#personal blag

[indielowercase]

[tampire]

Some of my Izzy Hands selfies from last May as I was around the Scarborough Bluffs

[pbaintthetb]

Characters who have the luck of the devil on their side because they're just that damn charismatic vs those who have it because the universe just likes them that damn much.

This is about Moist vs Carrot from discworld btw

[hella1975]

i passed all my exams

[butchpeabody]

so anyway if you think trans "r@d" femnism is real you should die straight up

[dreamlanddeluxe]

Can you block people on sideblogs how do you do that

[d3adringer]

taking care and having patience in this process is so far proving to be a fucking win and i am absolutely buzzed right now. fuck youuuuu hahahahhaha

[worstjourney]

The Millennials' Polar Expedition

A year ago today (23 Nov 2022), I launched Worst Journey Vol.1 at the Scott Polar Research Institute. This is the text of the speech I gave to the lovely people who turned up to celebrate.

As many of you know, my interest in the Terra Nova Expedition was sparked by Radio 4’s dramatisation of The Worst Journey in the World, now 14 years ago.  The story is an incredible story, and it got its claws into me, but what kept me coming back again and again were the people.  I couldn’t believe anyone so wonderful had ever really existed.  So when I finally succumbed to obsession and started reading all the books, it was the expedition members’ own words which I most cherished.  These were not always easy to come by, though, so plenty of popular histories were consumed as well.  Reading both in tandem, it soon became clear that, while there were some good books out there, there was a lot of sloppy research in the polar echo chamber as well.

I also discovered that no adaptation had attempted to get across the full scope of the expedition.  There has never been a full and fair dramatic retelling, all having been limited by time, budget, or ideology from telling the whole story truthfully.  I was determined that my adaptation would be both complete and accurate, and be as accountable as possible to those precious primary documents and the people who wrote them.

So the years of research began.  I moved to Cambridge to be able to drop in at SPRI and make the most of the archives.  Getting to Antarctica seemed impossible, but I went to New Zealand to get at least that much right, and on the way back stayed with relatives in Alberta, the most Antarctic place I could realistically visit.  I gathered reference for objects wherever I could.  Because Vol.1 takes place mainly on the Terra Nova, which is now a patch of sludge on the seabed off Greenland, I cobbled together a Franken-Nova in my mind, between the Discovery up in Dundee and the Star of India in San Diego.  I spent a week on a Jubilee Sailing Trust ship in order to depict tall-ship sailing correctly.  I’m sure I’ve still got loads of things wrong, but I did all I could, to get as much as I could, right.

But still, everyone I met who had been to Antarctica said, “you can’t understand Antarctica until you’ve been there, and you can’t tell the story without understanding Antarctica; you have to go.”  So I applied to the USAP’s Antarctic Artists and Writers Program, with faint hope, as they do “Ahrt” and I draw cartoons.  But I must have blagged a good grant proposal, because a year after applying, I was stepping out of a C-17 onto the Ross Ice Shelf.  The whole trip would have been worth it just to stand there, turn in a circle, and see how all the familiar photographs fit together.  But the USAP’s generosity didn’t stop there, and in the next month I saw Hut Point, Arrival Heights, the Beardmore Glacier (including the moraine on which the Polar Party stopped to “geologise”), and Cape Crozier, and made three visits to the Cape Evans hut.  Three!  On top of the visual reference I got priceless qualitative data.  The hardness of the sound.  The surprising warmth of the sun. The sugary texture of the snow.  The keen edge on a slight breeze.  The way your fingertips and toes can start to go when the rest of you is perfectly warm.  The SHEER INSANITY of Cape Crozier.  The veterans were right – I couldn’t have drawn it without having been there, but now I have, and can, and I am more grateful than I can ever adequately express.  With all these resources laid so copiously at my feet, all I had to do was sit down and draw the darn thing.  Luckily I have some very sound training to back me up on that.

Now, this is all very well for the how of making the book, and, I hope, interesting enough. But why?  Why am I putting so much effort into telling this story, and why now?

Well, it means a lot to me personally.  To begin to understand why, you need to know that I grew up in the 80s and 90s, at the height of individualist, goal-oriented, success-driven, dog-eat-dog, devil-take-the-hindmost neoliberalism.  It was just assumed that humans, when you get right down to it, were basically self-interested jerks, and I saw plenty of them around so I had no reason to question this assumption.  The idea was that if you did everything right, and worked really hard, you could retire at 45 to a yacht in the Bahamas, and if you didn’t retire to a yacht, well, you just hadn’t tried hard enough.  Character, in the sense of rigorous personal virtue, was for schmucks.  What mattered was success.  Even as my politics evolved, I still took it as a given that this was how the world worked, and that was how people generally were – after all, there was no lack of corroborating evidence.  So: I worked really hard.  I single-mindedly pursued my self-interest.  I made sacrifices, and put in the time, and fought my way into my dream job and all the success I could have asked for.

And then I met the Terra Nova guys.

