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thisbluespirit · 2 years

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I’m going to follow up the James Maxwell & Dame Edith Evans post with one about what he was leaving behind, or maybe about the Old Vic Theatre School he came to attend, but those will be large-ish or more complicated posts, so have one about where James Maxwell lived when he got to the UK.

Why was I looking into this, you ask? (Well, no, you’ve probably understood by now that I’m just like this.) But the group that he was closely associated with all his life were all very talented and interesting but some of them sound like they could definitely have been a bit much to live with, so I wondered if the Maxwells ever shared digs with any of them, and if so, with whom?

(I should add that I can’t be absolutely certain on this point, because: a) actors wandering about the country in rep and away from digs might not always turn up in the electoral rolls and might spend months at a time away from said address anyway & also legal names might be completely different to stage names, b) Ancestry seem to possibly have some gaps for some of the relevant areas and c) some members of the group weren’t UK citizens, so wouldn’t be listed. Oh, and: d) that included James Maxwell! So, strictly speaking, I can only tell you where his wife was, but I think we can safely assume that that is a fair indication of where his home base was, too.)

1. 4 Eastmearn Road, Dulwich SW21 (1951)

When he went back to the US after the first year of theatre school, this was where he had been living most recently. It’s currently described as a five-bedroom semi-detached house, and certainly would have had space to stash a bunch of drama students or random lodgers. (This is the one address I can be certain about. Unless he lied or someone wrote it down wrong... lol.)

[4 Eastmearn Rd, front.]

You can even poke around it on this property website - it’s not hard to picture what it might have been like as a student house in the 1950s, even if it’s smartened up more these days.

[4 Eastmearn Road, back garden.]

When he returned in September 1951, he didn’t yet have new digs - the only address he gave the authorities was that of the Old Vic Theatre School itself.

However, he married Avril Elgar Williams in early 1952 before they left drama school, and so, after that, when I can find her, I can find him!

2. 57 Wolfington Road, Lambeth (1954, 1955)

The property is currently two flats (ground & first floor), although the number of occupants listed in the electoral roll suggest that it was either further divided at the time (1 flat + 1 bedsit per floor, possibly?) or people were sharing, as there are at least six adults over 21 - Avril E. (& therefore James) Maxwell, John B. & Leokadia Dixon, Mary A. E. Radford, and Eric N. Thompson.

If you’re thinking that last name rings a bell, you’d be right. Eric Thompson (father of Emma & Sophie) attended the Old Vic with James Maxwell & Avril Elgar and was a longtime member of the group, as was Phyllida Law. (They married in 1957.) They are the only members of the group I have been able to find living with or near the Maxwells, so that’s my answer!

[James Maxwell in Otley (1969) with Phyllida Law (playing husband and wife), and with Eric Thompson in Private Potter (1962).]

It’s also up on the same property website so you can have a nose inside again. (And boggle at London house prices: the 1995 buyer who sold it for 400% profit was clearly onto a good thing.)

3. 37 Matheson Road, W14 (1956)

Avril Maxwell was listed here, along with Coral & Horace Birby, Albert J Goode, Kathleen M. Kennedy, Joan Macpherson & Muriel Parrington.

It still has four floors of separate flats, one of which currently appears to be occupied by a care agency.

(I believe this is the right person, but it’s the only time she’s listed as “Avril Maxwell”(no ‘E’). This address is the outlier, in name & location; please consider this yr friendly disclaimer.)

4. 17 Lymington Road (1959, 1962, 1963)

[Pretty sure this must be no. 17 Lymington Road, centre here. 15 is the one to the left, I think.]

It isn’t listed on the same property site (unfortunately), but it is currently still divided into flats.

In 1962 & 1963, Eric & Phyllida Thompson were again living close by at no.15 Also at no. 17 were Gordon & Gillian Murray, and Edith & John O’Sullivan.

This means that when they were making Private Potter presumably Eric Thompson got to see JM first and last thing looking normal and then spent all day with him looking like this:

[gif of James Maxwell in fake eyebrows & moustache]

Which seems a bit much to ask of anyone, really.

5. 21 Temple Fortune Court, Temple Court Lane, NW11 (1964, 1965)

[Temple Fortune Lane, 1965, courtesy of the Francis Frith collection.]

For the first time, Avril E. Maxwell is the only person listed at the address, so it looks as if they were both finally doing well enough to afford a place of their own.

Ancestry’s London Electoral Rolls collection stops at 1965, but if they were still there in the following year, then Temple Fortune Court is where this ‘at home’ photograph was taken, in March 1966 (he’d just been playing Claude Frollo for the BBC, which I think explains the strange hair):

It’s hard to say much about 21 Temple Fortune Lane because it is now a brand new block of flats. (The design company seem pretty proud of it at least).

It’s visible on this 1950 Ordnance Survey map, though - it can’t have been a block of flats in 1964-5 with only one person listed at the address, but it seems here to be surrounded by communal space and buildings rather than a private garden. The ‘Temple’ is a real one - it’s a Jewish area of London, with a temple and a Jewish cemetery nearby.

James Maxwell said that he didn’t have a celebrity life - that he much preferred to be at home, with his his family and his garden, but it took a lot of years of moving around from one flat to another before that could be a reality, and it seems that began with the move to Temple Fortune.

[sources: UK Passenger lists London Electoral Rolls collection, Ancestry.co.uk; US Passenger lists, ancestry.com; TheMove; Google Street View; Francis Frith Collection; Getty Images; The Underground Map.]

#james maxwell #james maxwell research posts #1950s #1960s #eric thompson #phyllida law #avril elgar #lambeth #norwood #south london #private potter #otley #dulwich #gif #fulham #house history #i was trying to decide whether this one was too boring to post #or the most interesting because of nosing around in older houses #long post #actually one other showbiz name that crops up is gordon murray #but much as i would like to claim that jm shared an address with the person who came up with camberwick green #his wife was called enid #and i don't know why he would be in digs with someone called gillian #and it's a common name #(i feel i should have looked all the other names up more #but none of them got google results & its very hard indeed to find people just off elelectoral rolls #BUT i can reveal that Leokadia Dixon was born in 1918 and died in 2000 but even with that name that's all i got

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mermaidsirennikita · 4 years

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books (in the time of corona)

PART I: ADULT EDITION

Let’s get real--we’re all going fucking insane.

Therefore, I’m recommending some books with which you can kill time. I’m breaking them into categories--the romance category including several subgenres but by and large covering books that focus more heavily on the romance than anything else. These will all be adult books; I’m doing a separate page for YA recommendations.

I’ll be adding to this list as I finish books that I feel belong here.

ROMANCE

A Knight in Shining Armor by Jude Deveraux. A young woman is abandoned by her scoundrel of a boyfriend, only to find a literal medieval knight in shining armor. Pure 80′s cheese, a classic in the time travel subgenre long before Outlander ever happened.

The Circle Trilogy by Nora Roberts. Six sexy people, three men and three women in Roberts fashion, travel across time and parallel dimensions to fight an evil vampire and her undead army. Come for three fun romances, stay in particular for the “virgin bookworm queen captures the heart of the formerly evil 1,000 Irish vampire” ship.

The Hating Game by Sally Thorne. Rival coworkers who’ve always hated each other compete for the same job--until maybe? They start? Hooking up?

From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata. A down on her luck singles figure skater pairs up with the pairs champion she’s always despised... Unless they in fact, in a STUNNING TWIST, do not hate each other?

Pestilence by Laura Thalassa. A BIT ON THE NOSE RIGHT NOW, but I promise that this tale of a hot virgin Horseman of the Apocalypse spreading his plague and the one woman brave enough to fuck him is WORTH IT. As is the sequel, War.

My Lady’s Choosing by Kitty Curran. A literal choose your own adventure novel, but the adventures bodice ripping Regency romance plots!!!

The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang. A sweet and smart woman on the autism spectrum hires a male escort to teach her to be good at sex. Shit goes DOWN from there.

The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary. She works days; he works nights. She needs a cheap place to stay, and he needs a roommate. So they share a flat and even a bed (sleeping on opposite sides and never at the same time) only communicating through post-it notes throughout the apartment. What could go wrong?

Marriage for One by Ella Maise. She can only get her inheritance if she’s married. Good thing a glacial attorney has offered to marry her out of nowhere, only for paper purposes. What could go wrong???

The Worst Best Man by Mia Sosa. Lina is a wedding planner who was left at the altar. Max is the younger brother of the man who left her, and apparently convinced him to do the leaving. What happens when they work together?

Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert. Chloe suffers from a chronic illness, which means that she’s never had a life--and so she compiles a list that will help her get one. On the list? Meaningless sex. Which she won’t have with her building’s superintendent, even though he’s really down to help her cross off all the other items, riiiight?

HISTORICAL FICTION

Passion by Jude Morgan. The dramatic and intense height of Romantic England, told from the perspectives of Caroline Lamb, mistress of Lord Byron; August Leigh, his sister and lover; Mary Shelley; and Fanny Brawne, fiancee of John Keats.

Girl with a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier. Impoverished Griet becomes a maid in the household of the painter Vermeer, becoming his muse after he realizes that she has a natural eye--much to the dismay of his wife.

Snow Flower and The Secret Fan by Lisa See. In nineteenth century China, best friends Lily and Snow Flower follow each other through emotional and cultural revolutions, communicating through the secret language of fans.

The Memoirs of Cleopatra by Margaret George. Cleopatra recounts her life story, from her earliest memory, through her affairs with Caesar and Antony, and her end.

Mistress of Rome by Kate Quinn. In Domitian’s Rome, a Jewish girl rises from the position of lady’s slave to the emperor’s mistress through wiles and scheming.

The Tiger Queens by Stephanie Thornton. The rise and fall of Genghis Khan’s empire, as told through the women of his family--from his favorite wife to a clever daughter-in-law.

At the Water’s Edge by Sara Gruen. A socialite follows her incompetent to Scotland as he struggles to find the Loch Ness Monster and redeem his ancestor’s name--finding herself and questioning her life in the process.

A Year of Ravens. A collection of short stories by different authors, all centering on Boudica’s rebellion through the eyes of her countrymen and her enemies.

Feast of Sorrow by Crystal King. A slave becomes a chef in the treacherous household of a social climber struggling to gain the favor or Caesar August.

Fatal Throne. Six authors tell the stories of Henry VIII’s wives, all from their differing perspectives.

Daisy Jones and The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid. The rise and fall of a 1970s rock band is charted through the recollections of its members--as they recall what drove them apart, and in particular the intense relationship between the leader singers.

THRILLERS

The Girl in 6E by A.R. Torre. A woman with murderous impulses locks herself in her apartment to keep the public safe, making a living as a camgirl. She’s left torn between morals and impulse when she begins to suspect that one of her “fans” is dangerous.

Little Deaths by Emma Flint. In 1960s America, a single mother finds her personal life and image called into question when she’s accused of murdering her two young children.

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite. A nurse covers up her beautiful sister’s murders, only to be caught between loyalties when the doctor she loves falls for said sister.

The Last Mrs. Parrish by Liv Constantine. A plain “nobody” transforms herself in order to steal a high society housewife’s husband, only to deal with more than she bargained for.

The Wife Between Us by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen. A woman obsesses over her ex-husband’s new fiancee, leading her to disturbing lengths.

The Other Woman by Sandie Jones. After meeting her ideal man, a woman must contend with his possessive mother, who will do anything to maintain her hold over him.

Something in the Water by Catherine Steadman. A couple on their dream honeymoon find something in the water that will change the course of their life together.

The Au Pair by Emma Rous. The day Seraphine and her twin brother were born, their mother flung herself off a cliff and their nanny disappeared. Decades later, Seraphine discovers a photo taken of her parents just before her mother’s death--with only one baby. The only person who holds the key to the mystery? The au pair.

My Lovely Wife by Samantha Downing. A couple keeps the spark alive through murder.

Lock Every Door by Riley Sager. A young woman takes a job apartment-sitting in a high-end Manhattan building. Shortly after she befriends another sitter, the girl goes missing--with everyone else acting like nothing is amiss.

The Wives by Tarryn Fisher. Thursday is one of her husband’s three wives, though she’s never met the other two. When she finally does meet the third wife, she discovers a woman far different from what she expected--and covered in bruises.

FANTASY/SUPERNATURAL/HORROR

Daughter of the Forest by Juliet Marillier. Sorcha is the youngest of seven children in medieval Ireland. When her stepmother curses her six older brothers to live as swans, Sorcha agrees to weave them shirts of painful thistles, all the while remaining silent, to break the spell.

Black Pearls by Louise Hawes. A collection of dark fairy tale retellings.

The Incarnations by Susan Barker. A man receives letters from an anonymous source, detailing his supposed past lives throughout historical China.

Girls Made of Snow and Glass by Melissa Bashardoust. A dark Snow White retelling, with a stepmother whose goals extend far beyond the princess.

Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo. Alex Stern is discovered as the sole survivor of a brutal multiple murder, and is promptly scooped up by a group charged with monitoring the occult societies at Yale. Now disguised as a university student, Alex must figure out who’s been murdering locals, while also hiding what happened the night she lived.

The Silent Companions by Laura Purcell. A young widow in Victorian England is sent to her husband’s country estate to wait out her pregnancy, and is not alarmed to discover a “silent companion” (a painted wooden figure) in the house. But when the figure’s eyes begin following her, she is sucked into a history beyond her imagination.

Circe by Madeline Miller. The story of the woman who would seduce Odysseus, from her beginnings as a plain witch born of Helios and a mother who couldn’t care less. A classic rise to power story.

CONTEMPORARY LIT

Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal. Down on her luck Nikki takes up a job as a creative writing class instructor for the Punjabi widows in her West London neighborhood. It turns out that the widows thought she was there to teach them to write in English--which leads to the class becoming a place for them to share their stories orally instead. And it turns out that they’re a bit... erotic.

An American Marriage by Tayari Jones. Upwardly mobile newlyweds Celestina and Roy have their lives upended when Roy is falsely accused of a terrible crime and sent to prison for twelve years. When he’s released early after five, he returns home to find that Celestina has changed completely, and their marriage is entirely unknown.

Stay With Me by Ayobami Adebayo. A young Nigerian couple has always been against polygamy; but after the wife fails to get pregnant, her in-laws show up on their doorstep with a second wife.

NON-FICTION/MEMOIR

Harem: The World Behind The Veil by Alev Lytle Croutier. An examination of the Ottoman Empire’s harem culture, focusing on the women within.

Love For Sale: A World History of Prostitution by Nils Johan Ringal. Not really a GLOBAL history of prostitution, but a good introduction starting with ancient times and going into the cases of more recent madams in America, with a strong case for legalization worldwide.

Georgiana: Duchess of Devonshire by Amanda Foreman. A readable biography of the famously scandalous and tragic duchess, to be read while you kill time rewatching “The Duchess” starring Keira Knightley.

Lucrezia Borgia: Life, Love, and Death in Renaissance Italy by Sarah Bradford. A fair but none-too-precious assessment of one of Renaissance Italy’s most controversial women, and an analysis of her relationships with her father and brother.

The Life and Death of Anne Boleyn by Eric Ives. While you’re quarantining, you might as well read the definitive Anne Boleyn biography, yes? This one is responsible for much of the modern attitude on Anne.

Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution by Caroline Weber. A fascinating analysis of Marie Antoinette’s political life through her clothes.

The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston and Mario Spezi. An analysis of the infamous, unsolved “Monster of Florence” case. One of the most gruesome serial killers in Italy’s history, the monster’s crimes were pinned on several different men, and even investigated by the prosecutor who botched the Amanda Knox case.

The Forger’s Spell: A True Story of Vermeer, Nazis, and the Greatest Art Hoax of the Twentieth Century by Edward Dolnick. An examination of the case of Han van Meegeren, a painter who forged and sold many Dutch master fakes, and the pretentious art world that let him get away with it for years.

The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire by Jack Weatherford. A study of the women in Genghis Khan’s family, and in particular those that kept his empire from falling to ruin after his death. A good companion read with Stephanie Thornton’s fiction novel Tiger Queens mentioned above.

Chasing Aphrodite: The Hunt for Looted Antiquities at the World’s Richest Museum by Jason Felch and Ralph Frammolino. How did the Getty Museum end up with so many stolen artifacts? This book aims to find out.

