#exeter bands

[sunburnacoustic]

Sometimes I just sit there in shock and gratefulness that we live in the era of HD gig footage

[pic: Matt at the Exeter Cavern Club gig, April 2022]

#aaaa what a time to be alive; despite everything else #muse band #muse #matt bellamy #muse live #Exeter Cavern Club #2022 #WOTP era #wotp club tour

[thebandcalledsparklefarts]

Deadsy June 29, 2004

#deadsy band #Elijah Blue Allman #P. Exeter Blue #Alec Puro #Carlton Bost #Ashburn Miller #Renn Hawkey

[dancy-nrew]

Happy Secret Samol @humanmorph !!! Yo ho ho a pirates life for you!

Id in alt text and also below the cut for legibility

Image one: An Alise Breka book cover. The illustration (meant to resemble an oil painting) features Leap and Figure A back to back, Figure A closer to the camera and Leap behind them. Leap is in a tie dye hoodie, Figure A has a dramatic collar welded to their round torso. Each are holding a sword and fending off attacks on all sides. Laser beams zip across the screen. The title of the book is “High Seas and Distant Stars” and is written on a yellow band across the top of the page. There is a simplified drawing of palisade as a logo for Palisade Publishing. There is a barcode across the bottom left.

Image two and three: Mockup of the inside of the book. Text reads:

The pirate captain, devastatingly handsome — or devastating and handsome, if you put the question to the unlucky sailors across many planet’s seas — lounged about the deck of the ship. A foul wind had blown through the port in the night, and showed no signs of letting up anytime soon. Disadvantageous, and perhaps more terribly, incredibly dull. Exeter Leap had faced down gods and kings and only laughed in their faces; to be trapped here by a measly turn in the weather made his plating itch.

They’d been here a week already, despite no small effort to leave. Unloading, his first mate insisted, takes time if they want it done properly. Leap had insisted he’d never done anything properly in his life and didn’t plan on starting now, but Figure A had tilted their head in that way they had and explained that properly meant more money, which, he supposed, was hard to argue with. Especially considering their other delay. The Bluebird had taken substantial cannon fire in their last battle, and was desperately in need of repairs, as well as the more tedious maintenance work that went into keeping a ship of its size and purpose in fit fighting shape.

So the minutes ticked into hours ticked into days, and here they are, still.

“I’m not a man meant to stay still,” he complains, staring out over the roiling waves.

”Still: up to and including the present or the time mentioned, or still: not moving or making a sound?”

Leap jumps, but only slightly. A pirate can never be too surprised, but he hadn’t realized he had company, lost in thoughts as turbulent as the sea. The familiar red and gold form of his friend leaning next to him is a welcome sight. “Oh- Uh. Both. Either. Not still here, or still physically.”

Figure A nods in easy understanding. They’re better at patience, at being in one place, but Leap thinks they have something restless about them, too. They lean forward as if they have something more to say but then-! A shout! The familiar blistering heat of a laser beam sipping past inches from his face! A scorch mark across metal! Leaps springs into action as

FREE READING PREVIEW LIMIT REACHED

FULL BOOK DOWNLOAD: 45 GLINT

INSTALLMENT PAYMENTS AVAILABLE !

WHOLE BOOK IN 4 ACTS, EASY PAYMENTS OF 15 GLINT EACH!

EXTRAS AND BEHIND THE SCENES CONTENT (AN INTERVIEW WITH THE CAPTAIN HIMSELF!) 25 GLINT!

Image four: A series of sketches of Leap and Figure A.

First sketch; Leap has his arms crossed saying “Thats not how any of that happened!” as he looks over Figure A’s shoulder as they read the book. They laugh and say “I think it’s fun!

Second sketch; Figure A points at the cover and says “Look at my cool collar” as Leap leans forward to look at it and says “it is pretty sick…”

Third sketch: Leap welding a big metal pirate coat-like collar onto Figure A’s torso as they giggle

Fourth Sketch; Leap grins and asks “How’s that?” Figure A says “Thank yo-“ but bonks their face into the collar as they turn their head

Fifth sketch; very small at the bottom of the page. Leap has a hand over his mouth. Figure A’s head slumps forward as they sigh.

#fatt #my stuff #friends at the table #id in alt text #Exeter Leap #Figure A #secret samol 2023 #secret samol

[thefrontofmymind]

hey! if you take requests can I please request a part two to the Matty Healy x photographer!reader where readers still photographing for tour but she’s always singing along/dancing with Matty/ interacting with the audience while she’s photographing the tour??

photographer!reader x matty healy instagram blurb

(FC: Maude Apatow)

a/n: hope you enjoy!!! happy to make more, just couldn't wait after the EVENT of o2 night 1,,,,kisses!!

yninstagram happy crimbo from me and Big Man! hope everyone has stuffed their faces full and are feeling the holiday spirit! Xxx

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ynfan1 merry christmas big man!!!

rass1975 merry xmas!

>yninstagram merry xmas mate!

ynfan2 ok but yn is so pretty its not even fair !

denise_welch happy christmas darling!

>yninstagram and you too !! xxx

trumanblack miss u

>yninstagram its been 2 days

>trumanblack 2 days too long

>1975fan1 awwww matty !!!!

yninstagram // NYE // 2022-23 //

📸: you know who ;)

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trumanblack not even a tag? rude

>yninstagram fine, 📸: trumanblack

yn1975fan1 aww yn and matty are together for new years!!!

>yn1975fan2 well duh

charli_xcx happy new year babes!!

>yninstagram you too baby!! <3

-----

yninstagram via stories:

description: yn in the passenger seat of a car dancing to ‘Oh Caroline’, in the background you can hear Matty (driving) singing along

-----

trumanblack I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow.

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1975fan1 matty being in love has cleared my skin, grown my crops, cleaned my room

1975fan2 SHUT UP THEY’RE SO CUTEEEE

yninstagram Xxx

1975fan3 ugh so jealous 🙄

yninstagram THE 1975 // AT THEIR VERY BEST // BRIGHTON // 08.01.23

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1975fan1 miss yn feeding us again!!!

1975adam and where was i during this little photoshoot?

>trumanblack hanging out with ur kid dickhead

>1975adam fair

1975fan2 LOOK AT ROSSAKJFDZDLJVCHNKJNJX

1975fan3 i was there!! I met you before the show and you paid for my drink!!!

>yninstagram i remember!! hope you had a great time sweetie!!

1975updates some fans with yn, tonight in Brighton!

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1975fan1 i met her and she was so nice!! she danced with me and my friends when she wasn’t taking pictures for a little!!!

1975fan2 she seems so sweet! tbh i wanna meet her more than the actual band

1975fan3 it was so cute when matty blew her a kiss during I’m in love with you!!!

>1975updates find a clip of it on my page!!

1975fan1 yn came to see us all camping out in Bournemouth!! She brought bottles of water & sandwiches for us and made sure we all had enough blankets and coats to keep warm!! 

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1975fan2 i love that she’s so nice to all the 1975 fans, i simply must stan

1975fan3 iconique™ behaviour

yninstagram THE 1975 // AT THEIR VERY BEST // BOURNEMOUTH // 09.01.23

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trumanblack fit

1975fan1 does anyone think its weird than yn basically posts only photos of matty?

>1975fan2 like where is the rest of the band????

>yninstagram hi!! i post the photos that get approved by the band’s management!! they all can decide to post what they want as well!! <3

>1975ynfan1 queen yn staying unbothered i love her

1975fan3 this tour will be the death of me

1975updates yn met some more fans today outside Westpoint Arena in Exeter!

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1975fan1 i love that this acc has basically become a yn update account now

>1975fan2 bc she’s a queen 💗💗💗

1975fan3 I met her and she was so lovely!! She chatted to us all for like half an hour before she had to go set up her equipment :))

yninstagram THE 1975 // AT THEIR VERY BEST // EXETER // 10.01.23 (plus some backstage fun & me losing my mind during Be My Mistake)

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ynfan1 yn is literally the cutest girlfriend ever i WISH i was matty

1975fan1 everyone, let’s thank miss yn yet again for FEEDING US as often as she does

>yninstagram no need to thank me darling, it’s literally in my contract 😋

rass1975 ah yn, our biggest fan

>yninstagram you know it.

trumanblack now why’d you have to pick that photo

>yninstagram bc ily

>trumanblack BUT I LOOK LIKE A DICKHEAD

1975fan1 not yn meeting all us camping out at the o2…

TAGGED: yninstagram 

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1975fan2 SHUTUP SHE WAS THERE??? Icon.

1975fan3 she’s so nice!!! 

yninstagram it was lovely to meet you all!! try to stay warm! <3

yninstagram THE 1975 // AT THEIR VERY BEST // THE O2 // 12.01.23 (featuring Taylor Swift, and circa 2013 yn)

TAGGED: taylorswift

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1975fan1 i DIEDDDD

ynfan1 mothers are mothering so hard rn

1975fan2 literally couldn’t breathe when taylor came out

1975fan3 SO ANGRY I WASNT THERE

trumanblack baby yn 😊😊

>yninstagram don’t make me go through the trenches to find your old pics,,,,

>trumanblack on second thought I love you so much you’re gorgeous please don’t

>yninstagram <3

#matty healy imagine #matty healy x reader #matty healy blurb #matty healy fluff #matty healy request

[hellkitepriest]

ee @ exeter phoenix: not a review but a too-long tale

look, i really liked reading @blueberry-beanie’s write-up of her ee show so i thought i might throw myself at the task as well. here’s the probably-quite-boring-to-read tale of my trip to exeter with the inimitable @airbrushfather.

after getting there the night before (after i accidentally forgot to get off the coach and went to a random seaside town instead, which i then had to rectify by getting the train back up to exeter — never let it be said that i should be allowed outside) i woke up at 7am for no reason and decided to climb a hill in a park in the hopes it would tire me out again. it did not.

went back to the lovely little bnb we were at (when checking in the day before, i told the woman there i was there to see a band and she went “it’s not everything everything, is it” and It Struck Fear Into My Heart How Did She Know. she knew, of course, because danny had also mentioned them while checking in), got ready to go out. walking up the main road in exeter what did we see but the EE bus parked Right In The Middle Of The Road. the venue had a car park, lads. actually now i say that i’m not sure the bus could’ve gotten up the wiggly little hill to the car park.

anyway we were naturally frazzled by this so my next logical step was to go to the nearest bookshop and buy a rubik’s cube to soothe the soul. i am sure this action will not have any consequences whatsoever. went into build a bear so danny could buy a jumper for Jeremy The Frog. sat on a bench and fed a seagull bits of my cereal bar. these are the most normal actions we will undertake all day. i got the seagull to peck at the rubik’s cube.

