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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

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time’s arrow {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: Hi, I love your roger/ben imagines so much and was wondering if you could do some angst with Roger x female, maybe they are good friends and she sees him with another. Whatever you would like! Thank you x :)

A/N: 2727 words. A story told through Seasons. I took a little bit of liberties with the prompt, if that’s okay? This hit me like a lightning bolt and I had to write it. Angst with a happy ending. (I’m just trying to show I’ve got versatility in writing, okay?)

Warnings: Implied sex.

You meet him in Spring, before it all begins, he sits up the back of your Intro to Head and Neck Anatomy lectures, the only class with open spots available by the time you were looking for a science credit. You find out he’s in a band three weeks into the first class, finally going to the local bar, sick of cramming your brain full of information you’re not even sure is necessary for your degree. He grins at you and wow okay, you didn’t even think he’d recognise you.

“You’re in, um,” he’s leaning against the bar next to you in this dimly lit pub, grabbing a drink between sets. Faltering for a moment, his eyes travel down before you clear your throat, angry at yourself for blushing, but his smile widens, “my class.” He finishes, taking a sip of his beer. You agree, rolling your eyes at him, but even that seems to amuse him. He asks your name. The guitarist is calling him over, setting up for the next set, but you tell him before he leaves. Something tightens in your chest when, later that night, he catches your eyes mid-song, his look of intense focus shifting for a moment as he grins, giving you a wink.

He takes to sitting next to you in lectures, chewing the end of his pencil and taking occasional notes in a falling apart notebook that looks as though he uses it for every class. You catch lyrics in the margins and at the bottom of some pages, but he’s cagey about that in a strange way, just says you’ll have to come to a gig to find out what they’re about. So you do.

Gigs become a regular for you, and you start to become friends with the girls who frequent the shows, often hosting predrinks in your dorm room for Mary and her friends on a Friday night. You learn on one of those nights that at least two of the girls have hooked up with him, and there’s a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. You’re not sad, or at least, you tell yourself you shouldn’t be. You and Roger are just friends, it’s not like there’s anything going on there, sure, sometimes after a really good show he’ll give you a pash, but it’s- that’s just him.

It’s not like you’ve never thought about it, but you also know his reputation, and that it’ll do more harm than good to get involved with that. He’s the one mistake you don’t think you want to make.

It’s Summer, a few years later, when they trade in the van to get money to hire the recording studio. Roger had really loved that van, and he lay on your sofa for a solid hour grumbling about it, about how Freddie had some kind of nerve. You roll your eyes at him, call him a drama queen, which he takes offence to, but moves obligingly when you sit down, letting him rest his head in your lap.

When you raise the point that it might be worth it, he looks frankly aghast, griping about how he has to catch lifts everywhere now. He calms down somewhat when you start carding your fingers through his hair, though he still pouts.

“If it comes to it, I’ll buy you a car, you baby.” You snort, despite the fact that you’re currently barely making a living wage on some retail job, it’s not where you’d thought you’d be after university, but sometimes that’s just how it is. He looks up at you, and when you look down at him, he’s looking very intense. Perhaps he might say something poignant about your offer, you think, but instead he reaches up and pokes your nose.

“I can see up your nostrils.” He tells you, and you smack his hand away, scowling. You stand abruptly, ignoring his complaints, smoothing your pants out against your thighs.

“Come on,” you offer your hand, which he regards with both confusion and a bit of disdain, “you can’t mope around my apartment and complain about the band again. We’re going out.” That gets his interest.

You’ve been to bars with him before, and usually you go home alone while he gets the pick of the prettiest girls of the night, or he decides to wingman you, which hurts your heart a little, but you won’t decline. You were attractive in your own right, you won’t deny that, you didn’t technically need his help, but a selfish part of you likes the way the attention to you, even if it’s to help you get with other people.

Tonight is different, tonight he doesn’t leave your side, he slings an arm around you as the two of you stand by the bar watching the truly mediocre band they had on that night.