The Creation of Anne Boleyn by Susan Bordo. A different kind of Anne Boleyn book, studying her portrayal in culture and fiction--complete with input from Natalie Dormer following her portrayal of Anne Boleyn on The Tudors.

Blood Sisters: The Women Behind the Wars of the Roses by Sarah Gristwood. An examination of the women of the houses of Lancaster and York during their famous, long-running conflict--and how these women had an impact on battles and politics alike.

The Dragon Behind the Glass: A True Story of Power, Obsession, and the World’s Most Coveted Fish by Emily Voigt. The author delves into why people are so obsessed with the arowana, a rare and exotic fish, to the point that they’ll commit murder--and becomes wrapped up in the fascination herself.

The Rules Do Not Apply by Ariel Levy. Over the course of a month, Ariel Levy watches everything she held true in her life--her financial security, her career, her marriage, and her pregnancy--fall apart. Levy must confront what it means to live an “unconventional” and “free” life, only for that to become meaningless, and pick up the pieces.

From Here to Eternity: Traveling the World to find The Good Death by Caitlin Doughty. Doughty recounts her global travels to observe and study different funerary and death rituals, recounting and analyzing her experiences with respect and personality.

Lady Killers: Deadly Women Throughout History by Tori Telfer. A collection of female serial killers, analyzing why they did what they did and the cultural legacy they left behind.

Severed: A History of Heads Lost and Heads Found by Frances Larson. A history of decapitated human heads, and what different cultures have done with them.

From Scratch: A Memoir of Love, Sicily, and Finding Home by Tembi Locke. Tembi Locke was never truly accepted by her husband’s Sicilian family, as a black American woman. But when Saro dies young of cancer, she finds herself more deeply entwined her in-laws, as she works to pick up the pieces. (Warning: one of the most achingly romantic books I’ve ever read; but it will destroy you.)

#books #book recommendations #book recs #self reblog for new addition

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thestraggletag · 4 years

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Indulgence!AU, Part 5

Anon Prompted: The doctor asks what the plan is once Belle is released - she cant live alone and will need help recovering.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three and Part Four.

AN: Think I’m gonna give other verses a chance tomorrow, so that people who prompt things other than this verse feel more included.

She was going to be released soon. The doctor had mentioned it early in the morning, talking about physical therapy and the necessary precautions she would have to take upon discharge, as well as the necessary care. It sounded like a lot of work, between dressing changes, medicine, sponge baths to keep the wounds dry as they healed and her limited range of motion, which meant being helped in and out of the bathroom.

Going to stay with her father was out of the question. Not only did he need to open and man the shop but it also sounded like too much for him. He was lovable but awkward, not to mention forgetful. Though she had no doubt that he would step up if she needed him to she’d rather not ask at all.

Mal offered, which wasn’t altogether a surprise. Their relationship had long passed that of a boss and an employee, with Mal also somewhat assimilating to her group of friends, joining them every now and then in different outings. But Belle knew things with her gentleman friend were advancing quickly. Because Jas was based in London, they didn’t get to see each other often and so when he was in New York he stayed at her place in lieu of a hotel, to be able to see each other as often as possible. He was currently in town and, therefore, it would feel rude to intrude upon their time together.

Staying over with one of the girls seemed the more feasible solution. Ruby could likely get time off at Imp, Inc, given the circumstances, though her apartment was small and her rescue dogs were boisterous and horse-sized. Mary Margaret and Emma were roommates and more often than not one was always home, which helped when it came to looking after Henry. They certainly wouldn’t mind taking her in, though they lived on the fifth floor of a building with no elevator. Well, technically there was one, but it was out of order, had been so for years. The landlord kept insisting it was “about” to be fixed. Emma had managed to negotiate a steep decrease in the rent for the inconvenience. Getting her up to the apartment would be a trial and once there she would be a virtual prisoner until she managed to be more mobile.

It seemed like the best option, and she was about to grab her phone to call Mary Margaret- Emma was on duty- when Nick stopped her.

“You could… you could move in with me.”

Belle could not say she hadn’t thought of it. When the doctor had talked of “going home” Nick’s penthouse was the place that first sprung to mind. And not for the obvious advantages, including a bathroom fully adapted for people with reduced mobility, but because that’s what she thought of when she thought of home. Not her apartment, with her passable roommates, or her childhood home in Maine.

But she had lost the right to think that way.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

They were in shambles, the both of them. She didn’t know if there was anything to save between them, she hoped there was, but it would require a lot of communication and time. And given what had happened to her it was possible Nick felt he owed it to her, to take care of her, given his past association with Jones.

“I don’t… wish to trap you. Or force you to reconsider us. I don’t want you to feel indebted to me. But having been apart has changed nothing for me. I still love you. I still wish to look after you. It’s entirely selfish on my part, I assure you. If I was the one to take care of you, then I wouldn’t have to wonder if you were alright.”

He wasn’t looking at her, his posture akin to that of an animal resisting the urge to bolt. Her darling Nick didn’t do vulnerable well.

“We can be friends, if that’s what you wish and feel comfortable with. Friends help each other.”

He made it sound so simple, but Belle knew there could never be friendship between them.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” He flinched, as if struck, so she was quick to reassure him. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to be just friends with you.”

The hope the stole over his face was breathtaking, making his eyes almost glow. Tentatively, in a fit of bravery, he took one of her hands in both of his.

“What do you mean?”

He said it so slowly, enunciating every word so carefully, that her heart broke for him a little. How unloved he had been, how denied by those that should’ve cared for him. And yet here he was, trying. Reaching out. She certainly could repay his bravery with a bit of her own.

“I mean… I’m not scared of hard work. Not when it’s worth it. Not if it would give us a second chance.”

He raised her hand to his lips to kiss it with restrained fervour.

“You mean…?”

“Take me home, Nick. We can sort things out there.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Indulgence AU #Thestraggletag fanfiction

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scotianostra · 4 years

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Happy Birthday Dundee Musician Gary Clark, born March 10th 1962 in the city of discovery.

Now I know most of you will not recognise the name, but you will know his biggest hit with the band Danny Wilson, Mary's Prayer. "Och but I thought that was a guys name" I hear you say, well you're no t the only, I remember a singer in an Inverness bar a few years ago singing it, and I said I loved the band, she looked at me, she was singing a song but didn't know that Danny Wilson was a group, and Gary Clark was the singer-songwriter with them.

During the early 1980s Clark worked with his long-time friend, Ged Grimes in a variety of London-based bands including Clark's Commandos and Dream Kitchen. Returning to Dundee, Clark and Grimes formed a trio with Gary's brother Kit Clark, initially under the name of Spencer Tracy. They signed to Virgin records in 1986, and (after objections from the estate of Spencer Tracy changed their name to Danny Wilson.

Gary Clark recalls this as "a real last-minute crazy, fearful moment... The album was done, the artwork was done... We were just told, 'If you try and use this, you will be sued.' And so the label just went 'Nope. Change it. Now.'" For their new name, the band chose Danny Wilson, taken from a 1952 Frank Sinatra film called Meet Danny Wilson, the film was a favourite of Clark's father.

The trio in the band were all talented on many instruments and sometimes cant even recall who played what on there records, but generally speaking, Gary Clark played most of the guitar and piano parts on album while Grimes played all of the bass parts. Kit Clark functioned as a multi-instrumental wild card, even playing the accordion! The band remained a trio through there life, only hiring in session drummers during their time together.

1987's Mary's Prayer earned the group its first and only top 20 hit reaching number 3, their follow up flopped, although it did have a great title....what was it? Davy! The group had a minor hit in 1989 with a cracking song called Second Summer Of Love, it reached 23. Mary's Prayer was a minor hit in the states reaching 23. Danny Wilson were the house band at Dundee nightclub The Swamp when they released their first album Meet Danny Wilson.

The band have split and got back together a few times over the years, but Gary Clark has forged for himself a successful career as songwriter and record producer. Gary has wrote several songs for Aussie singer Natalie Imbruglia contributing to all her album so far. He also wrote Under, for Alex Hepburn, which although wasn't a hit at home was top five in several European countries in 2013. Other artists and writers Clark has worked with include Lloyd Cole, Mel C, Mel B, Cathy Dennis, Mark Owen, Eddi Reader, Demi Lovato and The Wanted.

He is currently working on the stage musical "Nanny McPhee" with Emma Thompson, and on "Modern Love" an eight-part series for Amazon with John Carney in which Gary has written an original song in each episode

I did notice just the other day he is also touring this year but for all my hunting I can't find the details just now. Anyway have a listen to his biggest songwriting success.Gary said of the song "I certainly don't think [it's] the best song on the album but it is probably the most accessible and therefore the best choice for a first single".

#Scotland #scottish #singersongwriter #Dundee

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spellnbone · 4 years

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Illness & Findings

The first three weeks of January were perhaps the hardest weeks for Edgar in a really long time. He fought with about everyone who matters to him and even the more hopeful moments (of lost friends returning) were all overshadowed by war. Edgar began pondering about a new theory: everyone is in one form or another afflicted by an illness. An illness caused by the tension of war which results in unfathomable weight and pain within them and expresses itself by symptoms called coping mechanisms. It is under this theory that he’s begun thinking of and interacting with other people.

1st No More Cakes and Ale? -> Edgar and Fabian are still at the Green Lion after Edgar found Fabian in the snow, drunk and beaten bloody. He realises not only that Fabian is suffering from enough pain (his “illness”) that he wishes to “leave” and copes by drinking. Helpless, Edgar tries to keep Fabian at the Green Lion away from drinks, but all he does is offering a shallow distraction from Fabian has yet to admit to.

2nd Voice -> After the second night at the Green Lion, that is, two nights during which Edgar didn’t tell anyone where he went, Caradoc shows up, suddenly, throwing him the news at his head. 120 people have died -- probably by the Orb. The Orb that the Order failed to steal from the Nott’s last month. Edgar is sent on his mission to collect information from Severus Snape, who seems to know more, but in the meantime he tells Fabian to go to his place and stay there until he returns.

3rd Resolutions -> It’s past midnight when Edgar gets home. He doesn’t find Fabian, though, he finds Amelia. She and Fabian fought, throwing ugly accusations at each other, most of them caused by and attacking Amelia’s fear of Edgar once again dropping her due to being in love with someone else. Due to this fight, the apartment is a mess and upon entering Edgar’s first thought is: someone broke in and attacked Fabian. He makes up with Amelia, but the effects are already showing: he tells her to leave his apartment and never come back, realising that even his hundredfold warded apartment is no longer a warless, safe space. And the idea of Amelia getting hurt causes new anxiety tics to arise.

4th Investigative investigation -> Trying to distract himself and still hoping Fabian comes back, Edgar spends his day at his Daily Prophet office, working. Artem comes to find him, asking him if he could perhaps help them find their old friends from a time they were still active in the Muggle queer spaces of London. Are they dead? Are they alive? Edgar, well aware of the epidemic in the US which is slowly turning into a pandemic, is cautious to promise anything, but he says he will try his best. At least it gives him something to do. Finding someone, anyone, could alleviate the weight of not knowing where Fabian is.

6th Epiphany -> Edgar misses Epiphany with his family. It’s the first time ever. He just can’t bring himself to go home right now, not with Rigby still waiting for an answer about his letter, not with Amelia still annoyed with Edgar. The Daily Rag -> Instead he goes to a local pub to drink (alone, when usually he’d ask Fabian to join him) and finds his old teenage celebrity crush: the infamous theatre fiasco from 1969, Mundungus Fletcher. Star struck and eager to have fun that night, Edgar agrees to join Fletcher on a little robbery. Elated that it works, they make out and have even more fun that night. The morning, upon remembering that Fletcher is an affiliate of the Order, is less fun.

8th -> The Order hears via Emma Vanity about Ryland Greengrass, who disappeared about three months ago and was assumed defected. They learn that instead he is in fact captured and held in his own family’s basement. Emma suggests that since on the 10th the Greengrass house will be empty, they should do their rescue mission then, and the Inner Circle agrees. Voice -> When Ryland first disappeared, Edgar wouldn’t believe it, trusting his old room mate and his loyalty to the Order too much, but upon bringing up the issue again and again, Caradoc told him to stop, to accept the facts and move on. The truth now being out causes even more tension to grow between the two friends, and it only gets worse when instead of instantly loving the idea to rescue Ryland, Caradoc raises the concern that this might be a trap.

9th Voice -> The Inner Circle meets, deciding to keep this mission a secret so that the mole can’t warn the Greengrass, and begin to come up with a plan. James makes great suggestions and while Edgar is grateful for that, he is still to infuriated with Caradoc to join the conversation much.

10th 7 years, 3 months, 1 change -> Once the Inner Circle finally have a solid plan, it’s already evening, and time is running out. They’ve decided on what is going to happen, but not who is going to execute the plan. Edgar, still aggravated by the whole situation and on top projecting his fear about Fabian onto Ryland, storms off without another warning, appointing Emma and Peter who just happen to be at the Head Quarters that day to join.

11th Cori Tauri -> The mission succeeds. Ryland has been saved and after some intense interrogations and a good night’s rest, Edgar takes him for a walk to assess the situation -- as well to reacquaint himself with his old friend. Between Hogwarts and now they had grown apart, but the night is peaceful, friendly, and Edgar finds himself relaxing for perhaps the first time in weeks. Ryland also tells Edgar to just go talk to Amelia already.

14th Doing well/Something -> It would be a lie to say that saving Ryland was enough to fully put Edgar back on his feet. The idea that the same thing is currently happening to Fabian who is still gone, keeps Edgar up at night. However he does manage to focus better on his work now and decides to finally talk to James. In a previous conversation James had complained that the other members of the Inner Circle don’t listen to him enough, and between this and his great suggestions during the planning of Ryland’s rescue, Edgar decides to give him a proper chance. They discuss how to find the mole and find out who in the Ministry might be on Voldemort’s side, and James, slowly warming up to Edgar (who is growing quite fond of him with every passing minute) promises to make a detailed plan that the Order will be able to act on.

15th Calendrical -> During the conversation with James, Edgar also tries to find out if he’s aware of Remus’ periodically returning injuries, and what he thinks of it, but James doesn’t seem eager to share any opinions on that, so Edgar approaches Mary. Mary takes into consideration the facts Edgar lays down for her (that Remus is hurt after every month, that he tries to protect the werewolves living in the forest by the McKinnon Farm, etc), and suggests they talk to the Marauders as well as Emmeline Vance who might have had a closer look at Remus’ injuries in the past. Neither of them dares to speak what they think: is Remus perhaps a werewolf? Voice -> Still at the Potter Estate, Edgar learns that Ryland is planning on finally moving out of the Potter Estate, moving back into his own home. Edgar panics, his tics consuming him fully until Caradoc finds him and makes him stop. Unfortunately, Edgar still doesn’t take Caradoc’s apology (nor wants to listen to what Caradocs wants to tell him) and leaves. Leaves, however, not without a thank you.

16th Reunion -> Edgar understands now that he too is afflicted by this war illness, and that he is not coping well at all, finally finds Amelia. Overjoyed to have each other back, the two spend the night together -- Edgar well aware that Amelia is his coping mechanism, and it’s yet another reason to keep her away from this war. If she joins and becomes ill as well, who will be able to save her?

17th Voice -> The next night, Edgar receives a letter from Caradoc, warning him that something happened at the Potter Estate. Edgar tells him he can handle it and goes alone. x -> Upon arriving there, it’s very late already. In a hushed whisper he’s told that Daisy has returned from her year-long sabbatical, and Edgar’s heart beats fast. Daisy is one of his oldest friends and he hasn’t seen her in a year. When finding her in a make-shift room, though, she’s already asleep and so he just joins her, nestling up and happy that one by one, he’s finding all his friends again.

18th Back -> Not only do the two of them spend a lovely morning together, trying to catch up, but Daisy also gives Edgar a photo camera. While talking, Edgar has to realise though, that going away (like Daisy did) might be the only way to escape this war. And that contrary to Daisy some might do it deliberately, for no academic reason, only to free themselves of their illness. Thus, Edgar decides that he needs to talk to Caradoc.

