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babybluebex · 3 years

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thus, with a kiss... [tom hiddleston x reader]

➽ pairing: teenage!tom hiddleston x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 1.4k ➽ summary: you convince your best friend to let you read some poetry he’s written, but you aren’t prepared for the words he wrote. ➽ warnings: a poor understanding of how eton college functions whoops ➽ a/n: i need a soft british boyfriend who writes me poetry!!

I sensed him before I saw him. It was only a single second head start, but I whirled around to see Tom behind me. “Woah, you scared me,” I laughed. “You can’t creep up on girls like that, man!”

“Who said I was creeping?” Tom asked, a smile splitting his face wide. He threw an arm around my shoulders, then added, “Maybe you were.”

“Why would I be the creeper?” I asked.

“You’re on my school’s grounds,” Tom began. “You didn’t tell me you’d be visiting.”

It was true, I hadn’t told him. Tom and I had been great friends for years, ever since we started at sister schools-- his the boy’s, mine the girl’s. Even though we didn’t attend classes together or live in the same place, we often saw each other at school discos and about town. There was no real reason for me to be there, other than wanting to see Tom. I’m sure he had gathered that much already, though, so I sighed. “Anything wrong with that?” I asked. “Your grounds are so much nicer than ours.”

“That’s true,” Tom said. Under Tom’s playful arm, I could smell his cologne and deodorant, and I bit the inside of my cheek. There was a hint of cliche to being hopelessly in love with your best friend and I hoped that I hid it well; otherwise, I would be too embarrassed to ever see Tom again. “But your school has nicer-looking students.”

I rolled my eyes. The fact that Tom was an endless flirt didn’t help my case. He was cheeky and quick-witted, and his strawberry-blond curls and blue-green eyes drew in every girl he met. Not only that, but he was incredibly affectionate and kind. I wasn’t sure how he was with other girls, but he always had to have his arm around me when we were together. He always claimed it was to help soothe his shoulder that he had hurt that day in rugby (somehow, every time we saw each other, he had hurt himself playing rugby earlier that exact day), but I didn’t mind much. He would hold my hand when we crossed the street, would pull out my chair for me and push it back in, and, often, if he was able to sneak me into his dorm (he was the class head and could get away with a lot), he would let my lay with my head in his lap as we did our own things.

“Alright, Hiddle, quit the flirting,” I scoffed. “Are you on your way to a class?”

“No,” Tom replied. “Just taking a walk. That’s allowed, right?” A smile played at his lips, and it made me smile as well.

“I suppose so,” I said. “Just, you have your notebook under your arm, I assumed.”

Tom looked down at his other arm as if unaware that he was carrying a leather-bound notebook, and he looked back at me. “Truth be told,” he began. “I was going to sit at that bench--” He gestured to a bench off the walking path a few meters in front of us, “And write a bit.”

“A bit of what?” I asked. Tom had casually mentioned writing here and there recently and I hadn’t pushed, but curiosity was getting the better of me. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I added quickly.

Tom laughed, the tops of his cheek turning pink. He was embarrassed. “Don’t laugh,” he began.

“Never,” I replied.

“A bit of poetry,” Tom told me. “I’ve done it for a while, but I’ve gotten really into it lately.”

“Nice,” I said. “Why did you think I’d laugh at that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous?” Tom scoffed, sitting himself down on the metal bench. I sat next to him, and his arm returned to my shoulder, but not before he rubbed his eyes.

“What? No,” I said quickly. “Tommy, that’s not ridiculous! That’s actually very sweet. The mark of a sensitive man, I think.”

“I should be studying,” Tom mumbled, absently toying with the corner of his notebook. “But I just… You ever get an idea and it sticks around in your head until you get it out?”

“Of course,” I said. “Why do you think I talk so much?”

Tom gave me half of a smile, more of an acknowledgment of a joke than an appreciation of it, and he mumbled, “I just have a lot going on lately, and getting it out helps. Writing verse makes me feel… Better. I’m not sure why, but it’s different than a diary.”

“Tom, you don’t have to explain,” I giggled. “I understand. Really, I do. If you need to talk about anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” Tom said, giving me a tight smile.

“With that…” I began. “Do you think you could read me some? Only if you want to, of course.”

Tom’s pale cheeks flushed brilliant vermillion, and he laughed. I loved Tom’s laugh. His tongue stuck out just a little bit and his eyes wrinkled up, and the sound of it always made my chest warm. I think I was past whipped for my best friend; I was fully in love.

“I mean…” he began and ruffled his blond curls. “It’s cringy stuff. Nothing like The Bard.”

“I don’t expect The Bard,” I giggled. “C’mon, Tommy, just read me one. Please?”

Tom laughed softly and he shook his head. “You’re so lucky you’re cute,” he told me, and he opened up his journal. He flipped a few pages, then went back and scanned a page, then returned to flipping through it. I noticed his hands were shaking fiercely, and I tilted my head.

“Tommy, are you cold?” I cooed lightly and took his hand in mine. January was always miserable in London, and I recognized the flush on his nose. “Jesus, your hands are freezing. Let’s go inside and have some tea—“

“I’m fine, Y/N,” Tom told me. “Here, just… Read this.” He passed me the leather bound journal and tapped at a certain passage. Then, he stood up and, clasping his hands in front of his mouth, began to pace around the bench. Anxiety? Why?

But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Y/N is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou, her maid, art far more fair than she. . . .The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars as daylight doth a lamp; her eye in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night.

Oh. That would explain it. “Tom,” I began, looking up from the journal. “Is this… What is this?”

“I really wish I had done this differently,” Tom mumbled, and he returned to his seat next to me. “But, Y/N… This is dumb. It’s nothing. Nevermind.”

“Tommy!” I exclaimed and grabbed his hand. “No, it’s not! You wrote a verse from Romeo and Juliet, one of the most beautiful love stories ever written, and you put my name in place of Juliet’s. That’s not dumb, and it’s not nothing! Are you… Do you like me?”

Tom’s face was fully red now, and there was no chance of excusing the weather. “For a long time,” he mumbled. “Since we were in nappies. But you always had boyfriends and I never… I sorta gave up after a while. Eddie and William give me shit about it all the time--”

“About what?” I asked. “Your having a crush on me?”

“But it’s not just that,” Tom mumbled. “I am so much further gone than just having a crush. I am…”

“In love with you,” I finished.

“Yes,” Tom said. “I-I understand if you don’t--”

“Don’t what?” I asked. “Don’t feel the same? Tommy, I do. I-I never told you because… Fuck, I thought I was imagining things. But I feel a lot better now that I know you feel the same way. I love you too, Tom.”

The smile that split Tom’s face was blinding. “Right,” he said with a little laugh. “So… Would you--”

I cut him off with a hand on his face and a kiss on his lips. Tom reciprocated instantly, pressing his hands to my hips and holding me tightly. I had dreamt of this for so long, and my heart was bursting with the feel of him. He wasn’t my first kiss, nor I his, but something about it felt special. The kiss broke only a moment later, and I pressed my head into the crook of his neck. “Does this mean I get to read more of what you’ve written?” I whispered, and Tom playfully tickled my side.

“Oh, my love,” Tom whispered and kissed my forehead. “You can have whatever you want from me.”

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x y/n #tom hiddleston fluff

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ifuckinglovestvincent · 3 years

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THE FORTY-FIVE: ST. VINCENT

Sleazy, gritty, grimy – these are the words used to describe the latest iteration of St. Vincent, Annie Clark’s alter ego. As she teases the release of her upcoming new album, ‘Daddy’s Home’, Eve Barlow finds out who’s wearing the trousers now.

Photos: Zackery Michael

Yellow may be the colour of gold, the hue of a perfect blonde or the shade of the sun, but when it’s too garish, yellow denotes the stain of sickness and the luridness of sleaze. On ‘Pay Your Way In Pain’ – the first single from St. Vincent’s forthcoming sixth album ‘Daddy’s Home’ – Annie Clark basks in the palette of cheap 1970s yellows; a dirty, salacious yellow that even the most prudish of individuals find difficult to avert their gaze from. It’s a yellow that recalls the smell of cigarettes on fingers, the tape across tomorrow’s crime scene or the dull ache of bad penetration.

The video for the single, which dropped last Thursday, features Clark in a blonde wig and suit, channeling a John Cassavetes anti-heroine (think Gena Rowlands in Gloria) and ‘Fame’-era Bowie. She twists in front of too-bright disco lights. She roughs up her voice. She sings about the price we pay for searching for acceptance while being outcast from society. “So I went to the park just to watch the little children/ The mothers saw my heels and they said I wasn’t welcome,” she coos, and you immediately recognise the scene of a free woman threatening the post-nuclear families aspiring to innocence. Clark is here to pervert them.

She laughs. “That’s how I feel!” From her studio in Los Angeles, she begins quoting lyrics from Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Red House’. “It’s a blues song for 2021.” LA is a city Clark reluctantly only half calls home, and one that is opposed to her vastly preferred New York. “I don’t feel any romantic attachment to Los Angeles,” she says of the place she coined the song ‘Los Ageless’ about on 2017’s ‘Masseduction’ (“The Los Ageless hang out by the bar/ Burn the pages of unwritten memoirs”).“The best that could be said of LA is, ‘Yeah it’s nice.’ And it is! LA is easy and pleasant. But if you were a person the last thing you’d want someone to say about you is: ‘She’s nice!’”

On ‘Daddy’s Home’, Clark writes about a past derelict New York; a place Los Angeles would suffocate in. “The idea of New York, the art that came out of it, and my living there,” she says. “I’ve not given up my card. I don’t feel in any way ready to renounce my New York citizenship. I bought an apartment so I didn’t have to.” Her down-and-out New York is one a true masochist would love, and it’s sleazy in excess. Sleaze is usually the thing men flaunt at a woman’s expense. In 2021, the proverbial Daddy in the title is Clark. But there’s also a literal Daddy. He came home in the winter of 2019.

On the title track, Clark sings about “inmate 502”: her father. He was sentenced to 12 years in prison for his involvement in a $43m stock fraud scheme. He went away in May 2010. Clark reacted by writing her third breakthrough album ‘Strange Mercy’ in 2011; inspired not just by her father’s imprisonment but the effects it had on her life.“I mean it was rough stuff,” she says. “It was a fuck show. Absolutely terrible. Gut-wrenching. Like so many times in life, music saved me from all kinds of personal peril. I was angry. I was devastated. There’s a sort of dullness to incarceration where you don’t have any control. It’s like a thud at the basement of your being. So I wrote all about it,” she says.

Back then, she was aloof about meaning. In an interview we did that year, she called from a hotel rooftop in Phoenix and was fried from analytical questions. She excused her lack of desire to talk about ‘Strange Mercy’ as a means of protecting fans who could interpret it at will. Really she was protecting an audience closer to home. It’s clear now that the title track is about her father’s imprisonment (“Our father in exile/ For God only knows how many years”). Clark’s parents divorced when she was a child, and they have eight children in their mixed family, some of whom were very young when ‘Strange Mercy’ came out. She explains this discretion now as her method of sheltering them.

“I am protective of my family,” she says. “It didn’t feel safe to me. I disliked the fact that it was taken as malicious obfuscations. No.” Clark wanted to deal with the family drama in art but not in press. She managed to remain tight-lipped until she became the subject of a different intrusion. As St. Vincent’s star continued to rocket, Clark found herself in a relationship with British model Cara Delevingne from 2014 to 2016, and attracted celebrity tabloid attention. Details of her family’s past were exposed. The Daily Mail came knocking on her sister’s door in Texas, where Clark is from.

“Luckily I’m super tight with my family and the Daily Mail didn’t find anybody who was gonna sell me out,” she says. “They were looking for it. Clark girls are a fucking impenetrable force. We will cut a bitch.”

Four years later, Clark gets to own the narrative herself in the medium that’s most apt: music. “The story has evolved. I’ve evolved. People have grown up. I would rather be the one to tell my story,” she says, ruminating on the misfortune that this was robbed from her: a story that writes itself. “My father’s release from prison is a great starting point, right?” Between tours and whenever she could manage, Clark would go and visit him in prison and would be signing autographs in the visitation room for the inmates, who all followed her success with every album release, press clipping and late night TV spot. She joked to her sisters that she’d become the belle of the ball there. “I don’t have to make that up,” she says.