What struck me most about them was that even when everything was going wrong, when their expectations were shattered and they had to face the cruellest reality, they were still kind.  Not backbiting, recriminating, blame-throwing, defensive, or mean, as one would expect – they were lovely to each other, patient, supportive, self-sacrificing; in fact the worse things got, the better they were.  They still treated each other as friends even when it wasn’t in their self-interest, was even contrary to their self-interest.  I didn’t know people could be like that.  But there they were, in plain writing, being thoroughly, bafflingly, decent.  Not just the Polar Party – everyone had to face their own brutal realities at some point, and they all did so with a grace I never thought possible.

It presented a very important question:

When everything goes belly-up, and you’re facing the worst, what sort of person will you be?

Or perhaps more acutely: What sort of person would you rather be with?

It was so contrary to the world I lived in, to the reality I knew – it was a peek into an alternate dimension, populated entirely with lovely, lovely people, who really, genuinely believed that “it’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game,” and behaved accordingly.  It couldn’t be real.  There had to be a deeper, unpleasant truth: that was how the world worked, after all.  I kept digging, expecting to hit bottom at some point, but I only found more gold, all the way down.  How could I not spend my life on this?

Mythology exists to pass on a culture’s values, moral code, and survival information – how to face challenges and prevail.  Scott’s story entered the British mythology, and had staying power, because it exemplified those things so profoundly for the culture that created and received it.  But the culture changed, and there were new values; Scott’s legacy was first inverted and then cast aside.  The new culture needed a new epic hero.  You’d think it would be Amundsen, the epitome of ruthless success, but “Make Plan – Execute Plan – Go Home” has no mythic value, so he didn’t stick.  The hero needed challenges, he needed setbacks, and he needed to win, on our terms.

Shackleton!  Shackleton was a winner!  Shackleton told us what we knew to be true and wanted to hear at epic volume: that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard, you will succeed!  (Especially if you can control the narrative.)  Scott, on the other hand, tells us that if you want something badly enough, and try really hard . . . you may nevertheless die horribly in the snow.  Nobody wants to hear that!  What a downer!  I think it’s no coincidence that Shackleton exploded into popular culture in the late 90s and has dominated it ever since: he is the mythic hero of the zeitgeist. I am always being asked if I’ll be doing Shackleton next.  He has six graphic novels already!  That is plenty!  But people still want to tell and be told his story, because it’s a heroic myth that validates our worldview.

That’s why I am so determined to tell the Scott story, because Scott is who we don’t realise we need right now – and Wilson, and Bowers, and Cherry, and Atch, and all the rest.  The Terra Nova Expedition is the Millennials’ polar expedition.  We’ve worked really hard, we’ve done everything we were supposed to, we made what appeared to be the right decisions at the time, and we’re still losing.  Nothing in the mythology we’ve been fed has prepared us for this.  No amount of positive attitude is going to change it.  We have all the aphorisms in the world, but what we need is an example of how to behave when the chips are down, when the Boss is not sailing into the tempest to rescue us, when the Yelcho is not on the horizon.  When circumstances are beyond your power to change, how do you make the best of your bad situation?  What does that look like? Even if you can’t fix anything, how do you make it better for the people around you – or at the very least, not worse?  Scott tells us: you can be patient, supportive, and humble; see who needs help and offer it; be realistic but don’t give in to despair; and if you’re up against a wall with no hope of rescue, go out in a blaze of kindness.  We learn by imitation: it’s easy to say these things, but to see them in action, in much harder circumstances than we will ever face, is a far greater help.  And to see them exemplified by real, flawed, complicated people like us is better still; they are not fairy-tale ideals, they are achievable. Real people achieved them.

My upbringing in the 80s milieu of selfishness, which set me up to receive the Scott story so gratefully, is hardly unique.  There are millions of us who are hungry for a counter-narrative.  My generation is desperate for demonstrations of caring, whether it’s activism or social justice or government policies that don’t abandon the vulnerable.  We’ve seen selfishness poison the world, and we want an alternative.  The time for competition is past; we must cooperate or perish, but we don’t know how to do it because our mythology is founded on competition.  The Scott story, if told properly, explodes the Just World Fallacy, and liberates us from the lie that has ruled our lives: that you make your own luck.  What happens, happens: what matters is how you respond to it.  My obsession with accuracy is in part to honour the men, and in part because Cherry was the ultimate stickler and he’d give me a hard time if I didn’t, but also because, if I’m telling the story to a new generation, I’m damn well going to make sure we get that much RIGHT.  It’s been really interesting to see, online, how my generation and the next have glommed onto polar exploration narratives, not as thrilling feats of derring-do, but as emotional explorations of found family and cooperative resilience.  We love them because they love each other, and loving each other helps get them through, and we want – we need – to see how that’s done.  It’s time to give them the Terra Nova story, and to tell it fully, fairly, and honestly, in all its complexity, because that is how their example is most useful to us.  Not as gods, and not as fools, but as real human beings who were excellent to each other in the face of disaster.  I only hope that I, a latecomer to their ways, can do them justice.

[maraschinomerry]

Distracted

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

Summary: Locked in a room with the boy who has the relic you've been hunting, you try whatever you can to get it back.