i then drag danny to the park i was in earlier, which is lovely and separated from the venue by only a quaint stone wall. we are very near exeter castle, and i point out that this is a great place for a castle, actually, because the hill gives you a great vantage point for spotting your enemies. we sit in the park and i toss my rubik’s cube into the air and ponder whether or not rylan has a man bun. we do a very high pitched geordie accent for a bit. a man dressed for hunting and wielding a television aerial comes up the hill and we are briefly convinced he has a crossbow. a man who looks so much like jeremy comes up the hill and i am only convinced he isn’t jeremy because he has a tiny little dog with him.

i go to put some of my rubbish in a bin further up the hill. when i come back danny is looking at me like they have seen a ghost. they point, and surely enough, the real jeremy pritchard is having a casual little walk around the park we are sitting in. he is wearing sunglasses. as danny says and as i have not stopped thinking about: he walks like a girl sim. he looks happy to be in the park but we cannot work out what he is doing there. it is apparently impossible in my mind that a man can walk around a park with no goal but enjoying the beauty of nature. somehow i panic and start getting really into explaining to danny what a milkman is. i don’t know how they don’t know what a milkman is.

jeremy disappears. we feed more seagulls. i make a mashup of my number and tik tok by kesha. it is late afternoon by now, and i have learned that the cafe in the venue does cheese toasties, so we go there and learn they stopped serving toasties an hour ago. i eat some chips on the gay terrace. we can hear them soundchecking arch enemy. i say, apropos of nothing but the adrenaline in my veins, i feel like spiderman. i still am not sure what this means.

we find another hill to sit on, directly behind the venue this time, and we listen to them soundcheck. i roll down a hill in pure joy. what could be better and stranger than this? we stay here until it’s time to go in, and we both find four leaf clovers in the grass.

after waiting around in the venue briefly and danny spotting The Lads walking through a corridor we are in. we have claimed the spot i have planned for weeks: right in between jon and alex. a semi-accidental direct view of pete. it’s nice to see him, really. the openers, KLEN, look like they have all come dressed for different cults and something has gone terribly wrong. they are from cornwall. CORNWALLL!!!, danny and i yell. this is their name now. about halfway through pete comes out from backstage to watch them briefly. he has a man bun (like rylan doesn’t) and a naturally sad face. he is chewing gum.

he disappears. danny and i collapse on each other, laughing. at what? good question.

we watch pete set up his keyboards (i have read on facebook that he does it himself because he doesn’t want anyone else to fuck it up, and it’s not because nobody else will help him. this soothes me) and probably say some real Shit to each other. i cannot remember.

finally the bit you have all been waiting for:

everything everything take to the stage. they open with schoolin’ and my glasses fly off backwards into the crowd because i’m so into it. a kind woman rescues them for me. i sing very loud about the train and the wall and the druids.

you’ll all be pleased to know that jon was on Peak Smugboy Form — “we’ve put a load of Man Alive in the set, i hope that’s alright” yes of course it is shut up. he was having such a good time! what a man. jeremy was doing The Most, as we have come to expect from him. alex was being quietly strange and doing his guitar faces, as we have also come to expect from him. he only had one guitar, the burnt one (He Plays The Guitar That He Fixed That Got Burned In The Fire), and i was a little sad about the lack of modular synth or the Gibson ES 335 (the red one, you all know her). mike was drumming politely in the back and doing his drum concentration face. occasionally he would look over at pete, who was grooving very intensely on the keyboards in the fascinating way that he does.

they played tin!! you know how important this is. they played jennifer, too, but i was too distracted watching jon to be sad during it, for reasons. mid-gig, i set up a group chat with @shallowtboy and @karlschumann89.

i am sure you will all understand.

after the gig they are signing copies of their lyric book — danny buys one despite already owning one and we join the queue for signing. on the way to join the queue, we walk past them all. jon looks at me and points at me and goes 🤨🫵. i am sure this is equally strange for both of us. exeter is a long way from where we both live and i had bumped into him TWICE in the past month.

when we get to the front of the queue the security guard removes me from the queue on account of not having a book to sign, but danny drags me back over a few seconds later. jon looks at me again. “we keep running into each other,” he says, which is certainly one way to put it. “IT’S THEIR FAULT,” i blurt, pointing at danny, despite the fact i booked tickets for this before i knew they were going (and before jonathan higgs was able to fucking recognise me).

there is still a rubik’s cube in my trouser pocket.

possessed by some sort of spirit, i turn to alex and ask “can you still solve rubik’s cubes?”. he looks confused. as you would. “only i’ve sort of got one with me, and…”

i hand him the cube. everyone is very amused by this, particularly jeremy, who eggs him on throughout the whole process. “this might take a while…” “don’t worry, we’ve got time,” says jez, looking at his watch and laughing. the security guards would beg to differ. they are not pleased about this turn of events. “it’s well scrambled,” alex says at one point, and i think this is the highest compliment i have ever received. i am amazed by how quickly alex can still do this. he’s really going for it. the rest of the lads keep signing books but he’s lost in his cube reverie. eventually he solves it and hands it back, and we all laugh, and then danny and i have to get out of there QUICK before we can be told off for holding up the line any further.

i have video evidence, but i am not sure any of that actually happened.

#everything everything #best post #<- for i will want to find it again

[firesnap]

i have no idea whats happening in mcyt/lovejoy fandom anymore sadly. i check your blog to get my weekly dose of tea tho lmao but hot damn the green man really did that huh

Oh yeah. Laurel was the one who broke it to me lmao. What's funny is there's a tweet of someone shitting on the cover that has like 35k likes on twitter along with a clip of the actual "performance." Love when people who probably have never listened to the band go "those guys didn't deserve that."

Otherwise, not much tea going on if you take out the Queue Drama that happens every Lovejoy UK tour. The Lovejoy Exeter show got cancelled because of flooding at the venue and people tried to convince themselves it was a conspiracy. Lovejoy's playing some winter festivals in December in Florida. Pretty sure there's a new song coming out the 6th.

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 20

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 3.1k

Rating: E

Read on AO3

“I’m telling you, Stairway to Heaven is about Galadriel!” I exclaim as I steal a chip from Richard’s plate. 

“I thought Robert Plant denied that?” Richard says with a laugh. 

“I don’t think so—not explicitly,” I retort. “Anyway, since when are you such a firm believer in authorial intent?” 

“Alright, good point,” he says, taking a sip from our shared drink by bringing the two straws between his lips. “So, what’s the evidence?” 

After leaving the college, Richard and I stopped at a pub near Broad Street for drinks and burgers, enjoying the freedom that comes from our relationship no longer being a secret. As we sat in front of the diamond grid window under the low, beamed ceilings of the pub, Led Zeppelin’s Ramble On started playing through the speakers, and that’s how we came to talk about other connections to The Lord of the Rings in the famous rock band’s songs. 

“Ok, so you know how Galadriel is banned from returning to Valinor at the end of the First Age?” Richard nods. “Well, there’s different versions of the story—sometimes the ban is imposed by the Valar, and in others, it’s self-imposed….” He smiles in a way that tells me I’m rambling, and I chuckle apologetically. “Right, the point is, Galadriel must reject the ring to return to Valinor. That’s what the song is about. Galadriel is the lady mentioned in the first stanza, and “with a word she can get what she came for” refers to her rejection of the ring. She has to say “no” to the temptation—to her desire to dominate—and that will allow her to return to Valinor. And when the song talks about how all our thoughts can be misgiven, that’s referring to how all possible outcomes of the war are bad for the Elves. If Sauron wins, well that’s obviously bad, but if he loses, then the Three are stripped of their power, and the Elves’ kingdoms in Middle-earth will fade.” 

��Interesting theory—I won’t ever hear the song the same way,” Richard says as he nods repeatedly and scratches his beard, clearly deep in thought. “However, the idea that Galadriel is banned from Valinor isn’t mentioned in Lord of the Rings. That’s only mentioned in The Silmarillion, and that was published, what, six years after Stairway to Heaven?” 

I smile; he is irresistible when he gets nerdy like this, and I love that he is becoming more knowledgeable about Tolkien. “You’re right, but Galadriel does imply that she can’t return. And even before the Silm was published, Tolkien talked about the ban of the Valar in the book The Road Goes Ever On and On, which was published in 1967, so pre Led Zeppelin IV.”

“Alright, I bow to the Tolkien expert,” he says, causing me to chuckle. Then he reaches out to grab my wrist to stop me from taking another chip from his plate. “You owe me a kiss for every chip you steal.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “Oh really?” I free myself from his hold to bring the chip into my mouth, making sure to slowly lick the salt from my lips. “Do you want those kisses now or later?” 

“Hm, I think later sounds very promising,” he replies in an equally suggestive tone, and warmth spreads through me, but our teasing is too soon interrupted by his ringtone. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he glances at the screen and frowns. 

“Who is it?”

He shrugs but answers it nonetheless. “Hello? Oh, hi, Mr. Browning.” 

I freeze, wondering if perhaps Richard knows another Mr. Browning, but the look on his face confirms my suspicions. 

But why on earth is my dad calling Richard?

“Give me the phone,” I mouth, but Richard shakes his head and pushes my hand away as he continues to talk with my dad. I sigh in frustration, then step around the table and lean into Richard to try and listen to the conversation. He struggles to contain his laughter as he—unsuccessfully—attempts to push me away.

“That would be great,” Richard responds to something. “Yes, Saturday works … Alright, I’ll see you then. Bye.” As soon as he hangs up the phone, he looks up at me with wide eyes and bursts out laughing. “Can you behave?” 

“Sorry,” I reply with a guilty giggle as I return to my seat. “But why is my dad calling you? And how did he even get your number!?” 

“No idea,” Richard shrugs. “He said you told them we got back together and now he wants to have lunch with me.” 

I groan and shake my head as I reach out for my own phone. “You don’t have to do this—I’m calling him right away—”

“Don’t.” 

“But—”

“Lorelei, sweetheart, it’s alright,” he insists as he takes my phone away and intertwines our fingers above the table. 

“You want to have lunch with my dad? Do you not remember the pitchforks last time?” 

Richard chuckles and squeezes my hand. “Would I rather do something else on Saturday afternoon? Yes. But I don’t intend to be in your life temporarily, Lorelei, so it’s important for me to make things right with your dad. I don’t want there to be any tension between us,” he says, and his words, combined with the honest, tender look in his eyes, stir a nearly overwhelming wave of love in my heart.  

“I just don’t want you to feel forced—”

“I don’t. I promise,” he assures me, and I smile, knowing I don’t need to say anything more for him to understand. “Speaking of family….”

“Yes?” I say encouragingly as I note his sudden hesitation. 