“You know why they aren’t recording an album?” You ask as the set ends.

“Because they didn’t sell their van?” Roger mused, vaguely bitter, but not melancholy as he swirled the last of his drink in his free hand.

“No, it’s because they’re terrible.” Turning, you smile at your own blunt remark, and when he looks back at you, he’s grinning with a little disbelief. There’s very little space between the two of you, but that doesn’t make your heart race anymore, he’s your best friend, close contact was part of the bargain. But he kissed you, quickly, without warning, and when he pulls back, he turns away to order another drink like nothing had happened.

Your mind is spiralling, this isn’t post-gig excitement, this wasn’t something you were expecting. The selfish creature in your chest that you tried to deny for so long was crowing with victory. Taking a quick look around the bar, you don’t recognise anyone, though there are a few girls who look like they’d be his type- but his hand is moving to wrap around your waist as he turns back.

“What was that?” Voice quiet, you take his drink and have a sip of it yourself, the movement done from muscle memory alone. He raises his eyebrows at you, not regarding the drink, that was a usual occurrence, but at the question. He doesn’t seem to know how to answer, baffled at the question. Dropping you gaze, you take a sip of your own drink. “Why me? Why tonight?” You asked. Looking incredulous, he stepped back, looking you over.

“Have you seen yourself tonight, love? Couldn’t help myself.” You’ve heard him talk like this before, to other girls, not as blunt, but with you he can get away with it. The creature in your chest is elated, and you find yourself smiling, actually blushing. He moves closer once more, his arm around you, voice low as he spoke into your ear. “Trust me, you look very fit tonight, any man would be lucky to have a crack at you.” Heart in your throat, you hope you’re reading the situation right, at the same time ignoring the part of you that knew this was a bad idea.

“Even you?” You turned to face him, watching the way his smile shifted to a smirk, and he pulled you a little closer.

“You know I’m always feeling lucky.”

You kiss him, feeling your blood thumping in your veins, selfish and excited in equal measure, but with his hands on you, you can’t find the focus to care about the former.

Once the bad starts up again, Roger pulls away, making a face at them, asking if you wanted to get out of there. You do, and the two of you are elated on the quick walk back to his apartment, stopping only when he pressed you up against the wall of an closed shop to suck a hickey into the skin of your neck. You catch sight of it in his bedroom mirror, but he’s pulling off your jacket and you have better things to worry about.

It’s not weird, like you thought it would be, when you wake the next morning and he’s curled up, fast asleep with his back to you, but your chest aches just a little. He avoids eye contact over breakfast, though you chat like normal. The gripes about his van have died down, though he makes an offhand comment about things are changing that you read enough into to realise what had happened.

“You’ll always have me, Rog.” You reach across the table to take his hand, and he finally looks you in the eye, he looks so relieved, not that he’d ever say it. Afraid of losing another thing he cared about, he had panicked last night and tried to keep you close in the only way he knew how. He certainly loved you, but not in the way you wanted him to. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s not his fault.

Bohemian Rhapsody airs in Autumn, you’re regional manager now, and you’re sitting in your office when you hear for the first time; you almost scream when the first harmony comes in after the radio host introduces the song.

“You’re a star, Rog!” You gush over the phone on your break, unable to wait until that night when the band was having a celebratory get-together to talk to him.

“Of course, I am, you think I sing that high to be paid in peanuts?” You can hear the smile in his words without even seeing him, and being able to hear his voice warms your heart.

“That was you?” You laugh, the ‘Galileo's playing back in your head, and you try to picture him singing it, which only made you laugh harder.

“Oi,” he bristled, indignant at your laughter, “I’m the only one with the range to execute Freddie��s vision.” You could see him in your mind now, proud and stubborn, standing tall to defend the decision.

“I’m proud of you.” Suddenly sincere, you find your smile turning to something more genuine as you think back on far he’s come.

“Thank you.” His own voice has become less animated, more sincere, though you can still hear him smiling.