Content: fight scene, flirting and making out, a bit suggestive but nothing explicit

A/N: requested by @superpositvecloudshipper - hope you like it! Also can you tell it's my day off with the way this is my third fic in less than 12 hours lol

Word count: 1.9k

As yet another auction came to an abrupt end, the crowded room filling with screams and alarms, Lockwood began to wonder if he was developing a track record.

He was there for a book, written at the very beginning of the Problem, which George insisted would be invaluable in the case they'd just accepted and which DEPRAC were determined to put into secure storage. Nobody had seen it for years, but a week ago it had been listed as the star item at Fothergills Auction House. It wasn't anything as serious as the Bone Glass, but the team had still had to blag their way into the auction with a pocket of tricks each and an unofficial nod from Barnes to do whatever was necessary to prevent the book from winding up on the black market.

So it was that Lockwood found himself surging through the throng of panicked auction-goers, scrambling to escape Lucy's recently detonated smoke bomb. He could barely see through the mass of bodies, made worse by the cloud of dark grey fumes and the pulsing red light of the alarm system. It was only a matter of time before the sprinklers activated. He had to get the book before then.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an unusual movement - another figure fighting against the tide of bodies. Probably a relic man with more greed than sense, but at least they'd thought to put their hood up and draw a scarf across their mouth to protect against the smoke. Lockwood pressed forward with increasing urgency.

He reached the podium seconds before the mysterious figure, snatching the book and giving in to the urge to throw his pursuer a triumphant grin. They swore, drowned out by the alarm as it shifted in pitch to indicate the activation of the water sprinklers. Lockwood tucked the book into his coat and bolted for the nearest door, the other person hot on his heels.

Overhead, an automated voice alternated with the alarms.

"Defence alert. Room cleared. Initiating lockdown procedure."

Oh no.

—

You forced your way through the crowd, eyes trained on the book. It would fetch you a pretty penny and give you an advantage over a group of relic men who were giving you grief. As you reached the podium, you stumbled to a halt at the sight of a scrawny dark-haired boy clutching the book. Your book. You scowled, expression deepening as he gave you a bright victory smirk. Well, that was that. No way were you letting him leave here without getting the book. As he sprinted for the door on the left, you followed.

Too late, you realised the door the boy ahead had chosen was not the one for the offices, but for a storage cupboard which would usually have held the items for auction but now was almost bare. Too late, you noticed there were no other doors or windows, just the one that had now sealed behind you.

"I swear," he growled, hand on his rapier, "don’t come any closer. There's nowhere to go and I've fought enough relic men that if you want to get out of here alive you'll keep your distance."

You scoffed, a higher sound than Lockwood was expecting.

"Excuse you, relic man? Presumptuous much?" As you spoke, your scarf shifted to reveal plump red lips, and in one smooth movement you tugged down your hood, scooping the mane of windswept hair it concealed into a messy ponytail.

Lockwood froze for a second before switching on his trademark charisma. No sense in making enemies straight away, besides the more he looked the more he realised there was little room to use his rapier without risking self-injury.

"I meant no offence, I thought Flo Bones was the only relic woman."

You'd heard of Flo, of course, but didn't run in the same circles. She was a one-man, well, one-woman band, except for whoever this guy was it seemed. You tended to keep to yourself, but occasionally took advantage of the more simpering relic men who were so desperate for a woman to look their way that they'd give you anything, making you the leather-clad rogue to Flo's knitted outcast.

"Easy mistake to make, darling, but it won't happen again." You returned his charm with your own, thinly veiling the threat behind your words. "Just give me the book and we can both go on our merry ways."

"I don't think so." He dropped the act in a flash, gripping the book.

Your scowl returned. "Fine. That door's not budging, so I've got time to change your mind."

Without warning, you lunged, catching him off-guard enough that he almost lost his footing. To your dismay, he recovered quickly, pushing you back to give him time to adopt a defensive stance. He was trained, then. Probably from agent work, judging by the rapier. By the book, though. Time to see if he fought dirty.

A scroll of paper was about the only thing left on the shelf beside you, but it would have to do. With a grunt, you tossed it past his shoulder, and as he watched it sail past (no doubt questioning your aim, as you'd planned), you used his distraction to slip closer and force him backwards into a shelf. He cried out as the metal bit into his back and for a moment you hesitated. The boy was only young, he looked about your age, and he wasn't bad looking at that. You could have been in his place in another life, or he in yours. Or both of you on the same team, fighting off some other scoundrel. Unknowingly, you eased off the pressure on his shoulders.

Big mistake.

Lockwood shoved you once more, finally deciding to bring the fight to him and reaching for his rapier. You couldn't allow that, but you were running out of ideas. So you did the only thing you could think of: whipped off your jacket and hurled it directly at his face. The boy was quick, though, you had to give him credit, as he batted it away like a pesky fly. Suddenly he was in your space, hands locking around your now bare wrists and foot snaking out to knock your feet from under you. You fell, unable to stop yourself, but with his grip still on you he lowered you almost gently to the floor, arms pinned above your head and his weight straddling your thighs to keep you from lashing out. He did fight dirty. Interesting.

Your breath was heavy, both from the fight and from finding yourself in such close quarters with the young man. With nowhere to turn, you finally got a proper look at your rival. His dark eyes were trained on you, filled with a mixture of anger, respect and something else. His previously coiffed hair now fell haphazardly across his forehead, and his face was flushed. Still had that insufferable smirk, though.