“Well, it’s Thomas’ birthday soon, and my parents’ are planning a small party for him and I thought—I thought maybe you could come with me?” 

“I’d love that,” I reply with a smile. 

“Really?” he asks, and the relief in his voice urges me to squeeze his hand reassuringly. 

“Of course! I want to share every part of your life, Richard,” I say, repeating the words he spoke to me last autumn. He smiles knowingly and brings my hand to his lips, and I still feel the warmth of his lips on my skin minutes later, when we step out into the cold evening. 

The sun is slowly disappearing over the horizon, the lamposts casting their golden glow over the sandstone buildings across the road and the countless puddles on the uneven cobblestone. The streets are quiet at this time of the day, when classes are over but students have not yet begun to crowd the pubs, and Richard and I savour the hush of the deepening blue, my head resting into his side as he shields me from the wind with his arm around my shoulders. 

“Do you feel like going to a bookshop?” Richard asks suddenly.

“Do you even need to ask?” I reply playfully as I peer up at him, smiling at the strand of hair that dances over his forehead. 

He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Come on—this way.” 

We talk about everything and nothing as he leads me along High Street, all the way to Carfax Tower, the only remains of the 12th century St Martin’s Church, before turning left onto St Aldate’s Street. Ahead, the bell tower of Christ Church disappears into the dark, misty sky. Just beyond the college, opposite a public garden, is a narrow, arched passage tucked in a stone building. A black sign next to the arch marked St. Philip’s Books reveals that a bookshop lies on the other side, but it still feels like we are entering a secret, even magical, place. 

The small bookshop is filled from floor to ceiling with books, and we have to squeeze through narrow passageways to make our way further into the shop, where Richard is leading me. He refuses to tell me what he wants to show me, but the wide, contagious smile on his face makes me wish our destination was still miles away, if only so that he could remain this excited for much longer. 

“Ta-da!” he suddenly exclaims as we reach a tight, dimly lit corner, and when my eyes land upon the titles etched into the worn covers in front of me, I gasp. 

“Oh my God!” 

The whole section before us is dedicated to Tolkien. The books on the shelves range from recent, mass-produced paperback editions of The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, to older—and rarer—editions of his novels and even his lesser-known writings, along with a wide selection of literary criticism on his work. 

“I knew you’d like it,” Richard says before pressing a kiss atop my head, and I lean back into his chest with a smile as I examine all the books. I gasp again when my eyes land on an umber-coloured tome with only the slightest of creases on the spine. 

“I’ve been looking for this for ages!” I exclaim as I reach out to grab it.

“What is it?” 

“Tolkien’s translation of Ancrene Riwle,” I reply as I stare at the golden symbol of the Early English Text Society on the cover. Another gasp escapes me when I open the book and take a look at the edition notice. “Oh my God—it’s an actual first edition! And it’s only £40!” 

“You should get it!” 

“I will!” 

Richard chuckles as he kisses the top of my head once more. “I’ll be right over there, love, okay?” 

“Okay,” I reply absently as I continue to flick through the pages before diverting my attention to the other tomes begging for my attention on the shelves. 

I lose track of time as I examine practically every volume before me, pleasantly surprised to find so many gems hidden in the organized chaos of the towers of books rising all around me. The air is slightly musty, with that distinct sweet, earthy smell of ancient tomes that transports me back to countless rainy afternoons spent huddled in the library during my graduate studies, surrounded by centuries of knowledge. In the quiet comfort of the bookshop, I feel transported back in time, each crease on a spine, folds on pages, and notes etched into margins offering me glimpses of the past visitors to each forgotten world tucked away on the shelves. 

When I go in search of Richard, it’s with a pile of heavy books in my arms (my rule is, when they’re too heavy to carry, that’s when you need to stop). He is not in the Early Modern section, so I continue toward the crime thrillers, and I find him leaning against an overflowing bookshelf, his head buried in a worn paperback, probably already a chapter or two into the story. Richard is a voracious reader who becomes almost addicted to whatever he is reading; more than once, I have  found him still engrossed in a novel in the middle of the night, and when I ask him to come back to bed, he dismisses me with a promise of “just one more chapter.” 

Richard doesn’t notice me until I lean my head against his arm and say, “And here I was worrying I was taking too long.” 

With a chuckle, he closes the book and offers me a soft smile. “You can take all the time you need.” Then he notices the pile of books in my arms and raises his eyebrows. “Did you leave any for the other customers?” 

“You’re the one who brought me here!” I retort playfully. “You’re encouraging my book-buying addiction!” 

Richard’s warm laugh fills the quiet bookshop as we slowly make our way to the cash register. The shop owner greets us with a kind smile as we drop our books onto the counter, but when I reach for my wallet, Richard shakes his head and offers his card instead. 

“What are you doing?” 

In response, he merely smiles at me as he inserts his card into the card reader. 

“Richard, don’t—” 

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assures me, and I bite my lips in embarrassment. When the shop owner hands us our heavy bag, Richard and I smile and thank him before stepping back into the chilly night. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” I say as we stop in front of the arched passage. 

Richard urges me to face him by wrapping one arm around my waist and pulling me close. “I know. I wanted to.” When I look down at my boots, he squeezes me tight and forces me to meet his gaze with a gentle hand on my chin. “I’m the one who brought you here, so it’s only fair that I gift you these books.”

Chuckling, I slip my hands into his open coat and wrap my arms around his waist. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I just mean that … you don’t have to buy me things. Spending time together is all I want.” 

“That’s all I want too. But I like spoiling you, so get used to it,” he replies with the most tender smile. “I want you to have everything you could ever dream of.”

His words stir an overflow of affection in my heart, and as I gaze into his deep blue eyes and the unmistakable love shining in them caresses me, I realize that in his arms, I found what I hadn’t even known I had been searching for all these years. “I already do. I have you.” 

His eyes soften, and a faint smile graces his handsome face before he leans in to kiss me. His lips are soft and tenderly slow against mine, but I can’t help but deepen the kiss, and I smile as my ardour earns me a rumbling groan from him. In his loving embrace, the city—with its rushing students and impatient drivers hurrying to get home—disappears, and it’s just him and I, floating on the waves of our passion as though nothing else matters.

***

  On Saturday afternoon, I lie on my green velvet couch, my open laptop resting forgotten on my lap as Beatrice complains to me about a coworker and how stressed she is at work. It’s raining again, sheets of water streaming down the windows as a dull, grey light submerges my flat, and I long for the warmth of the fireplace in Richard’s living room. 

“... Anyways, sorry—I’ll stop rambling now,” Beatrice says after a long while, and I shake my head. 

“Don’t apologize! You can always vent to me about anything,” I reassure her.

“Thanks, that means more than you know.” 

I frown, desperately wishing she did not live so far away so that I could hug her. “Apart from work, how is everything?” 

“Oh, you know….” 

“How are things with Paul?” 

A long pause ensues before she sighs and says, “We’re not together anymore.”

“What? Oh, Bea—I’m so sorry. What happened?” 

“It just didn’t work out,” she says, but I can tell by her uneven voice that she is more upset than she lets on. 

“Since when?” 

“Like, two weeks ago.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You were so happy about getting back with Richard—I didn’t want you to feel guilty or like you couldn’t talk to me about it.”

Despite her words, guilt twists my inside, and I struggle to find the words that could comfort her as well as a hug. “Oh, Bea—no. You can always talk to me! I’m sorry if I’ve been talking about Richard too much—”

“You haven’t!” she interjects. “That’s the thing; I don’t want you to stop talking to me about your relationship just because you think it might hurt my feelings. It won’t.” 

“If you’re sure…” I reply hesitantly. “You’re still coming to visit in March, right?” 

“Of course!” she says in a much lighter tone. 

I smile. “Then we can get properly pissed then, you and me. We’ll watch your favourite movie, eat junk food, all of that.” 

“You’re the best,” Beatrice chuckles. “I hope I’ll get to meet your professor, too.” 

“If you’re up for it, I’d really love that.” At that moment, the door buzzer goes off, and I smile as I stand. “Oh, Richard’s here.” 

“Alright, I won’t keep you then.”

“Are you sure you’re alright? We can keep taking—Richard will understand—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Go enjoy your professor,” she says in a suggestive tone before we hang up. 

Smiling to myself, I open the door just as Richard climbs the last steps in the hallway. His hair is wet and ruffled up from the unrelenting rain outside, making him look even more irresistible, but my curiosity stops me from throwing myself into his arms right away. 

“Sooooo? How did it go?” I ask, closing the door behind him as he shrugs off his coat and shoes. 

Richard leans in to kiss my cheek, then says, “It went well. Your father offered me five acres of land and 3 sheep as your dowry. The wedding is on May 10th.” 

“Only five acres? I’m worth more than that!” I reply playfully. 

Richard chuckles and pulls me into his arms, brushing my lips with a fleeting kiss before he says, “No, really—it went well. It was awkward at first, but then he apologized for the last time and from there, things felt a lot more comfortable. We talked about you a lot.” 

“About me?” I say, urging him on. 

“Yeah. We talked about how great you are, and how proud we are of you.” Heat creeps up my neck, and Richard leans in to kiss me once more, a smile on his lips. “He just wanted to make sure I know how special you are. And I do.” 

Blushing all the more, I chew on my lower lip. “So it was really okay?” 

“It was. Don’t fret, love. He even asked about my research and we talked about Richard III for a while.” 

“You sound like you actually had a good time.”

“I did!”

“Well then I’m glad!” I sigh in relief. Then, with a teasing smirk, I add, “And here I was, getting ready to make it up to you….”

Richard raises an eyebrow, and his eyes darken. “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh, I just put on this black lace set,” I say with a shrug, acting oblivious to his growing arousal as he stares unashamedly at my breasts. “But I guess I can go take it off now—”

Before I know it, Richard lifts me into his arm and throws me over his shoulder, and our laughter echoes through my flat as he brings me toward the bed, one of his large hands resting on my bum.

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from my tag list or tagged in future chapters! 💙

#richard armitage #richard armitage fanfic #richard armitage x oc #richard armitage x reader #richard armitage x you #professor au #office hours

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Secrets of the Van Allen belt revealed in new study

A challenge to space scientists to better understand our hazardous near-Earth space environment has been set in a new study led by the University of Birmingham. 

The research represents the first step towards new theories and methods that will help scientists predict and analyse the behaviour of particles in space. It has implications for theoretical research, as well as for practical applications such as space weather forecasting. 

The research focused on two bands of energetic particles in near earth space, referred to as the Radiation Belts, or the Van Allen Belts. These particles are trapped within the Earth’s magnetosphere and can damage electronics on satellites and spacecraft passing through, as well as posing risks to astronauts. 