“Love you, Rog.” You tell him, just as you always did when you parted ways.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

He’s grinning, draped with casual confidence in an armchair in Freddie’s living room when you arrive, and you feel like you’ve been taken back five years, the casual enthusiasm he’s exerting. Smile brightening, he stands when he sees you, striding across the room to enfold you in a hug.

“Good to see you!” He practically beams at you, holding your shoulders as he looks over you, as if assessing you, seeing if anything has changed.

“Of course, you’ve been holed up for weeks, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Though he’s in front of you, you’re words address the room as a whole, and when he steps back, Brian moves in to hug you as well, asking how you’ve been.

The boys are your friends, all of them, you’ve been around for most of their big band moments, and it eases something in your chest to be here for this one too. But then the ease sharply tightens as a woman you’ve never seen before sits on the arm of Roger’s chair, and he rests a hand on her thigh, smiling up at her.

Mary follows your gaze, and her smile is sad as she pulls you down to sit beside her, asking you about your thoughts on the single. You answer, though your heart’s not in it, and the selfish creature in your chest rears it’s ugly head after such a long slumber.

The monster has shifted, changed and grown, it hadn’t cared about him running around with any pretty girl he could find for the past few years, but this was different. Roger had made it clear that he was far from sacred, but this was the band, this was Freddie’s home, this was the place of some of your happiest memories; this was yours.

You stay well into the early hours of the following morning, despite the interloper, but Roger still stopped you at the door.

“I’m really glad you could make it, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He’s smiling at you, but you don’t smile back. It’s been a long night of being kind and pretending that you’re heart didn’t hurt.

“Well, you’ve very busy.” You shrug, punctuating it with a yawn. His expression turns confused, and you open the door.

“Y/N.” He tried to get your attention, but you left, throwing a goodbye over your shoulder to him. “Love you.” He calls through the door, but you stay quiet, refuse to say it back, just keep walking. You’re too tired to be upset, but maybe you’ll get there tomorrow.

Things change, and you’ve grown to accept that, but sometimes old aches don’t heal like they should. Or at all.

“I’m getting married.” He calls you at the end of Winter.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Your relationship’s been on the mend in the years since the Bohemian Rhapsody launch night. You two smile and laugh like you had when you were younger, and you’ve learned to listen to his exploits and his gripes about women, offering your own about your partners, though they’re few and far between. He’s still your best friend, and you learn to act like it.

“Congratulations.” Your voice is flat. It had been a shock, you’d heard about his latest on-again off-again girlfriend, and had even offered advice in certain situations, actual advice, no malice at all.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t seem to know where to go from here, and silence stretches out between the two of you.

“I should go.” You finally murmur.

“What? Why?” He spluttered, and you sighed deeply.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against the wall.

“I- no, but I want you to be there.” He paused. “And I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Clenching your jaw, you make a snap decision.

“I can’t-”

“Why not?” He actually sounded angry, which was perhaps warranted, though your next words shut him up.

“Because it hurts, Roger.” After a beat, your voice is quiet. “Because I love you.” Taking a breath, you let yourself relax. “I want you to be happy, but I can’t watch you marry someone else.” There’s silence for a very long moment, but you hang up before he can respond. You take the phone off the hook. You need to be alone, just for now.

“After everything, you still-?” It’s the first day of Spring, and he’s on your doorstep, seemingly unable to say the word love. You’re wearing your pyjamas and he looks like he’s just walked out of a Rolling Stone cover shoot, though he just sort of looks like that now, you supposed.

“Don’t worry about it.” You try not to betray how much his visit shocked you, or the way his very presence after your recent conversation hurt you.

“You’re my best friend! Of course I’m gonna worry about it!” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. Sighing deeply, he stepped forward. “I thought I fucked everything up when we hooked up, I’m sorry, I panicked.” He was looking at his fidgeting hands, rather than your surprised expression. “And then... I thought I fucked it up again when I chose the band over you.”