"I think," you paused to catch your breath, "we got off on the wrong foot. Care to start again?" Your hands were still pinned, hanging loosely against the cold stone floor, but you brought one up in as close to a handshake as circumstances would allow. He didn't take it.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"Does it matter?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What you want with the book."

"Let's call it personal insurance."

"I see."

"Do you, darling?" You'd met his type before - rich, cocky, scornful of anyone who'd fallen into the relic hunter lifestyle to keep themselves alive. Then again, he seemed to know that other girl Flo well enough, and he hadn't given any indication he disliked you beyond having the same target, and really it was very hard to form any other opinions of him when his pelvis was practically on top of yours.

He leaned a little closer, pressing your wrists more. "I'm not your darling, darling." The last word came out low and husky, and you resisted the urge to squirm beneath him. It wouldn't do to give him any more of an upper hand just yet, not that there was much more he could get.

"You could be, if you wanted, the position you're in." You'd been watching him through your lashes, but with those words you allowed your gaze to slide down to his lips as your own parted slightly.

Lockwood took the hint.

His kiss was passionate, almost frantic, and you returned it equally. To get low enough to reach your lips, his hips had bucked into yours, and as you gasped at the sensation his tongue darted in. He tasted like bergamot tea. One hand never left where he was keeping you pinned, but the other came round to support the small of your back as you arched into him. Eventually (it took him long enough, distracted as he was when you dragged your teeth across his lower lip), he realised he was supporting all his weight on your wrists, and he propped himself on his other hand and let go. With this newfound freedom, you pushed yourself off the ground, leaning into him until he was sitting back on his feet, your legs still under him but torsos upright and pressed together.

Now on a more even playing field, you were able to have a bit more fun. Not that you were going to complain about the original position, to be fair. It had certainly made things interesting. In the back of your mind you registered that the sirens outside had stopped, but you still had time to kill.

You slid your hands up his chest to the collar of his coat, sliding it down until it gathered around his remarkably firm biceps, then loosened his tie. All the while, your lips never left his, kissing him hungrily. He responded by reaching up and removing the tie from your hair. One hand travelled back down to your waist, the other twisted into your hair with a playful tug. You gasped against his mouth again, tugging his tie which brought him up off his heels. The pressure eased from your legs, and in one swift movement you pulled them through the gap.

As your legs disappeared from under him, Lockwood found himself leaning back with you taking position above. Your hair cascaded around your face, tickling his ears, and he broke the kiss for breath and to stare up at you in wonder. His hand left your hair to support himself, but you adjusted to balance yourself so your hands could slide into his coat and around his waist.

"Well, that's certainly not how I expected this auction to end, but I can't say I'm disappointed," he chuckled.

"Me neither." Behind you the door hissed as the automatic lock disengaged. Abruptly, Lockwood felt your hands retract from within his coat and he dropped painfully onto his elbows. You stood, brushing yourself off and retrieving your jacket, which you slung over your shoulder. At the same time as Lockwood realised his coat felt significantly lighter, he noticed the book tucked under your arm.

"This has been fun, we should do it again some time," you said with a wink as you stepped through the door.

Lockwood scrambled to his feet. By the time he made it to the doorway, the auction room was empty. You'd gone, and so had the book.

He didn't know which he was more disappointed about.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY TALKING ABOUT KING AEGON II TARGARYEN IN 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON' S2 FOR CBR MAGAZINE.

HOW AEGON DEALS WITH THE PRESSURE OF LIVING UP TO THE CONQUERER?

"[Aegon] puts that pressure on himself a lot. He wants to be heroic."

"Aemond's always been the warrior and the one with the physical presence. Now that Aegon has the crown on his head and sits [on] the Iron Throne, his power comes in a different form."

"Aegon's very aware that he's not Viserys in any way, shape or form, as much as he'd like to be."

"He's of the opinion that he wants to be loved and feared at the same time. We know that those don't go hand in hand. They can't function in tandem. He's working out which side of the fence he sits on."

WHAT IS AEGON'S WORST QUALITY THAT MAKES HIM ILL-SUITED TO SIT ON THE IRON THRONE?

"His impulsivity."

"[Aegon has a] lack of thought that goes into decisions. He's explosive and volatile. All that immediate angst is right at the surface the whole time."

"He needs people around him to rein him in."

"He's a bit of a dog in that way."

AEGON ISN'T A WARRIOR OR EVEN A DRAGON SLAYER. HE HAS A CLOSE BOND WITH HIS GOLDEN DRAGON, SUNFYRE, WHOM HE DESIGNED HIS BANNERS AFTER. BUT THAT MAY BE ONE OF HIS ONLY CONNECTIONS AS AEGON ALSO ISN'T A PEACEFUL RULE LIKE HIS FATHER, VISERYS.

"[Aegon] wants to be liked by people rather than actually do things out of the goodness of his heart."

"Those first impressions [with the smallfolk had] a sell-by date."

AEGON WANTS TO FIND A BALANCE BETWEEN MAKING A GOOD IMPRESSION AND WINNING THE WAR AGAINST HIS SISTER.