There’s an ease to Clark’s interview manner that hasn’t existed before. She seems ready not just to discuss her father’s story, but to own certain elements of herself. “Hell where can you run when the outlaw’s inside you,” she sings on the title track, alluding to her common traits with her father. “I’ve always had a relationship with my dad and a good one. We’re very similar,” she says. “The movies we like, the books, he liked fashion. He’s really funny, he’s a good time.” Her father’s release gave Clark and her brothers and sisters permission to joke. “The title, ‘Daddy’s Home’ makes me laugh. It sounds fucking pervy as hell. But it’s about a real father ten years later. I’m Daddy now!”

The question of who’s fathering who is a serious one, but it’s also not serious. Clark wears the idea of Daddy as a costume. She likes to play. She joins today’s Zoom in a pair of sunglasses wider than her face and a silk scarf framing her head. The sunglasses come off, and the scarf is a tool for distraction. She ties it above her forehead, attempts a neckerchief, eventually tosses it aside. Clark can only be earnest for so long before she seeks some mischief. She doesn’t like to stay in reality for extensive periods. “I like to create a world and then I get to live in it and be somebody new every two or three years,” she says. “Who wants to be themselves all the time?”

‘Daddy’s Home‘ began in New York at Electric Lady studios before COVID hit and was finished in her studio in LA. She worked on it with “my friend Jack” [Jack Antonoff, producer for Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Taylor Swift]. Antonoff and Clark worked on ‘Masseduction’ and found a winning formula, pushing Clark’s guitar-orientated electronic universe to its poppiest maximum, without compromising her idiosyncrasies. “We’re simpatico. He’s a dream,” she says. “He played the hell outta instruments on this record. He’s crushing it on drums, crushing it on Wurlitzer.” The pair let loose. They began with ‘The Holiday Party’, one of the warmest tracks Clark’s ever written. It’s as inviting as a winter fireplace, stoked by soulful horns, acoustic guitar and backing singers. “Every time they sang something I’d say, ‘Yeah but can you do it sleazier? Make your voice sound like you’ve been up for three days.” Clark speaks of an unspoken understanding with Antonoff as regards the vibe: “Familiar sounds. The opposite of my hands coming out of the speaker to choke you till you like it. This is not submission. Just inviting. I can tell a story in a different way.”

The entire record is familiar, giving the listener the satisfaction that they’ve heard the songs before but can’t quite place them. It’s a satisfying accompaniment to a pandemic that encouraged nostalgic listening. Clark was nostalgic too. She reverted to records she enjoyed with her father: Stevie Wonder’s catalogue from the 1970s (‘Songs In The Key Of Life’, ‘Innervisions’, ‘Talking Book’) and Steely Dan. “Not to be the dude at the record store but it’s specifically post-flower child idealism of the ’60s,” she explains. “It’s when it flipped into nihilism, which I much prefer. Pre disco, pre punk. That music is in me in a deep way. It’s in my ears.”

On ‘The Melting Of The Sun’ she has a delicious time creating a psychedelic Pink Floyd odyssey while exploring the path tread by her heroes Marilyn Monroe, Joni Mitchell, Joan Didion and Nina Simone. It’s a series of beautiful vignettes of brilliant women who were met with a hostile environment. Clark considers what they did to overcome that. “I’m thanking all these women for making it easier for me to do it. I hope I didn’t totally let them down.” Clark is often the only woman sharing a stage with rock luminaries such as Dave Grohl, Damon Albarn and David Byrne, and has appeared to have shattered a male-centric glass ceiling. She’s unsure she’s doing enough to redress the imbalance. “There are little things I can do and control,” she says of hiring women on her team. “God! Now I feel like I should do more. What should I do? It’s a big question. You know what I have seen a lot more from when I started to now? Girls playing guitar.”

If one woman reinvented the guitar in the past decade, it’s Clark. Behind her is a rack of them. The pandemic has taken her out of the wild in which she’s accustomed to tantalising audiences at night with her displays of riffing and heel-balancing. Instead, she’s chained to her desk. Her obsession with heels in the lyrics of ‘Daddy’s Home’ she reckons may be a reflection of her nights performing ‘Masseduction’ in thigh highs. “I made sure that nothing I wore was comfortable,” she recalls. “Everything was about stricture and structure and latex. I had to train all the time to make sure I could handle it.” Is she taking the heels off when live shows return? “Absofuckinglutely not.”

Clark is interested in the new generation. She’s recently tweeted about Arlo Parks and has become a big fan of Russian singer-songwriter Kate NV. “I’m obsessed with Russia,” she says. In a recent LA Times profile, she professed to a pandemic intellectual fixation on Stalin. “Yeah! I mean right now my computer is propped up on stuff. You are sitting on The Gulag Archipelago, The Best Short Stories Of Dostoyevsky andThe Plays Of Chekhov. I’m kinda in it.” The pop world interests Clark, too. She was credited with a co-write on Swift’s 2019 album ‘Lover’. At last year’s Grammys she performed a duet with Dua Lipa. It was one of the queerest performances the Grammys has ever aired. Clark interrupts.

“What about it seemed queer?!”

You know… The lip bite, for one!

“Wait. Did she bite her lip?”

No, you bit your lip.

“I did?!”

Everyone was talking about it. Come on, Annie.

“Serious? I…”

You both waltzed around each other with matching hairdos, making eyes…

“I have no memory of it.”

Frustrating as it may be in a world of too much information, Clark’s lack of willingness to overanalyse every creative decision she makes or participates in is something to treasure. “I want to be a writer who can write great songs,” she says. “I’m so glad I can play guitar and fuck around in the studio to my heart’s desire but it’s about what you can say. What’s a great song? What lyric is gonna rip your guts open. Just make great shit! That’s where I was with this record. That’s all I wanna do with my life.”

More than a decade into St. Vincent, Clark doesn’t reflect. She looks strictly forward. “I’m like a horse with blinders,” she says. She did make an exception to take stock lately when the phone rang. “I saw a +44 and that gets me excited,” she says. “Who could this be?” Well, who was it? “Paul McCartney,” she says, in disbelief. “Anything I’ve done, any mistake I’ve made, somehow it’s forgiven, assuaged. I did something right in my life if a fucking Beatle called me.”

Now there’s a get out of jail free card if ever she needed one.

Daddy’s Home by St. Vincent is out May 14, 2021.

#‘I HAVE NO MEMORY OF IT’#LOOOOOL #WHY ARE U LIKE THIS #st vincent #full of shit #annie clark #Annie Clark on beds #yellow is the color for dull ache of bad penetration?

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souryogurt64 · 3 years

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I’ve been looking but I can’t find much about Patrick talking about this except for when he released Soul Punk and said his mom told him it finally sounded like him 🥺

But idk do you think Patrick had kind of like impostor syndrome at least when the band first started out? Like I’m sure he had girls throw themselves at him thinking that Bc he was the lead singer those were his words and they… weren’t, like they were Pete’s and idk if he felt like he was voicing someone else’s image like Pete was using him to speak in a lot of ways - like I know Pete did most of the promo bc patrick was shy but like idk. I feel like casual listeners (unless they were super into tabloids) would just assume and think he was this sexy depressed emo boy who wrote about lying in the dark on top of girls and telling girls to keep quiet because nothing comes as easy as them snd.. Patrick was not like that as evidenced by Soul Punk.

Idk it’s like he’s very different from Pete so I feel like that would result in some cognitive dissonance at least at first esp when all these people sssume he wrote the words. And I’m not saying he didn’t contribute at all like obviously he’s the reason most of the music sounds the way it does bc he is an amazing composer but like the words aren’t his and that’s a huge part of FOB too and like no girl is gonna come up to him and be like “omg I love the way you decided to use this chord progression here” (I mean maybe there would be but it’s less likely than “omg I love how you understand me, like yes put the doctor on the phone cause I’m not making any sense” and he’s not the one responsible for that). Idk. I mean I get why he wouldn’t talk about that like that’s uncomfy bc pete would’ve been right there and like I’m sure Pete didn’t love being overshadowed just bc he didn’t sing the words. I mean Pete did his best to make sure he wasn’t overshadowed lmao, if anything Joe and Andy are the underrated members of the band but I’ve been thinking about this whole Patrick/Pete recognition thing a lot lately. I think now they’re cool I mean if this was an issue they wouldn’t still be making music together but I feel like it would’ve had to have been an issue at some point during the first few album cycles

Also I think this is why Patrick is very upset over Soul Punk’s reception and it makes me sad :/

oh absolutely i agree with everything you said re:words v music. pete doesnt even believe girls actually want to fuck him let alone patrick. like obviously theyre celebrities so nobody really knows them but i mean purely physically, like i think its clear patrick doesnt think girls want to screw him purely based off of looks and pete doesnt think that either even though he was a sex symbol because hes like 5’5” and has huge teeth and chubby cheeks

i also think that patrick and joe have literally no concept of a normal life because pete just kind of swooped in and took them on tour when they were 16 and they were barely ever home, and pete who was 21 engineered this whole thing and then by the time folie failed and the band broke up patrick was literally only like 25 and he had been in this band for almost a decade and went from being a kid from the suburbs to super famous to this washed up celebrity. could not imagine. like what would you even do. how would you even live. the you liked me better fat essay is so desperate

same with panic at the disco honestly, ryan was only 24 and the same thing had happened and in the only TYV interview hes wearing a suit and talking with this pretentious wannabe british affectation and trying to look so suave and like he has his shit together but he cant stop fidgeting and theyre asking him about tanking record sales etc and hes clearly freaking out, tyv also kind of failed and then he ended up hooked on coke. its so sad honestly

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willow-salix · 3 years

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FabFiveFeb Alan!

Finally got this bugger edited, so here it is, my offering for Alan week of @gumnut-logic FabFiveFeb. Once again I’ve written what my daughter plotted with a few of my own tweaks thrown in.

“Is there really nothing else to do around here?” Alan whispered to Selene, jolting her awake from the sleepy doze she was enjoying stretched out on a sun lounger. “How can you just lay around here all day?”

“Like you don’t do the same every day at home?” she grumbled, stretching out in an effort to wake up. She'd never admit it, but she was getting a bit bored with having nothing to do, hence the impromptu nap time.

“That’s different, I’ve got things there to do.”

“You mean you have technology?” Selene grinned evilly. “Whereas here it’s-”

“Like I’ve gone back in time to 2015 and the graphics suck, " he groaned.

“Come on, it’s not that bad, don’t you like the peace and quiet?” Selene’s family home was indeed very quiet, set apart from the other houses on the street, it backed out into a small but flower filled garden that held nothing but the sun loungers they were currently occupying, the picnic table their drinks were on, a slightly rusted BBQ, some yoga mats and a bird bath in the shape of a frog on a lily pad.

Alan looked towards Selene's cool, but rather weird, younger brother who was currently doing some kind of yoga crossed with Tai Chi that seemed to have a little of that 1970’s disco type of dancing thrown in for good measure.

“Adam, help me,” he begged, trying to invoke the bro code.

“Chill out, little dude, it’s all good," Adam said, his sleepy tone the perfect accompaniment to his snail like movements.

“Nothing about this is good,” Alan huffed, feeling dismissed and beyond frustrated. He was seriously regretting offering to go with her for a visit under the mistaken belief that time spent away from his brothers with his cool sister-in-law would be awesome. But no, he’d been stuck there for three days and they’d done nothing but talk about boring things that he couldn’t really join in with because he didn’t share the same memories that they did and watch TV in the evenings. The only positive thing was the quality of the food on offer.

“How did you grow up like this and not die of boredom?”

“We made our own fun, we’d read, draw, do arts and crafts, go on days out and-”

“Days out? Where did you go?” Alan jumped on that information like John on a double cheeseburger after a month in space.

Selene thought about it for a moment or two. “The seaside?” she offered. "That was always our favourite place to go and somewhere we always looked forward to, a rare treat really."

“The beach? Yes! Can we go?” he gave her his best pleading puppy eyes and she was, as he well knew, powerless to resist.

“Well…” she dithered, caught between spending time in her family home with her mum as it came up to what would have been her parents 30th wedding anniversary and the need to do more than sit around and mope, especially if that moping meant that her littlest love had a crap time. “Ad’s, are you up for a road trip to Southend?”

Her brother paused in his Night Fevering to look at her. He seemed to think about it for far longer than was necessary before nodding.

“I could go for that. Wanna take my car?”