“You never-” You tried to protest, but he smiled self-deprecatingly.

“No, I did. I loved you, and I thought that would get in the way of the band.” Clenching his jaw, he looked up and you could see the regret in his eyes. “It was easier to fuck around that tell you I love you.” Your breath stopped in your throat as he finally walked closer. “And I thought after everything, that you deserved better; you know what I’m like, why would you-?” But you cut him off with a kiss.

“You’ll always have me.” You murmured, finally letting yourself smile. Nothing about it felt selfish, in fact, it felt as though the sun was finally shining on you, warming you from the inside out.

“I know,” he agreed quietly, wrapping you up in a hug.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #borhap #queen #bohemian rhapsody #queen imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #bo rhap #the angry lizard writes

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zf7 · 5 years

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I feel like a ghost. I’m a 35-year-old woman, and I have nothing to show for it. My 20s and early 30s have been a twisting crisscross of moves all over the West Coast, a couple of brief stints abroad, multiple jobs in a mediocre role with no real upward track. I was also the poster child for serial monogamy. My most hopeful and longest lasting relationship (three and a half years, whoopee) ended two years ago. We moved to a new town (my fourth new city), created a home together, and then nose-dived into a traumatic breakup that launched me to my fifth and current city and who-knows-what-number job.

For all these years of quick changes and rash decisions, which I once rationalized as adventurous, exploratory, and living an “original life,” I have nothing to show for it. I have no wealth, and I’m now saddled with enough debt from all of my moves, poor decisions, and lack of career drive that I may never be able to retire. I have no career milestones and don’t care for my line of work all that much anyway, but now it’s my lifeline, as I only have enough savings to buy a hotel room for two nights. I have no family nearby, no long-term relationship built on years of mutual growth and shared experiences, no children. While I make friends easily, I’ve left most of my friends behind in each city I’ve moved from while they’ve continued to grow deep roots: marriages, homeownership, career growth, community, families, children. I have a few close girlfriends, for which I am grateful, but life keeps getting busier and our conversations are now months apart. Most of my nights are spent alone with my cat (cue the cliché).

---

Also, within the past year I’ve had a breast-cancer scare and required surgery on my uterus due to a fertility issue. On top of that, I’m 35 and every gyno and women’s-health website this side of the Mississippi is telling me my fertility is dropping faster than a piano falling out of the sky. Now I’m looking into freezing my eggs, adding to my never-ending financial burden, in hopes of possibly making something of this haunted house and having a family someday with a no-named man.

----

I used to think I was the one who had it all figured out. Adventurous life in the city! Traveling the world! Making memories! Now I feel incredibly hollow. And foolish. How can I make a future for myself that I can get excited about out of these wasted years? What reserves or identity can I draw from when I feel like I’ve accrued nothing up to this point with my life choices?

h/t sean.

this is a really poignant, vulnerable, self-deprecating letter in a tough situation. how do you even react to someone with such a life-consuming issue that spans every facet of her life?

i don’t love polly’s advice, but the comments are incredibly interesting. some of them are “i told you so”, others seek to provide optimism. there’s a lot of pretty antifeminist stuff. see a psychiatrist! get a dog! do shrooms! go to church! volunteer! date yourself/love yourself! make an action plan and be strategic! i was in the same place but everything got better! i was in the same place and life sucks!

aren’t women stuck between a rock and a hard place if people reach professional/emotional maturity at a later and later age (let’s say 30) but women’s biological clock deadlines still stay the same (let’s say at 35)? what happens if they don’t want to date un-successful/matured men in their 20s, but then by their 30s, the successful/matured men want to date younger?

more generally, the comments made me feel like the self-actualization self-fulfillment everyone-is-awesome movement has someone done us a disservice? like if we are so focused on the no-wrong-choice rhetoric and we-are-all-beautiful and seek to squash people who are negative, isn’t that potentially giving people blind spots when they make decisions because they aren’t adequately aware of the drawbacks?

