#american cruises style

[motocrunch]

It's not who you are that holds you back,it is who you think you're not. - Thomas Shelby

[rayvvision]

[sirfrogsworth]

How do you take a photo of time?

I've been watching the track events at the Olympics since I was a wee lad. It was a tradition in our family. We'd gather around our ancient low-definition 19 inch CRT television and watch tiny blobs compete against other tiny blobs and root for our country.

It was a bit like watching YouTube on your phone in 144p.

Several heroes emerged.

Jackie Joyner-Kersee was amazing.

You can't forget about Flo-Jo.

And then the Olympics decided NBA players were allowed in the competition.

Which formed... The Dream Team.

Was this fair?

Well... they won each game by an average of 44 points.

So... no. It was not fair.

Though it became more fair as time went on.

But, umm... yeah. The other teams looked like the Washington Generals and the US looked like the Harlem Globetrotters if they stopped screwing around half of the game.

But my absolute favorite Olympian was a runner named Michael Johnson.

He was cool as heck.

For one thing... gold shoes.

But he also had this crazy, upright, Tom Cruise-ish sprinting style that just made him look like a running robot on the track.

And in the 1996 Atlanta games he just trounced EVERYONE. I mean, it wasn't even close.

Yikes. Those losing blobs are probably really embarrassed.

Last night I decided to invigorate my nostalgia and watch the track events again. And I got to see one of the wildest races in history.

It didn't even last 10 seconds but it was one of the most exciting sporting events I've ever witnessed. Almost every runner won the race.

After I saw that initially, I was like... who the heck won???

Even in slow motion I wasn't sure.

This was one of the closest finishes in history. There has never been a race where all 8 runners were within this margin.

The arena was silent as the winner was being confirmed. The runners just kind of paced around waiting for official word. My best guess was the Jamaican runner, Kishane Thompson. But then the loudspeaker announced Noah Lyles.

The last tiny morsel of American pride burst out of me with a big "Wooooo!"

I forgot what it was like to be proud of my country. I wish it happened more often. But this young man, despite being last place in the first 3rd of the race, turned on the afterburners and won in a photo finish.

And that's when my inner nerd took over.

Because when they showed the photo finish image, it looked super weird.

Why is the track white?

Why do all of the runners look all warpy like that QWOP game?

So I went down a research rabbit hole to figure this out.

Photo finishes are actually fascinating. The first photo finish captured the end of a horse race in 1890. But that was mostly luck and timing. The actual photo finish mechanisms weren't used until 1937.

Originally they would film the finish line through a physical slit.

And the first horsie head that appeared in that slit would be the winner. This technology ended a huge aspect of corruption in horse race fixing almost overnight.

But we have come a long way since then. And I'd like to introduce you to the Omega Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate.

This slow motion camera sits fixed on the finish line of every race. The concept of the photo finish has remained remarkably similar to the 1930s approach. The camera sensor is specially designed to only record a vertical slit.

Only the finish line itself is actually captured.

And because it limits what it records to only that slit, it can capture 40,000 frames per second to get amazing temporal resolution.

So why don't the photo finishes just look like, well... this?

That is because the camera takes a picture of time more-so than dimensional space. I guess it would be more accurate to say it *assembles* a picture of time.

As the runners cross the finish line, the camera combines all of the little strips of pictures into a single image.

It's almost like if you tried to reassemble a piece of paper after it had been shredded.

Imagine each strip of paper is a picture of ONLY the finish line, just at a slightly different point in time.

What if someone stopped on the finish line and didn't move... what would that look like?

Once they got there, the same part of their body would just be repeated.

So the right side of the photo finish picture represents earlier in time and it just assembles the image strip by strip as time passes and you literally get a picture of time itself.

NEAT!

Okay, but how do they determine the winner from the photo finish?

I mean, that shoe looks like it is ahead of Noah Lyles!

Clavicles!

The IAFF rules state the foremost part of the torso must cross the finish line first. And the endpoint of the torso is the outer end of the clavicle.

So if you get this bone across the finish line first, you win the race.

Two more fun facts!