19th Voice -> Is his friend really as cold-hearted as Edgar accused him to be? Does he have to learn how to be warmer to find a war where the rarest resource is warmth and compassion? Or is he perhaps not in the wrong for being cold-hearted? Is it perhaps Edgar who has to toughen up to fight this war properly? These are the things Edgar plans on finding, but upon arriving at Strongarm Cottage, it is not just Caradoc he sees: Fabian! Shocked, confused, helpless, Edgar demands Caradoc explains. And he does. And Edgar learns that his friend is not at all cold-hearted as he always acts. Never Did Run Smooth -> Fabian admitted to being an alcoholic. Admitted this to Caradoc, along with a plea to take him in, help him. Therefore, instead of confronting Fabian or even addressing his disappearance directly, Edgar shows him Caradoc’s old room. The room of a normal teenager, full of pleasures and joys and life -- frozen in time. What happened? How has Caradoc become this chiseled shell everyone knows him to be? Edgar explains Fabian that everyone is ill because of this war in their own way, that they’re all just trying to cope. That Fabian isn’t weak for having found comfort in alcohol, but strong for admitting it. Stronger than Edgar who cannot let go of Amelia in a healthy way, stronger than Caradoc who picks his mind apart to be free of all emotions.

22nd Talk -> It is during a random talk with Gideon that Edgar learns that Gideon doesn’t know where his brother is. This weighs heavy on Edgar as he understands the bond twins have well, and the idea that Gideon wasn’t there for Fabian when it was needed most, displeases him. He cannot assume yet whether Fabian just refused to tell Gideon about what was going on, or if Gideon refused to acknowledge it. Either way, when Edgar hints to the fact that Fabian might need his twin now more than ever, Gideon seems offended more than concerned.

24th x -> Edgar finds one of Artem’s friends living in a suburb outside London. He has no time to tell his friend about it yet.

25th Sunny Morning [not yet available] -> Edgar joins Caradoc and Fabian at Strongarm Rehab, catching up on everything they missed. He tells Caradoc about Remus, and they discuss if the him perhaps, allegedly, being a werewolf would affect their plans moving the werewolves to the House of Bones as previously planned. Edgar doesn’t know if he’s relieved that their plans are frozen until they know more about Remus, because using House of Bones for the Order would first require him to accept Rigby’s decision. Upon going to say hi to Fabian that morning, Edgar also realises that he’s not even sure if his friend is going to return to the Order or not. While he doesn’t want to lose Fabian, he’s also afraid that returning to the war could worsen his illness...

29th Gryffadorian Surprise -> Fabian does want to remain in the Order. Is in fact quite puzzled that Edgar would think he could just leave. He agrees to participate in the polyjuice mission, where he and Emma have to find a Pureblood’s hair or so to go as them during the Rosier Engagement party next month. For the first time in a long time, Fabian goes into a mission sober, and Edgar and Caradoc are quite anxious. When Fabian returned victoriously though, they’re overjoyed and Edgar is reassured that Fabian staying in the Order is not a bad idea. That his friend is indeed much stronger than most.

#{ it’s rotten work }#{ wait for the wisest of counselors }#m:caradoc #m:fabian #m:emma #m:ryland #m:amelia #m:peter #m:artem #m:mundungus #m:mary #m:james #m:daisy #m:severus #december

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blackkudos · 4 years

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Marian Anderson

Marian Anderson (February 27, 1897 – April 8, 1993) was an American singer of classical music and spirituals. Music critic Alan Blyth said: "Her voice was a rich, vibrant contralto of intrinsic beauty." She performed in concert and recital in major music venues and with famous orchestras throughout the United States and Europe between 1925 and 1965. Although offered roles with many important European opera companies, Anderson declined, as she had no training in acting. She preferred to perform in concert and recital only. She did, however, perform opera arias within her concerts and recitals. She made many recordings that reflected her broad performance repertoire, which ranged from concert literature to lieder to opera to traditional American songs and spirituals. Between 1940 and 1965 the German-American pianist Franz Rupp was her permanent accompanist.

Anderson became an important figure in the struggle for black artists to overcome racial prejudice in the United States during the mid-twentieth century. In 1939, the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) refused permission for Anderson to sing to an integrated audience in Constitution Hall in Washington, DC. The incident placed Anderson into the spotlight of the international community on a level unusual for a classical musician. With the aid of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt and her husband Franklin D. Roosevelt, Anderson performed a critically acclaimed open-air concert on Easter Sunday, April 9, 1939, on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in the capital. She sang before an integrated crowd of more than 75,000 people and a radio audience in the millions.

Anderson continued to break barriers for black artists in the United States, becoming the first black person, American or otherwise, to perform at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City on January 7, 1955. Her performance as Ulrica in Giuseppe Verdi's Un ballo in maschera at the Met was the only time she sang an opera role on stage.

Anderson worked for several years as a delegate to the United Nations Human Rights Committee and as a "goodwill ambassadress" for the United States Department of State, giving concerts all over the world. She participated in the civil rights movement in the 1960s, singing at the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963. The recipient of numerous awards and honors, Anderson was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1963, the Congressional Gold Medal in 1977, the Kennedy Center Honors in 1978, the National Medal of Arts in 1986, and a Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award in 1991.

Early life and career

Marian Anderson was born on February 27, 1897, in Philadelphia, to John Berkley Anderson (c. 1872–1910) and the former Annie Delilah Rucker (1874–1964). Her father sold ice and coal at the Reading Terminal in downtown Philadelphia and eventually opened a small liquor business as well. Prior to her marriage, Anderson's mother had briefly attended the Virginia Seminary and College in Lynchburg and had worked as a schoolteacher in Virginia. As she did not obtain a degree, Annie Anderson was unable to teach in Philadelphia under a law that was applied only to black teachers and not white ones. She therefore earned an income caring for small children. Marian was the eldest of the three Anderson children. Her two sisters, Alice (1899–1965, later spelled Alyse) and Ethel (1902–1990), also became singers. Ethel married James DePreist and their late son, James Anderson DePreist was a noted conductor.

Anderson's parents were both devout Christians and the whole family was active in the Union Baptist Church in South Philadelphia. Marian's aunt Mary, her father's sister, was particularly active in the church's musical life and, noticing her niece's talent, convinced her to join the junior church choir at the age of six. In that role she got to perform solos and duets, often with her aunt Mary. Marian was also taken by her aunt to concerts at local churches, the YMCA, benefit concerts, and other community music events throughout the city. Anderson credited her aunt's influence as the reason she pursued her singing career. Beginning as young as six, her aunt arranged for Marian to sing for local functions where she was often paid 25 or 50 cents for singing a few songs. As she got into her early teens, Marian began to make as much as four or five dollars for singing; a considerable amount of money for the early 20th century. At the age of 10, Marian joined the People's Chorus under the direction of singer Emma Azalia Hackley, where she was often given solos. On March 21, 1919, during a March Festival of Music, she was a lead singer in a concert by the Robert Curtis Ogden Band and Choral Society at Egyptian Hall in Philadelphia's John Wanamaker department store.

When Anderson was 12, her father was accidentally struck on the head while at work at the Reading Terminal, just a few weeks before Christmas of 1909. He died of heart failure a month later at age 34. Marian and her family moved into the home of her father's parents, Grandpa Benjamin and Grandma Isabella Anderson. Her grandfather had been born a slave and had experienced emancipation in the 1860s. He was the first of the Anderson family to settle in South Philadelphia, and when Anderson moved into his home the two became very close. He died just a year after the family moved in.

Anderson attended Stanton Grammar School, graduating in the summer of 1912. Her family, however, could not afford to send her to high school, nor could they pay for any music lessons. Still, Anderson continued to perform wherever she could and learn from anyone who was willing to teach her. Throughout her teenage years, she remained active in her church's musical activities, now heavily involved in the adult choir. She joined the Baptists' Young People's Union and the Camp Fire Girls which provided her with some limited musical opportunities. Eventually the directors of the People's Chorus and the pastor of her church, Reverend Wesley Parks, along with other leaders of the black community, raised the money she needed to get singing lessons with Mary Saunders Patterson and to attend South Philadelphia High School, from which she graduated in 1921.

After high school, Anderson applied to an all-white music school, the Philadelphia Music Academy (now University of the Arts), but was turned away because she was black. The woman working the admissions counter replied, "We don't take colored" when she tried to apply. Undaunted, Anderson pursued studies privately in her native city through the continued support of the Philadelphia black community, first with Agnes Reifsnyder, then Giuseppe Boghetti. She met Boghetti through the principal of her high school. Anderson auditioned for him singing "Deep River" and he was immediately brought to tears. Boghetti scheduled a recital of English, Russian, Italian and German music at The Town Hall in New York City in April 1924 which took place in an almost empty hall and received poor reviews. In 1925 Anderson got her first big break when she won first prize in a singing competition sponsored by the New York Philharmonic. As the winner she got to perform in concert with the orchestra on August 26, 1925, a performance that scored immediate success with both audience and music critics. Anderson remained in New York to pursue further studies with Frank La Forge. During the time Arthur Judson, whom she had met through the New York Philharmonic, became her manager. Over the next several years, she made a number of concert appearances in the United States, but racial prejudice prevented her career from gaining much momentum. In 1928, she sang for the first time at Carnegie Hall. Eventually she decided to go to Europe where she spent a number of months studying with Sara Charles-Cahier before launching a highly successful European singing tour.

European fame

In 1933, Anderson made her European debut in a concert at Wigmore Hall in London, where she was received enthusiastically. She spent the early 1930s touring throughout Europe where she did not encounter the racial prejudices she had experienced in America. In the summer of 1930, she went to Scandinavia, where she met the Finnish pianist Kosti Vehanen who became her regular accompanist and her vocal coach for many years. She also met Jean Sibelius through Vehanen after he had heard her in a concert in Helsinki. Moved by her performance, Sibelius invited them to his home and asked his wife to bring champagne in place of the traditional coffee. Sibelius commented to Anderson of her performance that he felt that she had been able to penetrate the Nordic soul. The two struck up an immediate friendship, which further blossomed into a professional partnership, and for many years Sibelius altered and composed songs for Anderson to perform. He created a new arrangement of the song "Solitude" and dedicated it to Anderson in 1939. Originally The Jewish Girl's Song from his 1906 incidental music to Belshazzar's Feast, it later became the "Solitude" section of the orchestral suite derived from the incidental music.

In 1934, impresario Sol Hurok offered Anderson a better contract than she previously had with Arthur Judson. He became her manager for the rest of her performing career and through his persuasion she came back to perform in America. In 1935, Anderson made her second recital appearance at The Town Hall in New York City, which received highly favorable reviews by music critics. She spent the next four years touring throughout the United States and Europe. She was offered opera roles by several European houses but, due to her lack of acting experience, Anderson declined all of those offers. She did, however, record a number of opera arias in the studio, which became bestsellers.

Anderson, accompanied by Vehanen, continued to tour throughout Europe during the mid-1930s. She visited Eastern European capitals and Russia and returned again to Scandinavia, where "Marian fever" had spread to small towns and villages where she had thousands of fans. She quickly became a favorite of many conductors and composers of major European orchestras. During a 1935 tour in Salzburg, the conductor Arturo Toscanini told her she had a voice "heard once in a hundred years".

In the late 1930s, Anderson gave about 70 recitals a year in the United States. Although by then quite famous, her stature did not completely end the prejudice she confronted as a young black singer touring the United States. She was still denied rooms in certain American hotels and was not allowed to eat in certain American restaurants. Because of this discrimination, Albert Einstein, a champion of racial tolerance, hosted Anderson on many occasions, the first being in 1937 when she was denied a hotel before performing at Princeton University. She last stayed with him months before he died in 1955.

1939 Lincoln Memorial concert

In 1939, the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR) refused permission for Anderson to sing to an integrated audience in their Constitution Hall. At the time, Washington, D.C., was a segregated city and black patrons were upset that they had to sit at the back of Constitution Hall. Constitution Hall also did not have the segregated public bathrooms required by DC law at the time for such events. The District of Columbia Board of Education also declined a request to use the auditorium of a white public high school.

Charles Edward Russell, a co-founder of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and chair of the DC citywide Inter-Racial Committee, convened a meeting on the following day that formed the Marian Anderson Citizens Committee (MACC) composed of several dozen organizations, church leaders and individual activists in the city, including the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, the Washington Industrial Council-CIO, American Federation of Labor, and the National Negro Congress. MACC elected Charles Hamilton Houston as its chairman and on February 20, the group picketed the board of education, collected signatures on petitions, and planned a mass protest at the next board of education meeting.

As a result of the ensuing furor, thousands of DAR members, including First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, resigned from the organization. In her letter to the DAR, she wrote, "I am in complete disagreement with the attitude taken in refusing Constitution Hall to a great artist ... You had an opportunity to lead in an enlightened way and it seems to me that your organization has failed."

Author Zora Neale Hurston criticized Eleanor Roosevelt's public silence about the similar decision by the District of Columbia Board of Education, while the District was under the control of committees of a Democratic Congress, to first deny, and then place race-based restrictions on, a proposed concert by Anderson.

As the controversy swelled, the American press overwhelmingly backed Anderson’s right to sing. The Philadelphia Tribune wrote, “A group of tottering old ladies, who don't know the difference between patriotism and putridism, have compelled the gracious First Lady to apologize for their national rudeness.” Even some Southern newspapers supported Anderson. The Richmond Times-Dispatch wrote, ‘’In these days of racial intolerance so crudely expressed in the Third Reich, an action such as the D.A.R.’s ban. . . seems all the more deplorable.’’

At Eleanor Roosevelt's behest, President Roosevelt and Walter White, then-executive secretary of the NAACP, and Anderson's manager, impresario Sol Hurok, persuaded Secretary of the Interior Harold L. Ickes to arrange an open-air concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The concert was performed on Easter Sunday, April 9, and Anderson was accompanied, as usual, by Vehanen. They began the performance with a dignified and stirring rendition of "My Country, 'Tis of Thee". The event attracted a crowd of more than 75,000 of all colors and was a sensation with a national radio audience of millions.

Two months later, in conjunction with the 30th NAACP conference in Richmond, Virginia, Eleanor Roosevelt gave a speech on national radio (NBC and CBS) and presented Anderson with the 1939 Spingarn Medal for distinguished achievement.

A documentary film of the event has been selected for the National Film Registry, and NBC radio coverage of the event has been selected for the National Recording Registry.

Midlife and career

During World War II and the Korean War, Anderson entertained troops in hospitals and bases. In 1943, she sang at the Constitution Hall at the invitation of the DAR to an integrated audience as part of a benefit for the American Red Cross. She said of the event, "When I finally walked onto the stage of Constitution Hall, I felt no different than I had in other halls. There was no sense of triumph. I felt that it was a beautiful concert hall and I was very happy to sing there." By contrast, the District of Columbia Board of Education continued to bar her from using the high school auditorium in the District of Columbia.

On July 17, 1943, in Bethel, Connecticut, Anderson became the second wife of a man who had asked her to marry him when they were teenagers, architect Orpheus H. Fisher (1900–86), known as King. The wedding was a private ceremony performed by United Methodist pastor Rev. Jack Grenfell and was the subject of a short story titled "The 'Inside' Story" written by Rev. Grenfell's wife, Dr. Clarine Coffin Grenfell, in her book Women My Husband Married, including Marian Anderson.

According to Dr. Grenfell, the wedding was originally supposed to take place in the parsonage, but because of a bake sale on the lawn of the Bethel United Methodist Church, was moved at the last minute to the Elmwood Chapel, on the site of the Elmwood Cemetery in Bethel, in order to allow the event to remain private.

By this marriage she had a stepson, James Fisher, from her husband's previous marriage to Ida Gould. The couple had purchased a 100-acre (0.40 km2) farm in Danbury, Connecticut, three years earlier in 1940 after an exhaustive search throughout New York, New Jersey and Connecticut. Through the years Fisher built many outbuildings on the property, including an acoustic rehearsal studio he designed for his wife. The property remained Anderson's home for almost 50 years.

On January 7, 1955, Anderson became the first African-American to perform with the Metropolitan Opera in New York. On that occasion, she sang the part of Ulrica in Giuseppe Verdi's Un ballo in maschera (opposite Zinka Milanov, then Herva Nelli, as Amelia) at the invitation of director Rudolf Bing. Anderson said later about the evening, "The curtain rose on the second scene and I was there on stage, mixing the witch's brew. I trembled, and when the audience applauded and applauded before I could sing a note, I felt myself tightening into a knot." Although she never appeared with the company again after this production, Anderson was named a permanent member of the Metropolitan Opera company. The following year she published her autobiography, My Lord, What a Morning, which became a bestseller.