Understanding how these particles behave has been a goal for physicists and engineers for decades. Since the 1960s, researchers have used principles contained within ‘quasilinear models’ to explain how the charged particles move through space.  

In the new study, however, researchers have found evidence that the standard theory might not apply as often as previously assumed. The team of 16 scientists, from institutions in the UK, USA and Finland, explored the limits of standard theories. The application of the quasilinear theory can seem straightforward, but in fact integrating it into space physics models in accordance with scientific measurements made in space is a delicate procedure. This paper breaks down the challenges behind this process. 

The findings are published in a special edition of Frontiers in Astronomy and Space Sciences: “Editor’s Challenge in Space Physics: Solved and Unsolved Problems in Space Physics”. 

Lead author, Dr Oliver Allanson, from the Space Environment and Radio Engineering (SERENE) Group at the University of Birmingham, said: “Gaining a better understanding of the behaviour of these particles is crucial for interpreting satellite data and for understanding the underlying physics of space environments.”  

Researchers involved in the study are based in the UK at the Universities of Birmingham, Exeter, Northumbria, Warwick, St Andrews, and at the British Antarctic Survey; in the USA at the University of California at Los Angeles, University of Iowa and the US Air Force Research Lab, New Mexico; and in Finland at the University of Helsinki. 

Next steps for the research will include an enhanced theoretical description based on the findings in this work, that can then be used in space weather models to forecast the behaviour of these hazardous particles in near-Earth space. 

#science #space #astronomy #physics #news #astrophysics

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #259 - The Shaggs, Philosophy Of The World, 1969

Kevin Costner è il protagonista di un bellissimo film del 1989, L’Uomo Dei Sogni, in cui il protagonista, un agricoltore dell’Iowa, sente una voce nei campi di mais che gli chiede di costruire un campo da baseball. Da qui parte una storia magica che è una sorta di viaggio spirituale e di redenzione per tutti coloro che ne faranno parte (il film è bellissimo e vale la pena di essere visto o rivisto). Una cosa simile successe a Austin Wiggin, di Fremont, New Hampshire. Anni prima, durante una fiera di magia, la madre gli lesse la mano e gli predisse tre cose: lo sposalizio di una donna bionda, tre figlie dopo che lei fosse morta, e che le sue figlie avrebbero formato una band di successo. Scatta qui una scintilla in Austin, perchè in pochi anni le prime due cose si avverano, e come un predestinato dal Fato decide che le sue tre figlie, Dorothy "Dot", Betty e Helen diventino una band. Compra gli strumenti, paga qualche lezione di musica, e sicuro che il destino si compia le fa suonare insieme: in realtà Austin avrà anche un’altra figlia, Rachel, che tenta invano di inserire in questo progetto, ha un carattere pessimo e cresce le ragazze nel totale isolamento sociale e culturale. Nel 1968 inizia a organizzare dei concerti pubblici nella piccola città dove vivono, Exeter nel New Hampshire, chiedendo la sala pubblica del Municipio come sala eventi. Stabilito che le sorelle hanno una certa amalgama, battezza il gruppo The Shaggs, le Arruffate, per via delle chiome delle tre componenti. Tutto è pronto nel 1969: Austin, che in realtà lavora in un mulino e non è certo ricco, affitta i Fleetwood Studios di Revere, Massachusetts, per far registrare l’album della consacrazione alle tre figlie. Dando fondo a ogni risparmio, sicuro che il destino lo avrebbe aiutato, paga in anticipo anche 1000 copie del disco a  Charlie Dreyer, che li farà stampare dalla Third World Music. Le registrazioni avvengono in un solo giorno, l’album ha pure due singoli per un 45 giri. Fin qui sembra la perfetta storia del sogno americano. C’è un grande, gigantesco “ma”. Ascoltando Philosophy Of The World si capisce che le tre ragazze erano tutto fuorché capaci di suonare: tecnica primitiva e improvvisata, la sensazione che non esista davvero la cognizione di ritmo, melodia e armonia, colpi di batteria che spuntano così, all’improvviso, la sensazione che le peggiori esibizioni al Karaoke non siano degne di questa scaletta. Si racconta che sbigottiti gli ingegneri del suono si guardassero tra loro quando le ragazze, convinte che una di loro avesse fatto un errore, si fermavano, ne discutevano per un attimo e continuavano a cantare. Eppure certi passaggi hanno un potenziale, e se non si sapesse la storia, le canzoni strampalate che suonano (tutte di un paio di minuti circa, che parlano di temi adolescenziali come uscire con gli amici, la festa di Halloween, le domande esistenziali tipo Who Are Parents?, Why Do I Feel? o  What Should I Do? stemperate dalle idee e dai sogni di Things I Wonder,  I'm So Happy When You're Near) potrebbero passare per un esercizio di avanguardia musicale. C’è pure un lato umano terribile: Dreyer stampa solo 100 copie, e scappa con il resto dei soldi. Con profonda umiltà, Wiggin le distribuisce alle stazioni locali, che le abbandonano sugli scaffali. Imperterrito, anni dopo, nel 1975, organizza una nuova sessione di registrazione, che però finisce quando Austin Wiggin muore per un infarto. Le tre sorelle abbandonano ogni altre idea musicale. Ma stavolta avviene l’atteso cambio di trama parziale: in primis, il Maestro Frank Zappa, da amante delle stranezze, compra una copia e diventerà un sostenitore di quella musica, tanto che in un famoso show televisivo suonerà due pezzi delle Shaggs; due grandi musicisti, Terry Adams e Tom Ardolino, che suonavano nella New Rhythm ‘n’ Blues Quintet, (NRBQ) possessori di una copia originale del disco, convincono la loro casa discografica a ripubblicare Philosophy Of The World. La ristampa del 1980 viene recensita da grandi giornali, con Rolling Stone che lo definisce “il disco peggiore di tutti i tempi” ma anche “il ritorno dell’anno”. Lester Bang sul Village Voice scrive: ”Come suona? Perfetto, non sanno suonare! Ma soprattutto hanno avuto l'atteggiamento giusto, che è tutto ciò che il rock 'n' roll è sempre stato fin dal primo giorno.” Tuttavia si riaccende un piccolo culto sotterraneo, e la riscoperta della musica “naif” di quegli anni aiutò la musica delle sorelle ad arrivare a vette incredibili (almeno di soddisfazione): è certo che Kurt Cobain designò Philosophy Of the World tra i suoi 5 dischi preferiti, e persino The New Yorker dedicò una storia di copertina alla vicenda delle sorelle Wiggin, nello stupore generale delle tre donne che consideravano un’esperienza orribile quella storia. Ci sarà perfino un album tributo, Better Than The Beatles: A Tribute To The Shaggs  del 2001, e un musical dieci anni dopo, nel 2011, tanto che le due sorelle Dot e Betty, dopo la morte di Helen nel 2006, decidono una reunion con alcuni concerti insieme alla band del musicista Jesse Krakow. In un articolo su uno di questi concerti, un giornalista del The New Yorker scrive: “Le sorelle Wiggin non hanno affatto misura e divertimento a stare sul palco (...) Cosa significava celebrare un errore? Se l'arte accidentale viene ricreata di proposito, che cos'è?”. Rimane una delle storie più incredibili della musica moderna, e suggerisco almeno un ascolto (che ammetto è un’esperienza davvero diversa) per capire come qualche volta è meglio non tentare di prevedere il futuro.

#the shaggs #philosophy of the world #1969 #recensione

[thenotebookwizard]

Southern Belle (CageBlade Week | Day 4: Surprise)

TITLE: Southern Belle (CageBlade Week 2023 Day Four: Surprise)

FANDOM: Mortal Kombat - All Media Types; Mortal Kombat (Video Games)

RATING: T

SUMMARY:

Everything was bright green and white, broken up with splashes of color from flowers and decorations. Windchimes competed with the soft country being bleated out by the live band tucked away in the absurdly large and overly ornate gazebo, and there were antique tables laid out with more food than even the dozens of people milling about could put away on a Sunday afternoon. Sonya Blade has gone back to Texas - small town Texas - for her great uncle's birthday. No, no one asked her if she wanted to, but she was there anyway. After a fight with Johnny and a long flight, the last thing she wants to do is argue with her grandmother and try to fit into most uncomfortable parts of her childhood all over again. Only, Grandma's not having it and her argument with her not-boyfriend might follow her home. CageBlade Week 2023 | Day 4: Surprise

A/N: Yes. I am from Texas. Yes. These events are real. No. If anything, I downplayed what they look and feel like.

Note: never try to hide anything from a Southern grandma. They know all, have been there, done that before you were born, and will tell you like it is.

Organizations frame the world; governments. Secret societies. Fraternal orders. Organized crime syndicates. After school clubs. Name it, and there is an organization for it. Many organizations inspired fear or loathing or commentary; some were only whispered about and others were shouted down.

And others, everyone knew not to mess with. In the southern united states, there were organizations with such influence and money and power that most people had forgotten they often quietly ruled entire small towns with lace-gloved hands from garden parties, where policy and civic matters were decided over tea and canapes.

Sonya Blade had grown up a scion of those venerable southern societies; not that she paid them much mind or cared to be involved with them. Her grandmother had despaired of ever getting her into a frilly dress to mingle with the appropriate sort of people in small town, Texas. Rare family visits from Austin were fraught with intrigue as Sonya and her grandmother maneuvered and sparred, each working to get the other to give in. Neither would.

Sonya Blade and Sonia Morgan were both indomitable forces of will and neither had ever learned the meaning of 'surrender' (except that it was something other people did.)

Sonya hadn't always won and had found herself frocked in lace and layers standing in a garden, protected from the unforgiving Texas sun only by a flimsy parasol. Sonia hadn't always managed, and heard tales of her rakehell granddaughter racing dirt bikes, mudding in fields, and fighting the local ruffians.

Today, both Sonya and Sonia were a united front. Grandmother and granddaughter both wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Sony's great uncle was turning 95. Her grandmother's brother-in-law was hardly her favorite person, and her grandmother couldn't stand him. He was technically a war hero, and Sonya grudgingly respected that about him, if nothing else. His status as a war hero had earned him the right to call up the US Army and 'request' his combat-decorated great niece attend his birthday party, thrown by one of the less savory fraternal organizations of the south.

Sonya hadn't paid attention to which one. There were at least a dozen alone in Exeter, Texas, and they were an overlapping Venn diagram of who was allowed to belong to which - and the more you were in, the more clout you had.

In a town of less than ten thousand people, they had a lot of clout.

Sonya tried not to, but she hated the old man. He was a lecherous, racist, nationalistic old goat with opinions about everything - especially her. While she and her grandmother had battled, Sonia Morgan loved her grandchildren and respected them, even when she disagreed with what they made of their lives.

