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parisstreet · 2 years

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Some Words On 'London', From London

I have a recurring dream, one that sneaks into my slumber every now and then. In it, I am on an airplane that is approaching London. I’m in the first class cabin, because why would I sit in coach during a dream?

As I prepare for landing, I look out the window and see that the plane appears to barely be off the ground. We are zooming into London, the winding Thames below us here and there. The city center nears, and I am awed by the contrast in how the city looks now compared to the last time I visited, in April of 2001.

I am also fairly certain that the plane is about to crash at any second, as it’s pretty hard to fly that low over a crowded city and avoid hitting a bridge or some long-dead fellow’s statue or a corgi or the London Eye. I am awed, but my body is tensed.

That’s when I wake up. It never turns to nightmare. There is no crash, no death – just a thrill, a growing worry, then it’s back to a brief consciousness before I fall asleep again.

When I finally returned to London, in May of this year, I was sitting in coach, on an aisle seat in that middle section of a wide-body jet that no one wants to sit in. I couldn’t get a good look out the window, so I’m not sure which path the pilot took to get us there, but I’m pretty sure it didn’t involve hovering across the city.

After settling into my hotel room, I walked over to the Thames and got my first good look at London in 21 years. The city did indeed look different, but not the way it did in my dream. That’s because dream logic had run wild in the years since sleep started taking me on a first class trip inches over London. My imagined London was full of impossible architecture, things I can’t even begin to describe, mainly because I don’t really know anything about architecture (I did use ‘cantilever’ in a song lyric once, but mainly because the word sounds cool).

Dream London was appropriately surreal. Real London looked pretty much like any other large city. Either way, I was ecstatic to be back.

So that’s one way to explain a two-minute pop song. The other is to just let you hear it:

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I am writing this from Southwark, an area on the south side of the Thames, just about across from the city center. The Tate Modern is two blocks away from my hotel, Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre is not much further. My Yankee doodle mind sees no other way to pronounce the name of this area as ‘south work’. I’ve said that aloud one time, and was instantly greeted with a confused look, then a corrected pronunciation that’s not quite as brain melting as the one for Leicester Square, but it came close.

About a ten-minute walk from my hotel is Borough Market, a large street market that – in typical British style – has been there for a billion years. I went there back in May because – in typical Me style – I did almost zero research for my trip beforehand. The ‘almost’ part of that sentence is that – a couple days before my flight – I watched an episode of ‘Somebody Feed Phil’ where he went to London, and spent some time at Borough Market, and it looked cool.

At the market, I had some fish and chips that I can say with complete certainty were the worst fish and chips I’ve ever had. To make up for that disaster, I also had a roast pork sandwich from a different vendor that was a million percent better (yesterday, I went back and had a mixed fish and prawns wrap that was excellent, another roast park sandwich that was as great as the first one, and two tasty empanadas).

While there, I also had a melody that entered my head, which I couldn’t shake for the rest of the day. I sang it into my phone while walking around the market, then started fleshing out an arrangement when I got back to my hotel. Here’s the result:

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My hotel during that May trip was located in Soho, directly above the M&M store. I was in town for a pair of concerts, the first one being at the Southbank Centre, a nice 20-minute walk past Trafalgar Square and across the Golden Jubilee Bridges. The whole walk was packed with people. Even on the way back, in the late evening, everything was hopping. It was surprising for a Sunday night, but shouldn’t have been if I had done any research. The next day was a Bank Holiday, a concept I’m only aware of thanks to a Blur song. Everyone was out and about because they wouldn’t have to work on Monday.

And so on Monday, everyone was out and about again. I walked the city extensively, and loved it the entire time, but could have done with about 20% fewer people around me.

‘Our Bank Holiday’ is a sad-sack fantasy, turning my lovely walk into a miserable, lonely slog from Southbank to Soho and back again. It is contrasted with an imagined, wonderful day spent by a lady from Ipswich who I chatted with at the Sunday concert. She told me she’d be spending Monday along the coast of the North Sea, an area she claimed to be her happy place, where she’d go when she needed serenity.

That sounded nice and all, but – again, contrary to the entire song I ended up writing – I preferred my jaunt around London, the real London, the London I had waited 21 years to visit once more.

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London was written and arranged during the 3 days of that trip. I started laying down tracks for all 3 songs while there as well, mainly so I could credibly claim that it was recorded in London. After taking some time to decompress from my vacation (in which I also went to Copenhagen and Barcelona), I fleshed things out more while home in Sacramento. A little while later, I did all the finishing touches while working in Salt Lake City. It’s a well-traveled trio of tunes. Hope you enjoy them.