"He wants both, but the chances of either of those being possible are diminishing in front of [Aegon]'s eyes."

"He's clawing at anything he's got to make [both] happen."

HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS TWIN CHILDREN, JAEHAERYS AND JAEHAERA IN S2. HIS LOVE FOR HIS CHILDREN UNVEILS A VULNERABILITY:

"It's easy when you play a character like [Aegon] to be cold and calculated and pretty numb to it all."

"[But Aegon's] capable of loving. His son is a creation of his [Jaehaerys] is something he made and is proud of."

"He sees a lot of himself in his son. This is what I was telling myself, anyway that it felt like he could almost start again with Jaehaerys."

"He could almost build the person that he wanted to be and never got a chance to be."

AS THESE INCIDENTS, NOTABLY HIS ASSAULT OF A SERVANT GIRL NAMED DYANA IN SEASON 1. WOULD AFFECT AEGON IN 'HOUSE OF THE DRAGON' S2?

Glynn-Carney couldn't get into specifics about Aegon's "nuclear" journey, but he didn't defend his character.

"He's made a name for himself, hasn't he? People know what he's capable of and how he behaves. The smallfolk are aware of his antics."

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY DESCRIBED HIS COMMITMENT TO PLAYING A VILE CHARACTER AND THE POSSIBILITY OF RECEIVING HATE FOR PLAYING HIM.

"There's a lot of responsibility with this character and his involvement in the show."

"You can't think too much about [people's reactions] because you'll never step foot on set ever again. You just have to blag to yourself that it's just another day at the office."

"He's wild, unpredictable, dangerous, vulnerable and funny. He's a bit of the whole spectrum. He's at those extreme ends of the spectrum too."

A CONTROVERSIAL CHARACTER LIKE AEGON SHOULD BE HANDLED CAREFULLY. THANKFULLY, GLYNN-CARNEY HAS A GOOD UNDERSTANDING OF WHO AEGON IS, EVEN IF THE NEW KING HIMSELF MAY LACK THE SAME SELF-AWARENESS.

"It's now time for [Aegon] to try and redefine who he is, if he's capable."

"[However] I'm not sure if he's that interested in doing that. He thinks that now the crown's [on his head] he's just going to get the respect, validation and ears of everyone in Westeros to listen to him and to do as he says."

"It doesn't come as easy as that."

[indielowercase]

Had another 5am surprise reptile encounter

[tampire]

Boy Math? Girl Math? I'm NonBinary and out of the equation.

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

March 1970, High Street, Leatherhead, Surrey, UK - Freddie Bulsara auditioned for Sour Milk Sea band, after seeing a ‘vocalist wanted’ in the ‘Melody Maker, Freddie accompanied by 'roadies' Roger Taylor and John Harris

Rob Tyrell recalls seeing him for the first time: “Freddie auditioned with us in a youth club in crypt of a church in Dorking. We were all blown away. He was very confident. I don’t think it was any great surprise to him when we offered him the job.” Jeremy Gallop agrees: “He had an immense amount of charisma, which is why we chose him. Although, we were actually spoilt for choice that day. Normally at auditions, you’d get four or five guys who were rubbish, but we had two other strong contenders. One was a black guy, who had the voice of God, but he didn’t have the looks of Fred, and the other person was Bridget St. John.

Chris Chesney: “I remember Freddie being really energetic and moving around a lot at the audition, coming up and flashing the mike at me during guitar solos. He was impressive. There was an immediate vibe. He had a great vocal range. He sang falsetto; nobody else had the bottle to do that. He said ‘Do your own songs and I’ll make up my own words’ It was very clever and very good.”

“When Freddie joined,” Chris continues, “We were on a roll. We were in the habit of playing two or three gigs a week and we continued to do so. I think we played down at the Temple in Lower Wardour Street with Freddie, the Oxford gig, and a few others.”

The Oxford gig was in the ballroom at the Randolph Hotel, one of the grandest in the city, “It was like a society-type bash, debs in frocks and all that,” recalls Chris. “I remember our sound wasn’t great.” Jeremy Gallop adds: “Freddie definitely managed to get what people were there in the palm of his hand, just by sheer aggression and his good looks. He was very posy, very camp, and quite vain. I remember him coming to my house and looking in the mirror, poking his long hair. He said ‘I look good today. Don’t you think Rubber?’ I thought, ‘Fuck Off!’ I was only eighteen at the time, and didn’t think it was funny, Now It’s hilarious.”

The only other gig featuring Freddie which the other members of Sour Milk Sea are certain about was a benefit for the homeless charity ‘Shelter’, staged at the Highfield Parish hall in Headington, Oxford, on 20th March 1970 – just weeks before Freddie teamed up with Brian May and Roger Taylor in a new group. “That was probably the last gig we played with him,” remarks Chris Chesney.

Surprisingly enough for such a low-key gig, just like Ibex’s Bolton show, Sour Milk Sea’s appearance at Headington, also made the local paper. This time it was the ‘Oxford Mail’ and incredibly, the paper also included a photograph of the group complete with Freddie – the only known shot to exist of him with Sour Milk Sea. Typically Freddie is the only one looking at the camera.