In 1957, she sang for President Dwight D. Eisenhower's inauguration, toured India and the Far East as a goodwill ambassador through the U.S. State Department and the American National Theater and Academy. She traveled 35,000 miles (56,000 km) in 12 weeks, giving 24 concerts. After that, President Eisenhower appointed her as a delegate to the United Nations Human Rights Committee. The same year, she was elected Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. In 1958 she was officially designated delegate to the United Nations, a formalization of her role as "goodwill ambassadress" of the U.S. which she had played earlier.

On January 20, 1961 she sang for President John F. Kennedy's inauguration, and in 1962 she performed for President Kennedy and other dignitaries in the East Room of the White House, and also toured Australia. She was active in supporting the civil rights movement during the 1960s, giving benefit concerts for the Congress of Racial Equality, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the America-Israel Cultural Foundation. In 1963, she sang at the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. That same year she was one of the original 31 recipients of the newly reinstituted Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is awarded for "especially meritorious contributions to the security or national interest of the United States, World Peace or cultural or other significant public or private endeavors". She also released her album, Snoopycat: The Adventures of Marian Anderson's Cat Snoopy, which included short stories and songs about her beloved black cat. In 1965, she christened the nuclear-powered ballistic-missile submarine, USS George Washington Carver. That same year Anderson concluded her farewell tour, after which she retired from public performance. The international tour began at Constitution Hall on Saturday October 24, 1964, and ended at Carnegie Hall on April 18, 1965.

As a citizen of Danbury, Connecticut

From 1940 she resided at a 50-acre farm, having sold half of the original 100 acres, that she named Marianna Farm. The farm was on Joe's Hill Road, in the Mill Plain section of Danbury in western Danbury, northwest of what in December 1961 became the interchange between Interstate 84, U.S. 6 and U.S. 202. She constructed a three-bedroom ranchhouse as a residence, and she used a separate one-room structure as her studio. In 1996, the farm was named one of 60 sites on the Connecticut Freedom Trail. The studio was moved to downtown Danbury as the Marian Anderson studio.

As a town resident she was set on waiting in line at shops and restaurants, declining offers to go ahead as a celebrity. She was known to visit the Danbury State Fair. She sang at the city hall on the occasion of the lighting of Christmas ornaments. She gave a concert at the Danbury High School. She served on the boards of the Danbury Music Center and supported the Charles Ives Center for the Arts the Danbury Chapter of the NAACP.

Later life

Although Anderson retired from singing in 1965, she continued to appear publicly. On several occasions she narrated Aaron Copland's Lincoln Portrait, including a performance with the Philadelphia Orchestra at Saratoga in 1976, conducted by the composer. Her achievements were recognized and honored with many prizes, including the NAACP's Spingarn Medal in 1939; University of Pennsylvania Glee Club Award of Merit in 1973; the United Nations Peace Prize, New York City's Handel Medallion, and the Congressional Gold Medal, all in 1977; Kennedy Center Honors in 1978; the George Peabody Medal in 1981; the National Medal of Arts in 1986; and a Grammy Award for Lifetime Achievement in 1991. In 1980, the United States Treasury Department coined a half-ounce gold commemorative medal with her likeness, and in 1984 she was the first recipient of the Eleanor Roosevelt Human Rights Award of the City of New York. She has been awarded honorary doctoral degrees from Howard University, Temple University and Smith College.

In 1986, Anderson's husband, Orpheus Fisher, died after 43 years of marriage. Anderson remained in residence at Marianna Farm until 1992, one year before her death. Although the property was sold to developers, various preservationists as well as the City of Danbury fought to protect Anderson's studio. Their efforts proved successful and the Danbury Museum and Historical Society received a grant from the State of Connecticut, relocated the structure, restored it, and opened it to the public in 2004. In addition to seeing the studio, visitors can see photographs and memorabilia from milestones in Anderson's career.

Anderson died of congestive heart failure on April 8, 1993, at age 96. She had suffered a stroke a month earlier. She died in Portland, Oregon, at the home of her nephew, conductor James DePreist, where she had relocated the year prior. She is interred at Eden Cemetery, in Collingdale, Pennsylvania.

Awards and honors

1939: NAACP Spingarn Medal

1963: Presidential Medal of Freedom

1973: University of Pennsylvania Glee Club Award of Merit

1973: National Women's Hall of Fame

1977: United Nations Peace Prize

1977: New York City – Handel Medallion

1977: Congressional Gold Medal

1978: Kennedy Center Honors

1980: United States Treasury Department gold commemorative medal

1984: Eleanor Roosevelt Human Rights Award of the City of New York

1986: National Medal of Arts

1991: Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award

Honorary doctorate from Howard University, Temple University, Smith College

Legacy

The life and art of Anderson has inspired several writers and artists. She was an example and an inspiration to both Leontyne Price and Jessye Norman. In 1999 a one-act musical play entitled My Lord, What a Morning: The Marian Anderson Story was produced by the Kennedy Center. The musical took its title from Anderson's memoir, published by Viking in 1956. In 2001, the 1939 documentary film, Marian Anderson: The Lincoln Memorial Concert was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".

In 2002, scholar Molefi Kete Asante included Anderson in his book, 100 Greatest African Americans. On January 27, 2006, a commemorative U.S. postage stamp honored Anderson as part of the Black Heritage series. Anderson is also pictured on the US$5,000 Series I United States Savings Bond. On April 20, 2016, United States Secretary of the Treasury, Jacob Lew, announced that Anderson will appear along with Eleanor Roosevelt and suffragist on the back of the redesigned US $5 bill scheduled to be unveiled in the year 2020, the 100th anniversary of 19th Amendment of the Constitution which granted women in America the right to vote.

The Marian Anderson House, in Philadelphia, was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 2011.

Marian Anderson Award

The Marian Anderson Award was originally established in 1943 by Anderson after she was awarded the $10,000 Bok Prize that year by the city of Philadelphia. Anderson used the award money to establish a singing competition to help support young singers. Eventually the prize fund ran out of money and it was disbanded after 1976. In 1990, the award was re-established and has dispensed $25,000 annually.

In 1998, the prize was restructured with the Marian Anderson Award going to an established artist, not necessarily a singer, who exhibits leadership in a humanitarian area.

#02/27 #04/08

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winterisakiller · 5 years

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Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @noplacelikehome77 @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER TWO

The heat of August gradually cooled into early September. It was with a twinge of nostalgia that Tom found himself sitting around with Joanna Hogg, Mary Roscoe, and Kathryn Worth discussing Unrelated. It had been his first film and therefore quite the learning experience. But one that he remembered fondly. Later that same week he’d found himself on a red carpet and then on a stage presenting an award to a man he’d first seen on a big screen in a film he adored, and feared, as a young boy. The same man he later had the pleasure of working with in another film in Australia of all places. Funny thing time, he thought smiling as he stood beside Jeff Goldblum, chatting about life and film and the world. It still brought him up short the chances and opportunities he’d been blessed with in his career. Funny, sometimes painful, but wonderful all the same.

And now he found himself once again waiting on the side of another stage, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He chatted amicably with his fellow actors and readers, waiting for the signal from the now closed double doors. He could clearly hear the excited murmurings of the crowded auditorium and felt the familiar nervous energy bubbling in his gut. It was the same feeling he got anytime he’d prepared to walk onto a stage or a set. It was an old friend at this juncture and one he both missed and dreaded.

When he’d been approached with this project two months back, he had all but jumped at the chance. Getting not only to read but debate with fellow actors and writers over literature he’d loved for years, to be able to perform and share that love with others. It would a nice testing of the waters, so to speak. He hadn’t been on stage in a performer sense in over a year, and hadn’t done something of this nature since school. It had seemed like an interesting challenge and one he couldn’t see turning down. Rehearsals had been full of laughter and amusement.

Tom was sharing the stage with several talented actors; amongst them an actress in talks to join him in the Pinter production he was very much looking forward to in the New Year. Zawe Ashton was her name and while he’d seen bits and pieces of her work in the past, she was not someone he’d had the pleasure of working with beforehand. He found her funny and a delight to play off of. She had a wicked sense of humor that went very much along the lines of his own. And what was best was she hadn’t seemed to give a toss who he was. Yes, she’d known his name and was familiar with his work, but none of that seemed to matter to her. He could very easily see them getting along quite well during a grueling show run. If things went well tonight and the following week at the gala, then schedule permitting she would be a shoe-in for the role of Emma.

Beyond the doors, a hush fell over the crowd and he could see the lights begin to dim. Not long now. He could feel the tension and excitement running through their small group as the talked and laughed amongst themselves.

“Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.

The debate itself seemed to fly by and Tom found that he had enjoyed himself immensely. His competitive nature was certainly getting its chance to shine and he was absolutely delighted when his team, the correct team as far as he’d been concerned, won. They’d taken their respective bows and headed off stage in ones and twos. “That was absolutely fantastic,” Zawe breathed, smiling as she turned back to face Tom.

“Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

They were ushered around the auditorium and handed collection buckets before being let loose to collect as much money for charity as they could. Tom had smiled, laughed, and talked with as many people as he could; never fully able to turn off the ‘public Tom’ persona he’d worn for so many years now. It was him, in a way, but more like a perfectly sculpted mask. Something he could slip in and out of depending on the place and the company he kept. In the past he’d been more open, more playful and less guarded with how he spoke and acted, but time and experience had taught him to pull back. To keep a respectable distance between who he was and who he was expected to be. To still be warm and engaging, but to never cross that line. It had been a difficult lesson to learn.

It was with a grateful sigh that Tom folded himself into the backseat of the black cab, leaning his head back against the seat rest. He watched with half lidded eyes as the brightly lit streets of London flitted past. He loved the city; loved its hustle and history. It was one of the main reasons he still lived in the converted terrace he’d owned for several years now when he could so easily have moved to California like so many others had before him. London held his heart in a way very few other places had.

He blinked in momentary confusion as the cab slowed to a stop. It took far longer than he cared to admit to realize that he was, in fact, home. With a warm smile, Tom paid his fare and lumbered slowly to the black gate surrounding his home. He absently entered the code, pushing the gate open and heading up the dimly lit walk to his door. From behind it, Tom could hear Bobby’s excited barking and smiled to himself. It wasn’t quite the welcome home he’d longed for, but it was nice to have someone waiting for him. He made quick work of the lock and slowly pushed the door open.

The spaniel’s barking increased in pitch and volume, jumping and wagging his tail as if his life depended on it. Tom sighed and shook his head. “Alright you heathen, let’s get you outside.” More excited barking followed as Tom padded through the hallway and into the kitchen towards the back door into the garden. While Bobby rummaged around outside, Tom filled his food bowl and topped off his water bowl. “Come on now, food’s ready!” he called out the door to little effect.

Tom let out a grunt of exasperation and headed out into the dimly lit back garden. Bobby was snuffling around the bushes at the far end of the garden, telltale small piles of dirt surrounding him. Tom grumbled under his breath and yelled for the dog again. Reluctantly, Bobby heeded his master’s call and trotted back up the yard and into the kitchen.

“You, my friend, are very lucky indeed that I am as fond of you as I am.” Bobby raised his head from his supper bowl and gave Tom an astonished look before returning to his meal. Tom merely shook his head and headed back through the house and towards the stair case to the upper level and bed. He stripped mechanically, making a brief stop in the bathroom to wash his face and clean his teeth, before falling into bed.

The next morning dawned bright and cool. Tom stretched his arms above his head, a jaw cracking yawn echoing through the sunlit room. Bobby, who had been curled up contentedly at the edge of the bed, raised his head. He’d tried, when the spaniel was younger, to keep him downstairs in his own crate overnight. It had lasted all of about the span of a week for the puppy’s pitiful cries to break Tom’s resolve and allow him into the bedroom. ‘Just for the night,’ he’d sworn. And now nearly a year later, it was quite clear Tom had lost that battle.

With determination, Tom pushed himself up and out of the bed, padding down the stairs and into the kitchen, Bobby quick on his heels. He opened the back garden door and let the spaniel out, turning his attention towards the coffee press and feeding his much needed caffeine addiction. He set to work boiling his kettle and gathering the bag of coffee from the cabinet above the sink. Tom took great pleasure in setting about brewing his morning coffee, loving the way the strong, warm scent filled the kitchen.

Once it had brewed he poured the steaming liquid into his mug; a green one with a chip in its lip, one that Amy had given him. The thought of her still stung, though the pain had lessened throughout the intervening years. He still missed the life they’d had…Still bitterly regretted the stupid and selfish choices he’d made that had broken them. But he had slowly begun to come to terms with them and, in turn, with himself. Little things still caught him off guard but he’d learned to accept them and to try to move on from them. It was a hard road but one he was beginning to believe he could navigate on his own.

Coffee doctored to his liking, Tom headed out into the back garden. He lowered himself into one of the wooden patio chairs and watched Bobby run around like mad chasing squirrels. It was a wonder any still dared to enter the garden with how valiantly Bobby guarded his territory. That dog was a menace and Tom loved him dearly for it. Closing his eyes, he savored the warmth the bloomed inside him as he sipped the gently steaming mug in his hands. There were many things he could make do without, coffee was most definitely not among them. He took his time, enjoying the sun on his face and the slowly dwindling coffee in his mug. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that man could not survive on coffee alone.

“Bobby!” He called, pushing himself to his feet. The spaniel, paused mid-bark and turned to face his master. “Come.” Tom laughed as the spaniel broke off into a mad dash towards the door, nearly knocking him off his feet. Apparently someone was wanting his breakfast as well. Once kibble was added to Bobby’s bowl, Tom turned his attention towards his own meal; a quick toast and egg would do. He’d glanced at the clock above the stove when he’d entered the kitchen and found it to be well after nine. He would need to get moving soon, especially if he wanted to get a decent run in before heading into town to meet Emma.

Not bothering with a shower, after all what would be the point if he was just going to end up a sweating mess again, Tom changed into his running kit and slipped into his trainers. He thundered down the stairs and towards the front door, grabbing Bobby’s lead from the key hook. Bobby, sensing walkies were afoot, was standing at the front door and began to twirl in tight little circles as Tom approached. He laughed and hooked the lead to the spaniel’s collar before leading them both out the door and into the crisp, late morning air.

Several circuits around the neighborhood and nearby park helped to clear his head and focus his mind. He loved running, loved being able to lose himself in the rhythm and peace of it. It was the one pastime he could do anywhere and had been a godsend on long and grueling shoots. Tom was, in fact, a sweating mess when he and Bobby pushed their way back inside the house. Unclipping Bobby, and patting him playfully on the back, Tom climbed the stairs two at a time, stripping his clothing as he went.

He showered quickly, enjoying the feel of the steaming water on his protesting muscles, and padded back into his bedroom to dry and dress. A quick glance at clock on the bedside table told him it was half eleven. With a grunt, he pulled on a pair of jeans and his well-loved blue jumper, which he noted with a fair bit of disdain was starting to get a hole in one of its sleeves. He ran a quick comb through his damp hair and shoved his feet into the grey boots he’d had for nearly as long as he could remember.

Another quick glance at the watch he’d fastened onto his left wrist as he pounded down the stairs told him he needed to leave, and quickly, if he had any hope of meeting Emma at the restaurant she’d chosen on time.

“Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

Things situated, Tom grabbed his wallet and keys from the hallway table and darted out the front door. He considered trying to cab it in, but all things being equal and knowing London traffic far too well, he dismissed the matter out of hand; the tube was often a great deal faster than the car.

Forty minutes later, Tom dashed into the warmth of the fairly busy café; woolen coat open and breathing heavy. He’d made a mad dash from the underground station once the train had finally come to a stop. He was late and Emma was sure to give him hell about it. He scanned the room, finally resting on her strawberry blonde head at a table in the corner.

She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

“Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

“My darling brother, unless you’ve got someone there to push and pester you, you are indeed that bad. Need I remind you of mum’s birthday last year…?” Emma quirked an eyebrow at her brother as if daring him to challenge her.

He scoffed. “That was once time…”

“And I can list at least a dozen others offhand, if you’d like. My wedding, Sarah’s wedding, last Christmas, the Christmas before…I could go on,” Emma countered. “But I don’t have all day. I left Jack minding Alice and while I love that husband of mine, our offspring has been cutting a new tooth and has frankly been crankier than you on a bad day.”

Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

“Because someone needs to put you in your place, brother dear. And since I am here, I guess that leaves me.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as they locked on Tom’s. “Lord knows you aren’t going to manage it yourself and Luke’s earned a break don’t you think?”

The teasing volleyed back and forth throughout their meal. It had been a good while since he had done anything with his baby sister, save for larger family gatherings. She’d been busy between the chaos of new motherhood balanced with local and national theatre work and he’d been in and out of the country with promotional work. He smiled as he watched her talk, the way her face lit up as she told him about the latest thing his tiny niece had done or the mishap she’d had with a prop during a sold out performance. It was difficult to reconcile the grown woman before him with the bratty little sister she’d always been in his eyes, but it was wonderful all the same.

“Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

“No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

“Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

“Which I tried telling her, but alas, she wants to get everyone together this year and with you and Sarah and your insane schedules, she figured starting sooner rather than later would make sense.”

Tom laughed and shook his head. He loved his mother, loved her dearly, but she was a planner. Had been his entire life. And the holidays were her weakness. They had always attempted to gather for Christmas, with varying success; between Tom’s own insane schedule over the last several years and Sarah and her family living and working in India, it was rare to have all three Hiddleston siblings under one roof. And as inane as it sounded, Tom could see the sense in her trying to plan so far in advance.

“…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

“Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Is she now?”

While he’d run into both Amy and her husband on several occasions since the wedding, the idea of spending time with them in his mother’s home felt…strange. Not as unbearable as it would have been even a year ago, but still strange. ‘And their little one.’ He’d known they’d been expecting, Emma had mentioned it months back, but hadn’t really let himself think on the matter. He was…happy for her, for them both, even if they idea set uneasily in his gut. And it wasn’t the idea that it should have been him, he’d long since come to terms with that, more so a longing. Something he’d felt when he looked at Sophie as she held either of her and Ben’s sons. Stupid and selfish, but very much real.

Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

“That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

Tom stroked his beard with his free hand. “I should be able to come…As of now I don’t think I have anything that would make that impossible. The con in Phoenix isn’t until the new year…I’ll double check with Michael and Luke to make sure.”

“I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

“I bet.” She paused and pulled her mobile from her purse, glancing at the screen. “And on that note, I have to run. It’s nearly three and I promised Jack I’d be home before four.” She reached for the bill their server had left on the edge of the table but Tom beat her to it, flashing her a warm smile.

“My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

Tom chuckled, climbing to his feet himself and pulling his sister into a warm hug. “Give Alice a kiss for me and give Jack my best.” Nodding, she slipped her bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. Tom followed behind, pausing to pay the bill before venturing into the chill of the late afternoon and home.

He spent much of the following week juggling the things he’d been putting off. He’d called and visited his mother; and she, as Emma had predicted, pestered him about his schedule around Christmas. He’d assured her, with back up from Luke, that he was indeed free and would most definitely be coming home this year. He’d also started sorting through his clothing and washing and packing for his trip to the states. He found himself both excited and wary for the trip. Conventions could be a thoroughly enjoyable experience; he’d had several wonderful ones and had enjoyed interacting with fans at the events. But just the same they could be draining and demanding. Sometimes it seemed, no matter what he did, it wasn’t enough. Tom hoped for the former this time around.

—

The evening of the gala celebrating the life and work of Harold Pinter arrived far sooner than Tom had anticipated. He was excited and anxious and terrified all at once. He’d been so wrapped up in trying to organize his life and make sure he had his lines memorized, that when the driver rang the bell on his gate he’d stood staring in complete confusion for several seconds before realization dawned. God, feared he’d lose his head if it weren’t attached. Tom had been approached for the event shortly after talks began regarding his involvement in reviving Betrayal in the West End. He’d agreed almost immediately, looking forward to sharing the stage with several talented actors and testing out the material on stage before fully committing to the play. The nervous energy had run off him in waves as he’d darted upstairs and dressed quickly. Thankfully, Luke had seen to having his suit pressed and waiting in his closet. Tom dressed in a mad dash before heading back down stairs and out to the waiting car.

It was half past five when Tom slid into the leather backseat, apologizing profusely for his tardiness. Luke would murder him if he were late. As the car started off, Tom pulled out his mobile, shooting his publicist a quick message that he was on his way. It most likely wasn’t necessary, but Tom knew Luke liked to be kept in the loop as much as possible. Shoving his mobile back into his pocket, he turned his attention back to the present. He made small talk with the driver as they moved along, chatting about the weather and later about the dismal amount of traffic they’d run into. They’d pulled aside the theatre half an hour later and once he’d climbed from the car, Tom was ushered inside and backstage. He chatted with Zawe and several other familiar faces as they waited for the theatre to fill and for the start of the evening.

Things had been going rather well, in Tom’s humble opinion until he’d gone to grab his folder and managed to slice his thumb open. He’d stared, dumbfounded, at the welling blood before he was rushed towards the side of the room and quickly patched up. “Score one for my dumb luck,” he joked as he once again picked up his folder, this time taking much greater care. His scene with Zawe had gone off splendidly. They played well off each other and he looked forward to working more with her, providing she was willing and able to commit to the run.

Bows taken, they were all rushed backstage and then quickly to their waiting cars to be driven to the Brasserie Zedel for the after party. Once arrived, Tom walked the short carpet and took his time talking with the various reporters encamped along it. He enjoyed talking about not only Harold Pinter and the fun he’d had that night but of theater and acting in general. He knew, without a doubt, that he was allowing his inner theatre and literature nerd run amuck, but couldn’t find it in him to care.

Tom mingled with the arriving guests. He caught sight of several familiar faces and did his best to talk with them all. As he allowed himself to scan the room once again, he found his eyes drawn to the short dark haired figure talking animatedly with Zawe. She was all of five foot nothing in her heels but commanded the attention of those around her as though she were much, much taller. Her dress was navy in color and came to mid-calf, clinging to her curves in ways that made Tom desperate to trace with his own hands. Her dark hair hung in a low, loose pony over one shoulder. She tossed her head back, laughing at something Zawe had said and the sound that echoed from her lips was captivating even from such a distance.

Stealing himself, Tom made to start for the both of them, wanting nothing more than to know just who this tiny, vivacious woman was. He just managed to work his way through the densely packed room when the announcement was made for all to begin to filter their way into the restaurant proper. He cursed under his breath and allowed himself to be moved with the crowd inside. He’d found his table easily enough and was quickly pulled into conversation. He caught glimpses of the mystery woman throughout the night but never quite managed to catch up with her.

He’d managed, however, to catch Zawe on her own and, despite feeling very much like a desperate twelve year-old, ask her about her earlier companion. Confusion flitted across Zawe’s features for a moment before understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh! That was Cath. She is a doll. Worked with her on a few projects a handful of years back.”

“Is she an actress then?”

Zawe shook her head, “Nah. She works behind the scenes; hair and make-up. Talented as hell, that woman is.” He tried then to arrange an introduction, ignoring the odd regency undertones such a thing invoked, but the woman, Cath, had been nowhere to be found.

Tom sighed, just as well then. He did his best to let the disappointment flow off his back and made a few more circuits around the room, smiling and talking with various guests before calling it a night. He had a flight to catch in the morning (an international one at that which tended to be a headache at the best of times), and while he could sleep just about anywhere, he wanted to have at least one last good night’s rest in his own bed. Hotel beds, and airplane seats for the matter, were never quite as comfortable as his own bed. A few moments later, Tom stepped out into the brisk October evening air and climbed once more into the backseat. He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the seat and allowed the hum of the car’s engine to lull him into a state of almost sleep.

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #get better fic #Tom and Cath

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

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Get Better - Chapter Two

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 2/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

CHAPTER TWO

“Alright, places,” the woman manning the door called. Tom took a deep breath and walked through the doors and onto to the stage.

“Oh completely. I haven’t had that much fun in longer than I care to admit.”

Zawe laughed in earnest. “Same.”

“Shit,” he cursed at himself, ushering Bobby into the back room and his kennel.

She smiled up at him as he took the opened seat across from her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I’m dreadfully sorry. I lost track of time and…”

Emma simply rolled her eyes and held up her hand. “Tom, the day you show up to a non-work event on time is the day I know the world’s ending.”

“Oh ha ha,” he retorted, shaking his head. “I’m only what, ten minutes late?”

She snorted, “Only…But I guess coming from you that is actually pretty decent. I was honestly expecting at least twenty minutes.”

Tom looked up at her, affronted. True he did tend to run slightly behind if not harassed, but surely not that badly and with such consistency? “I am not that bad.”

He scoffed. “That was once time…”

Tom narrowed his eyes in mock annoyance. “Why are you always such a brat, Brat?”

“Oh,” Emma started, placing her half-drunk mug of coffee onto the table. “Have you talked with mum recently?”

Tom shook his head, “Not in the last week or so? Has something happened?” He leaned forward, anxiety clearly painted across his features.

“No. No, she’s fine. She’s just trying to get things sorted regarding Christmas.”

“Christmas? It’s barely October,” he countered.

“…usual nonsense. And she is thinking of trying to have Amy and her family around on Boxing Day.”

Tom blinked in confusion as Emma’s words sank in. “What now?”

“Mum is talking about inviting Amy, Teddy, and their little one over for either lunch or dinner on Boxing Day.”

His heart clenched at the mention of Amy and her husband but slowly relaxed as he let out a breath.

“Is she now?”

Emma nodded. “Henry will be four months by then and mum is desperate to meet him.” She sighed, “You’d think she didn’t have any grandchildren of her own with the way she’s acting.”

Tom shrugged. “You know mum, she always had a soft spot for Amy…”

“That she did,” Emma echoed. “But still…The nerve of the woman.” They both chuckled at that. “So just be aware that she’s most likely going to call and pester you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a single moment,” Tom laughed. “Has Sarah said if they were coming yet?”

Emma took another sip of her coffee and nodded. “Yeah, they should be able to come. You are the wild card at the moment.”

“I still cannot believe people pay actual money on purpose to meet my dork of a brother. Cannot wrap my head around it.”

He chuckled, “It’s still strange for me, Em.”

“My treat,” he said in way of explanation.

Emma shot him a pointed glare, “You are a menace, you know that right?” She pushes her chair back and pulled on her coat.

—

“Is she an actress then?”

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #tom hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Cath #Get Better

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joealwyndaily · 5 years

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THE UNSTOPPABLE RISE OF MR JOE ALWYN

https://www.mrporter.com/journal/the-look/the-unstoppable-rise-of-mr-joe-alwyn/

Fame is a funny thing, able to operate on different frequencies at once. Mr Joe Alwyn is a case in point. On the one hand, the 27-year-old British actor is still in the rising firmament – he’s not causing riots on the Tube quite yet. On the other, he is living through something exceptional, the subject of a million clicks. Who is this actor whose very first film was not only directed by Mr Ang Lee, but featured him in the leading role? Who has already modelled a campaign for Prada? And who has for the best of two years been the other half of Ms Taylor Swift? Not bad for someone who, by his own admission, “only left school about three years ago”. The star is born, but we blinked and missed the conception.

This winter you can see Mr Alwyn in the cinema three times, which goes some way to reminding us what a very good actor he is. In the gay conversion drama Boy Erased, in the feminist retelling of Mary Queen Of Scots and in the wacky period intrigues of The Favourite, he capitalises on that first incredible leap forward, when Mr Lee cast him, straight out of drama school, in 2015’s Billy Lynn’s Halftime Walk. Back then, he had sent in a tape, was shipped out to New York for a weekend and ended up staying two weeks (the film’s producer had to go out to buy him new underwear). By the end of it, he was a Hollywood lead.

“I really do owe everything to the first film that I got, and the breaks that came with that. I’m very aware that I’m very lucky that I’ve had these opportunities, and quickly,” says Mr Alwyn, who is polite, personable and determinedly down-to-earth, in a well-bred north London way. But here’s the thing: although he claims to be surprised, he actually doesn’t sound it. The key to his rise is probably his startling self-possession. The idea, for instance, that he might be on a rollercoaster ride is always kept to a determined minimum. “You just do the things you’ve always done,” he says with a shrug. Sitting in the restaurant of a smart London hotel, getting ready to do a junket, he looks utterly suited to the job at hand, although there is a sense of illusion to it. “I don’t own any of these clothes,” he laughs cheerfully, of his chic sandy-coloured jacket or his sweater with “interesting” holes. Then again, that in itself is indicative – he’s clearly most at ease in a role.

The films, then. In one he is a courtier, in another he’s a troubled soul, and in the third he’s a courtier with a troubled soul. It’s the latter which is the most straightforward for him. In Mary Queen Of Scots, Mr Alwyn plays Robert Dudley, 1st Earl of Leicester, the favourite of Queen Mary’s great rival, Queen Elizabeth I. Under Ms Josie Rourke’s direction, Mr Alwyn has the conventional role, a paragon of romantic love and loyalty. It could have been different: there’s a persistent rumour that the Earl pushed his wife down the stairs. In Ms Rourke’s telling, though, he’s the royal court’s sole decent bloke. “There’s definitely a darkness that could be there as well,” admits Mr Alwyn, and though he is only deeply complimentary about the project, you soon sense that he wouldn’t be averse to a little action on a staircase.

Boy Erased is an adaptation of the memoir of Mr Garrard Conley, relaying his experiences of gay conversion therapy in the Deep South this century, a deeply troubling system that continues even today. “It’s just crazy,” says Mr Alwyn. “The fact that those places still exist in some 36 states, and that [US Vice President] Mike Pence is on record speaking in favour of them, is just absolutely mad.” Mr Alwyn’s character, Henry, seems a pretty clear product of repression and homophobia; it leads him to do something terrible. “He’s kind of shiny on the outside, the all-American good guy, and then obviously kind of deeply cracked underneath. I like those contrasts.”

All of which leads us to The Favourite. In Mr Yorgos Lanthimos’ hands, the private life of Queen Anne, who died in 1714, becomes a darkly funny love triangle filled with sadism, lesbianism and a menagerie of pet rabbits. Ms Olivia Colman, as Queen Anne, and Ms Rachel Weisz and Ms Emma Stone have the peach parts, but Mr Alwyn has nearly as much fun as Baron Masham, a courtier in love with Ms Stone. Or, as Mr Alwyn puts it, an “airhead”.

Rehearsals didn’t involve analyses of Stuart history or their characters’ motivation, but rolling around the floor, screaming, singing, switching parts and tying their bodies together instead. “It was fun,” says Mr Alwyn matter-of-factly. And the results are no less surprising. What looks set to be a conventional ballroom scene turns into a weird avant-garde bump’n’grind; Mr Alwyn even seems to break-dance.

“The thing I like about it is that Yorgos has completely thrown out the textbook on what a period drama is,” says Mr Alwyn. “Who knows what it was like back then? It probably wasn’t as refined as we think it is, or as it’s often performed. It can be quite tidy… the edges can be sanded off a bit.”

What about his edges, though? Scratch as you can, Mr Alwyn presents a resolutely smooth exterior. This seems part temperament, part design. The son of a documentary filmmaker father and a psychotherapist mother, he might seem well-equipped for a job all about studying and empathising with other people. He knows this, but only because everyone has started telling him so. “I’m not good at answering these questions because I’ve never really thought about them,” he offers apologetically. He struggles to think what each parent gave him (he has a brother, too), eventually settling on his height (he’s a lithe 6ft 1in) and slight sarcasm from his dad; he says he doesn’t have anything “really mad and crazy in terms of hobbies”. Well, do you like football? “Football? Yeah. Am I allowed to say those kinds of things?”

Suffice to say that Mr Alwyn is aggressively, determinedly normal. He doesn’t consider himself famous, the attention hasn’t been overwhelming (“maybe bits and pieces at a time – it’s been a readjustment”) and he doesn’t even think he’s had to fight for his privacy, even what with dating you-know-who.

“I don’t think more than anyone else. I don’t think anyone you meet on the streets would just spill their guts out to you, therefore why should I? And then that is defined as being ‘strangely private’. Fine. But I don’t think it is. I think it’s normal.”

The next normal thing in his life is a drama about the slave-turned-abolitionist heroine Ms Harriet Tubman, an African-American saint to many. Is it true he’s playing a slave owner? “I am. I’m not playing Harriet, not this time,” he says wryly. To be clear, Mr Alwyn’s small CV already includes a Nazi, a slave owner, a rapist and an airhead. He laughs when they’re all lined up. “I mean, I don’t feel like they’re just bad, bad people,” he volunteers. “And I do think it’s interesting to look at the bigger picture of why people are the way they are.” With just a couple of honourable exceptions, of course.