The start of the race is actually just as carefully timed as the end of the race. There are sensors in the starting blocks of each runner.

The starting gun also has an electronic sensor.

They have determined the fastest a human can react to the sound of a gun is roughly 100 milliseconds. So if you start running before 100 milliseconds they know you didn't actually hear the gun, you just got antsy and started running too early.

And the final fun fact...

Did you notice the Omega logo at the top of the photo finish?

That isn't superimposed or added after the fact. That is captured by the camera.

But if this image is composed only of tiny little slivers, how did they get the Omega logo to show up?

That is a little display. And it is synchronized with the Scan 'O' Vision Ultimate to show a little sliver of the Omega logo for each frame captured.

So when the final image is stitched together, it looks like a cohesive logo at the top of the photo.

Pretty clever, Omega!

[thomsonsharon347]

Classic Leather Jacket Looks Of Famed Stars From Some Iconic Movies

If you wish to put on a leather jacket like some of the coolest Hollywood veterans then hurry and start reading the blog now

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

Saccharine Expressions.

my masterlist || ask me anything <3

authors note - enjoy 8k words of Harry grieving his wife.

trigger warnings - mentions of car crashes, hospitals, mentions of miscarriage and a shit load of angst. if you notice anymore triggers please let me know asap!

word count - 8k

in which, your husband postpones his american leg of tour because you get involved in a road traffic accident, resulting in you ending up in a medically induced coma, your husband and four year old comes to visit you everyday and they always have something new to tell you. this is everything that Harry experiences whilst you asleep, speaking to you whilst holding your hand, getting forced to eat because he doesn’t want to move and reassuring your son that mummy’s going to be fine.

12th August, 2022. — 14:47pm.

You had been looking forward to this moment all day. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow as you sat behind the wheel, cruising along the familiar roads on your way to pick up your four year old son, Alfie from school. The car hummed softly, the radio playing a cheerful tune in the background. The anticipation of reuniting with your little one filled the air, your heart light with the prospect of his laughter and stories from his day.

As you turned onto the street leading to the school, you imagined his face lighting up when he spotted your car. He would come running, his backpack bouncing against his small frame, his smile infectious. You couldn't wait to envelop him in a tight hug, his energy and innocence providing a welcome escape from the adult world.

The plan was to head to your husband's music studio, where he was getting everything ready for his American Leg of tour. It had been a while since the three of you had spent quality time together there, surrounded by the melodies that had woven into the fabric of your life. You had ordered takeout from his favourite restaurant, a little treat to celebrate a simple yet special evening.

The studio was your sanctuary, a place where your husband's creativity flowed freely. The walls were adorned with framed memories and records, a testament to his journey as a musician. Walking in, you'd inhale the familiar scent of music equipment and the subtle mix of coffee and old books. You'd settle into the cosy corner, watching as your son explored the room with wide-eyed wonder.

You'd listen to your husband's stories, sharing in his triumphs and frustrations. The music playing softly in the background would create a serene backdrop to your conversations, each note a reminder of the bond you shared. You'd laugh, you'd dance, and you'd cherish the time spent as a family.

But as the sun began its descent and the car continued down the road, fate had other plans.

Out of nowhere, a truck materialised in your path, its imposing presence casting a shadow over your joy-filled thoughts. Panic surged through your veins, your heart racing as you attempted to react, but time seemed to slow.

The impact was sudden and brutal, metal colliding with metal in a deafening symphony of destruction. Your world spun, and for a fraction of a second, everything went black.

Harry sat in the dimly lit studio, his fingers dancing across the keyboard of his laptop as he worked on everything that would be needed for the show in upcoming days. The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound accompanying his thoughts.

But then, a sudden interruption shattered his focus – his phone began to ring insistently, its vibrations causing it to skitter across the table.

Frowning, Harry picked up the phone and saw the school's name on the caller ID. He furrowed his brows, a sense of unease fluttering in his chest. He swiped to answer the call and held the phone to his ear.

" ‘ello?" he said, his voice a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Hi, Is this Mr. Styles?" a voice on the other end inquired.

"Yeah, this is ‘im," he replied, his brows knitting tighter.