The article included an interview with the band on account of Chris Chesney’s parents being minor celebrities. It also remarked that vocalist Freddie Bulsara had only arrived ‘a couple of weeks ago’, and quoted form his song ‘Lover’. More importantly, as Chris told the paper at the time: “I don’t feel we are like any other group. Our approach is based on our relationships with one another.”

These relationships held much promise, but were fraught with danger, as Chris soon discovered. “I was staying with ‘Rubber’ at the time.” He recounts. “Then Freddie asked me to stay with him in Barnes. So I did, and we started songwriting together, getting into each other’s heads. His chords were kind of weird. They broke all the rules. F-Sharp minor to F back to A. That was totally new for me. I thought it was all very current and that we could blend our two approaches together.”

Chris continues: “We did two or three of Freddie’s songs. He had some material from the Ibex days, including ‘Lover’, ‘Blag’ and ‘FEWA’ He was good at lyrics and we wrote a couple of numbers, some big, operatic pieces. Operatic in the sense that they broke down into solo guitar parts, then built up again vocally. I can’t for the life of me remember what they were called. He also introduced weird covers like ‘Jailhouse Rock’. We’d never considered playing Elvis, or Little Richard’s ‘Lucille’. Then he had his little rock ‘n’ roll medley, which pushed the band into a showbiz direction, which I liked. He also had a lot of stagecraft going. I had a good relationship with Freddie and he liked the way I moved on stage. We were like Bowie and Ronson, where we related physically to each other on stage”.

No one in Ibex, Wreckage or Sour Milk Sea had suspected that Freddie was gay. Indeed Mike Bersin has pointed out; “Freddie had a girlfriend, Mary Austin at the time”. “Ambiguous sexuality was par for the course then.” Recalls Chris Chesney. “You didn’t question it. Anybody who did was totally unhip.” Chris and Freddie’s friendship was platonic, but close: “He wanted to style me, give me some clothes to wear, and the relationship between us got quite strong. ‘Rubber’ soon realised there was nothing in it for him.”

(➡️ source: http://www.queenpedia.com/index.php?title=Sour_Milk_Sea)

[hella1975]

i have an exam on monday but also my last exam was on the 9th. they really said 'give that little guy 2 whole weeks to prepare for a single exam' and expected me to get anything done. i havent even clocked it yet. you gave me way too much time. there is zero fear here. the Terror hasn't kicked my ass into productivity and i fear it never will. i'll fail it and come back later idc

[infiniteimaginings]

Hi, I was the kickin it anon! That’s ok!

If I would be able to send it in again if ok? It was one where Kim has a younger sibling who was part of the wasabi warriors while Kim was part of the Blag Dragons, and while Kim never bullied them, she never really noticed if of stopped it; and once she joins the WW, she realised what’s happened and the pair slowly rebuild their bond?

The Wasabi Code (Sister!Kim Crawford x Sibling!GN!Reader) [Platonic]

Summary: Your sister was apart of the Black Dragons, but she's not anymore. She joined the Wasabi Warriors and she swore by the code, but did she really follow the code? Does she even know she's already broken it? Pronouns: You/Yours, They/Them Warnings: None Word Count: 2.6k A/N: I LOVE KICKIN IT. Sorry, got a little carried away there, I love Kickin It.

Competitions for you have been harder to get through as the years went by, and everyone at the Bobby Wasabi dojo knew exactly why. Well, everyone but the new kid Jack.

You were practicing on one of the dummies, but your mind seemed elsewhere. Rudy was trying to bring your spirits up, but this happened every competition, this happened every single time. Due to that, Rudy wasn’t that hard on you, he patted you on your back and told you to take a break, sending you to Falafel Phils to grab lunch for the dojo.

Jack watched you leave with a bit of confusion, “What’s up with them?” He asked, adjusting his uniform since it had been sliding over.

The group of boys trying their best to practice heard his concerns and stopped what they were doing, deciding to group up at one of the benches. 

Jerry huffed out a breath, “It happens every tournament against the black dragons, we can’t really blame them. They might have it worse than us.” He expressed, scratching at the back of his neck.

“How?”

Their redheaded friend pointed to the group of black dragons out in the courtyard who had just finished their practice. “One of those monsters is related to them by blood.” Milton stated, shivering as he looked away.

The prodigy of the dojo sat with a mouth wide open, “Don’t tell me it’s Frank-”

Eddie shook his head, “It’s the girl.”

“Kim?”

The group nodded and Rudy finally joined the conversation. “The two don’t have the best sibling relationship, so they don’t like being against Kim.”

“What does that have to do with karate?”

“Because Kim doesn’t care who they are.” Rudy spoke, clapping Jack on the back before standing, walking off to his office.

Jack looked around for a bit more context, but Jerry and Eddie already decided to walk off, hands raised in surrender. The only person who stayed was Milton, and he was the only one who seemed willing to answer. “Kim has shown through tournaments that she’d rather gain the respect from the black dragons than worry about how they treat her sibling.” 

That was the last of the conversation about you before you came back to the dojo, a bigger smile on your face than when you left.