#paris street #london #new music #new release #indie #pop #indie pop #indie music #chamber pop #soho #southbank #borough market #southwark #rambles #Youtube

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most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer · 5 months

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^this one is large, definitely open it in new tab to view full size if you're on desktop!

^ The woodcut-style illustration from chapter 10 and the banner I did for @gorgeousundertow's gorgeous fic, Half Agony, Half Hope, as part of the Ineffable Idiots Big Bang!

@queenofthecute also did some lovelyyy art for chapter 2 that everyone should see!

closeups and info about inspirations under the cut:

faces and southwark cathedral in bg // snek do a hiss // lol i really like to make these guys aaalmost touch hands

As you can see I got very excited about the regency AU and decided to do art inspired by illustrations in Jane Austen novels.

The banner is me trying to be like Charles and Henry Brock with a dash of snek and nightingale.

The ''woodcut'' is inspired by Joan Hassall's work with a Brock-esque ribbon frame bc I liked doing the one in the banner so much.

I also wrote a separate post where I share some of the resources I found while researching and show some of the amazing artwork by Hassall and the Brocks that inspired these pieces! You can read it here.

#this was my first bang and i had so much fun!#ineffable idiots big bang #joan hassall #charles edmund brock #henry matthew brock #good omens fanart #good omens fic #good omens fanfiction #woodcut #good omens au #regency au #eccles makes

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glupshirto · 2 months

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Hello friends!

I’m not on here as often as I should be- but I come bearing new photos of my Sabine cosplay!

We went for this shoot at Leake Street (london) and then Southwark tube station, and it just was the perfect vibes!

Photography by the wonderful @tinypinktog (check her out on Instagram!)

#sabine wren ahsoka #ahsoka #sabine wren #cosplayer #star wars rebels #star wars #star wars fanart #sabine wren cosplay #cosplay #starwarsrebels #sabine wren cosplayer #trials of the darksaber #sabine wren rebels #mandalorian #cosplay photography

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neutron-stars-collision · 9 months

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Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station

Masterlist Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress. Chapter playlist Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows). Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines. I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope. Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not. Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.

Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.

So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.

The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.

Until it started to feel different.

One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.

By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.

Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.

Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.

It was then that fate chose to intervene again.

You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.

A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.

“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.

You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.

At least, you hoped he wasn’t.

A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.

“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”

“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.

The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.

Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.

“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.

Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.

His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.

You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.

“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.

Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.

It only made you like him more.

“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.

Not that you were trying to, anyway.

Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.

“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.

That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.

You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:

“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.

Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.

“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.

The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.

“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.

Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.

“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.

You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:

“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.

All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.

But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.

“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.

“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.

With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:

“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.

But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.

It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.

Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.

“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.

But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.

“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”

The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.

“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.

The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.

“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”

Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.

What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:

“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.

“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.

Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.

“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.

While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.

“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.

A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.

“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.

Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:

“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.

Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:

“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.

The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?

“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.

He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?

“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.

It was good to know. Just because.

Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.

Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:

“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.

As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.

“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.

Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.

“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.

He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.

One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.

Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:

“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.

You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.

Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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scotianostra · 4 months

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On February 2nd 1424 James I married Lady Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset, in London, a true royal love affair.

Joan met her husband James I, King of Scots during his long captivity in England. After the probable murder of his elder son by an uncle, Robert III, King of Scots sent his only surviving son James to France for his safety. However, the ship 12-year-old James was sailing on was captured on March 22nd, 1406, by English pirates who delivered James to King Henry IV of England.

Robert III died a month later and James, who was nominally King of Scots, spent the first eighteen years of his reign in captivity. As Joan was related to the English royal family, she was often at court. Joan is said to be the inspiration for The Kingis Quair (“The King’s Book”), a poem supposedly written by James after he looked out a window and saw Joan in the garden.

And therewith kest I doun myn eye ageyne, Quhare as I sawe, walking under the tour, Full secretly new cummyn hir to pleyne, The fairest or the freschest yonge floure That ever I sawe, me thoght, before that houre, For quhich sodayn abate anon astert The blude of all my body to my hert.

Although there may have been an attraction between Joan and James, their marriage was also political as it was a condition for James’ release from captivity. Joan was well connected. She was a great-granddaughter of King Edward III, a great-niece of King Richard II, a niece of King Henry IV, and a first cousin of King Henry V.