The Favourite is out now; Mary Queen Of Scots is out 18 January; Boy Erased is out 8 February

#joe alwyn #interview #mr porter

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trueloveseyeroll · 7 years

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When The Tide Turns (1/16)

Summary: The plan was to go to England, finish the case and head back home in a matter of days. Of course, nothing in Emma’s life ever goes according to plan. Not only does she end up travelling across Europe, looking for a Liam Jones in order to finish her case, she ends up travelling with Liam’s brother - an annoyingly handsome Killian Jones. And she doesn’t trust him one bit.

Rating: T, for language and a bit of violence later on

Beta-reader: @forget-me-not-s deserves a huge thank you and all the best in the world for being such an amazing beta!! I seriously never would've made it this far without her help and support, so thank you, Aina!!!

Artists: I am so honoured to have worked with three amazing artists! @theblacksiren has made three beautiful artworks, one of which is for this chapter - check it out here! @fairytalesandtimetravel has created an absolute masterpiece and I really can’t wait for you guys to see it, it’s absolutely stunning! And I owe a huge thank you to @optomisticgirl for the amazing banner!

Word count: ~3,857 (68k+ in total)

A/N: This was written for the 2017 Captain Swan Big Bang and I honestly never would’ve finished this story - or even begun - if it weren’t for this awesome challenge. I can’t quite believe I actually finished, but I want to thank all the moderators and everyone else involved in the csbb for making this possible!

AO3

“Mom, I can’t do this right now, I have to get on the plane.”

“But Emma, you can’t just leave like this!”

The queue moved forward. Emma balanced her phone, passport and boarding pass in one hand, trailing her suitcase behind her. “It’s just work, mom. I’ll be home again in a couple of days.”

“What about Walsh?”

“Walsh and I are fine.” Emma’s grip on the phone tightened. “Really, I’ve gotta go.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay all on your own?” Ingrid asked, not for the first time.

“I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.”

“Oh, I know, I know. I’m just worried, honey. You know I only want the best for you.”

“Yeah. I know.” The memory of Ingrid giving her a backpack instead of a black bag to keep her things in came to mind. The time she brought Emma shopping for clothes that actually fit her. The endless amount of support she’d shown when Emma decided to study law - ever since Ingrid took Emma in at sixteen, she had wanted nothing but the best for her. “I’ve gotta go now. Bye.”

“Call me when you land, okay? And stay safe. I’m proud of you, Emma. I really am.”

“Yeah, bye mom.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” Emma hung up and slipped her phone in the pocket of her red jacket. Just in time as well; the queue moved forward and Emma handed over her boarding pass and passport to the gate attendant. Without fuss, the woman gave Emma back her papers and let her board the plane.

She passed through business class to economy class, wishing one of those spacious seats with individual TV-screens could have been hers. But Regina - the founder of Mills’ Associates and therefore Emma’s boss - wouldn’t dream of letting Emma enjoy a comfortable seven hours of flight on the company’s expense. Never mind that Regina would never fly anything less than first class herself.

Emma found her row, scooting into her seat by the window after storing her suitcase in the overhead luggage compartment. The guy behind her insisted on helping with her suitcase, but only managed to get on her nerves. It didn’t help that his voice reminded her of Walsh’s.

As the rest of the passengers boarded and found their seats, Emma unlocked her phone to see another notification from none other than Walsh - one more unread message to add to the seven others. And the three voice mails she’d rather not listen to. She swiped the message away and set her phone to flight mode.

With a sigh, Emma shut her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest. Was it too naive to hope for a bit of sleep during the next couple of hours?

Stewardesses passed through the aisle, closing the luggage compartments, and reminding people to buckle their seatbelts. Soon after, the plane began rolling out to the runway. When it picked up speed, Emma tried to quell the rush of butterflies in her stomach. She had flown before, albeit not internationally, but there was no reason to be nervous. Still, would it be too sad if she ordered a drink at nine AM?

The plane took off, leaving John F. Kennedy Airport far below. Emma pressed her forehead against the window, watching New York grow smaller and smaller. She leaned back in her seat again with a sigh. No more running away from her problems - Emma flew away from them now.

It wasn’t like it was her fault that Walsh decided to pop the question right before an important case. Or well, semi-important. Of course, she didn’t have to accept the offer of flying to England two days after Walsh’s proposal. A proposal she never really answered. But here she was, on her way to England to finalize the take-over of a small business.

Emma shut her eyes. She hadn’t slept at all last night. She had tried, but in the end she couldn’t take more tossing and turning. Instead she looked through the files of the case, over and over again until her eyes hurt. It wasn’t necessary; the case was simple as could be. Mary Margaret Blanchard, one of Emma’s co-workers, had worked on it beforehand. But with all the stress of planning her wedding, she’d asked Emma to see the case through and fly to England in her place.

The business in question, The Brothers Jones, designed and produced nautical tools of the old-fashioned type. Compasses, spyglasses, sextants and the likes. Emma’s client, the owner of Gold’s Antiquities, a worldwide corporation, wished to expand his stock with The Brothers Jones’ intricate replicas. So far, the negotiations with Mr. Jones had gone smoothly.

Emma’s attempt at sleeping, however, went less than smoothly. The couple next to her kept talking, and bustling kids sat in the row behind her. Even if all had been calm and quiet, Emma doubted she would have gotten much sleep.

So, seven boring hours of flight it was then. Emma resorted to reading through the SkyMall magazine and playing games on her phone. She even tuned in to the movie shown on the few overhead screens, weird as it was. A decent flight meal turned out to be too much to ask for as well.

In the end, Emma gave up and bought that small bottle of whiskey. Her best decision that day by far.

I’ve landed. It’s nine pm here. Everything’s great. Taking the train northeast now for about four hours. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Emma sent the message to her mom and hovered over the notifications from Walsh. During her flight, he had only left one voice mail and two texts - maybe he was getting the hint. She did feel awful for ignoring him like that. He was a great guy, he didn’t deserve it. But would she ever see him as anything but a great guy? Would she ever see him as a husband? No way. Eight months was big enough a commitment for Emma - marriage was out of the question.

Emma pocketed her phone; she’d deal with Walsh when she got home. After all, this trip would hardly last more than three days. Both of them could use those days to think through everything on their own.

The sun set as the train rolled out of the station. By the time they made it out of London, out amongst open fields, the skies were dark and heavy with clouds. Emma leaned against the window, becoming one with the jolting train. She pulled her jacket tighter around her as low murmurs carried through the compartment, letting her know that she wasn’t alone.

When her eyelids grew too heavy, Emma snuggled closer to the corner of her seat, her breath fogging the cold glass in front of her. Her hair was too tight though; it pulled at her scalp, making it impossible to rest. She undid her ponytail, letting her hair fall in waves around her. Much better.

Finally, her eyes fell shut. In a train headed north, amongst rugged hills and stunning shores, Emma fell asleep at last.

There were several seats vacant on the late night train. As it picked up speed and rolled out of the small station, a dark-haired man looked at his ticket and the empty seats around him. Any seat was his for the taking.

He wore a black leather coat and carried a satchel over his shoulder and an umbrella in his hand. Outside, the air was damp, leaving his hair ruffled. He brushed a stray lock from his forehead and eyed the seat reserved to him on his ticket.

A woman slept on the seat next to his. She was nothing but a red leather jacket and a mop of blonde curls against the window. Killian looked ahead at the few people sitting together at the front of the compartment. All around were these empty seats with empty seats beside them.

He looked at his ticket once more. Then the seat. And the woman next to it.

Hoisting the satchel over his shoulder and placing it on the luggage rack next to a small suitcase, he made his decision and sat in his designated seat.

The train hurdled through the night. Killian let his eyes close as he leaned back in his seat and soon his head started to lull against the headrest. The people in the front rows ceased their talking and peace settled in the whirring train. He almost fell asleep himself.

But then a sudden weight landed on his shoulder.

Going rigid and opening his eyes at once, Killian looked down to see the former mess of curls against the window now resting on his shoulder. He could do nothing but stare at her.

The woman snuggled against his side, shifting her head ever so little. Even with the lapels of his coat pulled upright, her hair found a way to tickle his throat.

Killian tried gently nudging her back against the window. She didn’t budge.

He tried again, with a bit more force. The woman seemed content on his shoulder though. He thought of waking her, but he knew he wouldn’t do it. And if he pushed her any harder, she’d wake whether he meant it or not.

With a sigh, Killian’s head fell back against the headrest again. He closes his eyes and tried to ease the tension in his body. Surely, she would soon shift in her sleep again.

She didn’t.

The train slowed, stopped and picked up speed again several times. No amount of jostling could wake the woman on his shoulder though. The smell of her hair and the traitorous pounding of his heart kept him awake through every mile, wondering if they had passed her stop.

His shoulder started to ache. For three hours he didn’t move, but let the woman rest against his side. He couldn’t go on like that though. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and missing his stop on purpose because of a sleeping stranger seemed a good place to draw that line.

Killian readied himself to wake her. Or to stand from his seat and hope she slept through it just like she did everything else.

On the count of three, he would do it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Really, it shouldn’t be that difficult. Three. Two. One.

Emma’s phone rang.

She woke with a jolt at the shrill tone and vibration in her pocket. Woke to find herself leaning against a complete stranger.

Shit.

Emma stared at him, mirroring the surprise in his eyes. Really, really blue eyes.

The phone kept ringing. Right, the phone. Answer the phone, Emma. She zipped open the pocket, fussing to grab it while heat rose to her cheeks. The guy kept looking at her.

Emma tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, hovering over the answer button. It was the office, and she should answer it, but a glance at the display in the front of the compartment said that her stop was next. And not just next, but now.

She let the ringing die out. She’d call back once she was settled at the inn. Which now left her sitting next to a guy she may or may not have been sleeping on for the past couple of hours.

“It seems rather urgent to be calling you at one hour past midnight.” Dammit. Even his accent was hot. Lilting and English and way too much for Emma’s recently-woken state. She stared at him, letting her brain catch up with the rest of her. If his hair didn’t look so good, ruffled as it was, or his eyes so damn blue and bright it probably wouldn’t have taken so long. “I’d say good morning but I imagine it’s a bit too early for that.”

Emma closed her mouth, remembering herself again. “This is my stop.”

“What a fortunate coincidence - it’s my stop as well.” The stranger smiled, but made no move to get up. Emma kept staring at him. Were British people really that good looking?

Cool it, Emma. You’ve got a... a Walsh.

“So...” Emma nodded at him, gesturing for him to move. In a flash he remembered himself and got up from his seat, letting her get out as well. He easily removed his satchel from the rack and gave her space to take down her suitcase.

“Just landed from America, I presume?”

“Yeah.” Emma set the suitcase on the floor, pulling up the handle as the train began to slow.

“I’m James Hook by the way.”

“As in Captain Hook?” Emma studied the bulky rings on the hand he held out for her to shake. Interesting choice.

“Aye, but there’s no need for you to call me Captain. Unless you want to of course.”

Emma met his wink with a wry smile. If he’d actually been able to wink without the other eye closing just after, she might have been less tempted to give him a real smile. Her eyes flickered to his hand again, still extended between them. She reached out her own.

“Emma. Emma Swan.”

“Pleased to meet you Emma Swan.” He kept her hand in his for a moment longer than Emma found normal. She half-feared he was going to lift it and kiss it or something equally gallant and British. He let go of it though. “It was a pleasure to serve as your pillow for this late-night ride.”

The heat once again rose to Emma’s cheeks. Her right cheek probably had creases from his leather jacket.

“Yeah... sorry about that,” Emma muttered.

“Don’t worry about it, love.” Hook smiled as the train slowed to a complete stop. He stepped to the side and gestured for her to step forwards towards the opening doors of the compartment. Emma passed him, trailing her suitcase behind her.

The cold air was a relief against her warm cheeks. The roof over the platform sheltered Emma against the drizzle, but the chilly breeze went through her jeans at once.

“Are you staying at Granny’s?” Hook asked as he stepped out beside her, opening an umbrella. Emma inwardly cursed herself; of all the things she had thrown in her suitcase, she forgot to bring an umbrella. Or even a raincoat.

“No, I’m not.”

“Then I suppose this is where our ways part. Unless you’d like me to assist you with a bit of shelter,” Hook raised his umbrella at his offer.

“No, I’m good.”

Hook only smiled, as if he had expected her answer. The train screeched, the wheels slowly turning again before speeding up and rolling out of the station.

“Then I bid you goodnight, Swan. I hope you enjoy your stay - and that you’re able to find rest again without my shoulder to lean on.” With a spark in his eyes and a bow of his head, Hook turned and left Emma alone on the platform.

If she took a moment to admire his backside, well, no one had to know.

Emma shook her head at herself and fished out her phone. Hopefully her data worked in this small town, because she had no idea how to get to the inn without Maps. There was a text from her mother but nothing from Walsh. Emma sighed in relief, but felt guilty nonetheless.

She stepped towards the road while opening the message from Ingrid.

Happy to hear that all is well. I hope you find England beautiful! You remembered an umbrella, right? Or a rain coat. Please tell me you’re not just wearing your leather jacket. Anyways, it must be late for you! I hope you sleep well! Call me when you wake up, okay? Love you.

Emma laughed. Of course her mother knew that Emma would forget all practical things for her trip.

Willesby was a small village amongst hills near the shore of North East England. The decorative lampposts and the old, stone houses had their charm but used to the bustling of New York, Emma found the quiet eerie. It could be the drizzle that just made everything seem dismal. And the lone sounds of her footsteps and her suitcase rolling behind her.

Emma found the inn with little trouble, save for trying to keep her phone dry. A small light showed through the window. Emma tried the door and found it unlocked, thankfully. The office secretary had said arrangements were made for her late arrival. Emma checked the time again. A quarter past one. She felt sorry for whoever had to stay up for her.

The reception room was empty. Heavy carpets lay on the floor and paintings and portraits adorned every wall. Only a lit lamp on the desk and light spilling in from the cracks of the door behind it hinted at any life.

Emma admired the quaintness of it all. So far, everything was as old-fashioned and British as she had expected. Even the rain was on point.

Emma strolled to the desk, mindful of keeping her steps quiet. A bell stood on the counter. By its side were a few pamphlets and maps of the local area and hiking trails. A pamphlet about The Brothers Jones caught her eye. For a factory business, the building sure was of fine architecture. Emma took a pamphlet and put it her pocket. She looked about once more, noticing the stairs that probably led to the rooms, before ringing the bell with a bop of her hand.

A few seconds later, the door behind the desk opened and a short, round man with glasses and a moustache came out.

“Good evening, Miss!” He seemed cheery enough for a guy who had to stay up past midnight for a single customer.

“Good evening. I’m Emma Swan, I should be registered for a room under Mills’ Associates.”

“Ah yes, of course, of course. The American lawyer. Welcome to Willesby!” The innkeeper turned a page in his logbook and found the papers for Emma to sign as she handed over her identification.

“Thank you for staying up for me.”

“Oh, it is no trouble at all. I am only sad you must see our village when such sorrowful times have come upon us.”

“What do you mean?” Emma frowned as she handed back the paper with her signature.

“Why the passing of Barrie Jones of course. He meant a great deal to our village. Who knows where we would be if he hadn’t taken on his father’s and uncle’s business - and inspired such flourish at that.”

“What?” Emma stared at the innkeeper with wide eyes. “Mr. Jones is dead?”

“You didn’t know? Why that must be quite the shock then, of course. I’m afraid he passed away last night.” The innkeeper’s face wrinkled with sorrow.

“I... I’m so sorry to hear that.” Emma didn’t know what else to say. How could she not have been told that Mr. Jones was dead? Did the office not know?

Dammit. The call on the train. Regina probably called to inform her of Mr. Jones’ passing so she didn’t act like a tactless idiot - like now. She’d have to call Regina back straight away. Knowing her boss, she was going to be pissed.

“As are we all, Miss Swan. Most sorry indeed. But here is your key - room 6. Up the stairs just here, around the corner, straight forward and it’s the second door to your left.” The innkeeper handed Emma her key, a bulky one with a wooden tag on which a fine 6 was drawn.

“Thank you.”