***

“I’m never getting in a car with your brother again,” Alan shuddered, still looking a little stressed out by the whole experience.

“Yet you’ll get in a jet with Scott?”

“Scott goes faster than 25 mph and he knows what road signs are,” Alan explained in the same tone that John adopted whenever he was explaining to her why she actually needed an investment portfolio.

“Road signs are all part of the conspiracy, man, they just want you to follow blindly and never question where they are sending you.”

“To the beach, they were sending us to the beach,” Alan continued to bitch. Selene couldn’t blame him, two hours in a car with her brother's sitar music, cloud of vape smoke and tendency to lose track of their destination was enough to make anyone a little antsy. Maybe now he'd stop complaining when she took too long to fly them to her flat.

They left the car park and headed towards the seafront. Thankfully, with it being a weekday and term time, there weren't too many people about. As always the sea was a dirty grey colour, nothing like the clear blue they were used to on the island and Selene could tell that Alan was looking at it with thinly veiled disgust.

Southend had been promoted to a historic seaside town back in 2038 and hadn’t changed since. The lights of the out of date arcades still flashed in welcome, drawing Alan’s attention almost immediately, the little beach huts still offered deck chair rental and the amusement park with its clanking, clunking kiddy rides and its ancient roller-coaster still drew some crowds.

“See that there?” she pointed out towards the sea. “That’s still the longest pleasure pier in the world.”

“Pleasure Pier? Did you have to make that sound so dirty?” Alan groaned.

“Sorry, but that’s what it’s called, there are different classifications and one that has no purpose but for leisure activities like this one, is known as a pleasure pier.”

“I didn't know that, but it still doesn’t make it any better,” he muttered as she slipped one arm through his and the other through Adam’s to tow them across the road.

The air was filled with a mixture of freshly fried donuts, fish and chips and the unmistakable scent of the sea and Selene was immediately hungry.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve been here,” she sighed happily, relaxing into the atmosphere of what had once been one of her favourite places in the world. She could vividly remember how exciting it had been to hear the announcement that they were going to the seaside for the day. That meant an afternoon spent playing on the beach, splashing in the sea, eating dinner out of a paper tray with a little wooden fork and, if you were really lucky, a trip around the sealife center and a floaty helium filled balloon to take home with you.

Looking out down the length of the beach she easily conjured up images of childhood days gone by, seeing her father chasing Adam down the beach as he attempted to make a break for freedom or tried to eat a clump of seaweed while her mother screeched at Rufus to run faster and catch him.

Maybe coming here had been a good idea in other ways too, she pondered. Her mother tended to favour being miserable if it was an option, and often when it wasn't, and had been mooching around the house sighing like she was a Victorian ghost haunting the place. She’d gone out to visit friends for the day, leaving them alone and that had been when Alan had seized his chance. And Selene for one was glad he had, he was always good at sensing when she was in need of cheering up and this time had been no exception.

“Can we start at the arcades?” Alan asked, looking more excited than he had in days. Who was she to disappoint him?

“Sure, lead the way!”

***

Two hours later and Selene had finally dragged her brothers away from the bleepy, shiny, flashy machines and back into the fresh air. Alan, it transpired, was almost as good on a claw machine as John and she was now lugging along a whole new family of stuffed toys, all slightly moth eaten and smelling a little suspect but cute nonetheless.

“I’m hungry,” Alan announced.

“Good call, little dude.” Adam, surprising Alan no end, had joined in rather enthusiastically at the arcade, being more active and alert than he’d ever seen him before, displaying a competitive streak that rivaled a Tracy's. But, now that the excitement of gaming had died down, he was back to his chilled and slightly lethargic self.

“Fancy some donuts?” Selene suggested.

“Sis…” Adam drawled.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Selene giggled, shoving the stuffed toys into her brother’s arms as she headed to the donut stalls. “I'll get them, you two meet me on the beach.”

Her arms now free of their burden Selene quickly ordered three dozen of the delectable little morsels, something the English called Dinky Donuts, small little ring donuts, freshly fried and drenched in a sprinkling of sugar. Knowing that they’d need them she bought some drinks too and took her bounty back to the boys, proudly displaying her prize.

“I got them!” she yodeled, but no excited sounds were heard in return. “What’s up?” she asked, nudging Alan as she reached his side.

“What the heck is this?”

“The beach, duh. What else could it be?"

He scuffed a toe into the stones at his feet. “This is not a beach, this is all stones. Where's the sand?”

“It’s a pebble beach, most of the British coast is,” she shrugged.

“It’s wrong.”

“If you say so,” she wasn’t in the mood to argue or defend the virtue of their beaches, she had hot donuts to eat.

“This is not a beach, there’s no surfers, no sand, no lifeguards, no nothing.”

“This is England, we take things at a more chilled pace,” she soothed, dumping a bag on each of the boys' laps.

She took her own and opened it, inhaling the rich scent. Oooh yeah, that hit the spot. She reached in to pluck one out, studying it from all angles, marveling at it's perfection. She lifted it to her mouth prepared for the taste explosion that was about to assault her mouth in the very best of ways…

“Sel!” A sharp Alan elbow embedded itself in her side, making her drop the donut. She watched in horror as it hit the pebbles and rolled away.

“You had better have a good reason for making me sacrifice a donut,” she warned him.

“Over there!”

Selene turned, following the direction in which Alan was pointing.

“What? I don’t see anything?” All she saw was the relatively empty beach, nothing but a few seagulls pecking around hopefully, one coming close enough to snag her lost donut, racing off in triumph with it in its mouth.

“Them,” he pointed again.

“Them? What about them?” The them in question turned out to be a small group of school age boys, the oldest no more than ten years old. They were all holding a number of balloons from the pier, which were bobbing along above their heads and looked perfectly innocent. “They’re just having a day out, could be an inset day or something at school.”

“No, look what that one's holding,” Alan insisted, nodding towards the oldest looking boy who was carrying a small box with holes in it.

Selene squinted closer. “Is that an animal box?” She was amazed that Alan had even noticed such a thing, she hadn’t looked twice at the boys, just seeing a happy group of friends at the seaside on a rare day off school. Alan always seemed like he was paying little attention to anything, more absorbed in his games or phone, but here was the undeniable proof that he was just as good as his brothers and had inherited their danger seeking sense.

“Looks that way,” Alan agreed.

“It could be innocent,” Selene argued lamely. “Maybe they are just taking their pet on a day out too?"

“Sure, that’s what it’ll be,” Alan said, rolling his eyes.

“Honestly, it’s something I’d do,” she retorted, feeling the need to defend herself and her wish to believe that there was good in everyone.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Alan decided, finally reaching into his own bag for a donut.

As was usually the case, Selene was easily distracted by talking to her brother and just enjoying the novelty of being in a different place to one she was used to. She’d finally grown accustomed to hearing the sound of the ocean at all times of the day and night after so long in a city where traffic was the only ambient noise. b

But here the sound was different to the island, here the waves lapped gently over the pebbles rather than crashing against rocks and she was surprised that she could tell the difference.

She’d worried, when Alan had suggested going out, that this little beach from her childhood which stood out so bright and shiny in her memories, would look pale and dull in reality. Life was often that way, your memories and imagination creating a perfect picture that was rarely obtainable in the real world and she didn't want her memories tainted by the truth. Thankfully she had been worried over nothing and was finding it just as charming as she had remembered it to be.

“Not bad are they?” she asked, turning to Alan to see how he was enjoying his donut feast but the space next to her was empty.

“Allie?” she called, looking around like he might suddenly pop out of nowhere. Surely she hadn't ignored him for too long?

“Alan!” she yelled, trying again. He was a big boy now, an adult in his own right, but she got just as panicked when she lost Scott, which was actually easier if you could believe that. Alan was usually happy to hang near her and chill, Scott was always dashing off to look at something or other and would just vanish into the ether without a second thought.

“Ad’s, have you seen Alan?”

“Yeah, little dude, cool shirt, strange hair.”

“Thanks for that lovely description. I meant did you see where he went?”

Adam nodded, pointing further down the beach to where the small group of school boys stood, Alan beside them, waving his arms violently, clearly yelling at them though she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Shit!” Selene was up in a second, grabbing Adam's arm and towing him along in the process, forcing him to abandon his stuffed animal squad to the mercy of the seagulls as they barreled down the beach after Alan.

"Al," she panted, finally catching up, "what…doing?"

In answer the small box that the boy had been carrying was thrust into her hands, a disgruntled rustling noise along with a manic scrabbling, coming from inside.

"Oi! Give that back!" a boy yelled, his piggy nose turned up to the sky in indignation. "We 'ad ta catch that thing ourselves. Ain't no way you're gonna snatch it."

"You're not getting it back," Alan insisted, his arms folded as he firmly stood his ground.

Selene passed the box on to Adam who was standing there doing absolutely nothing to help, his attention on the balloons floating above them. Once her hands were free she immediately flanked her little brother, knowing that he wouldn't be doing this without a very good reason.

"What's going on?" she demanded to know, her hands on her hips. "What are you boys up to?"

"This idiot won't give us it back," the oldest boy and apparently the mouthpiece of the little hoodlum brigade, continued to yell. Selene had seen boys like him before, usually ones with overly aggressive parents that taught their kids that you got what you wanted in life by being obnoxious, rude and threatening. Well not on her watch and apparently not on Alan's either.

"You're right , I won't," Alan agreed. "Because that is a living creature that you were about to tie to a bunch of balloons."

"Weren't doin' nothin' of the sort. Yer lyin'."

"You were what?" Selene hissed, her attention fully engaged now that there was the potential for injury of an animal. "You were going to send an innocent animal into the sky on the end of some balloons?"

"Nah, we weren't," the little bully boy continued to argue, elbowing one of his friends when they opened their mouth to speak.

"We ain't doing nothin' wrong, were we lads? Nothin' at all. Just a little experiment for school, jus' like teacher said."

"Experiment? What kind of experiment?" Selene asked, narrowing her eyes in warning.

"Why should we tell you?" the mouthy one sneered. "You ain't nothin'."

"We were just seeing if he could reach space, like. Teacher said that people would send monkeys up in rockets a hundred years ago," another boy piped up, sounding pleased with himself. "Figured we'd try the same out ta sea like a note in a bottle."

"You are so not doing that!" Selene yelped.

"Yeah, 'ow you gonna stop us?"

"You wanna say that to the police?" Alan threatened.

"Police? Yeah righ', like yer gonna jus' call up the police like they actually care. An' then wot, 'ave em come running on the say so of a nobody? Fer this? I don't think so, mate. They don't give a crap."

"Listen up you little shit," Selene started, rapidly losing patience. "You're not getting that…Whatever that is-"

"Rat," one of the kids helpfully offered.

"Rat," Selene continued with a little shudder of horror at the fact that they had gone to all the trouble of capturing a dirty rat off the street just to do something cruel to it. "You're not getting it back and you're not going to hurt it. What's wrong with you all?"

"He's been to space," Adam suddenly piped up, like he was only just catching up to the conversation but still missing the main point, pointing at Alan helpfully.

"Space, yeah right," another of the boys, a weedy looking string bean that had previously been hiding near the back of the pack, looking at Alan judgingly. None of the boys looked particularly bothered by their threats or the fact that Selene was practically spitting, she was so angry.

"Al," she demanded, determined to win the little shits respect. "Show them that clip you took last Saturday, the one on your board."

"We can all board, you ain't nothing special," the mouthpiece sneered, not impressed in the slightest.

Alan pulled out his phone, fiddled with it for a second then showed them the screen where a video was playing, taken from his vlogging drone as he boogied around outside Five on his astroboard. The dark heavens were clearly visible all around him while the earth spun quietly below, and there, if you looked closely, was John, in the background, sitting on the outside of the gravity ring, clearly doing all the work while Alan filmed for Brandon’s channel. The Alan on screen zoomed in a loop the loop, the drone following, the camera angle changing to show Three securely docked to Five.

“That actually is space!” one kid gasped.

“And that’s...that’s…” another stuttered.

“Thunderbird THREE!” someone screamed in excitement.

“Still think I’m a nobody that the police won’t listen to?” Alan asked casually as he pocketed his phone. "Maybe I should skip the police and go straight to the GDF? What do you think, Sel?"

"Yep, sounds like a plan to me. They take animal cruelty very seriously, you know."

The ring leader visibly deflated before their eyes, but he valiantly tried to hold on to his ‘couldn’t give a shit’ attitude.