"I'm calling from LakeRidge school," the receptionist explained. "It seems there was a mix-up, and no one came to pick up Alfie today."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. "Wait, what? No one picked him up?"

"That's correct. We were trying to reach your wife earlier, but it seems no one was answering," the receptionist explained, her voice apologetic.

Harry's mind raced as he glanced at the time on his watch. You and Harry took it in turns to pick up Alfie from school. You did Mondays, Wednesday and Harry did Tuesdays and Thursdays. You both picked him up on Fridays. He ran a hand through his hair, his worry deepening.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll be right there t’pick him up."

"Of course, Mr. Styles. We'll make sure he's safe until you arrive," the receptionist assured him.

"Thank you," Harry replied, his tone earnest. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

12th August, 2022. — 15:12pm.

The tires of Harry's car screeched as he quickly manoeuvred into a parking spot near the school. He barely had time to turn off the engine before he was out of the car, his long strides carrying him toward the school building. Panic surged through him with every step, a mix of worry and guilt propelling him forward.

As he burst through the doors of the school reception, his eyes frantically scanned the room for a familiar face. And there he was – his son, Alfie, standing near the reception desk, his face a mixture of relief and excitement as he spotted his father.

"Daddy!" Alfie's voice rang out, and he sprinted toward Harry with open arms.

Harry's heart swelled with a rush of emotions. He crouched down, his arms outstretched, and Alfie practically leaped into his embrace. Harry held his son tightly, a mixture of relief and remorse flooding his senses.

"I'm so sorry, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice filled with regret. "Me and Mummy should have been here t’pick y’up on time."

Alfie squeezed Harry even tighter, his small arms wrapping around his father's neck. "It's okay, Daddy. I knew you'd come."

Harry pulled back slightly, looking into his son's eyes. "Still, I should have been here f’you. I promise this won't happen again."

Alfie's face lit up with a bright smile, his forgiveness and trust shining through. "I love you, Daddy."

Harry's heart ached with love as he pressed a kiss to Alfie's forehead. "I love you too, more than anything."

After a moment of holding his son close, Harry straightened up and swung Alfie onto his hip. He gathered his son's backpack with his free hand and draped it over his shoulder.

"Ready t’go, bud?" Harry asked, his voice gentle.

Alfie nodded enthusiastically, his arms wrapped around Harry's neck. "Yeah!"

With Alfie securely perched on his hip, Harry made his way back to the car. He settled Alfie into his car seat, making sure he was buckled in safely. As he closed the car door, he leaned in to meet Alfie's gaze.

"M’really sorry about today, Alf," Harry said sincerely. "From now on, Me and Mummy will make sure were here on time t’pick y’up, n’matter what."

Alfie's smile returned, his eyes filled with trust. "I know you will, Daddy."

Harry smiled back, his heart full as he ruffled Alfie's hair affectionately. With one final glance, he closed the car door and walked around to the driver's seat.

Just as Harry's hand touched the ignition to start the car, his phone lit up with an unknown number. A sense of unease washed over him, but he quickly connected the call to the car's Bluetooth system.

" ‘Ello?" Harry said, his voice projected through the car's speakers.

"Is this Mr. Styles speaking?" a calm voice inquired.

Harry's brows furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Yes, this is ‘im."

"Mr. Styles, I'm Dr. Parker from Willow Creek Hospital," the voice introduced itself. "I'm calling because you are listed as the emergency contact for (Y/N) Styles."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his wife’s name, his thoughts racing as he tightened his grip on the phone.

"(Y/N)?" he repeated, his voice shaky.

"I'm afraid there's been an incident," Dr. Parker explained gently. "It would be best if we discussed this in person. Can you please come to Willow Creek Hospital as soon as possible?"

A surge of panic coursed through Harry's veins as he turned to look at the backseat, where his four-year-old was sitting. He reached out and gently grasped his child's small hand, his mind racing with worry.

" ‘hat happened?" Harry asked, his voice quivering.

"I understand your concern, Mr. Styles," the doctor replied, his tone compassionate. "I assure you, we will explain everything once you're here. Please, make your way to the hospital as soon as you can."

