#Malcolm Stewart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

masterbaiting · 11 months

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“so now, i have to step into your shoes, but after you've shat in them?” “ollie, look at me. i'm not pulling anything out of a magic hat. the rabbits have fallen to pieces, their fucking heads are coming off and frightening the kids. so somebody else is going to have to help out.” “well, who says i even want to be you, malcolm?” “who says that? nobody says that. except every screaming atom of that etiolated stick of fuck you call a body says that. every fibre of your being, every stamen... says that. but you are not me, ollie. no. and you never will be me. i knew malcolm f tucker, sir. and you are not malcolm fucking tucker. you're not even fucking manchester's top malcolm tucker tribute band. and trying to be me, you? trying to be me will fucking kill you. i give you 18 months before you're a washed-out, weeping alcoholic with no fucking bladder control. sleeping on your brother-in-law's sofa.” “and so on and so on, it doesn't have to be like that now, malcolm, politics has actually changed.” “oh?” “right. yeah, yeah. and you probably haven't noticed because you've been on transmit for the last fucking eight years, waa-waa-waa-waa-waa! and whilst you've been doing that, everybody else has been changing, and it's all a bit softcore now, it's all a bit algorithms now. you don't have to be malcolm tucker to sit in that chair.” “oh, how quickly they grow up. you fucking think you know me?” “well, yeah. yeah, i know you.” “you know jackie fucking chan about me. you know fuck all about me! i am totally beyond the realms of your fucking tousle-haired, fucking dim-witted compre-fucking-hension. i don't just take this fucking job home, you know. i take this job home, it fucking ties me to the bed, and it fucking fucks me from arsehole to breakfast. then, it wakes me up in the morning with a cup full of piss slammed in my face, slaps me about the chops, to make sure i'm awake enough so it can kick me in the fucking bollocks. this job has taken me in every hole in my fucking body. malcolm is gone, you can't know malcolm, because malcolm is not here! malcolm fucking left the building fucking years ago! this is a fucking husk. i am a fucking host for this fucking job. do you want this job?” “yeah.” “yes, you do fucking want this job. then, you're going to have to fucking swallow this whole fucking life and let it grow inside you like a parasite. getting bigger and bigger and bigger until it fucking eats your insides alive and it stares out of your eyes and tells you what to do.”

#like. like #i was sitting there with my hands over my mouth. i watched that shit three times consecutively #shut up ulrike #the thick of it #olliemalcolm #sidenote the only time i saw his nickname in show (on stewart's whiteboard) it was spelt olly. i guess he might not have had the intel tho #olicolm #malcolm tucker #oliver reeder #ttoi #my ttoi posts #popular

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msclaritea · 2 months

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"Biopics of massively famous musicians are rarely very good, often because they stumble at the question of whom exactly they’re being made for. Are you making a movie for the already initiated die-hard fans yearning to see the life and times of their hero reflected back at them in exacting detail? Or is your movie a welcome mat for novices, a breezy jukebox of greatest hits aimed at cultivating new generations of fans, goosing streaming tallies and catalog sales in the process? Most musician biopics never manage to resolve this tension, in part because they’re usually also serving a third master, namely the musician’s estate, which tends to hold its own, very specific ideas about on-screen depiction.

Bob Marley: One Love, the new movie about the late reggae superstar that’s produced by Marley’s widow, Rita, along with some of his children, is a biopic that does seem to know whom it’s for, which isn’t a point in its favor. The film is directed by Reinaldo Marcus Green (King Richard) and stars Kingsley Ben-Adir as Marley, who does his best with the role despite not really looking or sounding much like the real Marley. (Within the past four years Ben-Adir has played Malcolm X, Barack Obama, and Bob Marley, quite the triptych of historical figures.) Lashana Lynch plays Rita and steals the film in every scene she’s in, even if the movie’s script fails to elevate her character past the archetypical suffering-yet-supportive wife of a genius.