but like... that’s sort of the moral of the advice, also, right? is that everyone IS awesome, just given the right framing and approach.

the comments are so varied.

anyway. my favorite comment was the following:

To Haunted: I did everything the opposite of you. Right now, we're in just about the same place. With a few exceptions of course. I invested. I bought my house before the bubble. I married my high school sweetheart, to whom I had every hope and intention of spending the rest of my life with. When that 18 year relationship ended (nearly a decade ago now), I figured I'd be good to go for whatever was next. I was in my early-mid-thirties, athletic, a great business person, smart as heck, and good at being in love. I wanted kids, wanted a life-partner, wanted to work hard, and was ready to make a great life out of the divorce my ex-wife chose. But I had just spent most of my savings on a masters degree. And I'm only 5'8" and went bald at 18. My beard already had a little grey in it. And I had no idea how to date. I'm charging into my early 40's now and, earlier this year, took the lowest paying job I've ever had. (Hooray for starting a non-profit!) I've got plenty of savings, but I'm earning less than I'm spending. And the job sucks, honestly. I've been mostly single (with some serial monogamy in the mix) since becoming single. And my occasional romantic partners keep getting younger. It feel bleak as hell, honestly. My point has nothing to do with my own personal shit-show. It's simply this: (y)our choices, (y)our actions, and (y)our "energy" are only a small part of what led to this situation. Our paths, looking back, are influenced heavily by the terrain through which we wander them. When the terrain helps dictate our paths, a lot of them tend to cross at the same saddle. (Apologies for the back-country hiking metaphor.) Keep wandering, friend. You could have made all your decisions differently. You could have made all of my decisions, the opposite of yours. And we'd still be high-fiving at the same saddle, the low-point, regrouping, on the way to the summit. Cheers, Eric P.S. If you're ever in Southern AZ, give me a shout. I'll buy you some tacos.

side note, one of my friends is having difficulty having a kid. some of these lines are crazyyy

Date every night.... move home or move to a city with a high male to female ratio. Whatever it takes. I’m 39 now with a newborn and she has filled me with the worlds largest supply of heroin concentrated love. Your friends won’t tell you that because they don’t want to make you feel bad - but stable loving husband and baby will make you love every minute of your existence.

They didn't tell us the peace that you feel when holding a sleeping baby.

I'm 42. I have single female friends of the same age who bitterly regret not having children. I used to attend legal conferences where 50% of the people in the room were single 55 year old female lawyers. Almost none were married and almost none had children. None of them looked like they were particularly happy with life, even though they were probably top 5% income earners.

also this comment lol:

"my fertility is dropping faster than a piano falling out of the sky." According to Galileo's law of motion; all bodies accelerate at the same rate regardless of their size or mass. :)

#advice #ask polly #self #friendship #career

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loving-jack-kelly · 7 years

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Asper,,,,,,,my boy,,,,,,,,,,,I'm currently Very Sick and Very Sad and I was wondering if you, the best headcanon man, could give me some Good Happy Headcanons please???

Let’s Do It!!!

Jack lizard. Palio. We covered him but fun fact: Jack has fallen asleep with Palio on his chest and he’ll wake up and Palio will still be on him and he’ll just be like…I’m so loved

Crutchie Morris…he moves so fast…like Jack will be halfway up to their apartment and he’s there already like “Jaaack why are you so sloooow”

Race makes pasta when he’s stressed. Like from scratch. And then he has so much pasta he doesn’t know what to do with it so all their friends get like a month’s supply of pasta and Race is like “yeah I got stressed and made fifty pounds so it’s yours now”

Davey thought he hated cats. Davey was wrong. Davey now has four cats named Sunny, Starshine, Saturn, and Mittens. Les named Mittens.

Davey also has a snake named Galileo and Davey would kill a man to protect his snake he loves Galileo so much.

Spot has notebook upon notebook full of poems and little writings he’s done over the years. The only person who’s ever read any of it is Race.