Harry swallowed hard, his mind a whirlwind of fear and confusion.

"Yeah, ‘kay," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

12th August, 2022. — 16:09pm.

The hospital loomed before Harry like an imposing fortress of uncertainty. He had hurriedly dropped off Alfie at his manager Jeff's house, making sure his son was safe and away from the unsettling environment of a hospital. Now, his heart raced as he rushed through the sliding glass doors, the sterile scent hitting him like a wave as he stepped into the hospital's bustling foyer.

His eyes darted around, scanning the signs that pointed the way to different wards and departments. But his mind was a blur, and he found himself striding over to the reception desk, his voice hurried and tense.

"S’cuse me," Harry began, his voice tinged with anxiety. "M’looking f’m’wife, (Y/N) Styles. Can y’tell me where she is?"

The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, looked up from her computer screen and offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, sir. Let me check for you."

Harry's fingers tapped nervously on the counter as he waited, his gaze flitting around the lobby. The distant hum of footsteps, the occasional murmur of conversations – it all blended into a surreal symphony that only heightened his unease.

After a moment, the receptionist turned back to him. "It says on her notes that her doctor wants to speak to you before you l are updated on your wife, I’ll page her doctor and let him know your here, be will be out to speak with you shortly about your wife’s condition"

Harry's shoulders slumped slightly in frustration, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Right. Thank you."

As he paced back and forth near the reception area, his mind raced with scenarios and questions. What had happened? Was (Y/N) okay? The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity, until finally, a doctor emerged from the corridor beyond.

"Mr. Styles?" the doctor called out, his white coat billowing slightly as he approached.

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he turned toward the doctor. "Yes, that's me."

The doctor extended a hand, his expression a mix of professionalism and empathy. "I'm Dr. Parker. Please, come with me. We have a private room where we can talk."

Dr. Parker led Harry down a series of hallways until they reached a small, private family room. The air inside felt heavy with anticipation, and as Harry stepped through the door, he could hardly ignore the sense of foreboding that settled over him.

Taking a seat, Harry's hands trembled slightly as he looked at the doctor, his eyes wide and expectant.

"I appreciate your patience, Mr. Styles," Dr. Parker began, his tone gentle. "I know this is a difficult time, and I want to provide you with as much information as I can."

Harry nodded, his heart pounding as he held onto every word the doctor spoke.

"Your wife, (Y/N) Styles, was brought in unconscious after the car accident," the doctor explained. "Upon evaluation and a CT scan, we discovered a small bleed on her brain. It's causing increased pressure, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, his fingers clenching into fists as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. His wife, the person he loved more than anything, was facing a critical health challenge.

"Additionally," Dr. Parker continued, "she has sustained multiple injuries. Her ribs are fractured, and she has also broken her femur."

The weight of the doctor's words seemed to press down on Harry's chest, his mind struggling to process the extent of his wife's injuries. Images of her vibrant smile, her laughter, and the moments they had shared together flashed through his mind, a stark contrast to the reality he was now facing.

"What... what’re the next steps?" Harry managed to ask, his voice quivering.

"We've already begun treatment for the brain bleed," Dr. Parker explained. "She's under close observation in the Intensive Care Unit. Our priority is to stabilise her and manage the pressure on her brain. Once that's achieved, we'll assess the best course of action for her other injuries."

Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. He wanted to be strong, for both his wife and their family, but the weight of the situation threatened to overwhelm him.

"Can I... can I see ‘er?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly. "Of course. We're preparing a room for you to visit her briefly. Please keep in mind that she's still unconscious, and we're closely monitoring her condition."

As the doctor led Harry through the hospital corridors, the journey felt like a surreal blur. He couldn't shake the fear that gripped his heart, nor the deep sense of longing to see his wife's face, to hold her hand and offer his unwavering support.

The door to the room swung open, revealing you lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and monitors. Your face appeared peaceful, a stark contrast to the turmoil within Harry's heart. He approached the bed, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead.

"(Y/N)," Harry whispered, his voice laden with emotion. "M’here. I love you."