Rather than taking a cradle-to-grave approach to Marley’s life, One Love instead focuses on a single period of Marley’s career, his self-imposed exile to England in the aftermath of the 1976 attempt on his life at his home in Kingston, during which time he recorded Exodus, the 1977 LP that marked his full breakthrough into global superstardom. The film opens with the assassination attempt, after which we’re quickly whisked to London, where the film depicts Marley writing most of Exodus’ songs in a cloying series of “eureka!” moments that tend to populate movies of this kind. Snippets of Marley’s classic “Redemption Song” surface as a recurring musical motif in the film, and in one of the last scenes, we see Marley performing the song for his awestruck family in a sappy flourish that’s also anachronistic. (By most accounts, Marley didn’t write “Redemption Song” until 1979.) Periodically we’re treated to a series of flashbacks of the singer’s earlier life, a clichéd device that this movie could have used more of: Brief forays into Marley’s conversion to Rastafarianism are surprisingly well done, and a scene of a teenage Marley and the Wailing Wailers performing “Simmer Down” at Coxsone Dodd’s Studio One is the best moment in the film.

One Love is an inspirational tale about a Great Man who used music to unite the world, one that reduces one of the most consequential and complicated artists of the 20th century to a walking fount of genial aphorisms, the guy who suggested we all get together and feel all right. As such, the film indulges a decadeslong public appetite for a particular imagining of Marley that his estate now seems depressingly eager to feed. It’s been 42 years since Marley died of a rare form of melanoma at age 36, and I’m not sure there’s a musician who’s more literally iconic: Go to any commercial district in any part of the world and within minutes you’ll find an opportunity to buy something bearing Marley’s likeness. In the United States, Marley has been a staple of dorm-room walls for generations: The casual and underinformed co-optation of Marley by American bro culture has even inspired a recurring meme in which Marley’s name is erroneously affixed to an image of Jimi Hendrix.

To a certain brand of musical cynic, Marley has become the embodiment of a musician whom people own posters and T-shirts of but don’t actually listen to, which isn’t totally fair to most of the owners of those posters and T-shirts. Some of Marley’s music is still enormously popular: His 1984 greatest hits compilation Legend is currently enjoying its 820th week on the Billboard 200, a position it will likely maintain for the foreseeable future given One Love’s early, strikingly robust box-office projections. The only album that’s spent longer on the chart is Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

But in the pop-cultural imagination, Legend has completely eclipsed everything else Marley ever released. The album has sold more than 15 million copies in the United States alone, while no other Marley LP has sold even 1 million stateside. From a purely mathematical standpoint, this would indicate that for many fans, Legend is the first and only Marley album they’ll ever listen to. I’m not sure there’s another greatest hits compilation that has played such an outsize role in the public definition of an artist.

Legend is a fine little collection, but the idea that it’s some sort of one-stop synopsis of Marley’s career is absurd. For starters, 10 of its 14 tracks date from the period of 1977–80, a four-year time frame that represents the height of Marley’s global popularity but is a relatively minuscule cross section of a staggeringly prolific, nearly two-decade-long recording career. (Five of Exodus’ 10 tracks are included on Legend, which I suspect is one reason that One Love is so invested in the album’s significance.)

This period also coincides with a time when Marley’s music seemed to take a step back from revolutionary politics, a tack that may have been driven at least in part by the aforementioned assassination attempt. The Marley canonized on Legend is not the Marley who sang “I feel like bombin’ a church/ Now that you know that the preacher is lyin’ ” or who called for “burnin’ and a-lootin’ tonight … burnin’ all illusion tonight” or declared that “Rasta don’t work for no CIA.” The dominance of Legend in the U.S. is particularly striking when one considers that Marley’s highest-selling album in this country during his lifetime was 1976’s Rastaman Vibration, which peaked at No. 8 on the Billboard 200 and includes such overtly political tracks as “Crazy Baldhead,” “Rat Race,” and “War.” Legend doesn’t include a single track from Rastaman Vibration, instead opting for romantic fare like “Is This Love” and “Waiting in Vain” and feel-good anthems like “One Love/People Get Ready” and “Jamming.” (For an excellent deep dive into the history and legacy of Legend, I recommend this article from the Ringer earlier this week.)

One Day’s Director Has No Regrets About the Movie’s Controversial Ending

Legend’s preeminence has helped turn Marley into the musical equivalent of a tourist destination, at which One Love is just one more cozy attraction. This is worse than a shame, because the real Bob Marley was one of the most remarkable musical talents of the 20th century. As a songwriter, he was so prolific that music seemed to pour out of him, a quality that has sometimes led to a naturalization of his gifts that veers into exoticizing primitivism. (One Love certainly partakes in this.) But rather than being some carefree savant, Marley was a fiercely disciplined and ambitious artist from the very beginning. He wrote and recorded his first single, “Judge Not,” in 1962 at the age of 16, and it remains an astonishing debut, an effortlessly catchy melody sung by a voice that sounds both nervous and supremely confident in a way that only a teenager can manage.