“No trouble at all, Miss Swan. I am sure you are eager to rest after a long day of travel. We serve breakfast upstairs in the room by the staircase from seven to nine o’clock. If you have any questions or complaints, feel free to ask. Would you like a hand with your suitcase?”

Emma declined his offer with a smile and a thank you, letting him close for the night.

“Goodnight, Miss Swan.”

“Goodnight.”

Emma carried her suitcase up the stairs, found her room with ease and sighed when she could finally lock the door behind her and know that all travel was done for the day. Now all she had to do was call Regina.

And just like she thought, Regina was pissed.

“Are you going to make a habit out of not answering your phone, because if so I would very much like to know.”

Emma was glad to be thousands of miles away from Regina right then.

“I’m sorry, Regina, I was busy getting off the train when you called. But what do we do now that Mr. Jones is dead?”

“Do you really need me to help you through every slight problem? Mr. Jones’ death is most unfortunate, but we made provisions for just such a sad eventuality and we know that there was no heir,” Regina’s firm voice cut clear through the phone, she might as well have been right in front of Emma with her disapproving glare.

“Yes, but -”

“Where’s the problem, Miss Swan? Contact the notary first thing tomorrow, show him the files and do your work. Mr. Jones consented to the sale of the business; it really shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Right. I’ll handle it.”

“I expect you to.”

Emma was about to say goodbye and hang up, but Regina cut her short.

“Mr. Jones’ funeral is tomorrow. There will be a memorial in the evening, and I want you to attend. Give your condolences on behalf of the firm and Mr. Gold and try not to make a fool out of yourself. Goodbye, Miss Swan. Call me when you have an update.”

“Bye.” Emma hurried to hang up. Just knowing she’d robbed Regina of the satisfaction of hanging up fist counted as a victory.

With a sigh, Emma laid her phone on the bedside table and fell back on the soft mattress. She wanted nothing more than to just pull off her boots and jacket, crawl under the covers and sleep for several days.

When the heavenly moment came and she could finally turn off the light and snuggle under the duvet, Emma felt wide awake. Of course.

It had been easy to fall asleep on the jostling train. Here it was too quiet. Nothing could dampen her thoughts as they went haywire. Walsh was probably pissed at her. Her mother would be calling every hour tomorrow, eager to hear every detail about Willesby. And not only did she have to deal with the notary, she had to attend a memorial where no one knew her and probably just saw her as the ‘American lawyer’. There to sell their treasured local business to a rich, American company.

Emma groaned and turned to rest on her other side.

Blue eyes and a smug grin interrupted her thoughts. Hook. For how long exactly did he let her sleep on him? And why did his stupid good looks keep invading her thoughts?

Emma groaned and turned again.

Chapter 2

#csbb #when the tide turns #chapter 1 #my writings #i can't believe i actually finished this #I've lost so much sleep to this fic but it's been so worth it #cs ff #cs au #cs fanfic

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calendarofanxiety · 6 years

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November 9, 1888 KELLY Mary Jane Kelly also known as Marie Jeanette Kelly, Fair Emma, Ginger and Black Mary is widely believed to be the final victim of the notorious unidentified serial killer Jack the Ripper who killed and mutilated several women in the Whitechapel area of London from late August to early November 1888. She was about 25 years old and living in poverty at the time of her death. Barnett (the man she had most recently lived with prior to her murder) visited Kelly for the last time between 7:00 and 8:00 PM on 8 November. He found her in the company of Maria Harvey (a friend of hers). Harvey and Barnett left at about the same time. Barnett returned to his lodging house where he played cards with other residents until falling asleep. Fellow Miller's Court resident and prostitute Mary Ann Cox who described herself as "a widow and unfortunate" reported seeing Kelly returning home drunk in the company of a stout ginger-haired man wearing a bowler hat and carrying a can of beer at about 11:45 PM. Cox and Kelly wished each other goodnight. Kelly went into her room with the man and then started singing the song "A Violet I Plucked from Mother's Grave When a Boy." She was still singing when Cox went out at midnight and when she returned an hour later at 1:00. Elizabeth Prater had the room above Kelly's and when she went to bed at 1:30 the singing had stopped. Labourer George Hutchinson who knew Kelly reported that she met him at about 2:00 AM and asked him for a loan of sixpence. He claimed that as Kelly went on her way she was approached by a man of "Jewish appearance". Hutchinson later gave the police an extremely detailed description of the man right down to the colour of his eyelashes despite it being the middle of a dark winter night. He reported that he overheard them talking in the street opposite the court where Kelly was living. Kelly complained of losing her handkerchief and the man gave her a red one of his own. Hutchinson claimed that Kelly and the man headed for her room that he followed them and that he saw neither one of them again laying off his watch at about 2:45. Hutchinson's statement appears to be partly corroborated by laundress Sarah Lewis who reported seeing a man watching the entrance to Miller's Court as she passed into it at about 2:30 to spend the night with some friends. Hutchinson claimed that he was suspicious of the man because although Kelly seemed to know him his opulent appearance made him seem very unusual in that neighbourhood but only reported this to the police after the inquest on Kelly had been hastily concluded. Abberline (the detective in charge of the investigation) thought Hutchinson's information was important and sent him out with officers to see if he could see the man again. Hutchinson's name doesn't appear again in the existing police records and so it's not possible to say with certainty whether his evidence was ultimately dismissed, disproven or corroborated. Some modern scholars have suggested that Hutchinson was the Ripper himself trying to confuse the police with a false description but others suggest he may have just been an attention seeker who made up a story he hoped to sell to the press. Cox returned home again at about 3:00. She reported hearing no sound and seeing no light from Kelly's room. Elizabeth Prater who was woken by a kitten and Sarah Lewis both reported hearing a faint cry of "Murder!" at about 4:00 AM but didn't react because they reported that it was common to hear such cries in the East End. She claimed not to have slept and to have heard people moving in and out of the court throughout the night. She thought she heard someone leaving the residence at about 5:45 AM. Prater did leave at 5:30 AM to go to The Ten Bells public house for a drink of rum and saw nothing suspicious. On the morning of 9 November 1888 (the day of the annual Lord Mayor's Day celebrations) Kelly's landlord John McCarthy sent his assistant ex-soldier Thomas Bowyer to collect the rent. Kelly was 6 weeks behind on her payment owing 29 shillings. Shortly after 10:45 AM Bowyer knocked on her door but received no response. He reached through the crack in the window pushed aside a coat being used as a curtain and peered inside discovering Kelly's horribly mutilated corpse lying on the bed. The mutilation of Kelly's corpse was by far the most extensive of any of the Whitechapel murders probably because the murderer had more time to commit his atrocities in a private room rather than in the street. Dr Thomas Bond and Dr George Bagster Phillips examined the body. Phillips and Bond timed her death to about 12 hours before the examination. Phillips suggested that the extensive mutilations would have taken 2 hours to perform and Bond noted that rigor mortis set in as they were examining the body indicating that death occurred between 2:00 and 8:00 AM. Bond's notes read "The body was lying naked in the middle of the bed, the shoulders flat but the axis of the body inclined to the left side of the bed. The head was turned on the left cheek. The left arm was close to the body with the forearm flexed at a right angle and lying across the abdomen. The right arm was slightly abducted from the body and rested on the mattress. The elbow was bent, the forearm supine with the fingers clenched. The legs were wide apart, the left thigh at right angles to the trunk and the right forming an obtuse angle with the pubis. The whole of the surface of the abdomen and thighs was removed and the abdominal cavity emptied of its viscera. The breasts were cut off, the arms mutilated by several jagged wounds and the face hacked beyond recognition of the features. The tissues of the neck were severed all round down to the bone. The viscera were found in various parts viz: the uterus and kidneys with one breast under the head, the other breast by the right foot, the liver between the feet, the intestines by the right side and the spleen by the left side of the body. The flaps removed from the abdomen and thighs were on a table. The bed clothing at the right corner was saturated with blood, and on the floor beneath was a pool of blood covering about two feet square. The wall by the right side of the bed and in a line with the neck was marked by blood which had struck it in several places. The face was gashed in all directions, the nose, cheeks, eyebrows, and ears being partly removed. The lips were blanched and cut by several incisions running obliquely down to the chin. There were also numerous cuts extending irregularly across all the features. The neck was cut through the skin and other tissues right down to the vertebrae, the fifth and sixth being deeply notched. The skin cuts in the front of the neck showed distinct ecchymosis. The air passage was cut at the lower part of the larynx through the cricoid cartilage. Both breasts were more or less removed by circular incisions, the muscle down to the ribs being attached to the breasts. The intercostals between the fourth, fifth, and sixth ribs were cut through and the contents of the thorax visible through the openings. The skin and tissues of the abdomen from the costal arch to the pubes were removed in three large flaps. The right thigh was denuded in front to the bone, the flap of skin, including the external organs of generation, and part of the right buttock. The left thigh was stripped of skin fascia, and muscles as far as the knee. The left calf showed a long gash through skin and tissues to the deep muscles and reaching from the knee to five inches above the ankle. Both arms and forearms had extensive jagged wounds. The right thumb showed a small superficial incision about one inch long, with extravasation of blood in the skin, and there were several abrasions on the back of the hand moreover showing the same condition. On opening the thorax it was found that the right lung was minimally adherent by old firm adhesions. The lower part of the lung was broken and torn away. The left lung was intact. It was adherent at the apex and there were a few adhesions over the side. In the substances of the lung there were several nodules of consolidation. The pericardium was open below and the heart absent. In the abdominal cavity there was some partly digested food of fish and potatoes, and similar food was found in the remains of the stomach attached to the intestines". Phillips believed that Kelly was killed by a slash to the throat and the mutilations performed afterwards. Bond stated in a report that the knife used was about 25 mm wide and at least 150 mm long but didn't believe that the murderer had any medical training or knowledge. He wrote "In each case the mutilation was inflicted by a person who had no scientific nor anatomical knowledge. In my opinion he does not even possess the technical knowledge of a butcher or horse slaughterer or a person accustomed to cut up dead animals". Kelly was buried in the Roman Catholic Cemetery at Leytonstone on 19 November 1888. Her obituary ran as follows "The funeral of the murdered woman Kelly has once more been postponed. Deceased was a Catholic, and the man Barnett, with whom she lived, and her landlord, Mr. M. Carthy, desired to see her remains interred with the ritual of her Church. The funeral will, therefore, take place tomorrow [19 Nov] in the Roman Catholic Cemetery at Leytonstone. The hearse will leave the Shoreditch mortuary at half-past twelve. The remains of Mary Janet [sic] Kelly, who was murdered on Nov. 9 in Miller's-court, Dorset-street, Spitalfields, were brought yesterday morning from Shoreditch mortuary to the cemetery at Leytonstone, where they were interred. No family member could be found to attend the funeral".

#mary kelly #whitechapel #london

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jgfiles · 7 years

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Joker Game Timeline

So this is a tentative timeline for Joker Game. Corrections and new info might end up being added in the future… and, of course, everyone is very welcome to let me know if they’ve corrections or new info!

Some dates were found by doing some math. Some other dates might not be that relevant as they’re dates referring to the identities the spies take.

To find out all the dates I’ve used the official timeline for the anime, the anime itself (dates appear often on newspaper in addition to the ones mentioned in dialogues), the novel and… well, history.

I didn’t use D no Maou as it follows its own timeline.

So… let’s start…

…but before beginning let’s remember everyone which is the anime official timeline as I won’t quote it all the times I use it…

And now… let’s start with the timeline I’ve reconstructed.

1875?: Ernest Graham’s birthday. “She was about forty-five, almost twenty years younger than Graham himself.” [Novel] (The story takes place in 1940 so 1940-45-20=1875) [Ep 8]

1889: Arisaki Akira supposedly had birth (Akira applied to the Military preparatory school at 13 and this school lasts 3 years, after which one applies to the Imperial Japanese Army Academy. He started the Imperial Japanese Army Academy in 1905 therefore 1905-3-13=1889) [Ep 10]

1895?: Jane Graham’s birthday “She was about forty-five” (The story takes place in 1940 so 1940-45= 1895) [Ep 8]

1896 (Winter): Viscount Arisaki brings to his home in Mejiro Akira [Ep 10]

1902: At 13 Arisaki Akira applies to the Military preparatory school (Rikugun Yonen Gakkō) (He entered in the Imperial Japanese Army Academy in 1905, the Military preparatory school last 3 years hence 1905-3=1902) [Ep 10]

1905: Arisaki Akira enters in the Imperial Japanese Army Academy (Rikugun Shikan Gakkō) [Ep 10]

1906: Arisaki Akira leaves Japan to study in England [Ep 10]

1909: Britain’s security service became an independent secret intelligence service [Ep 10]

1911-1913?: Sakuma had birth in between these years (Sakuma graduated from the Imperial Japanese Army Academy. This would happen when one is around 21 and he would be given the grade of Second Lieutenant. Sakuma, by 1938, is a First Lieutenant, which means he was promoted, which is something that usually takes at least three years. He likely hadn't been just promoted as Mutō seemed to know and trust him enough when he assigned him to D Agency in 1938. This should make him over 25 in 1939, likely older. In the Anime, at the beginning of Ep 2, we see the photo of a baby, his father wearing an uniform that was in use from 1911 to 1938. If the baby is Sakuma this means that, at most, he can be 28.) [Ep 1] [Ep 2]

1912: Viscount Arisaki dies [Ep 10]

1912: Maki Katsuhiko has birth (the episode takes place in 1940, by then he’s 28 so 1940-28=1912). Note that Maki Katsuhiko is just a fake identity Miyoshi took. We’ve no idea if they shared the same birth year. [EP 11]

1914 (August 23): WW1: Japan declares war to Germany [Ep 11]

1914 (August 25): WW1: Japan declares war to Austria

1915?: Odagiri/Tobisaki Hiroyuki might have had birth (Odagiri first job, once he graduated, was to train new recruits and he ends up taking part to the Military exercise in Sapporo in 1936. Students usually graduated at 21 and Odagiri always graduated top of his class therefore it’s unlikely he lost a year so 1936-21= 1915) [Ep 12]

1917 (July 31 - November 10): WW1: The Battle of Passchendaele [Ep 10]

1918: Yūki begins stealing German intel. [EP 11]

1918: After 6 months of Yūki stealing German intel Yūki is captured and Wolff and Yūki meet. [EP 11]

1918 (end of October, beginning of November): Yūki escapes (after he escapes the Kiel mutiny takes place.) [EP 11]

1918 (November 3): Kiel mutiny [EP 11]

1918 (November 11): End of WW1

1918: Morishima Kunio has birth [EP 9]

1923 (September 1): Great Kantō earthquake

1924: Yataro Maeda opened this photography shop when he arrived in London 15 years ago. (1939-15) (Novel) [Ep 5]

1930: Price starts living in Japan (the episode takes place in 1940, by then he’s been living in Japan by 10 years so 1940-10=1930) [Ep 10]

1931 (September 18): Mukden Incident

1932 (February 18): The Manchukuo State is proclaimed [EP 6]

1935: D Agency is proposed (novel)

1936: John Gordon comes to Japan at a major trading company invitation [Ep 1]

1936: Karl Schneider comes to Japan as a writer for the German newspaper “Berlin Allgemeine” (Novel) [Ep 12]

1936: Oikawa Masayuki gets stationed in Shangai (the episode takes place in 1941, by then he’s been in Shangai by 5 years so 1941-5=1936) [Ep 4]

1936 (September): Odagiri takes part to the “Special Large Scale Army Maneuver” in Sapporo, Hokkaido. [Ep 12]

1937 (July 7): Start of the 2nd Sino-Japanese War.