“So you know some people, what’s that got ta do with anythin’? You ain’t the boss here.”

“Knock it off, Wendle, it’s over,” one boy ordered, rolling his eyes.

"Wendle?" Alan mouthed to Selene who shrugged in return. Never had a kid looked less like a Wendle in the entire world.

“Yeah, I never wanted to do this in the first place,” another joined in.

The first one to have spoken walked away, followed by another, then the other that had spoken. Others trailing after them until the small group had dispersed as if it had never existed, all of them hurrying off down the beach with calls for getting donuts or having to head home.

Wendle managed to stand his ground for less than a minute before he gave in.

“Keep the stupid rat then!” he yelled, taking off after his friends.

Adam, being Adam, waved goodbye like it was the most normal thing in the world, still holding the rat filled box.

Alan let out the breath he’d been holding, visibly shaking, either from anger or adrenaline. He had never been one for confrontation no matter what form it took or who it involved.

“You did good, babe,” Selene praised, giving him a hug.

“Yeah, good, little dude,” Adam agreed, “here, have this, I insist,” he handed him the box with the rat in it like it was some great prize.

“Erm, thanks,” Alan said, gingerly accepting the box of rat, which rustled as the creature inside shifted around. He held the box for a second, looking completely bemused and a little disgusted, suddenly having a very real feeling of compassion for John when he walked in on Selene and Scott doing something weird.

“What are we going to do with the rat?” he finally asked Selene, who was the only one there since Adam had wandered off to rescue the stuffed animals they had abandoned, snatching up Alan’s dropped bag of donuts and picking one out to munch on.

“I don’t know,” Selene admitted, “I guess we should take it somewhere to release it. Not around here though, maybe back at Mum’s.”

“I guess,” Alan reluctantly agreed, not liking the idea of sitting in a car with a wild rat in a box.

Since they had gained another tag along, even if it was in a box, they decided to cut the day short, knowing they couldn't drag the rat around with them all day. It had clearly suffered enough, what with being caught and stuffed in a box and having survived a narrow brush with death. It would be better for them to take it straight home and let it go in the relative safety of the garden before it got even more stressed out.

"I'll drive," Selene insisted, leaving Alan to hold the rat in the back seats, Adam calling shotgun so he could 'pick the tunes, man'.

With Selene in the driving seat it was a far shorter, not to mention less frustrating, journey back to Casa de Tempest.

To Selene's intense relief their mother was still out when they got back. She would have pitched a fit if she'd seen them releasing a rat into her garden, she'd never go out there again.

Adam wandered off the second they got home, muttering something about a tofu log, leaving them alone to release the beast.

"You can do the honours," Selene smiled, nodding at the box he still held. "Since you were the one to perform the daring rescue. Seriously, you did good today, sweetheart, but I'm really starting to think that I need to stop taking a Tracy with me whenever I go places, you're all the same, nothing but trouble."

Alan blushed at the praise, as always finding it slightly uncomfortable to be the center of attention in such a way, but still happy to get the validation that he'd done the right thing. With so many big brothers who had all been there and done that before he had a lot to live up to and often felt like he couldn't quite match up to them.

Taking the box over to the bushes near the fence where Selene had indicated, he opened the flaps and stepped back to give the little guy some room.

The rat didn't move at first, staying inside the box, obviously scared by its experiences. They stayed quiet, giving it time to make up its mind. Finally they saw the box wobble as the rat made its tentative way out.

"Shit!" Selene yelped, launching herself off her seat so fast Alan barely saw her move.

"Sel, what are you…doing," he finished, stunned to see her hit the ground, the rat cradled protectively against her chest.

"Help me up," she wheezed and he did as she bid, helping her to her feet as her hands were occupied.

"What's wrong? Why did you catch it?"

"Allie, look," she carefully opened her hands, just a little. A small, pink nose poked out, followed by a pure white snout, a grey face and perfect pink petal ears.

"Is that…?"

"A domestic rat, yes. This was either someone's pet or it's come from a store. We can't let him go, he'll never survive in the wild."

"Wow, he's so cute. Can I hold him? He won't bite me will he?"

"I don't know, he seems tame enough but he's had a fright today so I can't promise anything." She carefully placed the rat in Alan's outstretched hands.

The rat, far from looking terrified, seemed to be perfectly fine now it was out of the box. It sat down on its haunches and began to wash its face with its little paws, one grey, one white.

"Aww, he's great," Alan cooed, cupping the rat in one hand so he could stroke it gently with the other. "I've always wanted a pet."

Selene sighed, knowing exactly what was coming next, there was no escaping it, it was going to happen…

"Can I keep him?"

***

"We gotta move fast," Selene instructed. "I've got the cage and the bedding. Have you got the food?"

"Yep," Alan held up the bag with the food, treats and water bottle they had purchased on their way home. The rat was curled up in his new travel bag, which was hanging from Alan's shoulder.

"Right, we make a break for it, we go straight to your room, don't look back no matter what happens and avoid John and Scott at all costs. Got it?"

"Got it," he nodded, grinning happily.

"They're gonna kill me," she sighed, not that there was much she could do about it. "OK, let's go!"

They raced up the back stairs from the hangars, straight to the upper floors of the villa where the bedrooms were situated, bypassing the more populated communal areas and managing to avoid any and all Tracys.

They dived into Alan's room, Selene struggling a little, burdened as she was with a three storey cage. Alan cleared a space on his desk and took the cage from her.

While Alan set up the cage, filling it with fresh bedding and tasty foods, Selene made herself at home on Alan's bed, the rat happily perched on her chest, enjoying an ear fondle.

"I didn't know you were back," a voice called from the hallway, accompanied by the sound of footsteps.

Selene and Alan both jumped, their heads turning guilty towards the door they had neglected to shut where a suspicious looking spaceman stood.

"Hey, gorgeous husband of mine, I've missed you!" Selene chirped, trying to divert his attention as she quickly grabbed the rat and stuffed it in the pocket of the hoodie she'd stolen from Adam.

John gave her a look that said he'd seen everything.

"What's that?"

"What's what?" she answered, trying to look innocent.

"That tail sticking out of your pocket."

"Tail? What tail?" she poked the tail gently back inside.

"Why does Alan have a cage on his desk that he's trying, unsuccessfully I might add, to hide by standing in front of it?"

"To put Gordon in?"

One sleek ginger eyebrow rose and they both knew they were wasting their time. They were well and truly busted.

Alan held out his hand and Selene passed over the rat, who was none the worse for its impromptu expedition into the depths of her pocket. It sat quietly in his hands, happily nibbling on a piece of cereal bar that had already been occupying his hiding place.

"Where did that come from?" John's foot tapped out a rhythm as he waited for them to spill the beans, leaning against the door frame, his arms folded.

"Have I told you how hot you look when you're all grumpy and intense like this?" Selene tried.

"Where did you get the rat?" he repeated ignoring her blatant attempts at distraction.

"The beach," Alan admitted, caving immediately under the big bro gaze.

"The beach?"

"Yep," Alan looked at Selene for backup, cradling the rat who didn't seem to care about any of the drama he was causing.

"Some boys had him in a box and they were going to tie it to some balloons and let it go but Alan spotted them and stopped them," she explained.

John glanced at the rat, who was looking very adorable and fat.

Ever the master of managing her husband, Selene got to her feet and crossed the room to wrap her arms around John's middle.

"Alan was great, he sprung into action before I even knew what was going on. He rescued him, and really, isn't that what International Rescue does? Rescue people?"

"That's not a person, that's a rat," John argued, but she could tell he was weakening.

"Did I mention that I missed you?" she grinned, standing on tiptoes to place a little kiss on his chin.

John's sigh of surrender was epic.

"I'm banning you from ever leaving the house again with any of my brothers. What next, a dolphin with Gordon?

"No, don't be silly. We couldn't bring a dolphin home in my car."

John rolled his eyes ignoring his wife to face his brother.

"Does that thing have a name?"

"Yep," Alan answered, grinning proudly as he moved closer, holding the rat out for inspection.

"John, meet Fuzz Aldrin."

#alan tracy #selene tempest #adam tempest #John Tracy #fabfivefeb #seaside #day out #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirdsarego #thunderbirds #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction

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arse-crack-thistle · 3 years

Text

rwrb winterfest - day 10 - snowflakes

@rwrb-fests

in which firstprince goes to a middle school dance bc i love little alex and henry so much!!

Alex knows tonight is going to be awesome! Normally, he wouldn’t be excited for a lame middle school formal, but he’s going to ask Nora Holleran to slow dance. She’s way too smart for him, but he can make her laugh like no one else can. It sounds like a bird, and being twelve, Alex can’t resist. If she says yes, this Winter Formal nonsense will all be worth it.

Outside, the D.C. air is chilly but bearable. Alex, his lacrosse friends, and their parents stand in front of his house, about to take pictures. His mother adjusts his red striped tie as he fusses with his black curly hair. June waits inside; she’s a high school volunteer tonight—much to Alex’s protests.

He shoos his mother away, slings an arm around his friend Liam, and smiles. His parents ready the camera, and Alex thanks Jesus they never fight in public.

Just behind closed doors when they think he and June aren’t listening.

The white Christmas lights shine behind the boys. His father tells them to focus and takes the picture. It catches Alex laughing at some joke Liam told, his eyes scrunched closed.

•••

Henry wouldn’t go to this thing if his mother weren’t forcing him. She reminds him it’s good practice for his future as he heads out the door to Bea’s car.

He hates these kinds of functions and having to socialize with people he doesn’t know and couldn’t be bothered to know. Because his mother is the British Ambassador, he’s gone to a few, but he doesn’t want a career in public office like the rest of his family. The Mountchristen name means something back home—they’ve had a few MPs, secretaries, and prime ministers—but that’s not Henry. He wants a quiet life away from the fuss.

A life in which he can finally be himself. And tell the truth. The Fox side of him.

Henry misses his father more than ever as Bea drives. Thank god, she’s here and playing Sufjan Stevens to match their moods. If his mother had been appointed any later, Bea would’ve been an ocean away like Philip—not that Henry misses his posh, Oxford brother all that much.

The buttons of Henry’s Burberry suit reflect the soft yellow glow of the streetlights outside. He knows he’s overdressed and that this will be the most expensive suit in the room, but it’s what his mother picked out. Yet another thing his classmates will pick on.

Especially Alex Claremont-Diaz.

Bea wishes him luck, and Henry groans as he gets out of the car. He really doesn’t want to be here.

•••

Alex dances in the center of the gym floor with his buddies to an Imagine Dragons song. Blue and white lights shine down on them. The whole place is covered in fake snow and light blue fabric. Shimmery snowflakes dangle from the ceiling. It’s cheesy, but Alex doesn’t care because he’s having a blast.

He just hasn’t been able to talk to Nora yet.

She’s been huddled with her friends from Tech Club all night. They’re watching something on a dude’s phone, and Alex knows that’s his in. He just has to make himself move in that direction.

An eighth grader, Pez, starts a dance circle and busts a few moves in his fluorescent clothes. Alex watches and cheers him on because everyone loves Pez. But they don’t love his best friend.

Ugh, Alex can’t stand that British guy, Henry. They may not be in the same grade, but they do Model UN together, and everything he says in that dumb accent riles Alex up. Partly because the girls—and some guys—swoon over him, taking some of the spotlight from Alex, and partly because Henry’s existence just irks him.

His perfect blonde hair. His judgmental blue eyes. His rich-boy wardrobe. The fact that he gets the right answer to every question asked of him. And the fact that he rides horses—like, riding outfit and everything.

Alex hates it all.

When a slow song comes on, he goes for Nora. She looks beautiful in a pale pink dress and with her hair done up in a bun. Alex feels stupid in his black church pants and white button-up.

Why didn’t he get June to help him pick out his clothes?

He asks Nora what they’re watching, and she tells him it’s an anime and laughs at something on the screen. After an awkward pause, he stutters out an invitation to dance. Thank Jesus, she says yes.

On the dance floor, he puts his hands on her waist, and she puts hers on his shoulders, and they sway to the music. A disco ball from the center of the gym casts sparkles all over them. This is their moment.

Which is why Alex asks her to go out with him.

Nora won’t meet his eyes, and Alex knows he screwed up. They’re just friends, she tells him.

His stomach hurts.