Spot is also just super good with kids, which you wouldn’t guess by looking at him. He teaches Taekwondo to younger kids and they love him, and he’s also everyone’s favorite uncle. Even Race’s biological nieces and nephews think Spot is cooler

Jack would never admit it. Ever. But. He totally Keeps up with the Kardashians. He knows more than anyone should about them. It’s his guiltiest pleasure.

Jack watches the sunrise every morning. It started when he was in foster care, Medda was trying to adopt him but it wouldn’t go through, and every sunrise was a reminder that the day was new and clean and he was ready to face it. Now it’s just a habit and he loves the sunrise.

Jack actually just adores everything about the sky. He loves the stars and the planets and the sun and the moon and the colors and how clouds work. He can answer more questions about the sky than Davey can. He answers the question “why is the sky blue?” seriously every time

Katherine and Sarah go on dates to museums so often. They just really like walking around quietly holding hands and learning together.

Specs carries their camera everywhere and run a really popular Instagram page because they’re an amazing photographer. They take pictures of things the way they seem them and the pictures are always really nice.

Jack talks to himself while he paints and sometimes it’s like “what on earth Jack Kelly” but sometimes it’s really cute, like he’ll just be talking about how much he loves his friends or Medda while he paints

Spot pretends he hates Race’s dog Marbles. That’s why Marbles is “Race’s dog.” But really he loves cuddling the big dumb dog and often falls asleep with Marbles half on the couch and half in his lap.

Similarly, Jack pretends to hate Graffiti Kelly the Cat but she’s definitely grown on him and her calico pattern has inspired many color schemes.

Jack plays guitar and a little bit of piano and he likes writing goofy songs to cheer people up so he’ll pick a key and play I IV V chords and just make up goofy rhymes in tune all the time

Their group chat is…Iconic. Featuring a disaster of inside jokes, too many gifs, and far too many changes of the name of the chat.

#they just all!! love each other!! so much!!#crunchie-morris #newsies hc #newsies #im not tagging all of the names there's so many

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londontheatre · 6 years

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Seb Carrington

The girl who said ‘no’ – she doesn’t exist anymore, she died last summer – suffocated in smoke from something on fire inside her.

In the heat of summer – under the wings of an angel – Alma meets John. Trapped between desire and fear in a life of obligation, her world turns upside down in the search for salvation.

Joining the previously announced Patsy Ferran are Seb Carrington, Nancy Crane, Eric MacLennan, Forbes Masson, Matthew Needham, Tok Stephen and Anjana Vasan.

The production is designed by Tom Scutt, with lighting design by Lee Curran, composition by Angus MacRae, sound by Carolyn Downing and casting by Julia Horan.

Tennessee Williams, whose plays include The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Sweet Bird of Youth, transformed the American stage through his poetic writing and provocative subject matters. Williams was awarded two Pulitzer Prizes and Tony Awards, three Drama Critic Circle Awards and the Presidential Medal of Freedom. Summer and Smoke was first performed on Broadway in 1948, and ran for the first time in the West End in 2006.

Rebecca Frecknall (Director) was previously on the Almeida Resident Director Scheme. She worked as Resident Director on Ink (also Duke of York’s Theatre) and Movement Director on Albion. Prior to the Almeida, she was Resident Director at Northern Stage from 2015-2016 after winning the acclaimed RTYDS bursary. During this time she directed Idomeneus; What Are They Like?, Educating Rita (for Durham Gala) and Julie by Zinnie Harris. Before taking up this role, Rebecca worked as a freelance Director in London and has worked with the National Theatre, RSC and Young Vic. She was the 2012 recipient of the National Theatre Studio’s Resident Director Bursary and was awarded one of the Young Vic’s Jerwood Assistant Director Bursaries in 2011.

CAST BIOGRAPHIES Seb Carrington plays Archie Kramer. His theatre work includes Ivanov for the Boris Shchukin Theatre Institute. His television work includes Father Brown and The Crown.