By the time he signed to Island Records in 1972 and began his ascent to international superstardom, Marley had already written a lifetime’s worth of great songs. He had a preternatural ear for hooks and crafted songs that were ready-made hit records, three-minute gems of perfectly crystalized musical ideas. As a singer, his indelible tenor rasp and thrillingly improvisational style were the byproducts of an extraordinarily well-honed sense of intonation and time. And during the 1970s, he fronted what might have been the best band on the face of the earth, grounded in the peerless rhythm section of drummer Carlton Barrett and bassist Aston “Family Man” Barrett, the latter of whom died earlier this month at age 77. (Aston’s son and namesake, an accomplished musician in his own right, plays his father in the film.)

One Love doesn’t know how to begin exploring this artist and his art in any way that even begins to be interesting. Instead it just feeds back the same sanitized and saccharine idea of Bob Marley to the same audience who has been eating that up for generations. It’s a movie about a poster. Over the end credits of One Love, archival performance clips of Marley flash onto the screen, and for a few moments we’re treated to sounds and images that are infinitely more magnetic and thrillingly alive than anything we’ve seen over the preceding 100-ish minutes. That Bob Marley, and the extraordinary body of music he left behind, is still out there for those who go listening for it, but this movie isn’t where you’ll find him."

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mariocki · 7 days

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Pathfinders in Space (ABC, 1960)

"Now, the remainder of us have fifteen hours of oxygen left. That leaves fifteen hours in which to complete our research here."

"Well, what's the good of all that if you can't come back with it?"

"The moon never destroys her treasures, Henderson. We shall leave a record and it'll be preserved in the vacuum of the caves. And the future expeditions you mentioned, they will find it."

#pathfinders in space #1960 #children's television #classic tv #abc #malcolm hulke #eric paice #guy verney #peter williams #gerald flood #harold goldblatt #richard dean #gillian ferguson #stewart guidotti #pamela barney #irene sutcliffe #hugh evans #astor sklair #michael guest #the first sequel to the seminal (and sadly entirely lost) serial Target Luna; for reasons best known to the production team‚ despite being #a direct sequel with the same characters‚ every major role was recast for Pathfinders (and so sadly we don't get to see a young Michael #Craze). often described as a precursor to DW‚ and honestly that's hard to deny: this might be the first uk kids sci fi serial to really #nail that family friendly vibe‚ with enough interest for both children and adult viewers alike. it's a rare gift that it exists complete #and finally getting to it i found it a genuinely compelling series. it can be a little cheesy and a little silly in places (adorably‚ our #astronauts take a full tea service to the moon and regularly stop for tea) but i actually ended up learning some stuff about the moon from #this 64 yr old series. Gerald Flood's everyman journalist is a nicely constructed audience avatar but it's missing cheese expert Peter #Williams who gives the orders (and regularly imperils his own children). a lot of fun! well worth seeking out for old tv fans #also needless to say the various miniatures and fx work is frankly adorable.#and shoutout to Prof Mary Meadows‚ it's nice to have a kickass lady scientist in a show this old (and who remains cooler and more capable #than her male counterparts on more than one occasion).

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erstwhile-punk-guerito · 11 months

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#star trek generations #patrick stewart #jonathan frakes #brent spiner #levar burton #michael dorn #gates mcfadden #marina sirtis #malcolm mcdowell #james doohan #walter koenig #william shatner #david carson #1994

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saraw4ters · 2 months

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#AMA Supercross #RJ Hampshire #Serie 250SX West #Glendale #Husqvarna #Motorcycles #FC 250 #Rockstar Edition #Rockstar Energy #Malcolm Stewart #Christian Craig #450SX

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anteroom-of-death · 3 months

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Mistaken Identity

Synopsis: Malcolm is back in government. It's time for a budget. UNIT disapproves of their funding being cut. Whatever will happen?

a/n: two fics??? In the same year??? wow, prolific!!! And yes, this is leading to another fic, hopefully. In my mind several. I am pushing an agenda here, you'll see. Don't read if you dislike heavy language. It's a UNIT x The Thick of It crossover baby.