Her paternal uncle Henry Beaufort was a Cardinal, Bishop of Winchester and Chancellor of England. The English considered a marriage to a Beaufort gave the Scots an alliance with the English instead of the French. Joan’s dowry of £6,000 was subtracted from James’ ransom of £40,000. The couple was married February 2nd, 1424, at St. Mary Overie Church, now known as Southwark Cathedral in Southwark, London, England.

James was released from his long captivity on March 28, 1424, and the couple traveled to Scotland. On May 21st, 1424, James and Joan were crowned King and Queen of Scots at Scone by Henry Wardlaw, Bishop of St. Andrews.

#scotland #scottish #history #royalty #the stewarts

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mybeingthere · 8 months

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Snow time; Downhill all the way!

Louis Wain (1860-1939)

"At the turn of the century, Louis Wain became a household name as ‘The Man Who Drew Cats’. His drawings of cats appeared in periodicals and his own annuals and then, increasingly on prints and postcards. While his early work was already distinctive, in a gently humorous way, the onset of schizophrenia gradually transformed his style, making it bright, highly patterned and apparently in keeping with Jazz Age Modernism.

Louis Wain was born in London on 5 August 1860. His father was a textile salesman and his mother designed carpets and church fabrics. A sickly child, he was educated at the Orchard Street Boys and Infant School, South Hackney, and at St Joseph’s Academy, Kennington. He trained at the West London School of Art (1877-80), remaining there as an assistant master until 1882. From his father’s death in 1880, he had to support first his mother and five younger sisters and soon after a sick wife. He supplemented his income by working as a freelance illustrator (initially influenced by Caldecott and May), and in 1882 he joined the staff of the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News. He began to make his name with humorous cat drawings, primarily in the Illustrated London News, the staff of which he joined in 1886. He was the first to work consistently within the convention of depicting clothed and standing animals. His anthropomorphic vision of the world soon brought him much fame and as a result he was elected President of the National Cat Club in 1891. However, he was not a good businessman, and in 1907 he may have been sued for debt. In the same year, he moved to the United States to make a new start, producing strip cartoons for the New York American (1907-10). Back in England, he experimented with animation in 1917, in the films, The Golfing Cat and The Hunter and the Dog. After the death of his sister Caroline in the same year, he began to suffer a mental decline, becoming a schizophrenic, as his work clearly revealed. ‘His cats became frenzied and jagged, sometimes disappearing into kaleidoscopic shapes’ (Frances Spalding). When, in 1925, he was found in the paupers’ ward of Middlesex County Asylum, an appeal was launched on his behalf, and he was transferred to a comfortable room with his paints in the Bethlem Royal Hospital, Southwark. The appeal reached twice the target sum in a month, a sign of the public’s continuing affection. He died in the Middlesex County Asylum, Napsbury, near St Albans, on 4 July 1939.

Chris Beetles Gallery

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fallenlondonnpcfight · 4 months

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A Tournament of Roses

There’s a new ring of roses in town, and this one isn’t run by Feducci. This Feast of the Rose, the spouses of Fallen London are going head to head in a mini-tournament of their own.

Rules:

The character must be a canon spouse option.

No dream spouses (Gracious Widow, Bishop of Southwark, Mr Wines, etc). Trance-dreams are great, but the tournament is only for characters that actually go in the spouse slot.

While marrying another player is an option in the game, for the sake of simplicity, do not submit OCs.

The form to submit characters will close on February 1. Please have your submissions in by then, so that I can put together a bracket as soon as possible.

This isn’t generally a problem, but be nice. This is a silly poll on the internet, have fun with it.

The submission form can be accessed here. It does not collect email addresses. Please let me know if you have any issues.

#fallen london #a tournament of roses #questions #<- info tag

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lavender-gayz · 6 months

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Lizzie the musical at Southwark Playhouse Elephant - some little moments that I loved, part 1/?

Background: This production originated at Hope Mill Theatre in Manchester. It features Lauren Drew as Lizzie; Maiya Quansah-Breed as her neighbour, Alice; Shekinah McFarlane as Lizzie’s sister, Emma; and Mairi Barclay as the Bordens’ housekeeper, Bridget. Esteemed tumblr user thegirl20 has many lovely photosets and gifsets of the cast, including this high-definition one where you can see the faces of everyone in the main cast (and also the set!)

I was lucky enough to catch this show with the main cast in London at the Southwark Playhouse Elephant a couple of times (plus once with Emma Louise Hoey as Lizzie and Ayesha Patel as Bridget) when they went on a mini tour in Nov/Dec 2023 :)

1. The House of Borden:

Bridget ladles out impressively gloopy gruel while singing about all-purpose mutton. Both Lizzie and Emma give it a wide berth (and say no to breakfast for the rest of the show).

