table.

“Can I offer you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?” You pondered over it for a minute before answering him.

“I think coffee would suffice if you don’t mind it. I can settle for water though.” You answered thoughtfully. He smiled and started up on making coffee. Instead of making coffee in a coffee machine, he made it in a pot. A proper coffee pot!

“You can sit on the couch or maybe look through records! Play whatever you want!” He called back to you. You walked over to his collection and brushed your fingertips over the spines of the record sleeves. You pulled out a Television record and smiled, carefully walking over and slipping it out of its protective cover. You put it on the record player and started it up. Once the coffee was done, and the music was flowing through the apartment, you and Frank sat down next to each other, facing one another and talking. He used his hands very much while you bounced your knee up and down. The longer you talked, the closer you inched to each other. Eventually, you were practically sitting on Frank’s thigh as he spoke of the dogs he used to have.

“She’s such a sweetheart but she had to move.” He spoke sadly of Sweetpea. “I had to pass her to my friend. She’s in good hands, but I miss her way too much.” He laughed out and laid his head on your shoulder. “It’s getting late, you have work, come on, let’s set up a bed for you.” You smiled and got up, leaning over to kiss his cheek before moving away from him completely. He couldn’t help but grin, and he took your hand, leading you into his bedroom.

“You know, when I saw you standing there… There was this little kink to your step, and I just felt so drawn to you, I wanted to know you... I wanted to be worthy of you taking me home, but I guess this is where it ended up.” He giggled out and he set up the bed for you, getting his pj’s and leaving you with the covers. You noted that he grabbed a loose fitting t-shirt and boxers only. You were about to ask about borrowing a t-shirt when you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist. “You know, I suppose I should provide you with a t-shirt or something so I don’t see you half naked. That wouldn’t be a very polite thing to do on a first date. I’ll wear one too, don’t worry.” He kissed up the back of your neck as that was said. So you stripped off your pants and asked him to leave as you did so, and he let you be. You slipped on your shirt and stayed in your underwear of the day because you weren’t going to ask to steal pj bottoms, and you doubted he really had any anyway. You couldn’t brush your teeth, but there had to be mouthwash right?

“Frankie?” You called out, to which he poked his head into the room not even a minute later. “DO you have mouthwash?” He nodded slowly.

“Bathroom, behind the mirror, on the right. Second shelf from the bottom.” He smiled at you and let you be. Once you were both ready and said your goodnights with gentle kisses reserved for foreheads and cheeks only, you headed your separate ways. However it unsettled you. The bed felt like home, immediately, but it felt like a big part of home was missing. You tossed and turned, inhaling the scent that was Frank and wishing he was there. It must have been three in the morning when you almost fell asleep. You simply couldn’t so you picked up the covers and dragged them into the living room only to find Frank up, writing, and in his underwear only.

“O-oh- fuck sorry.” You tried but couldn’t peel your eyes away from his inked flesh. It was art. Pure art.

“Oh- Oh gosh, no no.” He tried to comfort you. “It’s okay. It’s fine! Come here.” He motioned that you come over. Your small hesitant steps showed but you walked over as he slipped his shirt back on. “I’m not used to sleeping with it on in the summer.” He admits and places his hands on your waist as soon as you’re close enough. “Why are you still up?” He asked.

“I-I couldn’t sleep.” You bit your lip and looked over Frank’s soft facial expression. “It feels so comforting but like something is missing… and I think it’s you.” You looked at your bare feet.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” He whispered and got up, leading you back to his room. “You don’t mind if I join you, do you?” He asked and you shook your head. Somehow he made that out in the darkness. You sat on his bed and felt it crease beside you. “Come on, love, let’s get some sleep.” He kissed your forehead and you both went to lay down, facing each other as you tried to get to sleep. One of your hands was holding his, wedged between your bodies, and his other was on your waist, as was yours on his. That is how the two of you fell asleep. Eventually in the night he ended up laying slightly over you, draping an arm over you as if he was protecting you. And that was the only way you managed to fall asleep for that night and many more to come.

#frank iero #frank iero x reader #song!fic #frank #imagines #mcr #my chemical romance #reader insert #fluff #romance

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