The meeting room echoed discordant with the sound of a water bottle being opened up. Conversation was at a near stand-still. The last time some one said something it was it was a string of epithets and a metaphor that fell apart rather quickly.

The Scot bore an aggrieved look into the head of UNIT. (another fine example of alphabet soup that needed pruned of government…) A heritage position, he noted. He remembered the last head. This was his daughter. A fussy little thing trying to be formidable. A hollow echo in regards to her father. At least he could give what was dished to him back. Or at least fucking take it with a grain of humor and salt.

Budgets were extra hard these days since some limp-dicked moron convinced the people that they needed to leave the EU.

Who knew putting the kibosh on the unrestricted travel and cheap trade of people, goods and services would backfire so spectacularly!

Malcolm was brought back in a snap election after the last man, who lasted slightly longer than a head of lettuce or that socially pure-secretly deviant blonde bitch. An old spin-doctor for a new Britain. Hopefully a better one. There were talks about whimpering to Brussels for a reunion ,or at least a better flow of things.

The pruning had begun.

And these absolute weapons were exceedingly aggressive. To show up, out of order. No forms for a proper meeting filed. Just showing up, guns nearly blazing, demanding a meeting with the cabinet.

Apparently he resembled some probably sterile expert they had on dial. At least seeing this cunt writhe at the differences between him and some bloke nicknamed “The Doctor” gave him a bit of fun. Or rather similarities.

Or lack thereof…

“I don’t mean that we don’t…care about the NHS or the fact that 62% of the country relies on food banks…it’s just a more pressing issue. We are attacked more than you’ll ever know by forces you can’t…we can’t even fathom.” She tried explaining diplomatically. Her little mate with an oversized rainbow scarf and horn-rimmed glasses swallowed, her chin dissolving into the mass of knitting.

“Oh, you don’t not care.” He snarled back pointing at her and switching his view point to the Prime Minister. “Oh that’s bloody so kind of her! Marie cunting Antoinette over here doesn’t not care. Alert the Sun and the Mirror! Let’s all eat cake made from fucking wishes and dreams! Tell the damn Guardian, print ‘Your children will die of hunger or scabies! But you’ll fucking be protected from forces you can’t fucking fathom!’”

“There’s really no need for that language.” Someone echoed with many in agreement.

“There’s no damn need for a fucking tax package the entire GDP of the Czech Republic.” Malcolm roared.

“Yes, we have to deal with-“ the current Prime Minister checked notes in an envelope, “Crumbling cement in schools and the maintenance of, “ He checked the notes again, “Lunar defense systems?” He grimaced. Unable to fathom why he went into politics at this point. The old guard, in the form of the Screaming Scot and the Head of some kind of Alien fighting organization both looking at him as if they knew exactly the time and place his body would be found if he didn’t appease either one. He really didn’t know what he was thinking when he was just a wee back-bencher almost several decades prior…

“Both seem vital in the process of protecting both King and country!” He tried a smattering of diplomacy.

Malcolm looked like he was going to launch himself at the PM. He automatically went to protect his teeth with his lips.

What came out of Malcolm’s mouth was almost a call for regicide threats and, for him, a thinly veiled death by spittle.

The meeting didn’t go as planned and neither side was happy.

UNIT declared, “We’ll be back when you lot see sense!”

And Malcolm trudged off to have a cup of coffee and wish he still smoked like he did in the 90s…

What kind of power did they get off having? He bemused as he remembered the first time this organization became relevant. (Despite bring in existence since the 60s.) It was after Jones and before that one that went mad after a week in power and killed the US president before getting shot by his own wife moments later. Malcolm thought that it was probably well-deserved. She looked like she was on the end of a battering or three at his hand.

Then things became less crazy. Then crazy again.

UNIT sopped up money and demanded more like a good piece of bread on a plate after a saucy meal.

This was the new Labour. Filled with Millennial and Gen z hopefuls that still had an ounce of morals and a smattering of hope for the future. All very tech dependent. He’d have a coronary coming out the shitter and seeing some puddle of them filming the next big viral dance video or hitting their vapes indoors.

Jokes on them, however. Their nicotine abuse would have them looking older than him within the decade.

A few days passed.