He held your hand gently, his grip offering both reassurance and a silent promise that he would be by your side throughout this challenging journey. As he looked at you, his heart swelled with a mixture of love and determination, a reminder that your bond was unbreakable, even in the face of adversity.

The soft beep of machines filled the room as Harry stood by your bedside, his gaze fixed on your still form. Dr. Parker joined him, his presence a mix of professionalism and empathy.

"Mr. Styles," the doctor began, his tone gentle, "I need to explain that due to the severity of (Y/N)'s injuries, we made the decision to place her in a medically induced coma."

Harry's heart sank at the doctor's words, his eyes widening as he turned to look at Dr. Parker. The gravity of the situation seemed to deepen with each passing moment, and the reality that you was facing a critical condition hit him like a ton of bricks.

"A coma?" Harry repeated, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "Given the head injury and the need to reduce pressure on her brain, we initiated the coma to allow her body to heal and to give her the best chance of recovery."

Harry's hands trembled as he reached out to hold your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his heart heavy with worry for his wife.

"I know this is incredibly difficult," Dr. Parker continued, his voice compassionate. "But the induced coma is a crucial part of her treatment plan. It will help minimise any further damage and allow us to closely monitor her brain activity."

Harry nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving your face. He felt a mixture of helplessness and determination, the need to be there for you overwhelming his thoughts.

"M’here f’er," Harry said, his voice firm. "Whatever she needs, I'll be here."

Dr. Parker nodded, his expression one of understanding. "Your presence and support are invaluable, Mr. Styles. We'll continue to keep you updated on her condition and progress."

Dr. Parker remained in the room, his expression a mix of concern and professionalism. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his voice measured yet compassionate.

"There's one more thing I need to discuss with you, Mr. Styles," the doctor said, his tone somber.

Harry's head shot up, his eyes locking onto Dr. Parker's. A sense of dread gripped him, his heart pounding as he awaited the doctor's words.

The doctor's gaze met Harry's, his eyes conveying a mixture of empathy and gravity. "Were you aware that your wife is pregnant?"

Harry's brows furrowed in confusion, his mind racing to process the question. He shook his head slightly. "No, I wasn't."

Dr. Parker nodded, his gaze steady. "According to our initial assessment and subsequent scans, (Y/N) is approximately 13 weeks pregnant."

Harry's eyes widened in shock, his thoughts a jumble of emotions. The news hit him like a tidal wave, the realisation that not only was you facing a critical condition, but your was also carrying yours and his second child.

"She... she’s pregnant?" Harry managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alfie was going to be a big brother.

"Yes," Dr. Parker confirmed. "The baby appears to be fine, given our initial scans. However, I need to be transparent with you, Mr. Styles. The circumstances surrounding the accident do pose a higher risk of miscarriage."

Harry's heart ached at the doctor's words, the weight of the situation heavy upon him. The room seemed to close in around him as he processed the reality of the delicate life that hung in the balance.

" ‘hat can we do?" Harry asked, his voice trembling.

Dr. Parker's expression softened. "Right now, the focus is on (Y/N)'s recovery. We'll continue to monitor both her and the baby closely. While the situation is delicate, we'll do everything we can to support their well-being."

Harry nodded, his thoughts a whirlwind of worry and determination. He glanced back at you, his hand instinctively moving to rest on your abdomen, as if trying to protect the life that was growing within her.

"Thank you, Dr. Parker," Harry said, his voice heavy with gratitude. "Please, do whatever y’can t’take care of them."

The doctor offered a reassuring nod. "We're committed to providing the best care possible, Mr. Styles. We'll keep you updated on any developments."

As the doctor left the room, Harry's gaze remained fixed on you, his heart a mixture of hope and fear. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but he knew that the love and strength the two of you shared would be his guiding light, illuminating the path toward recovery for both you and their unborn child.

Dr. Parker's steps had barely faded when Harry found himself whispering to the still room, his voice a mixture of desperation and raw emotion.

"Y’can't leave us," Harry murmured, his fingers gently brushing your hand. "We need you. Alfie needs you."