Alex misread the situation. He could puke right now. Nothing has felt this embarrassing. Not even last year when he dove for a volleyball in P.E., smacked his face on the floor, and chipped a tooth or in second grade when he called his teacher “mom” and the entire class laughed.

Nora comments on June’s dress to move the conversation forward, but Alex just nods. They finish the dance in silence, avoiding eye contact.

Alex’s face is hot and red. He doesn’t want his friends saying anything, so as soon as the song’s over, he thanks Nora and runs out of gym to the bathroom.

•••

For the most part, Henry is ignored by his classmates, which is good. He’s left to sit by himself at one of the tables. Someone sprinkled glitter all over the tablecloth, and flecks cling to his jacket sleeves. The speakers blast him with music, and the whole event is rather annoying, especially when chaperones bother him to ask if he wants anything or to encourage him to dance. Luckily, the high school girl serving punch just gives him a cup and tells him there’s only a few more hours left until they’re free.

Pez checks up on him every once in a while, but he craves a good party wherever he goes and only stays for a few seconds. Henry doesn’t mind. He scrolls on his phone, catching up on social media and eventually settling on a new Wolfstar fanfic. He peaks up from time to time to watch Pez try to impress the punch girl, but his eyes always end up on Alex.

He moves so easily. Whether it’s shaking his hips or fist-pumping to the beat or letting his head fall back in laughter, he just seems to handle everything so carelessly, so happily.

Henry envies him—can’t stand him because of it. There’s a ping in him every time he sees Alex.

Those curls. And soft brown eyes. The undeniable charm.

He walked into a Model UN meeting in glasses once, and Henry had a coughing fit and had to leave the room.

Don’t even get him started on the Spanish.

God, Henry cannot deal with these feelings right now. And he can’t find Alex in the crowd.

He stands up. Maybe he will dance. Maybe if he tries, he can think about something else. His father would want him to try. He’d give him a pep-talk and a hug that smells like his cologne and send Henry on his way. It’s how he convinced him to try polo and ask a girl to dance at his first gala.

Maybe this is good practice. To try to do things on his own.

But as Henry approaches a girl in his English class, someone scoots out their chair and trips him.

And Henry falls face first into a pile of fake snow.

The music still plays, but the students and chaperones are silent as Henry comes up covered in white clumps. It’s worse than the glitter on his suit, and it sticks to the gel in his hair. He feels the very last thing he wants: everyone’s eyes on him.

Henry excuses himself and leaves as fast as he can, stumbling into Pez and shirking him off on the way out.

•••

Alex finally feels cool again. He splashed some water on his face, unbuttoned his top button, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. He looks impossibly chill considering he was just dumped.

Okay, not dumped. But he definitely feels better. Like Rafael Luna, his dad’s best friend. Luna carries himself with a swagger that Alex can’t resist.

After he tousles his hair one last time, Alex walks out of the bathroom, only to find Henry covered in faux snowflakes, looking like the abominable snowman from Monsters Inc. But he’s not cheerful like the yeti. He furiously swipes at his pant legs with one hand and curses at his phone in the other.

“Oh, man! Rough night, huh?” Alex says.

Henry freezes. He sizes up Alex and scowls. “Could you not?” He goes back to his phone, “Bea, just come pick me up when you get this, all right? Please,” and then hangs up.

“You’ve never looked better, honestly. I dig the winter chic vibe,” Alex teases. This is best thing that could’ve happened; his friends aren’t even going to mention the Nora thing when he gets back in the gym. For once, he’s not upset Henry has upstaged him.

Henry mumbles something and shrugs off his suit coat to wipe it down. Snow flurries from his clothing onto the cream linoleum flooring.

“What was that?”

“I said, ‘Unbelievable!’ As in, ‘Of course, the universe hates me enough to put you here right now!’” Henry’s face reddens.

Alex can’t believe this guy. He’s practically a prince! What could be wrong with his life? Well, his father’s death, but that was a few years ago.

Alex googled Henry once or maybe twice—it’s irrelevant—and read about his famous father, who is Alex’s favorite Bond, for sure.

“So you messed up your suit? Big whup. I’m sure you have hundreds just like it. If not, the Fox-Mountchristen estate could probably cover it,” Alex says, crossing his arms. He’s surprised no adults have come to check on Henry. He’s not really sure what happened, but it was probably hilarious and well-deserved.

“You insufferable prick!” Henry shouts and throws the jacket at Alex. Before he can duck, it thwacks his face. He tastes the bitter snow in his mouth.

Alex scrunches it and throws it back. “You dickish, little drama king! You can’t handle the slightest bit of imperfection, can you? Heaven forbid, you’re knocked from your pedestal, and the rest of us mortals crack up!”

He knows this is stupid; he wouldn’t want people laughing at him either, unless it was intentional. In fact, he fled before his charismatic reputation was tarnished. Henry just brings something out of him—not the worst of Alex exactly, but the fight in him. Many a Model UN debates can attest to that.

Henry turns around and slams his fist against the black lockers. He flings the coat to the floor and leans on his forearm. “You haven’t got a clue, Alex,” he says. He sounds tired.

The muffled music from the dance echoes down the hallway. Posters on the walls and lockers advertise the dance, midterm tutoring, and the school-sponsored Spring Break trip to Peru. Alex watches Henry’s back go up and down with his breaths. A toilet flushes, and the sink is run before a girl walks out of the bathroom, past the boys, without a second glance.

Henry is right: Alex doesn’t have a clue. He knows people can hide their home lives. He hasn’t even told Liam about his parents fighting. How he’s heard the word “divorce” from both of them more than once.

And he’s pretty sure losing your father is worse than that; he wouldn’t know what to do without his own, no matter how much time had passed. And then to be moved across the sea to a new school, let alone a new country.

Damn. Alex sucks. And now he has to do something that would’ve made him throw up yesterday.

“Henry,” he says, “I’m sorry.”

•••

Henry can’t believe this—any of it.

Firstly, Alex Claremont-Diaz comes out of the bathroom as if he knew his nemesis was out there and wanted to catch him off-guard with his beautifully disheveled look. Henry blushes at the thought.

Secondly, after a row of which no teacher heard apparently, the aforementioned Alex Claremont-Diaz apologizes for the things he said. “Even though some of it was true,” he clarifies. Henry knows he’s right.

Thirdly, he and the godforsaken Alex Claremont-Diaz have been sitting next to each other on the floor for the past five minutes, just talking. Occasionally, Alex’s arm brushes against his and sends a tingle up his back.

If Henry didn’t know he was gay after consuming hours of Drarry and Wolfstar content, he knows now. As in, he finally realizes why he always looks for Alex in every room and why that boy gets under his skin so easily.

He definitely cannot go to a lacrosse game, ever. He might die.

The bright bulbs from the bathroom and the blue hue from the gym doors’ windows light the otherwise dim hallway. Henry can make out the Coldplay song coming from the dance and plays the piano chords on his knees. The smell of old sweat and cleaner lingers in the air.

Henry likes that Bea insisted on a normal American education for the two of them and that his mother actually agreed; he just doesn’t enjoy the smells that accompany the experience. Or the horrid cafeteria food, for that matter. He tells Alex as much.

“Totally,” Alex says. “It must’ve been hard moving here. Even if I think you and your uppity family are ridiculous, leaving your home behind would suck for anyone.”

“Yes, it does. But Mum got this great job, which she wasn’t going to take until my grandmother and my brother Philip encouraged her to. ‘You need a fresh start,’ they said. She agreed, though I think her attitude is more about survival rather than actual happiness,” Henry says. “I, for one, would prefer to be home where Dad taught me to play cricket on the back lawn.”

He sighs. Alex doesn’t need to hear this, and giving him more information to use against him or to poke fun of is a disastrous idea. But it does feel good to talk about his father with someone who doesn’t know him and barely knows Henry.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Alex says. “I looked him up once, and he seems pretty cool.”

“He was, yes.” If Henry lets himself get too close to the cliff of grief, he’ll jump off and never be able to recompose himself, so he looks at Alex. “You looked me up?”

Alex sits up straight. “No, no! Your father!”

“You looked me up.” Henry smirks. His stomach flutters, and he doesn’t know what that means.

“I wanted to know what your deal was!” Alex says. “It’s not weird like that! I wasn’t stalking you or whatever.”

Henry laughs hard for the first time in a while. “I can’t believe I have enchanted you this much, Alex. What must I have done to peak your interest? Was it the defeat in during the foreign aid debate?”

“Okay, one, don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart,” Alex says, holding up a finger to silence Henry’s laughter, which it doesn’t. “And two, you were arguing on the behalf of an imperialist, asshole country. How was I, the humble yet fiery Mexican delegate, supposed to get you off your high horse after you started barking about your country’s economy?”

“Accept that I am the better diplomat.”

“I accept that you’re the bigger—what’s that British word? Wanker.”

Alex shoves him, but Henry shoves him right back. The two laugh together, and as it fades, Henry thinks that maybe they can finally get along—be friends, even. Though, he doesn’t know if that’ll make his heart race more or less when Alex is around.

“Want to go back in there?” Alex asks. “I know you’re still covered in fluff, but it’ll add to the ambiance.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Just then, Henry’s phone rings, and Bea’s name flashes on the screen. When he answers, she tells him she’s outside. Henry looks at Alex. While he has relaxed since the incident because of him, he’s not quite ready to face the rest of the school.

But the hesitation is duly noted and will be thoroughly examined tonight as he tries and fails to fall asleep.

He tells Bea he’ll be out in a minute and hangs up. “My sister’s here,” he says.

Dare Henry say Alex looks a little disappointed? The space between his dark eyebrows crinkles, and he shoves his hands in his pockets after they both stand up.

“Well,” Alex says, “maybe you and I could prepare for the meeting on refugees together when we get back from winter break.”

Henry blinks. “All right. We could do it at mine if you like.”

“Sure. I’m dying to see the palace,” he says. “Let me just get your number.”

After they exchange phone numbers, Henry watches Alex walk back into the gym. Thank god, he isn’t wearing better trousers, or Henry might’ve blushed. Actually, it doesn’t matter; Henry feels his checks get hot.

Outside, real snow dusts the school’s steps. Henry spots Bea’s headlights and walks to the car, enjoying the cool night air. He slips inside as his sister asks what the hell happened.

He knows it’s not the question she meant, but in his head he answers, “Alex Claremont-Diaz.”

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radramblog · 3 years

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Radiohead Retrospective Part 4: We’ve got heads on sticks

Your name is Thom Yorke. You’ve just released what is considered one of the best albums of the 90s, if not of all time, and you’ve achieved a level of fame that at least one band member considers akin to the Beatles. Through the release of OK Computer, you’ve proven that even if people are pretty much over Oasis at this point, British rock bands still rule the airwaves. You’re also stressed the fuck out over just about all of this, and having a very hard time accustoming to the life of a celebrity- let alone the usual mental health issues.

What will you do?

Apparently, the answer was to write the fourth album to be as far away from the previous few as possible, seeking influence from IDM groups like Aphex Twin, jazz stuff, and just some bizarro instruments and experimentation and leaving a lot of the “rock” stuff behind. The primary genre listed for Kid A is usually Electronica or Ambient, with various off-kilter rock subgenres lagging behind, crying “you’re still gonna do guitars and stuff, right?”

Well…not as much anymore. But this era of Radiohead, this career-suicidal swerve, still proved monumentally successful, and showed that the band still had it, and that sometimes artistic risks do pay dividends.

A side note: I usually link music videos for the tracks I discuss as part of each post, as you’ll have seen in previous parts of this series. Kid A, however, doesn’t have any singles, and it sure doesn’t have any music videos. So…maybe just listen yourself. I’m probably in over my head here anyway.

I think the first 5 notes of Everything In Its Right Place are some of the most iconic in all of music.

Some personal background- Kid A was the first Radiohead I ever listened to. A particular cool and good mate of mine was a fan in high school, but I’d never listened to them at all, and I trusted his opinion musically, so I went to buy one of their CDs the next time I was at the shop. And for whatever reason, the cheapest one was Kid A at 10 bucks, and I didn’t want to gamble more than that, so that’s the one I got.

So the opening notes of Everything In Its Right Place were the first Radiohead I ever heard. And considering how much I obsessed over this band, in high school and beyond, it’s no surprise that this song is one of my favourites.