Emma goes, 'we’ve no personal objection BUT SHE CAN'T HAVE WHAT'S OURS' – an increasingly-concerned Lizzie rushes over and shakes her head and Emma is temporarily mollified. Fair is fair in the House of Bordennnnn!

The way their voices go up in the last ‘let us take you to an August back in 1892’ – MUAH.

2. This Is Not Love:

Lauren Drew performs the majority of this song while sitting uncomfortably in an ornate armchair where something horrifying routinely happens. It’s very effective.

She really conveys the despair and the agony Lizzie feels – there's one bit in the final verse where she gasps out, 'this is not love' and she sounds so incredibly broken.

(“I want…to see arms outstretched to hold me / wanting nothing in return / but only for me to feel safe and secure”

She’s literally next door, Lizzie.)

And at the end she tears herself out of the chair with the line ‘I don’t know what it is, but I want out of it.’

3. ‘I love you too, Father.’

4. Gotta Get out of Here:

Lizzie absently trails her hand along Alice's arms and shoulders in this one bit at the start - Alice never stood a chance tbh.

Maybe I'll do a separate Alice x Lizzie highlights thing.

LOVE the energy in this song and how Lizzie almost seems possessed when she sings about something hanging over her and how she physically throws her body around.

Alice's higher 'stay here longer' when she joins in on the chorus is what angels dream of.

5. If You Knew:

Let's have MAXIMUM YEARNING

To set the scene: we’ve just come out of ‘Gotta Get out of Here’, where Lizzie expresses her need to get out of here and is hindered by Bridget, Emma and Alice (with some very cool dance breaks). Lizzie finally breaks free and Alice chases after her but loses her. We’re now in Alice’s bedroom where she’s thinking about Lizzie.

Lizzie is just off to the side (presumably in her own home or in her yard) looking sad and letting down her hair.

Alice is singing to herself about how much she loves Lizzie and wondering how Lizzie would react if she knew about this.

(She thinks a secret’s just a lie! This may or may not come back to bite us!)

Her voice just SOARS when she sings about dreaming about having Lizzie in her arms.

I like that this song expresses the pretty relatable concern of ‘oh no if you knew I had a big gay crush on you would you still let me touch you and comfort you’ but it doesn’t come with a side of ‘oh no it’s so wrong and gross for me to have feelings for another woman’. Thanks, Steven Cheslik-DeMeyer and Tim Maner!

And good news for Alice: YES Lizzie will let you hold her close when she knows about your secret gay feelings AND she will make out with you and hold you close too! You will get to be happy for approximately seven seconds before Bad News Bridget interrupts.

6. Soul of the White Bird:

'the violence of freedom'

Emma joins in with Lizzie from the side at ‘oh if I had wings like a dove’ - the harmonies!!

Bridget knits and goes la la la in counterpoint while Lizzie slowly falls apart.

7. ‘Lizzie, don’t!!’

8. Maybe Someday:

The FIRST iteration of this song and it’s Alice singing to Lizzie about how maybe someday her heart will be open. They may not get a conventional happy ending together but by god their story is integral to this show.

It is so sweet and then they end up cuddling and falling asleep!

I was going to save this for the Alice x Lizzie highlights, but this was too cute to leave out so I guess I'll just include it twice: Lizzie is the big spoon!!!

9. ‘Her bed is freshly made, as if she hadn’t slept in it at all!’ – Bridget, relishing her role as a gossipmonger-in-chief

10. Who hasn't had to kick a girl out in the morning because your sister needs to vent about developments in your father's will and is threatening to go to Fairhaven? Sisters, amirite?

11. ‘Emma, wait! What if Mrs Borden…dies first?’

12. Sweet Little Sister:

It has been said before and it bears saying again: vocals for DAYS.

The little lyric change to “I look into your cold dark eyes” to suit Lauren’s eye colour!

Bridget and Alice pop up with mic stands to sing along.

And then Emma fucks off to Fairhaven even though her sweet little sister was begging her to stay.

13. Mairi's delivery of 'oh Miss Emma you've forgotten your book! And she asked me to pack it S P E C I A L.' is so deeply funny.

14. Also hilarious: the very un-suspicious way Bridget slides the book of household poisons over to Lizzie.

15. ‘…time for Mrs Borden’s tea!’ I love Bridget.

This feels like a good time to take a break!