“What are you so happy about?” Jerry asked, hands still up to help Eddie with his punches. 

You grinned and held up four bags, “Phil gave me free extras!” You announced, causing the boys to rush to you and open the falafel filled bags.

No one told you that they told Jack about your family rivalry issue, Jack didn’t mention it because he realized he preferred his friends all smiling rather than down. 

Someone else noticed your bright smile, how happy you were, and how everyone gathered around you. Someone noticed how strangely familial the scene looked in the dojo from the outside, but they didn’t feel much about it so they walked away.

Once the dojo began to close up, everyone went their separate ways and you walked home alone after showering, new clothes smelling fresh and clean. 

You walked into your home, saying hello to your father, and heading straight to your shared room with your younger sister. Kim was the one with the bedroom to herself since you decided to share with your other sister a few years ago. She greeted you and told you that it was your turn to set the table, to which you didn’t argue. You set all your bags down and beelined for the kitchen where your dad was cooking dinner.

“How was practice?” He asked you, trying not to burn himself with the oil on the stove.

You hummed, grabbing four plates to set around the table, “It was good, we have a tournament on Saturday.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s against the Black Dragons, did Kim not tell you?” You asked him, grabbing napkins and silverware.

Your dad thought about it before shaking his head, “I don’t think so.” He answered simply, this was a typical occurrence. You remember her tournaments so you tended to let your dad know more than she did herself. You didn’t mind it much.

After a while of the two of you talking, you sat at your spot and your dad called for your sisters. Your younger sister took one of the seats close to you around the square table. Your father on the other hand left an empty seat to one of his sides, but he sat across from you, the farthest seat from you at the table. This meant that Kim would have to sit next to you, you weren’t worried, why weren’t you worried?

Kim was the last one at the table, she sat down and ate, talked to your sister and your dad, she was so full of life. She didn’t talk about karate but she talked about a movie she saw or a go-kart she got to race with some friends from school. She wouldn’t talk to you though…oh, that’s why you didn’t mind when she sat next to you, because she never acknowledged you.

When your little sister talked, everyone would laugh and smile, they would interject for more stories, and the young girl would feel like a princess with all the attention. She would tell you all about projects, books she read, activities she did, and sleepovers she would be having. It almost made you feel as if all of you were connected, all of you.

It became your turn, and Kims eyes would dim, her fork would get heavier, her head would never lift up enough to fully look at you. You would tell stories of what happened at the dojo, how Jerry got detention again, how Milton and you won the science fair, the attempt of flirting Eddie tried, or how Rudy tried a sandwich challenge at a sub place and lost miserably. You would talk about how much you adored your friends. Then, when you spoke about all the fun you were having with the new kid Jack, Kim would excuse herself and walk off.

You didn’t mind, this happened all the time. Your sister didn’t like when you were able to win, because Jack chose the Bobby Wasabi dojo over the Black Dragons, in Kims mind Jack Brewer chose you over her, and she didn’t like that.

You didn’t mind, this happened all the time. You didn’t like that she felt as if there was an ability to win or lose, but this all started when you went to separate dojos. Kim chose the Black Dragons over the Bobby Wasabi Dojo, in your mind Kim Crawford chose almost complete strangers over you, and you guessed you didn’t have any right to feel like that, according to her.

Both of you were fine with ignoring each other, neither of you cared much at all.

When you were at school, your lockers were on different sides of the hall. When Kim would be alone, grabbing her textbooks, you would be walking by with the Bobby Wasabi Warriors to your locker, even if none of you had a class together. 

In Kims mind it was ridiculous how stuck together you all were, but if that were the case why was she frowning, why did she feel a tug in her chest when she saw you laughing with the group so easily. You had never laughed like that with her before, how do these boys get the sentiment so quickly, without doing anything?

Kim didn’t notice that she was standing and staring until Jack met her eyes, he waved slightly and Kim hesitantly waved back, books in her hand.

You noticed Jack waving to someone so you followed his gaze and saw Kim standing frozen, almost like a deer in headlights. You tilted your head a bit, and Jack noticed you seemed to have no sense of malice in your eyes, maybe a bit of confusion, but not sort of hatred. Due to this, he decided to wave Kim over. Everyone in the group saw this motion, but no one seemed to really mind.

Kim saw no protests, but she didn’t know why she walked off in the opposite direction hastily. She didn’t know why she wouldn’t walk over.

The boys all looked at you and you held your hands up, “I don’t know, don’t look at me.” You chuckled out, closing your locker, signaling that it was time to get to class.

It became a habit, sometimes you guys would see Kim looking at you. In the halls, at lunch, after school, even when you were inside the dojo. The Black Dragons have to pass by Bobby Wasabi to get to any place in the mall, they have no choice but to look away if they don’t want to see you guys. Kim looks through the windows, she sees all of you sparring, practicing, she sees how you guys laugh and dogpile each other, she sees how much fun you all have.

When you notice someones eyes on all of you, you would look up and Kim would rush away as if she didn’t want to get ‘caught’. It was weird, she’s never paid much attention to you so you weren’t used to the attention on you and the guys. 