Not only did this song introduce me to Radiohead, it was effectively a gateway track for electronic music in general. This was the early 10s, and the majority of what I knew as electronic stuff was the EDM that was drowning the airwaves at the time. I hated that stuff out of principle, because being a hipster like that was definitely a personality. I don’t think I would ever have gotten into Vaporwave, into IDM, or into any electronic music the way I eventually would were it not for Everything In Its Right Place.

Now that I’ve spent 250 words talking about myself and not the actual song, we should probably stop that. Everything In Its Right Place is defined by this steady build of layering vocals and effects onto the relatively calm synth line, distorted vocals and word salad lyrics and manipulated noises growing and getting more chaotic before it just stops- the vocals fade out, the effects drop, and you’re left with the synth line- except it’s been slowly changing itself the whole time, and you don’t realise because you’ve been distracted by everything else at the same time.

It’s worth noting (and I don’t know if this was the case with OK Computer, because I don’t have an original copy of that one) that this was an album without liner notes, without the lyrics in the cover booklet. But at least in this case, the lyrics don’t matter as much as the v i b e. At least, that’s what I think.

On the topic of unintelligible lyrics, Kid A has a title track! I believe literally two Radiohead albums do this, the other being The Bends (though Hail to the Thief and In Rainbows do appear as lyrics). The song itself is an ambient, quiet piece that feels something like a twisted nursery tune- incredibly affected vocals, a syncopated (?) percussion, and a synth (I think???) that…I don’t know how to describe it, but it feels nursery-rhyme-y. If you’ve heard this song a few times, or you know what to listen for, you can piece together the lyrics somewhat- and they are, frankly, kind of unsettling. What is standing in the shadows at the end of your bed, can it please leave? And imagery of the Pied Piper is always either extremely silly or extremely unnerving, with this clearly leaning towards the latter. There’s a lot going on here- especially for a track most probably wouldn’t listen to outside the context of the full album. I know I generally don’t- not the kind of thing I generally am in the mood for.

We’re at 850+ words, and we’re only up to The National Anthem? Fuuuuck. Well, anyone who wasn’t on board the IDM train can at least appreciate this one more, it’s got an actual bassline. A killer one, at that, that drives the whole track. Well, you know, that and the B R A S S. Seriously, it sounds like they invited a marching band to this bad boy. The combination ends up sounding mostly like controlled chaos, a jazz band traffic jam wound together by that B A S S. But the bass can’t hold it forever, and eventually that shit breaks free and just, it just honks all over the place.

I’m frustratingly running out of things to say about this song I really like, as opposed to the other songs I really liked. Unfortunately, ya boi forgot to take his neurotypicalification pills today, and so I’m getting very distracted. Hopefully, that slightly unhinged nature suits the album somewhat.

The next song, How To Disappear Completely, is a Big Mood with a fun story attached. The main lyrics- I’m not here, this isn’t happening- were allegedly something none other than Michael Stipe from R.E.M. told Thom to help him deal with that massive stage fright that came with Getting Big. Fun trivia aside, this song is gorgeous, luscious with massive strings, an acoustic bend, aethereal vocals, and a background drone running through the thing that makes sure your hair is always a little on end through the thing. It’s a song whose lyrics are an attempt to escape anxiety, whose instrumentation serves more to reinforce it- a calm, melodic piece that builds into nervous swells and threatening strings. A song about fighting your fear, and losing.

Fuck me it’s a bit depressing isn’t it. It’s potentially the most emotionally revealing song the album has- a lot of the lyricism on other tracks is more metaphorical, or subtle, but the meaning in How To Disappear Completely is evident even just from the title. You get lost in the strings and they go from calming, to imposing, to downright menacing (and then back again) in the song’s final minute.

Treefingers, on the other hand, has a lot less to say, and by that I mean it’s an instrumental. A very atmospheric, ambient one, and thereby one I don’t have a lot to say about. I’m not sure I’m particularly good at commenting on regular music, but this kinda thing is a whole different animal. I have no idea how to interact with discussing this. I like it? I will say, that one note right at the end, that echoes for a bit, the one piece of clarity in this muddled, reverbed sphere, feels especially poignant, for reasons I cannot describe.

We go from ambient instrumental to arguable the most rock-song-like track on this album, Optimistic, certified banger that it is. Some might argue that it doesn’t fit here, but like, did they even hear the lyrics? The bridge? It more that deserves its place on one of the best albums around. The little way the guitar scales up during the chorus is excellent, the proggy drums and riffs are glorious, it’s just a very good rock song.

Also this is the first song with the lyric “dinosaurs roaming the earth”, which, aside from being a bit of a non-sequitur, would return two albums later. And I’m really looking forward to that one.

In Limbo is a song I kind of always forget exists until I hear it again. It’s antimemetic, the way the song goes slipping from my mind until I hear those opening notes again. I’m going to be honest, it’s probably because it’s also the most mid song on the album. Far from bad, but it isn’t doing anything that How to Disappear Completely or Optimistic aren’t doing better. If I had to remove any track from this album, it might be this one?

Watch me get fucking lynched from the fandom for that one, if I ever post this to r/Radiohead or whatever. Which I might, though as much as I’d like more people to read my things I’m also extremely anxious about the potential response. Like the album I’m discussing today, I’m terrified of fame.

Incidentally, In Limbo is also the shortest track on the album (Treefingers beats it by 11 seconds), though this isn’t initially obvious online at least, because people keep messing with Motion Picture Soundtrack. But we’re not there yet, hang on.

We go from the forgettable (to me) In Limbo to the utterly mesmerizing Idioteque. Anxious but danceable, confusing but emotive, messy but tightly controlled. I love this fucking song to death. The reason I got the particular Radiohead poster that I did was because it has lyrics from this on it.

I’ve heard that lyrics for this album were largely pulled from a hat, and nowhere is that more clear than here (or maybe Everything In Its Right Place). Despite this, there’s a pretty clear theme in them, a continuation of some of the themes of this and the last albums. A condemnation of wealth and cowardice in the face of ecological disaster. In the form of an apocalypse disco.

What a lot of people don’t know about this track is that it actually samples an extremely old electronic music piece- one written in 1973, on a particularly old computer. The track, mild und leise, is a very interesting track considering its age- I’m reminded of Selected Ambient Works by Aphex Twin- not so much musically, but about how that reason was as influential as it was because it was the first time songs had sounded like that, because it was the first time songs could sound like that- I suppose it’s somewhat similar in that way, if older. These pieces and their composers inexorably linked by the allure of technology, and how that could be used to define new eras in music history- in Radiohead’s case, it certainly defined the next few albums in their lifespan.

Jesus mild und leise is long, it’s still going as I write this. I need to get back to Kid A, man!

Idioteque leads directly into Morning Bell, admittedly another less memorable song. Largely percussion lead, plenty of falsetto, and with a very unsubtle theme if you listen to the lyrics. I recall seeing someone saying that “cut the kids in half” was a really surprising and spooky line, and, yeah, sure, it sort of is, but it’s only particularly bad if you don’t pay attention for the rest of it. It’s about divorce, dude, it’s not subtle.

Or apparently not, according to one interview, but Thom said the interpretation isn’t invalid, so haha still winning baybeeeee.

I think the only part of this I really can’t do without is the outro, because the last minute and a half of this song is really cool. The mumbled lyrics go really well with the rising percussion and eerie effects that end the track.

Our final song is Motion Picture Soundtrack, or, Exit Music (for Walt Disney’s Depression Nap). This and Street Spirit I think are what really cement Radiohead’s reputation for brutal closers, both of them being tragic but hauntingly beautiful in different ways. In this case, it’s the instrumentation- glittering harps attempting the echo 50s Disney. There’s actually a version of this song from the OK Computer era with extremely different instrumentation, piano rather than organ, and no harps (and a third verse that is utterly brutal). Regardless, this is the song they chose to close the apocalypse that Kid A is on- the final lyric being “I will see you in the next life”, as the glittering echoes into the night. Poignant and tragic, but a little hopeful- the next life hopefully won’t have the struggles and pain of this one.

And then, of course, there’s the hidden track. Nicknamed Genchildren by some (that’s just the username of the dude who uploaded it to Napster back in the day), officially known as Untitled, and the true closer to the album. With Spotify slapping it right at the end of Motion Picture Soundtrack, it’s not clear the true nature of this song- it’s actually hidden on the original album, after several minutes of silence, just long enough that you’ve forgotten you left the player running (or you’re still crying from Motion Picture Soundtrack). I don’t think there’s a real word for what this sounds like other than heavenly, and incredibly brief piece I’ve heard compared to the pearly gates. After all, if we end on “I will see you in the next life”, then what can this be but that?

Thus closes Kid A, a gorgeous and powerful album, yet an insane swerve for any rock band to pull, not just Radiohead. A bold strategy, and yet it paid off for them- Kid A would not only be massively influential, it was also massively successful both critically and commercially- but not to the standard of OK Computer before it. But they obviously weren’t trying to do OK Computer part 2, just as that album was deliberately not The Bends part 2.

Kid A would pretty much get a Part 2, though, less than a year later. And it’s that album we’ll be discussing next week, obviously. Until then.

#ramble #music #radiohead #kid a #idm #idm has to be the most pretentious acronym on the planet

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sophieebdaily · 6 months

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Sophie Ellis-Bextor on how LGBTQ+ people – and Alyssa Edwards – have influenced her

Sophie Ellis-Bextor speaks to PinkNews about her stint as a guest judge on Drag Race UK, why she’s grateful that drag has gone mainstream, and her Christmas collaboration with Save The Children.

It’s early November, and despite growing pressure from TV adverts and shop windows, many of us are still refusing to admit that Christmas is just around the corner. Not Sophie Ellis-Bextor, though: the British dance-pop chart-topper, author and podcast host has had Christmas on the brain since August.

“I’m already fully immersed in Christmas in my head,” she tells PinkNews. For starters, the singer and pandemic hero has been planning her Christmas Kitchen Disco Tour, which she’s taking on the road from 23 November until mid-December.

Sophie promises that the show will be “all the best aspects of a Christmas party,” – think trees, festive hats, “antlers on a horse” and, of course, an unhealthy dose of Christmas tunes.

“I have remembered to put some of my songs in there as well,” she laughs.

Secondly, over the summer, she began working with clothing brand Chinti & Parker to create a Christmas jumper, inspired by her famous “Family” tattoo, for Save The Children’s Christmas Jumper Day on 7 December.

When we speak, she’s calling from a Save The Children centre in London, where she’s spent the day taking part in parenting support groups, one for dads, and one for children with special educational needs.

Sophie has five children of her own, all boys, with her husband, The Feeling bass player Richard Jones. “I can speak from first-hand experience on the importance of community when you’re a new parent. I think you can feel quite isolated,” she admits.

“It’s so important, in all aspects of your life, if you’ve got a community of people keeping an eye on one another. It’s a powerful thing.”

The star became one of the organisation’s ambassadors in 2018. She’s also a supporter of premature birth research charity Borne, following the premature births of two of her sons, an ambassador for Ovarian Cancer Action, and works with children’s charity Lumos and HIV charity mothers2mothers.

She’s vocal about social issues too, having thrown her support behind the LGBTQ+ community, particularly the trans community, when it was needed most.

So, why does she feel it’s vital to use her platform to support the causes she cares for?

“I suppose the question would probably be more why not? I don’t know another way to be with stuff. It’s a very natural thing to do,” she says.

Through her celebrity status, she’s been able to meet people from all walks of life, going through all sorts of hardships – from queer people marching at Pride events, to children orphaned in Ukraine.

“Even things like doing my podcast [Spinning Plates] means I can sit at the table with people and have conversations about other life experiences.

“That’s kind of the experience of being human. We’re all sharing the planet at the same time. It feels good to empathise with people.”

Sophie has spoken a lot about the love she’s received from LGBTQ+ fans in return for being an enduring, supportive presence, but watching the crowd at her set at queer music festival Mighty Hoopla earlier this year was overwhelming.

Standing on stage, dressed in a silver, iridescent mini-dress, and orange, fringe shoulder piece, she remembers getting “a bit weepy” looking out at the crowd.

“Particularly with the LGBTQ+ crowd, it’s funny, it’s always been such a significant part of what I do, and I don’t think I would be the kind of artist I am without that relationship,” she admits.

Now in her forties, she’s used to seeing younger queer people in the audience. “I feel this real affection and – I hope nobody minds me saying it – but quite a maternal feeling. It’s really special to me.”