Malcolm went outside for a walk instead of launching basically his new Ollie Reeder out a window. These days, such activities would actually involve jail time. They’d go crying to the cops, the press and to mummy and there’d be actual repercussions for his actions…

His face crumpled into his hands as he leaned onto a bench.

Suddenly, like a bat out of fucking Hell, an armed battalion descended. Out of the mists and shouting, Kate Stewart emerged.

“Doctor, Zygons have returned! They’re in the sewers!” She shouted, helping a solider load him into a Range Rover.

He hadn’t the time to speak up or protest, the extreme speed and painful maneuvering they did in the process had winded him completely. He wasn’t a young man anymore. Such vast swathes of action upon his body weren’t so easy to recover from.

An iPad got shoved into his hand with screen glimmering. It was the entire sewage map for the south of England, some remarks showing something he had no fucking clue of.

“You’ve got the wrong fucking person, Twatty Katie.” Malcolm exclaimed, once he finally caught his breath.

Kate, slightly smugly sympathized: “Oh, do you have amnesia? This happened all the time in that one body of yours. Don’t worry.” She leaned over him and clicked a file. Basically a welcome back to being package. With this so-called Doctor’s faces glaring up at him and he whirled back to the so-called 12th face of his. The resemblance was frightening. Minus the poufy hair, which Malcolm wondered if he was a pouf, and the ageing rock star aesthetics, it was a perfect match.

Even down to the stress veins popped out.

He turned the iPad to her and put this man’s face next to his. “This ain’t fucking me, love. I’m not this fucking dude.” He thought maybe calling her love would get him one point. A little sweetness to dull the vinegar…

“Don’t play this game again! Time is of the essence! Call Clara! We can’t reach her!”

“Who the fuck is Clara?” He screamed, trying to slam his body into a door that would not unlock.

The Range Rover sped dangerously through the center of a roundabout. The entourage of Military vehicles followed in pursuit.

Malcolm slammed his palm into his forehead. The budget wasn’t stretched thin enough already!

The “love” didn’t work…

So he went back to his normal tactics of getting what he needed.

“Hey! Over-fucking-paid terrorists! You’re going to let me out before I take this ones fucking scarf and strangle you all so fuckin hard that you both see shitting stars before you go.” He pointed at Kate Stewart, jamming his finger into the space between them.

The words coursed out from Malcolm’s mouth the purest venom from a snake backed into a small space. Harassed, in a bad mood, plucked from his environment with no power except spray venomous spittle from his bared teeth and strike physically. Although the difference between a snake in a small space is that the humans that at least the snake had the power to permanently disfigure or kill it’s captors. Malcolm had no such luck. These people could wipe out his entire bloodline with a well-aimed barrage if he tried much of nothing…

After wearing himself our with his words, Malcolm resigned to fume silently.

Eventually the motorcade went into some underground bunker. He begrudgingly allowed himself to be dragged out and into it.

The taxpayer would flip their fucking lids if they got wind of that. He was gagged by the impressive size that seemed to defy all logics of physics and Euclidean mathematics. It was bigger on the inside!

He was led into a meeting room, cold water as well as cappuccino heaped with enough sugar to overwhelm an entire preschool’s population was waiting for him.

A team of scientists and soldiers seemed expectant. Like he was to give orders. Usually he loved giving orders. But this was the rare case he didn’t.

What little he gleaned from the iPad was that he resembled the most recent face of some shape-shifting Alien. Said alien had been working with them since the 70s. What was the immigration procedures for extraterrestrials, he felt himself wondering.

Of course the Tories previously to his regime would fucking allow a alien to live in the country and get such reverence. But not the untold number of decent fuckers fleeing absolute shit shows. He had a right mind to ring every prime minister and drive them to an assisted suicide.

“I’m Malcolm, not this fucking poof!” He grabbed at the iPad from Kate and tried to point at it. As if that would drive his point in a tad bit.

“Has he placed himself in a chameleon arch? Martha Jones mentioned these…” one scientist speculated.

“Jesus Christ…” Malcolm muttered rubbing his eyes and scratched his bridge of his nose. This was the point of no return for his already fragile sanity. He groaned.

He yet again resigned himself to one more, this time under his breath, string of expletives.

“What can I do to get me to leave this fucking doomsday bunker quickly?” He asked frankly.