(Though, she always expected excellence from them in everything they did. Sonya had only gotten in trouble for her local fights if she'd lost. If she'd won, her grandmother never spoke of them.)

Requested my ass.

The Korean War veteran had 'requested' her, and people much higher in the chain of command had cut her orders for 'special leave' to attend. It was tantamount to an order, which is how Sonya found herself back in Exeter for the first time in more than ten years. And why she was wearing her mess dress in the Texas summer, sweltering in the heavy fabric.

Her grandmother stood next to, taking her arm the way she would any of her grandsons, sending the blatant social cue her granddaughter was to be afforded the same respect any soldier was given.

She was grateful, even if her grandmother's perfume was still cloying and overly floral.

Not that her grandmother needed an arm to lean on. Sonia Morgan stood tall and unbowed after almost eight decades on Earth. She had slowed down, but still woke early in the morning and went about her business with vigor and charm. She still spoke her mind, and people still listened when she spoke. Unlike many, she had grown with the times, and got her news from her tablet as often as she did lunch with her friends, and her smartphone was tucked into her purse right next to her make up, ossified peppermints, and a snub-nosed revolver.

"You give him too much respect, dear. Wearing that." She patted Sonya's arm. "The peacock won't give you the respect you're due, so I don't see why you're suffering for him."

Sonya held her tiny crystal flute of chilled champagne with her first two fingers and resisted the urge to toss it back like it was a shot. They'd had this discussion four timessince her arrival last night.

"Because, grandma, I am a soldier in the United States Army and I was granted special leave to attend this event, at the request of retired Army Colonel Pierce Morgan. As such, I..."

Her grandmother hushed her. "I know, dear. I know. Representing the service, etc, etc. He doesn't deserve it. Never has. He came back a hero with a cane and medals on his chest and he's never let any of us forget it. He's done nothing for the community but leech off it, and I swear before sweet Jesus himself, the man thinks he..."

Her grandmother closed her mouth and let out a sigh as another elderly woman in a pink dress wafted past, her own heady perfume stinging Sonya's nose.

"Mathilda. Her grandson is single, you know. She's hardly a pleasant woman, but Eric is a good boy and has a very good job as a welder."

Sonya drained her champagne. She wasn't having that conversation. Was not going to happen.

She immediately regretted the champagne. As fancy as everything looked, they had cut corners. The champagne was definitely the cheap stuff. She'd had enough of the good stuff with -

She'd had the good stuff now. She knew what the difference tasted like. She almost wished she didn't.

She knew her grandmother had stopped her diatribe because it wouldn't be proper to be heard complaining about the guest of honor, even though everyone there likely knew how she felt about her brother-in-law.

And because Mathilda had designs on being the third Mrs. Pierce Morgan and was almost as influential as her grandmother.

It also gave her grandmother a chance to change subjects to her recent favorite: Sonya's impending spinsterhood. She was, apparently, far too old not to be married and adding to the already vast number of people in their extended family.

Sonya did what she was best at when it came to conversations about her personal life: she evaded.

Not just because she had no desire to meet Mathilda's grandson Eric, but because she hated discussing her personal life even more than she hated thinking about her personal life - putting it third place to feeling things about her personal life. Which was far too complicated right then to even consider discussing with her grandmother.

Who just might recognize the name her current personal life was consumed by.

(And just how the hell would she ever explain how she met the infuriating man? Even if they currently weren't speaking, that didn't mean she wouldn't have to explain knowing him. She had enough stupid sappy photos on her phone she kept forgetting to delete to prove she knew him, but 'saved the world in an interdimensional tournament against demons and monsters' was hardly the kind of meet-cute her grandmother wanted to hear about. To say nothing of proving that story.)

"Uncle Pierce is hardly a peacock, grandma. He's more like a rooster. He thinks he's prettier than he is, makes a lot of noise, but doesn't do a lot but strut."

Sonia Morgan huffed. "Until he's in a box, you mean."

Sonya had no idea how to respond to that, so she just kept her mouth shut and grabbed another flute of champagne from one of the waiters rotating around the garden.

(Why Exeter had what felt like a hundred different historic houses with giant gardens she'd never understand.)

The party was picture perfect. Southern belles and gentlemen all standing idly about in clusters, talking and gossiping under the summer afternoon sun in a vast garden meticulously landscaped and decorated in climbing vines and flowers, watered by a discreet irrigation system that could have probably watered two dozen lawns or kept a family in water for months.

Everything was bright green and white, broken up with splashes of color from flowers and decorations. Windchimes competed with the soft country being bleated out by the live band tucked away in the absurdly large and overly ornate gazebo, and there were antique tables laid out with more food than even the dozens of people milling about could put away on a Sunday afternoon.

Not that Sonya wanted to eat. Her stomach was already in knots just being there - and how she'd left things with Johnny the last time they'd tried to talk, just a few days ago.

She'd had to leave before she'd figured out if she was going to apologize or not. She'd had to leave before she'd figured out if she was going to just let him go or not.

Why did it have to be my fault, this time?

"He is quite the peacock, though." Her grandmother lead her through the garden on a path she seemed to know was there without looking, their feet brushing over stones winding through the expansive property. "He wears his uniform as often as he can, and he carries his medals in his pocket!"

Part of Sonya winced at that. She knew how hard it was for soldiers who came home. She knew how much of their identity was being a soldier, how little of their civilian self was left after they finally left the service. She dreaded it and refused to think about it - about being a civilian again. Of not being in uniform. Of not serving.

She could respect his pain there as much as she respected his heroism in the war.

She couldn't respect the way he treated other people. The way he treated her. The way he'd treated her grandmother and his own brother long after he'd come home. Not because of PTSD or reintegration. But because her grandfather hadn't been able to serve - his eyesight had been horrific. Because his grandmother hadn't abandoned her husband for a 'better' man.

Him.

She saw the path her grandmother led her on leading right to him, where he sat at a table, surrounded by old men and a few younger men in uniform like hers. Young enlisted men from Exeter who had come home to celebrate the hometown hero's birthday - possibly even related to her, in some way.

"He's not nearly fancy enough to be a peacock." She didn't know why she was still arguing with her grandmother, other than it was something to say, and she knew she was expected to say something. "I know a real peacock."

She felt herself smiling in spite of herself. She'd called Johnny a peacock once, and he'd just laughed at her. He'd jumped away from the mirror where he'd been preening, wiggling his eyebrows at her - and caught her around the waist, trying to dip her like they were dancing.

"Well, my bright and pretty plumage caught your attention, didn't it?"

She had laughed right along with him. She'd tried to deny it. Tried to argue with him that it was everything about him that wasn't a preening peacock that had caught her attention, but he had just shushed her with a searing kiss before -

She swallowed hard.

"Oh, have you now? Some puffed up poppinjay trying to get your attention, hmm?" Her grandmother poked her in the side. "Some of them might not be so bad, you know."

Sonya laughed softly. "Not all of them, no. But my boyfr - friend - John," she cut herself off hard, hoping to keep too much from coming out at once, cursing herself for her slip. She didn't let Johnny refer to her as his 'girlfriend' so she wasn't going to use that damn word. Or use the name her grandmother just might know him by, "is the biggest peacock of them all. Flashy clothes, gold necklace, fancy car, and throwing his money everywhere, as if that's all that matters about him. Peacocks do it to get attention. Uncle Pierce does it because he thinks it makes him important."

It stung a little to say that, because heroism under fire was important and worthy of respect and recognition, but it couldn't be all there was to a soldier - to a person. It couldn't be the only thing that defined them. Honor. Service. Humility. Respect. Hard work. Discipline. Focus. All of these and more made a soldier, and far more than that made a person.

Sonya knew she was bad at being a person more often than not, but she also knew she was very, very good at being a soldier.

"Boyfriend?" Her grandmother practically cackled, drawing her a few steps away to another path; a longer, winding path that would eventually get them to Pierce Morgan, but gave them plenty of time to talk before that. "You have been holding out on me, Sonya. Tell me dear, who is this peacock who not only got your attention but got you to almost use a word I haven't heard you use since high school."

Sonya wished she had a free hand to rub the bridge of her nose, but she was still holding the stupidly tiny flute of now lukewarm champagne.

Yep. I fucked up.

There was no way to lie her way out of it. Her grandmother could spot her lies coming a mile off and wasn't above calling her on them.

She had to say something. As little as possible was the best plan. The bare minimum. If not less. Could she get away with classifying him as 'Human, male - one. Annoying, rich, annoyingly rich, and full of himself?'

Especially because she wasn't sure they were anything anymore. She hadn't answered his calls. Or texts. Or checked her email.

After what she'd said, she really didn't want to. She wasn't good at apologizing, and she wasn't good at being wrong. She was even worse at being the problem.

She'd made a career and a personality out of being the solution to problems. Often, violently.

"John. Carlton. From LA. More money than sense." She disliked she was whispering. She disliked how she was clenching her jaw. "Peacock. Like I said. Fancy clothes. No fashion sense. Fancy car he drives too fast. Lots of - admirers."

Her grandmother tugged on her arm, pulling her away from the milling crowds to a shaded bench near vast expanse of trellis festooned with patriotic decor and valiant red roses blooming in spite of being planted in Texas. They mingled with yellow and white roses, but the latter were far sparser.

Sonya found herself sitting next to her grandmother, who reached up and tugged Sonya's head around to face her.

"Sonya, you are lying to your grandmother, and I will not have it. Worse yet, you are lying to yourself."

Sonya blinked.

"Grandma, I'm not..."

"Hmph. I'm not done  yet, young lady. I heard the hitch in your voice. That tight tone you used to get with someone when they'd caught you in one of your messes. Either he's an embarrassment you'd rather never mention again or you're in one of your messes again."

Sonya set the champagne flute down.

"It's complicated. Really stupidly complicated."

Her grandmother's face softened, and she looked at Sonya with the stern edge her grandmother always had, but with the softness that came from both love and respect.

"You didn't answer my question. Tell me about him."

"I did!" Sonya folded her hands in her lap to avoid talking with them - a habit her grandmother had never managed to break her of, but she was trying to be aware of for at least that one afternoon. "He's a - "

Sonia Morgan cut her off again. "No, Sonya. Tell me about him. Either he's someone you want to forget and I'll drop the subject or he's not, and I won't. But either way, you will tell me about him. Because if you don't tell someone, you're going fall apart and spend weeks pretending you haven't."

Sonya tried (and failed) not to gape at her grandmother. How did she know?

"Close your mother, dear. There are worse than flies buzzing around these gardens. I'm a southern belle, granddaughter, and if there is one thing we know, it's when a woman is hiding a secret about her heart. There are a thousand tells even you can't hide behind your uniform. People love, Sonya. People look for love or they hide from love. It doesn't matter the shape of that love or the kind of that love, but for all our backwards ways, southerners know the need to give and receive love."