There’s a particularly warm place in her heart for drag performers. Last month, she was a guest judge on Drag Race UK season five, and dedicated one episode of her BBC Sounds radio show, Kitchen Disco, solely to playing songs used as Drag Race UK lip-syncs.

When the British version of the show was confirmed in 2018, Sophie was straight on the phone, asking to be a guest judge. “A lot of my music is influenced [by] the same culture that bore drag queens. There’s a lot of crossover. A lot of it really resonates,” she explains.

In fact, it was one very famous, much-memed drag queen in particular who “changed” how she performs on stage.

“Alyssa Edwards was doing some gigs with me in Australia, seven or eight years ago,” she says.

“The absolute commitment and conviction of performance that drag queens can have when they enter the stage is phenomenal, and I was watching Alyssa. Right down to the fingertips, every part of them was completely committed to performing the song.”

Alyssa, Sophie says, taught her how to put on a “tough armour” while on stage.

“The bit about Drag Race that has always been really affecting is the stories behind it and the vulnerability.” That’s probably why, she believes, the show has found as much an audience with teenage girls as it has with queer adults.

Overall, drag has brought joy to Sophie and her family’s lives: she watched the Drag Race UK episode she guest judged on with two of her sons, aged seven and four.

“It’s just flipping fantastic that drag is so part of the mainstream now. We take it for granted a little bit, but what RuPaul has done with that show is incredible.”

Even down to her costumes, from the glittering green eyeshadow in her “Murder on the Dancefloor” video, to her gorgeous Mighty Hoopla get up, drag has been “massively” influential. She’s not always wearing a Christmas jumper.

“Much to my sons’ horror, I’ve got more and more confident the older I’ve got,” she laughs.

Christmas in the Ellis-Bextor household is always a busy time. It’s her, Richard, the children, her mother, brother, sister and Richard’s family, plus neighbours and friends. “I’m a bit of a magpie, so I think Christmas is just… it’s quite extra,” she smiles.

They start it with stockings being opened, finish it with a mulled wine martini, “and see what happens in between”.

When she heads out on tour, no doubt Alyssa Edwards will be on her mind, ensuring that she remains… as camp as Christmas.

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bigmafluff · 3 years

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My Story Chapt.1 & 2

Story!

The Ultimate Fan fiction/Love story! Tom Hiddleston,

This is fiction it is not real I'm not this lucky!

family!Courage ! Faith! And Kids! This book is a new life after parenthood. It is my new journey. And a not so guilty obsession. Thanks for reading!

Summary.

What happens When a Single Mom Who Has devoted her Soul to her Family. receives her Empty nest papers . That the world said she would never have. Hi I'm Shannon ! I'm a writer well I want to be . Need a Publisher first. Where are the Best . In the U.K. Didn't count on Love too. Come find out what happened. It's a great adventure.

Chapter 1

A shocking encounter.

{I want to break free. By Queen, Hello By Lionel Richie, and I can't feel my my face. By the weekend}

FREEDOM!

A new Beginning ! Yup something I thought this would never have. You see I'm a Autism Mom and helped my sis raise her 2 kid when she couldn't by herself. I was One of those mom's that where told That .I was gonna be Raising my Son Lucas all my life. Well God and Lucas had other plans. I'm So Dang Proud!!!!!! So Kids grown. Lucas has an Aide, A Job as a Mechanic/Car dealer back Home . I think the mechanic stuff is his hobbies cause My Lucas Love's to tinker. My Nephew is working for NASA/ and Microsoft which I also think

NASA thing is the hobbies . As I said Tinker Just smaller. Now My Niece Katrina . She Is my Butterfly . Totally out side the box, 4 tour's In the Navy. She's A Young Mama and A News Caster In Little Rock, Arkansas, USA. Here's the twist Her and Her kids do Video's on YouTube for fun.

Enough about My Babies. Writing was not the only reason to Go across the Pond to America's Father land. I had recently gone through several Surgeries to fix my body after losing a extreme amount of weight from a Lifetime of Issues with my weight. 2 charities offer to help me finish that Journey but the only Plastic Surgeon willing to touch me Is at Oxford University Hospital. So Here I Go A Strange women in a strange land .

So When I was all of sudden a Empty nest . I was struck with something I haven't thought bout sense childhood . What do I do when I grow up! LOL !! So I hit my bucket List and started @ the 2 Largest and hardest things to accomplish on that list . Fix my body and Write! . So College to get my literary degree. While Extreme Yoga, Running , lil' bit of Martial art's and Lessons In all form's of skating! [Skating Hobby AKA on DA list!] God, family, and Music Made it all worth it and surprisingly easy! Dream's come when your are working hard and not Looking for it. These are one of those.

Now I'm in a UK/London Airport bundled up with 3 List's and a map on my phone .Braving the unknown, Trying to find DA Baggage claim and Customs in the rather Large Heathrow Airport . Dang!!!! it was noisy! Honestly I wasn't even paying no attention to were I was going. I was just Focused on Trying hard to get out of this busy packed Building ,Stress &Anxiety times 10!!!!!

while heading to Customs Dragging 2 rolling cases and Large tote on my shoulder. I'm walking past a group of screaming women and teens along with flashing lights from camera's Butt I was determined to stay focused on Why I'm in a hurry. I hit something head on and drop to the ground my tote spill and it was like hitting a wall and all of a sudden all the noise stopped. I don't care who says other wise, British and Aussie Ascent's are smooth and sexy and butter! The are several men in the U.K. That send my fan girl hormones into Overload. But only 3 are Single Tom Hiddleston, Henry Cavill, and Luke Evan's.

Now Tom Hiddleston is epic. Stage, screen, voice, He is it. He is melt worthy . Hint's the screamers! 6/2 160 Stormy blue eyes , He's strutting the Black dye job for a movie he just finished he is a naturally curly blonde. I'm a sucker For men's curls no Joke. Pure Killer Eye Candy !!!!!

As I try to pick my things up and apologize I see a hand also picking up my things . He touched my hand and I look up and see those wonderful blue's I start to shake to nervous to talk . I shake my head and Just finish picking up my things . I don't have time for this and I don't want to have a fainting spell from nerves it this Airport. So keeping my head down I stand . Say Thank you and Apologize again for slamming into the man and Leave before he says anything.

One hour Later!!!!!

I made it to my hotel via Uber. I changed , called family especially Lucas my Captain America. I ordered pizza {Yes ! there is Pizza in the U.K."} And was going thru everything and found my Chromebook! But my Ticket receipt and my Night Manager Novel is missing . Well that sucks 'I'm hoping I can get home on the stub. I wasn't as mad about the receipt as I was about my Book. I Just bought it. Before I left I had watched the series With my sister. She said that I had to read

the book to get the full experience. I only just got past the 2nd chapter when I landed. Anyways I was laying down and working on the next book in my children's book arsenal. When I must of passed out . Cause I woke to The ringing of my phone.

I go to answer it .Noticing it was already morning. A very groggy Lucas Wishes Mama a good morning and goodnight due to the time difference. After 45minutes for trying to tell my son I am OK and he needed to go to bed. I was finally able to shower and get ready for my day. I decided to stay and write today so my body can adjust before I go rampaging thru London looking for a publisher. I got half way thru Luca 's day in wonderland when I git a knock at My room door.

I open The door and there he is again invading my Life and charging hormones I thought long dead. Thomas William Hiddleston and he was holding my book with the receipt sticking out of it and a white rose . I'm thinking DA rose was a sign of peace. I'm standing there speechless. I think He realized I was a little Star struck so he helped me Back in to my room . Sat me down and brought me the water bottle I had on my Nightstand . I took a sip and Shook My self out of the fog I was in.

I begin to stutter and When he put His Finger over my lips. He then Said " Calm yourself Girl then we have Us a chat Yes? Where is the Tea around here ,or do you drink it" . All I could do is point to the Mini fridge. Curiously He Looks in the fridge . Then I remembered The English drink it hot . Then I said Finally calmed enough to be clear.

" Stop ! Look above it next to the coffee pot. I drink my Tea cold. I'm sorry! I think the stuff you want is in the Lil' treasure box next to The pot Sir. After a Little while Mr. Hiddleston And I Had interesting Chat . Yes we did. Basically This very conceded ,Arrogant , But Knock-out Gorgeous Man. Basically Had to find me Just because I didn't ask his name or for selfie or any thing. Honestly I think he was Just messing with me cause He Saw My Funko babies on the coffee table . Yes! There were a couple of His there.

He asked what I was doing here In his Home Across the pond. I showed him my stories on my Chromebook. Hey I was thinking he might be able to help me. I told him I was looking for a publisher . I also told him I was Do to have surgery I a couple of weeks, while I was here at the University Hospital. Hey When I get nervous thing's just spew I can't help it. So I told Him all of It Right down to my sudden empty nest. All while he read one of my Stories and nodding. He is in the middle of, Luca and The Golden Lion.

Thomas asked me some Questions about the story. I asked him some to. We bantered and I was surprisingly calm and comfy just chatting along. No longer nervous or anxious . We had been talking for hours . Tom was getting ready to leave . He handed me my book then held my hand there then whispered in my ear making me shiver." Still no selfie , no autograph, or Scream, Well Mrs. Jones. I would say You weren't a fan except for your greeting. So what is a Guy to do to get your attention. We will find out won't we, Till I see you again my Lady." I closed the door behind him as he left. Then promptly passed out right therein front of the door. Life just got interesting !

Chapter 2

Career Change Wow!

[Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the waves, Hay YA by OutKast, High hopes By Panic at the disco.]

I woke the next morning to sunshine and birdsong. It must be a sign I am on the right track. So Coffee a Shower and breakfast burrito's at McDonald's, and I'm out in London . I'm Publisher hunting. I had a call from the Hospital about my per-opp appointment for surgery. That is in a few day's. So Little nervous about that . As I walk into my first office building then I Stop in the lobby when my phone rings.

It was a local # so I answered . It was a Guy named Luke Parsons He is a free lance publisher that heard about my stories. I was shocked how did he hear about me. He asked if we could meet at his office at 3pm. I agreed,he gave me the address and hung up. I went in to the build kinda stoked . I figure I try all my options. So through out the day I went to many publishing companies all saying the same which pissed me off to no end. But did I show it NO. Just because I'm American they won't even Look at them. I couldn't even eat . I grabbed a Juice @ a convenience store, then went back to my hotel to change. I needed time to find this place for my 3:00 meeting with Mr. parsons and I want to make a good impression since I was rejected so many other times today.

So I decided to call a Uber because I felt I had been walking all day and needed a small break . When we Pulled up to the Building and guess who was standing there with a smart ass smile on his face! Yup! Tom was opening my door after paying the driver , which I didn't expect. He grabs My hand and kisses my palm. Honestly why is a guy like him even paying me any attention . I'm not the tiny,skinny little thing that he is normally with and I don't act or sing. It's frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. GOD HELP ME!!! I told my self.

I asked Tom what he was doing here and then everything clicked. He told Mr. Parson's about me. When I asked how he knew Mr. Parsons. Tom told me that Luke was a Publicist by trade but had a small publishing company on the side as a hobby. So not letting go of my hand Thomas took me inside to meet Luke. Tom stayed in the waiting room as I went into Luke's office. He didn't have a huge office, but it was still dark and intimidating. The tall blonde man in the gray suit, stood and shook my hand . And I sat in the chair across from his desk. when I was going to speak. But he straight shut mt up with a finger. He started Hounding me about Tom. Ii became Anxious and when that happens I Babble and stutter badly. I spilled everything from my weight to the confrontation @ my hotel. By that point I am crying and Thomas came in and took one look at me and Was about to give Luke the business when Luke stopped him Saying He needed to Gage my character. Do to the fact that Thomas was one of his most prominent Clients. I relaxed cause Tom did. And Luke apologized .

When all was calmed. Tom pulled a chair next to me. He told me to go ahead and give Luke my flash drive with my book copies on it . All while holding my hand and rubbing my back . I have to admit I had a small smile on my face cause I was feeling @ peace with TWH sitting and pampering me. It was nice. Mr. Parsons plugged my flash drive into his desk top. While telling me to call him Luke. He said regardless if he likes mysteries or not He is probably gonna see a lot of me because he was Tom's Publicist. I am not giving any weight to that remark not yet .AHAHAH!!!! As Luke was reading Tommy and I were talking and Honestly I needed to get a lot of my frustration's off my chest .Unfortunately Thomas was my victim , willing I might add considering he was grinning the whole time.