#i sure hope the readmore works #i would love it so much if they did a proshot #not sure if i’ll ever quite return to the euphoric high of the eight-day stretch where i watched this show five times #and spent each trip home frantically jotting down notes on my phone #lizzie the musical #lizzie the musical uk 2023 #lizzie the musical southwark playhouse #lauren drew #maiya quansah-breed #shekinah mcfarlane #mairi barclay #lauren lizzie #maiya alice #shekinah emma #mairi bridget

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hayleysprout13 · 2 years

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Tasting Notes @ Southwark Playhouse*

Rating: 4/5Running until: 27th August 2022Ticket link: https://www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk/the-little/tasting-notes/https://www.southwarkplayhouse.co.uk/the-little/tasting-notes/ Tasting Notes takes place in LJ’s, a wine bar located in South London over the course of a random 24 hours. Throughout the piece, we see the lives of LJ, her staff and one of her regular customers’ perspectives of this…

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#new musical #off west end #southwark playhouse #tasting notes

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superoffbatter · 2 months

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Wolfstack's Ticking Time Bomb | Hard Mode Guide

Are you guys having fun with the new World Event? I know I am. I am having so much fun with my runs (and only 1 self-explosion so far) that I've decided to write up a guide for it!!!

There's around 14.000 of the World Quality left so we don't have all that much time to continue. If you just want to experience the travel, do a medium/easy run!

An Easy run is especially worth it if you just unlocked the ship, even. And the event is very cool!!!! The fear! The tension! The tick-tock of the bombs as you drag the bulk of your ship through the sharp rocks and winding paths, heart racing, eyes full of terror.

The doubt! The way you grow increasingly afraid, increasing terrified, thinking of anything, any solution at all to get out of this problem you have gotten yourself in. The maddening sound, the warmth, the desperation, the growing threat of mutiny quelled only be the ever more terrible threat of an explosive demise.

This might be the *best* out of all the Living World Events we got so far!

Alrighty, so to the guide part.

First out of everything- admit that you are not going to be able to succeed in the checks. It's fine, if you're lategame to try and go for the medium ones, but the checks in the hardmode can reach up to 24 Zeefaring to 100%.

Yeah, it's genuinely insane. So, ignore them.

But if you can't use half the cards- how will you, a zailor of quality, finish this event's hardmode and get a nice new quality for your mantelpiece?

Here are some recommendations.

First of all, grind as much Strong-Backed Labour as you possibly can. I actually recommend either:

The Bazaar Side-Streets (marginally more efficient with underclay. Don't worry about the 3.50E you've just spent- this event can reach 8 EPA in hardmode, even if you don't have the needed Zeefaring.)

The Southwark statue in Jericho Locks. It's the best option for SBL, bar none, though it requires card draw.

In any other circumstance, I'd tell you to go for the Underclay, but this event is genuinely so profitable the Bazaar Side-Streets become a viable option. Every action you save is worth its weight in gold.

Get *as much SBL as possible.* 6-9 is the absolute minimum in my opinion.

Second: Stock up on Second Chances. Specifically, Dangerous chances. Keep your Suspicion below 5 as well so you can draw a certain very good card in zee.

Next: keep your Troubled Waters low. A bit of pirating here and there isn't too harmful- it doesn't really increase TW that much over the regular cards.

Keep at least one TW-reducing card in your hand, so you can use them to switch regions from Home Waters to London and from Stormbones to the event location. If you have more then one TW-reducing card in your hand, lower your TW, but always make sure to change regions with a TW-lowerer.

This is because your hand is wiped on region change, so to minimize TW you need to do this!

Good cards for TW reduction:

"A Corvette of Her Majesty's Navy,"

"The Wax-Wind" (if you have a zub)

"What do the Drownies Sing?" (if you have a Drownie Effluvia from Fruits of the Zee)

"A Giant Angler Crab" (specifically "Ready the guns and fire at its soft spots" option, reducing TW by 2 CP).

When you get there, every level of TW will be converted into the event menace, Volatility, and reaching 8 volatility will blow you up.

Now, you got to the hard part.

Most likely then not, you are not going to be able to do the advanced checks here, so keep to the Watchful check (which is super easy) and the Dangerous check (which is amazing)! They are, respectively, 'Steady! Steady!' and 'No way! There's no way!' and they will be your salvation.

Those second chances? Those are for the Dangerous check. Never play the Red Science check unless you're very very endgame and utterly loaded on that stat.

(I enjoyed the game telling me that 10% RS check is, incredibly, safer option than the one that has an actual chance of success and I can spend a second chance on.)