Sonya's hands clenched, then relaxed. "Johnny's - sentimental." She sniffed. "So utterly sentimental. He can't remember half the things he agrees to do, but he can remember what I was wearing the day we met. He's an idiot, but he cares. He cares about what people think of him and of others. He has this stupid image he thinks matters, and maybe it does, but it's stupid. He's - spontaneous. Incorrigible. He's like a big kid, sometimes, thinking things are 'cool' or 'awesome' all the time, even when they're just silly or just there. He cares more than he'll admit, because his 'image.' He's a fighter. He doesn't give up. Ever. On anything. Not on his career. Not on himself."

Not on me.

That thought stung. She was so willing to give up on him. On herself. On anything resembling them because -

She shook her head. She wasn't going to admit that.

She sighed. "He's stubborn. So. Stubborn. He kept flirting with me even when I turned him down...rather harshly. Repeatedly. When I asked him why, do you know what he told me?"

Her grandmother was smiling at her. "I assume it was all manner of uncouth and inappropriate from the look in your eyes."

"He told me I was fun to rile up. He liked making me mad because I was 'hot' when I got mad at him."

Sonia laughed and patted her granddaughter's arm. "You are fun to rile up. I've known that since you were a child. I could get you to storm around my kitchen, waving your arms and ranting at me about how you weren't some frilly stupid girly girl and how you didn't want to wear dresses or go to tea parties so easily."

Sonya narrowed her eyes. "You did that on purpose?"

"Of course I did. I love your fire, Sonya Blade. No granddaughter of mine will be one who doesn't speak her mind and speak it well! Did I or did I not force you to refine your arguments and debate with me until you were ready to scream to the heavens you didn't want to talk another minute?"

Sonya laughed. "Of course you used our fights to teach me to fight better."

"Damned right I did." Sonia glanced about, making sure no one heard her use such a foul word. "You're too smart not to argue right, even when you're mad. And I know you hated every minute of it, but learning to mingle and interact with people so very different from you is important. Even if you hate it. I know I taught you that, too. As much as I taught you good southern manners and to sit up straight and stand up straight, because as much as this world is changing, it's too hard for a woman to be taken seriously if she is seen as soft for even a single heartbeat."

Sonya sighed, her shoulders slumping. "You are one devious woman, grandma. But thank you."

"I am a southern woman. You'll meet no creature more devious, I promise you that. Now then, your 'Johnny' sounds like a man who loves deeply, loves often, and seeks joy - no matter what the more staid around him might think. Boys are good for that, you know. The best of them never grow up, and while that can make them insufferable at times, they will always want to make us laugh or smile or growl at them. Nothing makes them happier than making us feel something in a moment, and nothing gives them more satisfaction than doing something for us. He might have the insecurity of a boy, giving himself an 'image' to protect, but he sounds like he has the heart of a man, which is far more important. You can help him learn to love himself and he can help you learn you are more than you let yourself be. The best of them help us grow as much as we help them, you know."

Sonya shook her head. "He's not insecure. He's over confident, if anything."

Her grandmother rolled her eyes. "You still have so much to learn. Peacocks are insecure about their feathers. They fight each other, hoping to rip out the others' tailfeathers to make sure they are the brightest and prettiest. Your Johnny can't do that in this modern world, so he makes sure he gets the best feathers his money can buy. Trust me on this one, dear."

Sonya looked down at her hands. Could Johnny Cage really have - insecurities like that? She knew he was afraid of being considered a fake martial artist (which she knew was absolute garbage. The man was one of the best she'd ever seen, and that was saying something.)

"Maybe. But - "

"But nothing. Why isn't he here with you, Sonya?"

Sonya knew she could come up with a thousand and one excuses and some of them might even be true. His schedule was packed, and his work kept him busy. She hadn't told him about the event. She hadn't even told him much about her family.

I didn't even think to invite him.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She wasn't sure she wanted him meeting her family, because she wasn't sure how far inside her life she wanted to let him get when she might have to chase him back out again.

Sonya wished she was having any conversation but this one right then. Even one about Eric the welder. Welders were respectable craftsmen, and he would know where she could go to get a cold beer and some real food after this disaster.

Even the sound of someone else's souped up sportscar outside made her wince, because thinking about Johnny meant she missed Johnny - who was so much better at these sorts of events than she was. Even if he'd never been to one before, he'd charm everyone and manage to make everyone forget to be disappointed and disapproving of the girl raised in cosmopolitan Austin who had gone off to become a solider.

"I...we had a fight."

What? What did I just say? Why did I just say that? How could I say that?

She felt betrayed by her own mind. How had her grandmother gotten her to admit that?

"Hmm." Her grandmother patted her hand. "Still mad at him?"

Sonya took a deep breath. If she couldn't tell her grandmother, who could she tell? It wasn't like she was going to call up her mother and tell her. She could, but her mother was even better at getting emotions out of her than her grandmother, and she wasn't ready to tell her mother she might be in love with a movie star.

Who just might love her back.

"No." Sonya shook her head and threw back the warm champagne. "I'm mad at me. We fought, and it was my fault. I said stupid things because...well, because. He wanted me to go to a - a work thing - with him. He really wanted me to go. It's important, a big, big deal. For him, I mean. I'm not a trophy to be paraded around, no matter how important it is or how much of a role I played in the success of his - project. I wasn't nice about it."

She was skirting around 'my movie star sorta-boyfriend wants me to go to an awards gala where his new TV show based on their real life adventures on another world was getting bigtime awards' and how much she wasn't ready to be public with him like that.

To claim a relationship.

Tabloids catching photos of them at dive bars and fancy restaurants was one thing. Paparazzi snapping pictures of her in a bikini in his pool was somewhere between mortifying and flattering, but this wouldn't be celeb-watching fans seeing her online. This would be everyone seeing her at a Hollywood event, in a fancy dress he bought for her, getting out of a limo in front of cameras and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous.

Her soldiers would see her on TV. Her parents. Her family. Her friends. Everyone would see her as the arm candy of the action superstar whose comeback story was already Hollywood legend.

She also left out the part where she got so emotional she stormed out of her own apartment and went to sleep on base.

There were some things too mortifying to admit to. Especially to one's grandmother.

She was surprised her grandmother was letting them talk this long. She heard a commotion near the backdoor to the massive plantation home her great uncle's fraternal order met in, and there was quite a crowd gathering. Her grandmother would be mortified if they missed their chance to greet Pierce before he gave his speech - it would be a snub of the worst sort, and a social gaffe her grandmother wouldn't want to have to live down.

Her grandmother laughed. "Talk about insecurities. A trophy! Men are competitive, Sonya, and the worst of them view us as prizes to be won. If he's that sort, then you're best off without him. That's not the man you told me about, though. You said you helped him with his work. You said you're important to him, and he's sentimental. Isn't it possible you're deciding what he thinks based on what everyone around him might think? Or, are you so worried about what others think you didn't stop to think about why he might want you there? Or about compromises?"

"Compromises? What could he compromise on? I can't afford a dress for - that sort of event! We'd show up in a limo, and I can't be seen to be his kept woman! I'm a soldier. An officer. I represent the US Army!"

Her grandmother gave her a look that made her feel five again, griping about wearing a fancy dress to church. They'd compromised then, too. Nice pants and a nice blouse, but not a frilly dress.

They'd bought her dresses she hadn't hated, later. A lot later.

"Can't you go as a soldier? That uniform is mighty fancy, I think. You'd be there with him, all right. At his side. Even on his arm, if his work requires that sort of thing. But you won't be anyone but you. Even if I think wearing a pretty dress wouldn't hurt you as much as you think it might."

Sonya didn't roll her eyes, but it was a near thing. Her grandmother didn't know a damn thing about the kind of event she was talking about, but that was her own fault. But it didn't mean her grandmother was wrong about it. She could ask him about wearing her mess dress. It was allowed for formal events, and that was certainly formal - black tie was required.

She winced. She could have asked him. If he was still talking to her.

"When this is over, Sonya, we are going back to my house. I am going to fix you something to eat, since you refuse to even nibble at the expensive food laid out for us, and then you are going to call that man before you get back on your plane. Even if you tell him to shove off, no granddaughter of mine will leave things like that. You were raised better than to hide from the consequences of your own actions."

Sonya winced again. Her grandmother was right and that stung. She was hiding. And she hated being a coward, even in the complicated mess that was her personal life.

She'd call him. He probably wouldn't answer. All of the things she'd said? She might not answer if he'd called her after that.

She'd probably ruined everything - she was good at that. A good soldier, but bad at being a person.

She heard a familiar laugh, and felt a twinge of guilt and loneliness.

Okay. I'm just depressing myself at this point. I'm starting to hear him everywhere.

She stood up and offered her arm to her grandmother. "I will call him tonight. Before I get on the plane. I promise."

Her grandmother patted her arm again. "Better. Now, let's go get the first painful conversation over with before the old windbag starts to give his speech. Maybe one of us can take ill in the middle of it and we can leave early. Being this old has to be good for something, after all."

Sonya almost laughed at that. Who would have thought her grandmother would skip out on a garden party early?

She was about to make a comment about senior discounts being better than military discounts when she saw him.

He was standing there, shaking her great uncle's hand, a thousand watt smile on his face. He was dressed for the occasion, probably in something he'd 'borrowed' from some costume wardrobe somewhere, but it was nice enough to pass muster.

Though, I never would have thought he could pull off a Texas tuxedo.

He even had a brass belt buckle with his initials on it. (That didn't surprise her as much as the obviously new and obviously expensive cowboy boots.) She was glad he'd foregone the hat, because she wasn't sure if she could take him seriously in a stetson - the bolo tie was bad enough. He obviously had no idea how to wear it, which didn't surprise her a bit. He hated ties in general.

But she had to give him credit for trying. She wasn't sure what she should give him for being there.

"Johnny?"

Her grandmother looked up at and cackled softly. She saw the look on Sonya's face and saw Johnny's face when he caught sight of her, and her cackle turned into a full on laugh.

He smiled at her - not the smile he gave the cameras. Not the smile he gave the audiences. Not the camera he gave fans and interviewers.

The smile he gave to her.

His eyes lit up when he saw her, and she saw him gather every bit of swagger he had around him like a cloak, but -

She'd seen it. That momentary pause. That momentary fear that he'd come here just to be rejected.

That stung. It also tugged at something in her chest, and she wanted to go to him and reassure him and -

Oh fuck. I've caught feelings and now I have to do something with them.

Why weren't there Army regulations and procedures for this? There was a whole section in the damn handbook about shining your shoes, but nothing on how to navigate this?