1937 (Autumn): Founding of D-Agency [Ep 1]

1937 (November?): Sakuma is assigned as Liaison for D Agency “Colonel Mutō had summoned Sakuma and transferred him to the “office for preparation of affairs established for the facility of development of intelligence service officials” a year and a half prior. His assignment had been to become a liaison between the agency and General Staff Headquarters.” (We’re told that a year prior to when Joker Game took place it was April 1938 so a year and a half prior to when Joker Game took place should be November 1937) (Novel) [Ep 1]

1938 (January 9-10): Japanese ships crowing Quingdao bay while its streets were filled with IJN Special Naval Landing Force (SNLF) marines and IJA soldiers on the 9th and on the 10th started Operation “B” - The Seizure of Qingdao during which the Japanese took Quingdao without a struggle. [Ep 1]

1938 (April): Sakuma starts working at D Agency “Sakuma first met the man a year ago in April, the 13th year of the Showa Period (1938).” (Novel) [Ep 1]

1938 (April?): Nogami Yuriko and Karl Schneider meet (the episode takes place in 1939, they met a year before it so 1939-1=1938) [Ep 12]

1938 (July?): Honda investigated on Shiozuka Hajime (who will be later impersonated by Fukumoto) on charge of operating on a left-wing magazine (the episode takes place in 1941, July, he investigates him 3 years before it so 1941-3=1938) [Ep 4]

1938 (November): Sakuma is involved in the Joker Game. “That had been about half a year ago.” (Novel) (April-6 months= November) [Ep 1]

1939 (January): Anton Morozoff’s history of lavishing money on a Harbin nightclub girl is “burned”. (It happened 6 months before the episode takes place so 1939 July-6= 1939 January) [EP 6]

1939 (Spring - April): “Joker Game” (If a year prior to this episode we were in April 1938 this should mean now we’re in April 1939) (Novel) [Ep 1]

1939 (Spring, in between “Joker Game” and “XX - Double Cross”): D Agency have ample budget and currently uses a three-story building on the outskirts of Tokyo instead of the place they used previously. (Novel only as in the anime they’ll remain in the same building which already counted three stores… though yes, we learn that, after the Gordon case D Agency will manage to squeeze from the General Staff Headquarters more money) [Ep 12]

1939 (Spring): “XX - Double Cross” [EP 12]

1939 (April 11): Odagiri resigns from D Agency [EP 12]

1939 (May 11): The Battles of Khalkhyn Gol start.

1939 (June 15): Hatano as Shimano Ryōsuke is in France, Marseille and is supposed to stay there for one year. [Ep 3]

1939 (June?): A German merchant raider sinks the English cargo ship that had Emma Grane’s father aboard [Ep 7]

1939 (July): Fukumoto learns that classified info was being leaked from the Japanese army in Shangai (the episode takes place in 1941, so 1941-2=1939) [Ep 4]

1939 (July 23): Morozoff prepares the newspaper for the information exchange. [EP 6]

1939 (Summer July 25): “Asia Express” [EP 6]

1939 (August): D-Agency learns that confidential Imperial Army intel is leaked to the British (It happened 3 months before November, 16 hence 11-3=8) [Ep 5]

1939 (Between August and September): Kaminaga leaves for London, as photographer Izawa Kazuo [Ep 5]

1939 (Between August and September): Miyoshi leaves for Berlin to study art as Maki Katsuhiko and later start working as art dealer. [Ep 11]

1939 (Between August and September): Jitsui starts living in the Shirahata’s house as Morishima Kunio [Ep 9]

1939 (Between August and September): Fukumoto leaves for Shangai. [Ep 4]

1939 (September 15): The Battles of Khalkhyn Gol end.

1939 (middle of October): Kaminaga arrives in London. (When Kaminaga was taken by the SIS he wasn’t in London by a month yet) [EP 5]

1939 (Around October 26): The SIS start surveying Kaminaga. (They kept him under surveillance for two weeks before arresting him) [EP 5]

1939 (Autumn): “Robinson” [Ep 5]

1939 (Around November 9): Kaminaga is taken into custody by the SIS (we know he escaped after a week and the newspaper when he escaped was dated November 16). [EP 5]

1939 (November 16): Kaminaga escapes. According to the novel it’s after a week of entrapment. [EP 5]

1939 (December): “Valkyrie” (Novel only)

1940 (March): Kazato and Akutsu meet and decide the founding of Wind Agency (the episode takes place in September 1940, the meeting happened 6 months before so 9-6=3) [Ep 8]

1940 (June 21): The Tokimaru starts its travel. [Ep 7]

1940 (June 22): France is occupied by Germany. [Ep 3]

1940 (Early summer, probably June, 26): “Code name: Cerberus” (The Tokimaru has almost reached Honululu from San Francisco. Back then it would take five days to go from San Francisco to Honululu, while to go from San Francisco to Yokohama, the final destination would take 15 days) [Ep 7]

1940 (Summer): “Pursuit” [Ep 10]

1940 (Summer): “Miscalculation” (we can’t know when this happened but it’s more than a month after France was occupied by Germany as when the episode takes place, Marie has been blackmailed by the Germans by a month already… so it’s likely we’re in August) [Ep 3]

1940 (Summer): Tazaki and Hatano are among the Military Police who arrested Price (I’m assuming for this to be possible that “Pursuit” started sooner than “Miscalculation” but actually spanned over a longer time, enough for Hatano to return in Japan) [Ep 10]

1940 (between July and September): “French Indochina Strategy” (Novel only)

1940 (September 17): The "Hakusan Maru" is recruited by the Japanese Navy [Ep 3]

1940 (September 22): Japanese invasion of French Indochina

1940 (September 27): Tripartite Pact [Ep 3]

1940 (Early fall): “Double Joker” [Ep 8] [Ep 9]

1940 (September 10): Gamō spies Graham. [Ep 8]

1940 (September 30): Gamō reports to Kazato. [Ep 8]

1940: Kazato raids Shirahata villa. Hatano and Kaminaga deal with his men. [Ep 9]

1940 (November 10): 2600th anniversary of Japanese Empire

1940 (November 10): “The night of the ball” (Novel only)

1940 (Fall): “Coffin” [EP 11]

1940 (December 13): After the train incident in the outskirt of Berlin, Wolff arrests Otto Frank and inspects Maki Katsuhiko’s house (The date on the newspaper that was printed the day after the incident is Sonnabend, Dezember 1X, which translates as Saturday, December 1X. As the only Saturday that started with one in December was the 14 the episode likely starts on the 13)

1940 (December 14): Wolff discovers Yuuki managed to anticipate him, retrieve the list of Maki’s accomplices that he was carrying with himself and warn them. (The date on the newspaper Wolff was reading is Sonnabend, Dezember 1X, which translates as Saturday, December 1X. As the only Saturday that started with one in December was the 14 the episode likely starts on the 13)

1941 (Spring): According to Oikawa a spy starts leaking Military Police information… Oikawa is lying though… (according to Oikawa it’s short before Honma was stationed in Shangai) [Ep 4]

1941 (April): Honma starts being stationed in Shangai. (Honma and Oikawa meet in July and this happened 3 months before so 7-3=4) [Ep 4]

1941 (July 12): Mortars destroy south are building in Shangai (The date is on the newspaper, as it’s the evening edition the news in question are likely daily news) [Ep 4]

1941 (Summer): “City of temptation” [Ep 4]

1941 (July 13): Oikawa and Honma meet (the incident with the mortars happened the day before Honma met Oikawa) [Ep 4]

1941 (December): “Black Bird” (Novel only)

1941 (December): “Paradise Lost” (Novel only)

1941 (December 8): Bombing of Pearl Harbor

P.S.: Novel’s translations were done by @imayooshi. Other info about the novels come mostly by @kyuukancorbie

#Joker Game #Joker Game Timeline #Joker Game Random Info #Joker Game Official Info

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thewomaninlilywhite · 7 years

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Miss Peregrine’s Movie Reactions

I finally watched this movie on a flight last weekend.

***WARNING CONTAINS SPOILERS*** NOT JUST FOR THE MOVIE, I REFERENCE THINGS FROM ALL THREE BOOKS AS WELL anything with various *** marks is something I didn’t fact check, so I apologize if I am actually wrong about any of those

Sorry that this is so freaking long, but I had issues Also, these are the things I wanted to say to my screen, so I don’t have context for them, sorry

Short Version: I thought the movie itself was well done, but it’s an awful adaption

I didn’t know Georgia Pemberton was in this Opening credits music cuts off oddly Who is this chick driving him Abe doesn’t sound Polish ?? Did it really take that long to get to his house? Aight Sam Jackson I miss Spike (I know that isn’t his name) - like, I don’t think this chick has a gun on her Chick = Shelley Oh she does But it’s a .38 not a .44*** so… I feel like this happened rather fast? Don’t think that’s a letter opener either Find Emerson - it’s “find the old man, get to the bird in the loop” or whatever 1943???? Not 1940 Who tf is Emerson Told him what, we haven’t even been told about the stories ????? WTF is that. That is NOT a hollowghast A hollow is only like 8-10 feet not 3 f king stories (unless I misread the books) ——-side note: I always subconsciously pictured the hollows as something (from some movie or something) that I know they didn’t actually look like buttttt) Who’s this shrink. Shouldn’t she be Sam Jackson - what? Case. CLOSED - sorry AWE “everything’s already been discovered” - iconic!!! Tikrisko?? - Yakov!! NO Jake doesn’t see the pictures until they’re going through the house ?? What is this He doesn’t know what Miss Peregrine’s name is nor that she can turn into a bird He’s not supposed to know the names Bronwyn is older No Emma can create fire, olive floats THIS IS OLIVE Nope, Alma found him. He wasn’t sent this. His family died Doesn’t know what hollows look like. Finds that out when Abe dies All these Jakes are adorable Can they not say Nazis? Because he’s being very nondescriptive The surprise party ong Why are there twins. I’m uncomfortable oh my gosh the essays, at least they did something right Shouldn’t the letter be from Emma ugh So that’s Goland? what the heck Oh now they bring up the birdwatching The doctor isn’t supposed to know about the home*** Cairnholm - good Nope I’m yelling Not supposed to see the bird until they’re in the room And his father isn’t supposed to know Alma Ugh 19 minutes in and I’m screaming I relate to Jake on a spiritual level Whet Defeats the whole sneaking away trust ugh He’s so tiny YAS he shoulda said piss instead of priest but the rap was nearly verbatim* What is this river? Where’s the sheep shack Wondrous Exactly how i pictured it Where’s the old man Oh that’s how Emerson falls in Jake is supposed to have his own room ugh Oh so he is sneaky But where’s the cairn AND THE OLD MAN the twins aren’t introduced until the second book Enoch’s lair is supposed to be in the basement -The kids and the hole. It’s iconic They’re not supposed to address him Whet I hate this I don’t even know where to begin the twins shouldn’t exist And Millard shouldn’t have clothes on There’s just so many issues This is not a bog UGH this is not wrong it’s sickening the twins are pissing me off oh my gosh -Tim just fell in love with them, didn’t he Okay, the cairn is not how I imagined it but I’ll live They literally didn’t even address the priest hole This is 20s music not 40s ong Goodness Oh now he stripped Why is Millard like 7 And he hasn’t even formally met Emerson yet what is going on He’s not supposed to be taken He’s not supposed have this much information yet Whet Olive and Emma’s powers are switch gosh This like isn’t Yea Alma? Kinda appreciate it though like #relatable And Enoch is supposed to be much younger I give up. I’m going to take a break until Goland arrives … if he arrives GEORGIA IS FIONA OH MY GOSH. I CAN OVERLOOK THE HAIR BECAUSE I LOVE HER Imbrin NOT Imbrine - book 3 literally tells you this Now I’m on break 30 minutes later…Jk: Yes Enoch/Victor Hi bird man - you’re ANOTHER new actor “Air - it does what I want” - what does that even mean olive. I mean Emma Since olive’s supposed to be like 10 the photographs At least some are taken from the books Baron - so like forget Jack/Bentham Guess there won’t be sequels rip Hollows can’t enter loops I’m still annoyed by this At least they got the tentacle right Actually it was controlling them but you don’t know that yet Oh, so they ARE called hollows - good Disaster of 1908 - wait. Is the experiment address in the first book**** Because if not this means that Burton has read the other books and there should not be this many issues Oh so Burton Didn’t acknowledge the immortality first Well it’s the souls in the first book But the third book acknowledged the eyes so… THEREFOR there should be more hollows than that jeez Disaster of 1908 - Siberia - ANYTHING ??? Oh, second book ref So bird man’s not one of the identities? Jk he probs is Yup whey No. That’s not it. There are several issues Yea? Hollows. Can’t. Enter. Loops The twins are annoying me Is it a hint that there won’t be a sequel Whey IT CANT ARRIVE HERE GAH Alma my bby This would be so much better if it was Jack cuz I love any good sibling showdown Or, are they setting up a second? but they can’t with the whole baron thing because if he’s not her brother, he can’t disguise himself as a falcon Miss Avocet is still with them ?? *sings* she should have been kidnapped toooo That’ll surely screw up the space/time continuum There we go Wait. Did it just eat her?? So much for a sequel That thing shouldn’t even be there Oh wait, yes it can cuz it’s an evolved one. Right!!!!!!!!! If they’re not doing a sequel, they better not kill Fiona and Claire now* awe they never got to bury Victor’s body… Ugh, but the freezer scene is iconic No lighthouse scene either Wait, there’s an half hour left ?? And why Blackpool and not London - what are you doing with your life Really The tiny boat though !!! Goodness I’m so mad Right, of course, let’s steal the sunken CRUISE SHIP No she won’t, because they’re in 1940 But it’s 1940 1943, way after the disaster of 1908 so it doesn’t work that way You literally CREATED plot holes Bloody hell You’re literally wrong Aughck Still saying Ymbryne wrong… What are you doing So no other movies… rip #salty Oh it’s blackpool instead of london because it’s closer to wales. gotcha Oh look, they reference London and the loop in the tube —but not the one in ST. PAUL’S ya know, WHERE THEY FIND THE TWINS ————-AKA the key inspiration for my crossover fic that’ll never happen Where’d everyone else go The story book is one of the best parts of the series, c'mon Whey What are those *eye roll* SIEZE ONE YAKOV and this is books two She literally left those shoes at the home what is this inconsistency ??? Sorry, no sympathy, Malthus That sounds like your problem So unnecessary Such a Burton Movie-esque score jeez Actually LAUGHED at the hollow getting hit by a car goodness Well, that’s one way to kill a Wight Wait, was it ever acknowledged that they’re called wights? Oh, of course, skeletons What is this music I just want Jake to shoot Baron What the f YAKOV They got the black blood thing* —-that was a thing, right I’m over it oh poor you Eye-dly ??? I hate myself Why are they turning into animals ??? What is Horace’s peculiarity supposed to be in this because it’s like wrong ??? Death by flowers - I appreciate it Nope Cuz Enoch just carries hearts on him wait, that’s actually true nvm WHERE did that elephant come from so the twins are medusa? cause I just thought their scream was piecing Cuz then that stone thing’s so not their pecu- I give up Oh, Fiona and Claire are little so let’s kill Olive WHICH IS IRONIC BECAUSE SHES LIKE 10 IN THE BOOKS oh, true love’s kiss wakes the dead. OKAY I’m so done I don’t even know what’s happening anymore Was that supposed to be funny? YAS Alma Hopefully it’s not Alma though Why is she blue ? I just processed that Why would he stop him Oh right shape shifting Ugh IM PECULIAR yo. You’re opportunity was right there WAIT IS HE CONTROLLING IT but does it count if it’s a wight’s eyes Like, why would a hollow attack a wight UNLESS JAKE MADE IT So, no one’s dead? but how is he supposed to get home - you don’t have an Ymbryme !! Wait Alma’s alive nvm So are they gonna kiss or what Well okay then Aren’t they in 1943 though ?? Nice timing Shouldn’t he have missed calls from his dad? Why is Abe alive? Oh, right. blah Why I just I’m cringing No, you’re supposed to say “but you know WHEN they are” Goodness Right of course. So he’s just gonna live in 1943 now okay Do his parents like even know ANYTHING Are they dead? Sure okay Wow right LONDON Oh now they kiss It’s titanic I love Georgia Damn, it was Alma Why isn’t she with them, she’s their Ymbryne Oh they just needed the dramatic shot Mary Poppins is a rogue Ymbryne Crossover fic - it’s happening I actually started writing it when I reread the books over winter break, but haven’t committed to it because of ALNF… What is this credits music ?? I just don’t even know what to say I think I would have enjoyed it if I never read the books but since I did… AND NO SEQUEL the whole Devil’s Acre sequence is sick (and I also love Sharon) and I also just wrote an essay on these books sooo

Well, there. Here are my thoughts on Tim Burton’s Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children

If you actually read all these, mad props. Shoot me an ask and let’s chat about it

#Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children #Warning: Spoilers #Hollow City #Library of Souls #Tim Burton #Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #Ransom Riggs #let's chat #jillian rants #but I jeté #lefay

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