There are, at first, only 4 cards in deck, so you can keep drawing and playing those two.

By the time you have Progress to the Admiralty Depot 5, you start drawing a (bad) card called 'Now! Now!'

It's not very good. It has an insanely difficult check which you should never roll on, and an option that spends 1-3 Labours for some guaranteed progress.

When you draw this card, take a deep breath and check your Volatility. Is it below 4? Is it at most halfway to 5? If it is and your progress is *not* 6 or 7, you can bite the bullet and do a zeefaring check to draw again. You can take the damage. If it isn't, simply spend the SBL and draw again.

The card 'We're not going to make it!' has a slightly lower amount of damage dealt to you so pick it, if this happens.

Now, have you drawn 'Steady! Steady!' or 'No way! There's no way!' in your new draw?

Play those.

Now, draw again and hope for one of those two.

If you draw a Zeefaring check again, sigh mournfully and spend the SBL.

Rinse and repeat- even if you have the worst luck ever, 9 SBL should be enough to get you there.

And congratulations! Your heart is racing, your breath is hot- but you have earned your bounty.

#fallen london #guide

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21stcenterry · 3 months

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✺ — what's up, danger?

the unfazed everyman of foundationhq, as penned by DORIAN.

perfect stranger dossier / fhq. task 001

basics

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 Terence "Terry" Okello

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 Aforementioned "Terry" but if you want to save some syllables "Terr" is an option

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌 Daniel Kaluuya

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒 Hair styled in short sponge twists and low fade, trimmed stache and beard, and a thousand-mile stare

𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 A half-arsed one on their wrist from some bloke in bristol that Terry got while three sheets to the wind. Terry can't even make heads or tails out of it. Calls it "the scribble you make when checking if a biro ran out of ink"

𝐀𝐆𝐄 / 𝐃.𝐎.𝐁. 34 / December 21, 1989

𝐙𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐂 Sagittarius

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐍 Southwark, London, England

𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 Dembe Isabirye (Mum), Solomon Okello (Dad), Julian "Juli" (Younger Brother), Cornelia "Nelie" (Younger Sister)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐒 Non-binary, they/he

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 Gray-ace

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 Single

𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 Reserved, easygoing, tolerant

𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐒 Indifferent, passive, incurious

𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐒 Clicks their tongue at kids, something he picked up from babysitting his younger siblings. Reads magazines and leaves them around after. Midnight cravings for sandwiches. Wired like a night owl. Sleeps through movies at the theatre

𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 Sleeping, staying warm and alive, betting drinks on a round of billiards, rubbing his shitty tattoo when he gets nervous, which is rare

𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐒 (𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄) None

the foundation

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄 Junior Security Officer

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍(𝐒) Worked at a lumber mill, car mechanic, small dairy farm, Sainsbury's, various pubs, food cart, janitor, bouncer, overnight stocker, telemarketer, waiter, dog groomer, horse groomer, ferret groomer

𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 Guard work at Site-91, turned out a tad dodgy for his fellow mates

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 / 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 Basic firearm training, keeping calm during security protocols, basic office duties, has a food hygiene certification (expired), able to dissociate on command, can tell the difference between coke and pepsi

extras

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐘

TW: divorce, death, dark humor referring to suicide

Terence "Terry" Okello, born in London Town, is an un-special bloke. They'll even tell you that. Low middle-class household, working parents separated rather mythically by the crack of dawn and graveyard shifts, their adolescence jiggered up babysitting a younger brother and a sister as a teen. They whip up chip butties to stretch their food and sit in front of the telly to distract themselves from a life bound to go nowhere. It was what it was, you know? Some people were winners, and some people were Terry.

Their Mum and Dad split up when Terry turned 18, citing irreconcilable differences; their brother went with Dad, their sister went with Mum, and Terry's new girlfriend they met at a trade school broke up with them, so they were really in a pickle by the time they became an adult in the eye of the Law, weren't they. Well, stiff upper lip and all that. Can't cry or complain, relationships are fickle. Love is dead! Carry on! Terry went paycheck to paycheck, job to job, couch to couch, doing God-knows-what to survive and get a cheeky extra for a pint.

No one liked a jack of all trades that much, though. Recruiters and their ilk despised it, actually. Asked Terry questions like why did you only stay for 4 months at Sainsbury's, and what are your foreseeable goals for the future? Sneering at their well-traveled CV, Terry could only get entry-level things because they didn't show enough of that charming Hooray Henry spirit for the white-collar positions, namely a branded suit and tie from Harrods. Terry couldn't give a damn. These interviews were a load of tosh.