"That's your Johnny? Dear heart, you might have mentioned he was that good looking. He's almost pretty enough to be a movie star!"

Sonya groaned softly. "Grandma..."

How was she supposed to break that news? Especially when it was apparent to the younger generation there just who Johnny was. There were a lot of stunned, star-struck faces as people stared and tried to make conversation with the comeback kid himself.

She sighed, and stood as straight as she could. Her grandmother had taught her better than to slouch after all.

Sonia let go of her arm and gave her small push. "Go on, then. He's tracked you all the way to Exeter, Texas. Don't know what else you need to know."

Sonya walked out from under the shade and crossed the garden, suddenly feeling - both more herself than she'd felt all day, and shockingly and painfully shy.

She ignored the paths and strode across the grass and right up to him. She wasn't sure what came over her, but she decided to accept his gesture for what it was. He'd tried to do what he'd told her people did: dress for the occasion.

She reached out and straightened his bolo tie, tucking it under his collar - which, thankfully, was not popped.

"Hi."

She was grateful a word came out. It was about the only word she was able to force out right then. She barely noticed the Army servicemen near her hear uncle muttering 'oh shit she's a lieutenant colonel!' and snapping to attention, saluting as best they could, given how many tiny flutes of champagne they'd probably had.

"Hey yourself."

His hands closed over hers.

"So. I know you're already mad at me, right? I figured, how much more mad could you be if I, you know, surprised you to talk to you face to face and maybe have a public fight? See, you left all the info about this on a post it note - did you know you write in all caps? - on top of your special leave paper and well, I just thought..."

Sonya rolled her eyes at him. She held up one finger, hoping he'd wait just one damn minute for her to process and - be a soldier. She turned to the servicemen, and saluted them back.

"At ease. It's a party. Stay sober, and if you can't do that, get a ride back. Got it?"

"Sir! Yes, sir!" They all grinned at each other as they backed away slowly. Their encounter with a randomly appearing superior officer had gone a lot better than they thought it might have, given all the young women hanging around them. (Sonya knew small-town Texas. They were most certainly being peacocks, and at least some of the straight small town girls would see them as tickets out of town. Even if Johnny's arrival had changed the landscape a bit.)

She turned back to Johnny. "You."

He grinned at her, but she saw the fear there in his eyes, and it made her chest ache. This wasn't what she wanted. She didn't know exactly what she did want, but it wasn't this.

"Me?"

She grabbed his hand and tucked her arm into his. She did not tell him he was taking the traditional position of 'being escorted' but she figured it was her small revenge for him showing up - as sweet a gesture as it was.

"Let's take a walk."

"Uh...sure?" He let her lead him away from the crowd of admirers. "I mean, we could go sit down or something. I saw champagne!"

"Johnny, if we stop moving, our every word will be heard, remembered, and discussed for posterity for the next three generations of this town. You're a movie star. They all just remembered I'm an actual officer in the Army, and my grandmother is about to passive aggressively sass the guest of honor for being a tool. We're not sitting down and you do not want that champagne. I think you're allergic to 'cheap.'"

Johnny laughed. "So, the sass is genetic? Makes sense. Grandmother, huh? Can't wait to meet her. But you make it sound like we're being hunted."

Sonya rolled her eyes. "Sass is genetic and southern and I am nowhere near as brutal or skilled as grandma. You will meet her. There's nothing I can do to stop it, and I'd feel sorry for you, but you crashed the party, so it's your own fault. And we are being hunted. We are the most exciting thing to happen here since my great uncle got back from Korea, and everyone wants to know why I know a movie star."

"I'm a TV star too, now." Johnny grinned at her, boyish pride in his new series and success shining through. And this time, Sonya smiled back.

"Yeah. You are. Look, I'm -"

Johnny shook his head. "Nope. Don't you dare. I came all the way to Texas to tell you something, and I'm going to tell you now. Before this conversation goes any further. I know you're blaming yourself and you're all tied up about what you said and how you said it. And yeah, harsh. You weren't nice, but I wasn't listening. Again. I just got excited. I jumped straight to the fun part. Taking you out and showing you, well, showing you my world. Giving you the chance to be the woman everyone looked at and wanted to be. Letting you be seen for the awesome, amazing, and stunningly sexy lady you are."

He sucked in a deep breath. "Only, I forgot. That's me. That my world and not yours. That's my high, not yours. I just wanted you there when I win. When what we went through is transformed into something new and amazing and there is just that modicum of appreciation. Where I could stand at that podium and say 'see her? The badass girl in the show is based on her.' And then watch people see you. I didn't think 'what would being there mean when Sonya went home?' You told me, and, well...I didn't hear it."

Sonya groaned and pushed her shoulder into his, letting herself get closer to him. "You're an idiot sometimes, Johnny Cage. You're my idiot, though. Look. I'm sorry for what I said. How I said it. I shouldn't have gotten so - angry about it. I just got scared, okay? And I'm not good at being scared or being a person or a lot of things that come with you and me."

Johnny stopped them, just for a moment. He put his hands at her waist. He captured her eyes with his, and stepped very close to her. Close enough she could feel the warmth from sun radiating off his absurdly white shirt. "Whoa. No. You are good at being a person, Sonya. You are a person. You aren't good at feelings, but I'm not good at feelings, either. Thing is, I like you enough to get better at them. And I will! Eventually! I don't think about you being scared, because you're you...but I get it. I'm not going to fight with you about it. You said no, and that's that. I'll call my agent, get some model to come with me - because my contract with his agency says I can't go stag - and I'll text you snarky comments about what everyone's wearing all night."

Something fierce writhed through her gut and settled her chest. She heard his words and she knew what he was saying: he had a legal obligation to have someone with him at the event. He hadn't even bothered to plan a backup. He'd just - assumed he could convince her to do it.

But the idea of him going to an event like that with someone else hanging off his arm awoke something in her. Something she hadn't ever felt in a relationship before.

"Don't even think about it, Johnny Cage." She fisted the lapels of his sport coat. "I am going with you, but you are not buying me a dress. I will be going as who and what I am. A soldier. I will be in mess dress uniform and while I will be on your arm, I will be your partner, not a trophy. Not arm candy."

Johnny grinned. His eyes lit up. "You mean this whole time I could have had you come in uniform and I didn't even know it? Aren't the rules about that? Do you know how you look in that? I mean, come on, Sonya..."

Sonya just sighed and rested her forehead against his. "Yes. I can come in uniform. I will go in uniform. It's allowed, because it's black-tie formal. Hell, the Army will love having me there in uniform. Okay?"

His grin twitched and he darted in, stealing a quick kiss. "Okay! Now can we get champagne and meet your grandmother? Since we're not fighting now?"

Sonya glanced around at the tableau of the garden party. She'd grown up knowing some of these people. Many of them had opinions on her. She was there to honor her great uncle and his service. She was supposed to be a proper southern girl, even in uniform.

Using her great uncle's birthday party to introduce her - boyfriend - to her grandmother was probably at the very least uncouth, if not against the rules.

She was okay with that.

Sonya tilted Johnny's head towards her and gave him a much slower, more thorough kiss.

He'd come all the way to Exeter, Texas to apologize to her. To make things right between them - to tell her it wasn't her fault. To tell her he was trying to listen.

"Come on. Let's go meet my grandmother. By now, she's probably made great uncle Pierce wish he was back in Korea being shot at. Just try not to be too LA and you'll be fine. Did you know she thinks you're very pretty? Almost pretty enough to be a movie star."

"Hey! Wait a minute. She doesn't recognize me?"

Sonya patted his shoulder. "She's almost eighty and wishes John Wayne still  made movies. Besides, even if she did recognize you, she would never tell you that. And if you tell her you're a movie star, you'd be bragging. So all you can really say is you're an actor and have steady work in Hollywood, or she'll call you names. She might even bless your heart."

Johnny frowned. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Sonya laughed. "This is going to be fun. For me, I mean."

#writing #fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #mortal kombat #Sonya Blade #Johnny Cage #Sonya Blade/Johnny Cage #CageBlade #CageBlade Week #CageBlade Week 2023 #Slice of Life #The South (US) #Fluff #If you squint

[baronetcoins]

six sentence sunday, because it's still sunday if I haven't gone to sleep yet. right? anyway, more of this i've been brainrotting over recently but I think this bit actually gestures towards the inciting incident.

“Ah, the herald.” The dauphin waved him over and he dismounted with a squish and thud, removing his chaperon. “We need you.”  He dipped his head in acknowledgement.  “Find the lord Exeter, or whoever speaks for their sorry band, and tell him this: bones we were promised, and bones we will have.” Montjoy’s eyes passed from over his shoulder to beyond, where his prize warhorse was still standing. Behind it was a shape made indistinct by the thick cake of clay which covered it. “If their king would wager his life, he will pay out his oath with his flesh.”

#my writing #six sentence sunday

[sunburnacoustic]

Muse Fosters Community Between the Lines of Your Favorite Song

Rolling Stone Magazine spoke to Muse fans earlier this year in 2022 about how Muse bring together a community of fans

Kwasi Boadi, July 29, 2022

In our second Welcome Sessions feature with Jim Beam, we dig beneath the live music frills to explore how strangers in the crowd become quick friends by talking to the supergroup and their most passionate fans

There’s something so communal about going to a Muse show. The experience has a way of inducing a unique catharsis. On the one hand, it’s hard to ignore the tremendous feeling of it all, from the hypnotizing laser light show to the rousing pyrotechnics and the otherworldly visuals.

But beneath the (literal) flash and frills lies something much more intimate. Fans are embracing, fists are pumping, and in spurts, the audience takes on the role of lead vocalist while they roar the lyrics of their favorite records. In these moments, complete strangers become part of something much larger than themselves because there’s community to be found between the lines of your favorite song.

“Nothing beats being in the crowd with music fans when you don’t know what the setlist is,” says self-proclaimed superfan Helen Rose Tooth. “When they start bringing out the songs, and bring out some rarities, and everybody just comes together, you get picked up by the atmosphere.”

Rolling Stone caught up with Rose Tooth and a host of other Muse diehards at a secret homecoming show in Exeter, Devon. Hosted by Jim Beam as part of their Welcome Sessions event series, the intimate gig brought Muse superfans back to the Cavern, a cozy music venue in the South West of England where the band started out by playing for some of its earliest supporters: friends, family, and classmates.

When asked about her favourite song to see live, it only takes Rose Tooth a moment to land on “Definitely ‘Knights of Cydonia’” as her answer. Tom Kirk, a longtime friend of the band, doubles down on the sentiment. ’Knights of Cydonia’ is the ultimate fan singalong. I don’t think Matt needs to even stretch his vocal cords for that anymore because the whole crowd in the arena or festival [is] just bellowing it out. It’s an electrical force of people being completely tuned into the moment like nothing else exists.”