Once I was done giving the 3rd degree to Tommy. He squeezed my hand then answered." Well Shannon. I have been in this business for a while now and out of all my so called fans. I never had one Ignore me! They'll always wanted something from me. A picture, to Kneel,autograph,selfie,hug,any attention I would give they sucked it from me. But when you ran into me at the airport. The funko toy's spilling from your bag told me your were a fan and I saw your face you recognized me, I heard you breath hitch. Yet you said sorry and left. No selfie, No nothing. It intrigued me so much I had Luke here who was with me that day check you out using the stub and book with your name and address in America in it . Which also gave me more proof you were a fan." as he continues to explain I look at him in awe he has no clue how bad I want to fan girl and ask for all those things but my heart may be with him but my mind is on what Luke is doing because Luke has my future in his hands.

Back to Tom's explanation." Shannon I came to your room Just to give a fan a gift. On my way to my Mother's for lunch. I ended up canceling lunch when you froze on me. Then I was so humbled by your nervousness. Dearling ." He says as he caresses my face ,raising Luke's eyebrows he is reading. Tom finally finishes with," As I was leaving your room I knew I had to know you more and since you were Looking for someone to help you get your stories read I talked to Luke about it and he was happy to get a new client especially one not for the public business but for His hobby. Now that I explained everything Love turn and listen to Luke I think he has something to say."

That caught my attention. I shook off the haze from listening to Tom . Turned my head to see a smiling almost ecstatic Luke. Looking at us. Then retold me he loved my stories. He said the fan-fix he even might know someone who might want to turn it into a play with the right circumstances. The other 2 he wanted to know if this is a story arc Like the old Harry Potter Series going on cause he could make it happen if there was gonna be more. He also asked about the Illustration in the stories.

I answered him promptly,about Luca and his daydreams and how they relate to my son who is Autistic and who also did the pictures for my stories Neither of them realized I was a mother . Which took both by surprise. Luke asked if I was married . OMG ! Would I have let Tom flirt with me if I was. Yes ! I would have, But I told Luke the truth I have been separated and divorced. For many years. And my Son is almost 30. that floored Tom ! I guess he thought is was younger Ha! Wait till he finds out I'm 2 years older than him. Dang straight! Cougar Power !

Now I get excited when Luke pulls a rather large group of paper's out of his desk. And writes on them. The put's them in front of me and explains. "Now Shannon can I call you that . Of course I can!" I just nod quietly." Well Shannon this is a contact for exclusivity. So anything you write is published through our Publishing company. So any fan based Fiction, Lucas stories all of it Go through us. Do you understand that Shannon?" I nod in understanding. He continues, "I am going to pay you up front for the 3 stories you have now plus signing bonus. Although only 2 are guaranteed to hit book shelves very Quickly.

Also I am Also going out of my way and despite conflict of interest with Tom I going to take you on to navigate your public appearance as well. You will need that for book signing's and such. I will also make sure Lucas gets paid for all his pictures and any future picture's for your book's. Now one last thing that may help ease your mind a bit Shannon. Tom Has nothing to do with this contract or the merit of your stories. It was just a lucky shot for both of us that He was the one you ran into in the Airport and that he knew what Me and a few friends do in our spare time. Helping Storytellers get their stories read when no one else would is what we at Parsonage publishing are here to do most the commissions I'll receive for your book go to the Literacy foundation here in the U.K. Which is 5% but I also am taking10% for my Public work. But you won't even need to worry Shannon. I'm prepared to make you a very Popular and rich woman."

Honestly I am froze I did not think Lucas's and My stories would be this popular. Especially on there own merit. I'm speechless! Until Thomas starts shaking me to get my attention. I Turn, Tom point's to Luke. I turn and Luke asks? " Shannon Darling did you get all of it or do I need to repeat any of it?" I tell Luke as I take a look at the contraction front of me. Tom still holding my hand and I am thankful for the support. I got it surprisingly knew what the whole Author gig entails so to have Luke help me with both sides of that is a life saver, but I still have one or two questions.

" OK Luke ! I got most of it I am just got a couple questions? 1st Are you sure about the Public side I can find another if it helps your piece of mind. Also Are you sure my little stories are gonna get that popular and Last if so who has a pen. To my shock and tears. He answered all my question reassuring me of his sincerity and excitement .He also gave me a pen to sign my first almost million $Contract. I was so giddy . Luke asked for my main info like email ,cell, direct deposit > I just realized I'm not a disabled parent anymore. I am A writer/Author ,gainfully employed . I am crying Laughing and falling off my chair taking Tom with me.

While Luke gets me copy of my contract I had just signed . Tom Kisses my palm then he was kissing the my forehead. Then He shocks me by looking me straight in the eyes , Blue on Blue then asking out to Dinner tonight. WAS THIS A DATE!!!!!!????????????????

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

Text

Aziraphale and Crowley decide to go travelling.

They have been on Earth for over six thousand years, but they’ve not actually seen that much of it. They’ve been soldiers posted at a garrison, responsible for the blessings and/or temptations despatched in the British Isles for jolly well most of that time, and they can’t just faff off whenever they please. (As well as, of course, the unspoken fact that neither of them will stray too far from the other. Aziraphale’s had to handle the Irish-related bits since the fifth century, when a killjoy bloke named Patrick chucked the snakes out. Pity, that – Crowley, being red-haired and fond of drink and trouble, would love to come back, but alas.) They have moved out of London and to that cottage in the South Downs, itself a change after living in the city for almost five hundred years, but it doesn’t take long for them to realise that without constant marching orders to await and no destruction of the world to avert, they’ve got… time. And one morning Crowley suggests, and Aziraphale somehow finds himself agreeing, that they just bugger off and see the lot of it. Or at least make a start.

They don’t travel like humans who want the big flashy commercial bits: the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Sydney Opera House, Disneyworld. Aziraphale thinks at first that they’ll just ride in Pullman cars, something he has always rather wanted to do, and is dismayed to learn that Pullman cars went the way of the dodo in 1968. Failing that, they should just fly, or miracle themselves. He’s taken aback when Crowley thinks it’s funny to insist on human transport, though Crowley himself was responsible for many of the recent innovations of the airline industry and has to admit, the first time they’re stuck in economy class aboard an over-booked jetliner with a screaming child behind them, he may have overdone it. They are subject to delayed trains, packed buses, leaky ferries, and the delights of something called a moto, which Aziraphale might have enjoyed more if he wasn’t screaming the whole time. Course, Crowley loves it. Nothing but respect to any mad bastard brave enough to drive that fast in Rio de Janeiro.

(‘Oh,’ Aziraphale says softly, as they stand at the very top of the hill, beneath the vast shadow of Christ the Redeemer, and think back to that promising fellow they saw nailed to the branch in Golgotha, and gaze down, down, down at the green mountains and the glittering city and the sun-blazing sea. ‘Oh, my.’)

They argue about where to go next. Crowley thinks Russia is too cold and Aziraphale thinks India is too hot, but they end up in both anyway. Aziraphale is entranced by a night at the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, and they wake one morning in the thick air of a humble guesthouse along the Ganges, smelling the burned offerings of the temple and listening to the splash of bathers and the chittering of the monkeys that stole their curry. They are generally pegged for gormless Englishmen wherever they go, or at least Aziraphale is; something about him just screams bum bag and floral-print shirt. Crowley manages to deter any local trouble by being himself, or if need be, flashing a strategic glimpse of his eyes. Not that that always works. A bunch of clubbers in a neon disco in Rome think it’s very chic.

(Crowley doesn’t like Rome much. He can barely walk round the city without looking like a jitterbug, and Aziraphale refuses to let him pop in on the Pope one morning in his skivvies, give the old man a good jolt. Supposedly it’s romantic, and watching a sunset over the Colosseum, hand in hand, Crowley can admit it’s got that going for it, memories of the lions that used to be big here notwithstanding. Nonetheless, he is relieved to leave.)

‘Look at me,’ Aziraphale beams, having ordered them a scrummy spread in Greece a few days later. ‘Real gentleman of the world, don’t you think, my dear? Pity we can’t see the Parthenon from here, but I suppose I can always – ’

‘If you say so, angel.’ Crowley lights a cigarette and tempts the loudmouth bastard blocking the view to go home and rethink his life. ‘Take another look now.’

They go to New York so Aziraphale can see a Broadway show, whereupon Crowley wonders how America has got into such a mess even with nothing whatsoever to do with him. Wants no part of that, thanks. They pop up to Canada after, which turns out to mostly be more Canada, though Crowley nearly hits a moose driving at ninety miles an hour down an empty highway and that would have good and discorporated both of them. They wind up at a tiny roadside motel where the only sound are the crickets and the distant sigh of passing cars, where it is deep summer and green and slow, and they lie on the bed with Aziraphale’s head on Crowley’s chest and neither of them say a word.

They drive down to San Francisco and fly from there to Tokyo, which delights Aziraphale with its proximity to sushi, clean and precise public transport, and miles of convenience stores to supply every imaginable item. Everyone looks somewhat surprised when he speaks Japanese. Crowley is just tall enough to regard doorways with suspicion, and cannot slack his vigilance when going through them. One such mishap leaves him with something of a lump when they arrive in Istanbul. Aziraphale’s wallet gets pinched in the Grand Bazaar, then after a brief and exciting episode involving a snake head, hastily returned. ‘Mesopotamia,’ Crowley remarks breezily. ‘Always an adventure in these parts, isn’t it, angel?’

They make their way down into Africa, where Crowley insists on paying homage at Freddie Mercury’s hometown in Zanzibar. Aziraphale snaps a photo of him at the sacred site and supposes that will be going into pride of place in a frame back at the cottage. They’re both burnt brown and riotously freckly, at least in Crowley’s case, and Aziraphale has acquired, under his dearest’s expert tutelage, a succession of fashionable sunglasses. They walk along a deserted beach in Cape Verde and sleep curled together in a hammock with waves lapping soft on the sand. Get on a boat headed to some island in the middle of the Atlantic, out in the arse-end of absolutely bloody nowhere, and gaze up at more stars than either of them, a pair of celestial beings, have ever seen in their lives. These do not fall, or burn, or break. The heavens do not brim with fire, nor does hell rise up. The world is at a point of perfect stillness.

‘We should get married,’ Aziraphale says one night, as casually as if it’s something that has only just occurred to him. ‘I mean… for the tax purposes.’

Crowley turns to stare at him as if it is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. ‘Tax purposes?’

‘I just…’ Aziraphale opens and shuts his mouth. He still owns the bookshop, since he couldn’t bear to part from it, though he’s hired a couple of bright young things to run it. But of course, tax purposes do not actually have a rum thing to do with any of his reasons for asking. ‘If you didn’t… didn’t want...’

Crowley kisses him, hard and sharp and hungry. They don’t say more about it then.

They narrowly escape a hurricane in the Caribbean. They go on a trek through the Andes of South America, whereupon Aziraphale does not enjoy himself at all and has to shout at Crowley to stop leaping up hills like a lizard. They go up to Norway and putter along the fjords, and Crowley gets very drunk and pretends to be Thor. (His hair is growing out again, and he could throw lightning and thunder if he wanted to.) They hop to various cities in Europe on weekend discount-airline deals and go to the Christmas market in the Old Town Square of Prague. The really delightful thing about all this travelling, they discover, is the ability to come home together. Pop along on the train from Luton or Stansted or Gatwick or Heathrow, crunch up the walk with their bags, unlock the door and collect the post on the mat and go into the kitchen, make a nip of supper and crawl into bed together, half-packed suitcases dropped on the floor. It’s a lovely cottage. The houseplants are verdant and properly terrified, and the books cover every flat surface.

‘We should get married,’ Crowley says, on a flowering spring night in Vienna. ‘Horribly antiquated human institution and all that, but…’ He trails off, then shrugs elegantly. ‘Tax purposes.’

‘I thought, my dear,’ Aziraphale says, taking a sip of his wine, ‘that was originally my suggestion.’

Crowley’s yellow eyes sparkle at him. In this light, they are almost gold, rich and depthless, and Aziraphale would be very happy indeed to spend the rest of forever drowning in them. Placidly the demon says, even as his fingers interlock with his angel’s under the table and hold on tight, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

#good omens #good omens ff #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #queue #this brought to you whilst i am travelling home myself #i have feelings about this k

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