So, after bouncing around for a few years, Terry finally stuck to a job. Err, instead, a job stuck to them. It was a security position at a privately owned manor in Rural Yorkshire. The amount of money they listed felt comically scammy, but Terry was racking up a bit of debt. While they weren't the biggest and meanest, they knew how to project their voice and appear threatening. Ish. They filled out a resume, spent a week faffing about, and surprisingly got through the phone interview all right. All the bloke on the phone wanted was someone who could keep mum about the work. Easy enough, Terry said.

Wonderfully, the job was! No shady dealing bosses, watering hole gossip, middle management power trips, and the greatest spooks Terry faced on the job were a couple of drunk teenage vandals. Being able to send Mum cash instead of asking for money for once felt good. So they stayed as a nightshift guard at the Eckhart House for a couple of years.

Little did Terry know their golden goose was hiding a rotten egg. Underneath the manor was a Foundation facility known as Site-91, and Terry found out the hard way when they agreed to trade shifts with another guard, who was a bit too happy to see his daughter's first-grade play recital. While running for their life, Terry realized this was why they avoided chumming it up with coworkers wherever they had worked. Work "friends" made their business your business, and Terry didn't want any business that involved xenobiological specimens and thaumaturgical artifacts. What kind of bonkers story was this? And why did it almost tear Terry's arm off when they waved their flashlight?

Following the traumatic encounter that left even Terry, the one who can't be arsed with even reporting someone hitting their motor, a bit rattled with a broken arm in a plastic cast, they received another call- the recruiter from years ago.

The first thing they asked was, Did you tell anyone?

And Terry said, No? ...Aw. Aw. Fuck, you're gonna kill me, aren't you, mate. Well, can you make it seem like none of my family was involved, at least? I can write a note to add a touch of realism...

Good for Terry; they weren't slated for an abrupt end to their mundane life. Bad for Terry, though, because their simple life was going to change. They were introduced to SCPs and what the Foundation truly was. Terry had thought "The Foundation" was just some kind of marketing ploy, a catchy name for the security business, of words that didn't matter but sounded like a right dream, like Vigilance, Safeguard, and Integrity.

As they had told the recruiter at the start of the job, Terry kept their head down and, at times, looked slightly off to the right. Just so to not accidentally witness some time travel portal swiping up lab coats left and right. Their job was to guard a single hallway, and fighting some space god was rightfully- thankfully- out of their pay grade. And they'd be fine keeping in line for the next so many years... But some people were nobodies, and some people were Terry.

The Ethics Committee called, lad. Pack your things and kiss Mum goodbye.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 I like all sorts, but I'd love to write a friendship that contrasts with Terry's no-nonsense demeanor, some work buds grabbing a drink at the end of the shift if we have shifts... someone that Terry drives crazy, vice versa. Honestly, anything.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒 poster child for unfazed everyman, unlucky everydude, fish out of water, dull surprise, action survivor, weirdness magnet, apathetic clerk, conditioned to accept horror, safety in indifference, terse talker, bystander syndrome, the slacker, closest thing we got, subverted red shirt, sarcasm mode

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 OJ Haywood (Nope), Shaun (Shaun of the Dead), Arthur Dent (The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), Squidward (Spongebob Squarepants), Garfield (Garfield), Charlie Brown (Peanuts), Isaac Clark (Dead Space), Sokka (Avatar the Last Airbender), Winston Zeddemore (Ghostbusters), Conway (Kentucky Route Zero)

𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒

#fhq.task #％

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most-normal-eccles-cake-ignorer · 5 months

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Darkness Lane by Joan Hassall [ x ] - the piece that most inspired my recent woodcut-style piece.

When I found out I was drawing for @gorgeousundertow's regency AU fic, Half Agony, Half Hope, as part of the @ineffableidiotsbigbang, I started looking up Jane Austen novel illustrations for inspiration and ended up finding some really cool art and websites! I'm posting about some of the images and resources I found because I think it may be interesting to others too (and even if it isn't, I'll have gotten the infodump out of my system haha).

Illustrations from Mansfield Park by Joan Hassall [ x ]

The link above points to a gallery on pemberley.com which has deliciously old-school DIY website HTML and a wealth of Jane Austen illustrations, as well as references for regency clothing. This was where I discovered Joan Hassall's work and decided I wanted to do a woodcut style piece (and then subsequently regretted it many times during the process of making it because I had no idea what I was doing). The detail, visual texture and dramatic lighting in her work is so cool and I just got more obsessed the more I saw.