It’s easy to hear why the record elicits a range of emotions from the Muse faithful. The song kicks off with a spellbinding harmonica solo by bassist Chris Wolstenholme. Though everyone in the house knows what’s coming next, the anticipation builds like a roller coaster inching closer to its first big drop. Then, at the perfect moment, Matt Bellamy sends the audience into an auditory free fall once he interjects with a few crackling strums of his electric guitar.

When you’re singing along to lyrics that speak to you, that feeling you get is irreplaceable, and it runs much deeper when you look to your left and see a fellow fan sharing in that communion. There’s a bond created there, an understanding that the words that made such a pronounced impact on your life have struck a chord with someone on a similar frequency. At that moment, a would-be stranger feels more like a kindred spirit.

This belief that you truly feel connected when belonging to a community is rooted in Jim Beam’s two-century history of bringing people together, and that sentiment is evident in talking to another Muse superfan, Hannah Chandisingh. “You’re all in that together”, she says. “And when they break out these really powerful songs, when you actually realize that you and the person next to you are both in floods of tears, [there’s this sense that] ‘I don’t know you, but I love you.’”

It’s a feeling that can transcend language and borders. Danny Yeates has vivid memories of his first Muse show outside of the UK. “I went to Madrid for a VIP experience in 2016,” he recalls. “The fan base was just so different. This guy literally collared me, and [we] just started singing along. Generally, in the UK, it doesn’t really happen that way. The cultures are very different, but we’re here, and the universal language is Muse.”

Muse frontman and songwriter Matt Bellamy describes this lightning in a bottle as equal parts method and magic. “It’s hard to describe the emotions that you feel on stage. Spiritual, I guess some people could describe it that way,” he says. “It’s something otherworldly. Very connective with thousands of people.”

Early on, Bellamy realised he should pen his lyrics through the lens of inclusivity. “Over the years, [I realised that] you know what? I can actually play with this and start writing songs using ‘we’ pronouns instead of ‘I’ and singing about myself. ‘Uprising’ was the big moment where I was like, ‘I’m going to change this song. Instead of it being about me, I’m going to make it about us,’ and I sort of deliberately wrote the lyrics with that in mind.”

That communal spirit can be just as stimulating for the performer as it is for the audience. Muse drummer Dom Howard speaks warmly of that synergy. “It’s an amazing feeling,” he says. “It’s kind of this really reciprocal feeling of you enjoying what you’re doing and them enjoying what you’re playing. It’s a wonderful thing where you’re very much tuned in to each other and aware of how everyone feels.”

In the mind of a songwriter, that reciprocity is a catalyst for growth because feeling understood can be an invitation to push the envelope even further. Bellamy observes that, “there’s a vulnerability in songwriting because you’re digging into workings of your personality and expressions and experiences that you’ve had,” he says. “There’s a kind of confidence that emerges over time when you realise how many other people there are in the world that can relate to that. And over time, that actually gives you a bit more confidence to maybe dig deeper.”

#Exeter Cavern 😭😭 #Muse interviews #Musers #Muse in magazines #Rolling Stone #Jim Beam sessions #2022 #nice that they did this tbh #the Muse live experience is truly something beautiful #note to self to link the source in tomorrow #I copied this over from my phone which is at 3% #I'm tagging from my laptop and I don't have the links #my phone keyboard while pasting has I think autocorrected a few spellings to fit my phone's locale #like Rolling Stone is an American magazine and so the original spellings were American; think my phone messed with a few of them #and I'm too lazy at this hour to proofread the article and change them back I promise I'm not anti American English spelling I'm just tired #muse #muse band #matt bellamy #chris wolstenholme #dom howard #musers #muse live

[domonicriley]

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:

If we are mark’d to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It yearns me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires:

But if it be a sin to covet honour,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:

God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour

As one man more, methinks, would share from me

For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart; his passport shall be made

And crowns for convoy put into his purse:

We would not die in that man’s company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say ‘To-morrow is Saint Crispian:’

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

And say ‘These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he’ll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day: then shall our names.

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember’d;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

#henry v #shakespeare #agincourt #battle of agincourt #st crispin's day #speech

[glass-needles-and-futurisms]

13, 4, 34, 37

13. Favourite scene from a making-of DVD

I know everyone's gonna name the funnier moments from the Hullabaloo documentary (SIT THE FUCK DOWN, pwoper fish, the shower scene), so I'm gonna mix it up a little. The Absolution making-of opening with the foot stomps for Apocalypse Please is a real goosebumps moment, along with that (disappointingly short) preview of the string section that got cut from the song. That scene where Matt draws on a whiteboard the arpeggios for Stockholm Syndrome was neat too.

I also love everything about the making of Unsustainable... including WEE WEE WEE BOOOOOO and that Dom outfit.

4. Favourite Muse cover?

Sign O' The Times, hands down.

I do also wanna give a shout out to the GOAT Feeling Good, the stupidly fun New Kind of Kick, and the criminally underappreciated Prague. (You'll notice I'm really bad at tiebreakers on this blog 🤣)

34. Have you met any of the band (/if not, any favourite fan interaction/gig stories)?

Sadly no 😭

However somehow I am online acquaintances with the individual who introduced the world to "IT'S WOTPING TIME"... and he got Matt to actually say the line! (shout out to @sing4abs0luti0n!) There's also the epic saga of "Leeds Guy" from the Exeter Cavern gig last year 😎

37. Songs with lyrics that embarrass you in front of other people (no shame, our Matty has plenty of those too lol)

Probably the second-to-last line of Dead Inside (you know the one), and the entirety of Propaganda.... though that song gets so goofy it circles back around to amazing 🤣

#asks #muse #muse band

[thefrontofmymind]

hiii i love your instagram prompts! idk if you take requests but i'd love if you made one where y/n is the lead singer of a band opening for the 1975 on tour :)

supporting artist!reader x matty healy instagram blurb

(FC: Pomme)

a/n: hey so i had a not-so big brained moment and forgot this request asked for a lead singer of a band but i hope it's still okay. requests are open and any feedback is greatly appreciated. kisses!! xxx

nmemagazine Who is yn? This up-and-comer has made quite a splash in the past year and it seems only up from here! Between securing a supporting spot on The 1975’s ‘At Their Very Best’ Tour, just about to embark on their UK & Ireland leg, as well as a heavily anticipated debut album just months away, we’re sure you’ll want to keep an eye on her! More info at the link in our bio!

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ynfan1 so proud of her!!!!

1975fan1 she seems so cool! so excited for tour!!

ynfan2 gahh!!! i remember when she would play venues for like 100 people and now she’s touring with the 1975!!!

yninstagram alexa, play she’s leaving home by the beatles (sidenote: couldn’t be more excited for the next month or so <;3)

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ynfriend don’t be too long!!

>yninstagram you know i couldn’t go without you!!!

ynfan1 SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU IN EXETER!!!!!

ynfan2 so prettyyyyy

ynfan3 mother is mothering so hard rn

pollymoney buzzing for you to join us xxx

>yninstagram me too ! x

yninstagram Brighton, you were beautiful, I just wish I didn’t rip my favourite pair of pants minutes before I had to go on stage. Xxx

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ynfan1 I was there!!! You did amazing!!!

>yninstagram thank you dear xxx

1975fan1 i’d never heard of her before last night’s show but i was impressed! you got a new number 1 fan!

ynfan2 can’t wait to see you!!!

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yninstagram via stories:

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ynupdates yn performing in Exeter! tonight she made a speech at the end of her set to introduce The 1975: “I want to thank you for listening and letting me perform here tonight, but I know you’re all not here for me. So I’d like to introduce the one, the only–my bosses–The 1975!”

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ynfan1 she was so good!!!

ynfan2 she’s so sweet!! My new fav artist!!

1975updates “Did you see yn before? She’s pretty cool–very talented…She’s also pretty hot which is great on tour…She knows this I told her.” -Matty tonight about yn, the supporting artist on their UK tour.

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1975fan1 ah matty healy, trying to get cancelled since 1989

1975fan2 ok but likeeee why could i see them together???

>ynfan1 no bc ur so right

1975fan3 ok matty’s got a new girl time to lay down in a busy intersection

ynupdates yn went live on instagram this morning!! she was hanging out with Polly from The 1975’s band!

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yn1975fan1 ok but yn and polly as besties,,,,,a dream come true 

>yn1975fan2 ikr they’re so cute!!!

yn1975fan3 the way yn knows all the words to the sound and sung it flawlessly on the live…iconic behaviour

ynfan1 did anyone see when yn was asked if she heard what Matty said on stage and she was like ‘of course! he tells me like every day’ i ship them so hard!!

>ynfan2 literally!!! And she got all smiley and giggly after too!!

yninstagram tfw u hit ur face on the headboard see u tn o2 xxx

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pollymoney you scare me babes

>yninstagram dw abt it babes

ynfan1 omg are you okay????

>yninstagram yeah honey just a minor nosebleed xxx

ynfan2 how did you hit your face on the headboard??

>yninstagram got a lil too crazy ig 🤪

trumanblack nice ;)

>1975fan1 mATTY SKJHGSDKUYDOS

ynupdates yn tonight in London!!

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ynfan1 she seemed so happy tonight!!

>ynfan2 ikr!! She was so smiley for the whole set!!!

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trumanblack via stories:

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1975updates tonight in Glasgow, yn joined the band on stage to sing Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America!! It’s the first time since the song was released that it has been performed live!

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yn1975fan1 did yall see how cute yn and matty were????

>yn1975fan2 when they hugged at the end of the song and he kissed her head?? I DIED

1975fan1 just about sobbed when they sang this

yn1975fan3 ok but between how cute yn and matty were on stage and their ig posts on tour does anyone get the vibeeee

>ynfan1 i ship them so hard

yninstagram mon bonheur xxx

TAGGED: trumanblack

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trumanblack xxx

yn1975fan1 sHUTUP I CANT BREATHEEEEE

yn1975fan2 OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG SO CUTE!!!!!!!!!!!

1975fan1 welp,,,time to jump in front of a bus

yn1975fan3 idk who I’m more jealous of

yn1975fan4 my PARENTS <;33

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy blurb #matty healy request

[soopsworld]

New video from Silk Cuts featuring lots of pleasing scenes including Exeter Cavern cloakroom where I worked many a night back in the day!! Oh and the song's great too.

Follow Silk Cuts on Spotify (or wherever you get your music) and/or on Instagram for new songs, tour dates, great photos and other splendid band-related content.

#Silk Cuts #new videos #new music #indie #exeter #exeter cavern #Youtube