You assumed it was because of Jack, but if you were to share that with the boy he would shake his head and tell you, “I don’t think so”. You were sure it was though, there was a competition tomorrow and Jack was the star of it all since he was going to help you guys win the belts you needed. You were very sure that Kim was just getting intel for the Black Dragons, but they don’t get much when Jerry is giving Eddie a head noogie, so you didn’t really care.

You didn’t care until Kim Crawford, your sister of all your life, suddenly quit the Black Dragons the moment she saw how much her ‘team’ was just a group of liars and cheaters. You didn’t care until Kim only quit the moment she saw how the Black Dragons treated Jack after breaking his leg. You didn’t care until Kim walked into your dojo after quitting to try and join the Wasabi Warriors as if she’d never done anything. You didn’t care until everyone just let her in with the snap of her fingers.

When Rudy had Kim stand in front of him, making her copy his movement of pressing his fist to his palm, he recited the Wasabi code. “We swear by the light of the dragon's eye, to be loyal, honest, and never say die.” When she repeated the code, they ended with a ‘Wasabi’ and a group hug you refused to take part in.

Jack walked over to you and tried to ask what was wrong but Kim took hold of your wrist with a sickeningly sweet smile, mumbling a small excuse before dragging you outside of the dojo to the middle of the courtyard.

“What is your problem?” Kim asked you, letting go of you, hands on her hips.

You blinked at her blankly, “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you actually talking to me now?” You asked sarcastically, crossing your arms.

“You’re being childish.”

“I’m not the one who completely disregarded the fact I had multiple siblings.”

“I never did that!” She spoke harshly, voice getting higher as she glared at you.

You sighed, smoothing the knot in your brows, “Kim.” You spoke her name slowly, looking up at her. It’s been so long since you’ve made eye contact with her for this long, when did this all stop, when did you stop being family? “I just don’t trust you, but can you blame me?”

Kim blinked at you with a mouth wide open, “I’m your sister.”

“Are you?” You asked seriously, “After you joined the Black Dragons, suddenly I didn’t exist anymore.” You reminded her of how the past few years had been, “You practically abandoned me because why? Because we went to two separate dojos?”

Kim stayed silent, moving her hair over her shoulder, the sudden realization of how little time she actually spent with you.

You nodded at her silence, “You just swore by the Wasabi Code that you’d be loyal.” You told her, tilting your head, “So you can be loyal to them, but not to me, the person who has known you for all of your life.”

There was no response.

“I know everything about you Kim.” You told her honestly, tongue poking the inside of your cheek as you spoke. You noticed she began to look down, tears filling her eyes slightly, “I knew all your tournaments, your fairs, charities, when you were in cheer.” You listed off, “I still gave you birthday gifts, I knew of the recommendation letters, I moved rooms because I knew you would want your own.” You continued on, not letting her speak. “I know everything about you, but for some reason you treat it as some disease to try to get to know me at all.”

Kim sniffled a bit as she looked up to meet your eyes. Her eyes were watery, her cheeks splotched with red, “I didn’t realize that-”

“That you’re just like the Black Dragons?” You interrupted, your phrasing causing something to twist harshly in Kims chest. “Admit it, you’re just as bad as them.”

“I didn’t mean to be!” She suddenly spoke out, grasping at her chest, her blonde hair sticking to her face due to the wet tears on her cheeks. “I thought I could find people like how you had them.” She mumbled out, breathing heavily. “I saw you all the time, having fun, not worrying about whether you’d get kicked or not!” She cried, her voice cracking as she continued to explain. “I wanted to find that myself, because if I got it without you, maybe I could actually deserve to be a part of it with you.” She continued on, tears continuing to fall.

“Why didn’t you just join Wasabi then if you wanted it so bad?!” You yelled, shaking your head slightly angrily.

“How was I supposed to just join after everything they’ve done to you all!” 

There were no more words exchanged, just your heavy breaths and Kims choked out sobs.

You understood what she meant now, no matter when she joined, it still would’ve turned out like this. The only way it wouldn’t have been like this was in some alternate time where you both joined the Wasabi Warriors, an alternate time you guys weren’t in.

You never expected Kim to cry in front of you, you never expected your sister to care so much about being with you to the point she thought it over and knew she couldn’t just be friends with you after all of that. You never expected your sister to want to be your friend.

After a moment, barely a second, you brought Kim up in your arms, her face buried in your shoulder, your chin on hers. You gently rubbed her back up and down. 

“You aren’t like the Black Dragons…I’m sorry.” You muttered to her, “You’re better than how they were.” You continued to whisper reassuring words to her as her cries calmed down and her arms found their way around your torso. 

She sniffled once more, “I swore by the Wasabi Code that I’d be loyal, and honest.” She told you, “I promise I’ll be better.”

“I know you will be, you’re my sister.”

[blackmosscupcakes]

One of the players in my D&D group started a discord chat to plan out a solution to our current predicament (we blagged access to a walled and somewhat hostile town by pretending to be the servants of a famous person. Town leader just walked in WITH that famous person 😬).

He got back from work hours later to discover that our intense planning has resulted in:

1. Double down on lie, insist that famous person is the real imposter

2. Violence?

It's going great. We're definitely gonna do great. 🙃