“We have to train our eyes at these ships.” The screen flashed on, showing some massive blobs just past orbit of the Earth.

“They resemble our latest intel on Zygon space craft. Lower profile. They may be coming back on second thought from our last encounter…”

Malcolm groaned deeper.

“…and we may have to escalate and start an interplanetary war this time. Especially if the one leader still can shape shift into your associate, Clara and several of our employ. They could triangulate much of our defense systems using what’s blank in their retrieval of memory.” Some twee bitch in a cardigan and hipster glasses lectured.

“Yeah, just don’t do that.” He responded.

A flash of this associate, Clara, came onto the screen. He remarked that she was a hot piece of ass. He could see why this Doctor kept around. Smart and attractive. All big brown eyes and soft-looking skin…

They probably weren’t able to be reached for this fucking clusterfuck because he was shaft deep in her in some exotic, possibly off-Earth location. So he had to do. Fucking lovely.

Interplanetary war sounded expensive and deadly. Especially with shape shifters. Were all aliens shape-shifting? Were humans the only honest species that stuck to their same face that they were born with? (Minus plastic surgery.) (But even then…)

“Just fucking monitor them. Don’t pull the trigger until you see the whites of their eyes.” He waved his hands and dismissed.

“And what if they’ve already started invasion?”

“Put the fucking kettle on and entertain them until they get annoyed and fuck off on their own. I have faith in your abilities there!” He swathed, pointing absolute daggers at Kate.

Kate did some sort of hand signal.

“And do you think monitoring them is important? Important enough for finding loopholes for funding?” Ah, it was a trap.

“Well fucking played, Stewart!” He tossed the now-cold coffee at her and slammed down the cup, shattering it. He skittered the chair he was sat on backwards. It hit the wall with a huge crash-bang.

“We had no other choice, but to show you how important our work was!” She tried to reason.

“You cunt faced cow! Take me back now or I’ll make sure UNIT never fucking sees a pound of funding no matter what happens. I’ll sure as shit make legislation that fucking forbids you from so much as getting a penny!” He roared.

“So we have a deal?”

“For fuck’s sake!”

“We’ll release you if you give us funding…”

“Fucking fine, fuck, I’ll tell them to not cut the damn funding! We’ll gouge the normal armed forces. But if the rate of homelessness rises even a quarter of percent, I’ll order a goddamn drone strike on your fucking family’s estate. You hear that? Loud and fucking succinctly clear? You cockswabber?” He slammed his hands down in resignation.

Sometimes politics is about difficult choices and compromise, even if it means harming your constituents.

It went against Malcolm’s ethos, but at least he’d be free from this hell!

“We have your word, Tucker?” Kate edged closer, cautiously.

“Fucking, fine, yes, you do.” He slumped onto the ground, kicking a piece of shattered porcelain cup. The words came slow and sputtering.

“Good.”

Here’s led, crestfallen and slaw-jawed back to the motorcade and escorted back to 10 Downing. He went to the loo and looked at his reflection before splashing cold water in his face. He felt like he looked fifteen times older and ten times more grey than he did this morning. He pinched the edge of his nose and worked on his breathing.

He steeled himself before bursting into the Prime Minister’s office.

“So that damn budget proposal…” He drawled, a bit of the cup still lodged between his nail, dragging in the pain of that which was announcing, “…I have a cheeky fucking rework…”

#personal #i wrote this #Malcolm tucker #kate stewart #unit fic #doctor who #the thick of it #some allusion to whouffaldi #mistaken identity #political commentary #send help #peter capaldi #jemma redgrave #this fic is negative about unit #acab includes unit #Malcolm the hero of the normal person

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singeratlarge · 1 year

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SUNDAY MATINEE MUSIC VIDEO + HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM COOKE, the King of Soul and one of America’s most influential singer-songwriters, creative pioneers, and game-changers, with hit songs like “Chain Gang,” “Cupid,” “Saturday Night,” “Twisting the Night Away,” “Wonderful World,” “You Send Me,” and so many more. His distinctive vocal style influenced singers such as Bryan Ferry, Steve Perry, and Rod Stewart. Born in 1931, Sam also had a significant role in the Civil Rights Movement. He used his popularity to appeal to whites and blacks, joining a platform with his friends Muhammed Ali, Jim Brown, and Malcolm X to campaign for racial equality.