Nancy Crane plays Mrs Winemiller/Mrs Bassett. She previously appeared at the Almeida in Against and Chimerica. Other theatre credits include The Sewing Group, Now or Later, The Sweetest Thing in Baseball and The Strip at the Royal Court; Teddy Ferrara at the Donmar Warehouse; Next Fall at Southwark Playhouse; The Children’s Hour in the West End; Design For Living at The Old Vic; Love The Sinner and Angels in America at the National Theatre; Chains of Dew and Trifles at the Orange Tree Theatre. Her television work includes Genius; Doctors; Nixon’s The One; Upstairs Downstairs. For film, her work includes The Current War; Megan Leavey; Florence Foster Jenkins; The Danish Girl; Woman in Gold; and Batman: The Dark Knight.

Patsy Ferran plays Alma. Her theatre credits include Speech and Debate at Trafalgar Studios; As You Like It and Treasure Island at the National Theatre; The Merchant Of Venice at the RSC; The Angry Brigade for Paines Plough and Blithe Spirit at the Gielgud Theatre. Patsy’s television credits include Guerrilla and Jamestown (series regular). Film credits include Darkest Hour; God’s Own Country; Tulip Fever; The National Phobia; Association’s Day Out. Patsy won a Critics’ Circle Theatre Award for Most Promising Newcomer in 2014.

Eric MacLennan plays Papa Gonzales/Vernon. For theatre his work includes 1984 at Creation Theatre; Government Inspector and Anne Get Your Gun at Young Vic; Henry V at Southwark Playhouse and Cyrano de Bergerac at Manchester Royal Exchange. His television credits include The Night Manager and The Borgias. For film, his work includes Rogue One; Mindhorn; Anna Karenina and Tale of Tales.

Forbes Masson plays Rev Winemiller/Dr Buchanan. His recent theatre work includes Big Fish at The Other Palace; Boudica at Shakespeare’s Globe; Terror at Lyric Hammersmith; Travesties at the Menier Chocolate Factory and Apollo Theatre; A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Theatre Royal Bath; Doctor Faustus at the Duke of York’s; Mr Foote’s Other Leg at Hampstead Theatre and Theatre Royal Haymarket and The Ruling Class, Richard III and Macbeth at Trafalgar Studios. His television work includes Catastrophe; Shetland: Dead Water and Monarch of the Glen.

Matthew Needham plays John Buchanan. He is currently appearing in The Twilight Zone at the Almeida and was previously in The Treatment in 2017. His other theatre credits include Much Ado About Nothing, Imogen, The Comedy of Errors, Titus Andronicus and The Knight of the Burning Pestle at Shakespeare’s Globe; Henry IV Parts I and II, Love’s Sacrifice, The Jew of Malta, Candide and Titus Andronicus for the RSC; Our Country’s Good for Out of Joint and There is a War at the National Theatre. For television, his work includes Endeavour; The Hollow Crown: Part Two; Monroe and Sherlock.

Tok Stephen plays Roger Doremus/Dusty. He recently graduated from RADA and his professional theatre work includes Boudica at Shakespeare’s Globe.

Anjana Vasan plays Rosemary/Rosa Gonzales/Nellie. Her theatre work includes King Lear and A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe; Life of Galileo at the Young Vic; Image of an Unknown Young Woman at the Gate Theatre; Dara at the National Theatre and Macbeth at Manchester International Festival/Broadway. For television, her work includes Hang Ups; Ill Behaviour; Black Mirror; Call the Midwife and Fresh Meat. Her film work includes The Children Act; Cinderella and Jack Ryan.

ALMEIDA LISTINGS INFORMATION Saturday 24 February – Saturday 7 April 2018 Summer and Smoke By Tennessee Williams Directed by Rebecca Frecknall Press night: Wednesday 7 March at 7pm

Almeida Theatre, Almeida Street, London, N1 1TA almeida.co.uk

http://ift.tt/2Cvm2WQ London Theatre 1

#IFTTT #London Theatre 1

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