See more Joan Hassall on tumblr via @uwmspeccoll (a very cool account!) here, here, and here.

The gallery on pemberley.com also had a bunch of Charles Edmund Brock illustrations, which I could not get enough of and so returned to the searchpage and found Molland's Circulating-Library. SO COOL! Jane Austen fans have bought illustrated editions of her novels and uploaded scans of them and oh my gosh they are all so beautiful.

Northanger Abbey watercolour illustrations by C.E. Brock [ x ]

Side note about Henry Tilney (Catherines' love interest in NA), I also came across this old fan page for him from a mostly-broken-links-now site called THE CULT OF DA MAN and um it's great haha, check it out. (reviews of artists representations of him, more delicious HTML, and pixel art (!) of da aforementioned man)

There's also an article on Molland's about Charles and Henry Brock and their Jane Austen works that I found interesting. Charles is better known and did far more JA illustrations, but I do really enjoy Henry's tinted line pieces! (the article also dunks on some bad reproductions of them haha)

Pride & Prejudice tinted line illustrations by H.M. Brock [ x ]

C.E. Brock also did really cool title pages and when I found out that fic banners were a thing I knew what I wanted to do! (with the help of the symmetry tool and undo haha, so much respect for traditional art)

Title pages illustrated by C.E. Brock [ x ] and my banner - the banner design uses elements of both of the Brock images.

So, research in hand/bookmarks folder and banner completed, I decided on a scene from Chapter 10 where our beloveds are standing beside the Thames in the moonlight after walking around London for hours together and talking (CUTE). I wasn't sure what buildings to include in the background, so @gorgeousundertow gave me a few suggestions: Old Southwark Bridge, London Bridge, Southwark Cathedral, and Clink Prison. I realized after a bit of sketching that bridges would be hard to show with the straight-on view I wanted to do, so I decided on the Cathedral, partially because I had also considered drawing a scene that takes place in Salisbury Cathedral in Ch. 7.

OK BUT HOW? I struggled finding reference images for a while until I realized this was LONDON and would be very Google Earth-able. Big ups to Frank Cosgrove, whoever they are, for uploading this haha. This was also where I found out that all the suggestions were from a very small area!

View of Borough High Street, London, 1830, by George Scharf [ x ]

The building in front of the cathedral looked too new, so I went searching for an older image and found the second image. It's a completely different angle but it was enough to get me past the 'oh no idk what do'.

the much brighter concept vs the much darker finished product, featuring a barely-visible Southwark Cathedral

While looking for images of the Thames pre-Google Earth, I also found this website called Dictionary Of Victorian London which has a whole bunch of old images and excerpts from newspapers, etc on a variety of topics. One of the categories, Sex > 'unnatural offences', had this excerpt from The Times (1863), which reads:

Thomas Lane, a coffeehouse keeper, No.9, Love-lane, Eastcheap, city, and James Mortimer, a seaman, were charged with unlawfully meeting each other to commit an unnatural offence. ... The Magistrate committed both prisoners for trial.

Ugh. I hate that so much. Some sexy stuff happens right after the moment I'd chosen, and reading that reminded me that such things would be much more comfortable and safe in darkness (or if ppl just stopped being homophobic, but barring that). I wanted them to feel alone, like the whole world was asleep and it was just them, outside of time.

With that in mind, the iconic Thames Walk Lamp had to go bye bye, and when rendering the background I tried to minimize any light - it's just the suggestion of buildings. I also added tree cover! I tried to imitate how Joan Hassall does trees in some of her artwork, but when she rendered trees like this they were usually farther away/smaller, so my version looks more stylized with how prominent they are.

The ribbon border and book quote presentation is of course more Brock, but by making it black and having the interior image use it as a border instead of a fade-out inside it, I made it a bit of a reference to the very cool foliage edges you see in the very first Hassall image at the top.

I used the procreate brushes from this post on the Procreate Folio forums if anyone wants to try them!

Also fun fact! The font for the quote is called Chanson D'Amour <3 (I initially downloaded it when making the banner before changing the banner font to one called Dark & Black)

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That's all I have to say about the process for the piece, but here's a comic from Dictionary Of Victorian London, Thames > Sanitary condition that I thought was cute (and gross ig? but also cute):

a Punch comic from 1850, I can't link the page due to how the website URL system works but it's from the Thames > Sanitary condition page

#lol anyway back to reading fanfiction from the bang!#joan hassall #charles edmund brock #henry matthew brock #art process #eccles makes #ineffable idiots big bang #jane austen #illustration

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