“Sam Said” is my tribute song: My lyrics describe the arc of his life and career, from his early days in gospel music, to his popular standards, then to his achievements as an entrepreneur and artist’s role model. This is a no-frills acoustic recording, but I aim to re-record it in a reggae style, as reggae was a field Cooke was heading towards before he died in 1964 (Sidebar: Cooke advised a struggling young r’n’b singer from Texas to “go reggae." His name was Johnny Nash, and the style-switch worked out grandly for Nash, another of my favorite singer-songwriters). Meanwhile, HB Sam—thank you for blazing a trail with such a lovely voice.

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#samcooke #soulmusic #chaingang #cupid #steveperry #rodstewart #civilrightsmovement #muhammedali #jimbrown #malcolmx

#Sam Cooke #Soul Music #Chain Gang #Cupid #Steve Perry #Rod Stewart #Civil Rights Movement #Muhammed Ali #Jim Brown #Malcolm X #Soul Stirrers #Johnny J Blair #Singer at Large #singer songwriter #San Francisco #Youtube

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90smovies · 1 year

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#Star Trek #William Shatner #Christopher Lloyd #Patrick Stewart #Malcolm McDowell #Ricardo Montalban #Alice Krige #Gene Roddenberry #90s

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nehswritesstuffs · 6 months

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The Thick of UNIT - RECAP - Part 4 of 6

So, you know how tumblr's dashboard has been made jankier and jankier with each passing update? I'm taking it into my own hands to make some masterposts of some of my long-form fics because even though they have a side-page on my blog, I don't know how long that will hold out, and this is easier to share anyhow.

The Thick of UNIT - 225k words - a crackship crossover Doctor Who/The Thick of It AU centralized on the Malcolm Tucker/Kate Stewart ship

Broken into six parts because tumblr is such a webbed site.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - [Part 4] - Part 5 - Part 6

Part XLVI [FFN]/[AO3]

Balancing a budget is one thing, but throwing the Mainframe into potential chaos is another, and Malcolm decides he’s going to invoke some of the Old Guard to compensate.

Part XLVII [FFN]/[AO3]

A lot of things have happened since last Christmas. With the new addition to the family crawling around, Florence finally making it for a holiday, and disruptions caused by Man and Nature, the Tucker-Stewarts just want this day to end.

Part XLVIII [FFN]/[AO3]

Someone on Malcolm’s staff comes back from Christmas a whiny wreck. Three guesses as to whom.

Part XLIX [FFN]/[AO3]

Kate has to take care of family business, while Malcolm takes care of things at home.

Part L [FFN]/[AO3]

They did it. They actually called it. Now it’s up to certain people to keep a vast majority of Mainframe UK from freaking out before anything actually throws down.

More under the cut!

Part LI [FFN]/[AO3]

Malcolm goes up to Scotland for a quick peek, whilst Jamie is grumpy.

Part LII [FFN]/[AO3]

The plan was Messy Spaghetti Night. What ended up happening was just a bit messy instead… not that messes have to be a bad thing.

Part LIII [FFN]/[AO3]

A visitor being enigmatic and a ship with the wrong pilot? How off could things really go?

Part LIV [FFN]/[AO3]

An unexpected visitor drops in for Conall’s birthday.

Part LV [FFN]/[AO3]

Another referendum, another vote, but this time the Mainframe’s a bit more on-edge.

Part LVI [FFN]/[AO3]

The polling places haven’t been closed for more than twelve hours and Kate has already gotten a summons…

Part LVII [FFN]/[AO3]

Kate attempts to plot away from the eyes and ears of the Mainframe, yet miscalculates when it comes to one of her guests’ dedication to the topic.

That's it for the main of the story for now! On to the varying fills and side stories!

Do you like AUs? Of course you do! How about AUs of your AUs? Gotta love AUs.

The Life That Never Was - Malcolm’s Dream Crab-induced alternate history he lived through chapters 16-18 Part One [AO3] (detailing the years 2001-2003) Part Two [AO3] (2004-2006)

CONTINUED IN PART 5!

#The Thick of UNIT #bollockingUNIT #satstewart #Malcolm x Kate #Malcolm Tucker #Kate Stewart #Doctor Who #The Thick of It #fan fiction #repostober #I already have a lot in my queue so I think I might finish this recap series in November #we'll see

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