His voice cracked as he spoke, the weight of his words heavy in the air. He looked at your face, so peaceful yet distant, and a lump formed in his throat.

"Alfie can't grow up without a mother," Harry continued, his voice trembling. "I don't know what I'll do without you."

Tears welled in his eyes as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. He took a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your ones tighter.

"Y’everything t’us," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible. "We can't lose you."

The room was silent, the machines and monitors offering a haunting backdrop to his plea. Harry's heartache felt like an ache in his chest, a reminder of the fragility of life and the depth of his love for you and your unborn child.

DAY ONE. 13th August, 2022. — 07:54am.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow across the hospital room, Harry roused from his light slumber. He had spent the night in the chair beside your bed, his presence a steadfast symbol of his unwavering support. The machines continued their soft symphony, their rhythmic beeps and hums creating an almost surreal backdrop to the uncertainty that hung in the air.

A nurse, her footsteps soft and purposeful, entered the room. She moved gracefully, her experience evident in the way she approached your bedside and began checking her vitals. The machines responded with gentle beeps, their cadence familiar to Harry's ears by now. He watched the nurse's actions with a mix of hope and apprehension, his heart pounding in his chest.

As the nurse worked, her gaze shifted to Harry, and she offered a kind smile. "Good morning. Did you stay the whole night?"

Harry nodded, his voice hoarse as he replied, "Yeah, m’didn't want t’leave ‘er."

The nurse's gaze held a mixture of understanding and reassurance. "She's in safe hands here, Mr. Styles. We're doing everything we can for her."

Harry's grip on (Y/N)'s hand tightened, his gaze unwavering as he looked at the woman he loved. "I know, but I just... I can't leave her side."

The nurse nodded in understanding, her demeanour empathetic. "It's understandable that you want to be here for her. Just know that if you need anything – a drink, a meal, a moment to step outside – the nurses' station is just outside the door. Don't hesitate to reach out."

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice filled with gratitude. "I appreciate that."

With a final nod, the nurse completed her assessments and left the room, her presence a brief yet comforting interlude in the otherwise tense environment. Left alone once more with (Y/N), Harry's gaze returned to her face, his emotions a tumultuous mix of concern, love, and longing.

"Y’not alone in this," Harry whispered, his voice gentle. His fingers traced over her skin, the wedding band on her left hand a poignant reminder of the life they had built together. "We're in this together."

14:17pm.

Later in the afternoon, Harry's phone rang, shattering the quiet stillness of the room. His heart jumped at the sound, and he quickly retrieved the device, seeing his mum Anne's name on the screen. With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, he answered the call.

" ‘Ey, Mum," Harry greeted, his voice laced with a hint of anxiety.

"Harry, love," Anne's warm voice came through the line, tinged with concern. "I saw the announcement about the tour. Is everything alright?"

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, his emotions still raw and close to the surface. He took a deep breath, his voice shaky as he replied, "No, Mum. Everything's not alright."

Anne's voice softened with worry. "What happened, sweetheart?"

Harry's voice quivered as he began to recount the events of the past day, from the car accident to (Y/N)'s injuries and the delicate situation with their unborn child. As he spoke, the emotions that he had been trying to hold back surged forth, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I just... I can't lose her, Mama," Harry choked out, his voice breaking. "And Alfie... I don't want ‘im t’go through this. I don't know what t’do."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, a pause that carried a weight of empathy and understanding. Then, Anne's voice came through, filled with unwavering support.

"I'm catching the first flight out, Harry," Anne said firmly. "I want to be there for you, for Alfie, and for (Y/N)."

Harry's heart swelled with gratitude, his breath hitching as he wiped away tears. "Mum, y’don't have t’ I know y’have y’own commitments."

Anne's voice was resolute. "Harry, you're my son. Family comes first, always. I want to be there for all of you."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes once more, this time fueled by the overwhelming love and comfort that his mother's words brought. He took a shaky breath, his voice heavy with emotion.

"Thank you, Mum. I... I really need y’right now."

"Of course, love," Anne replied gently. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Take care of yourself and Alfie."

18:30pm.

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm and soothing light across the hospital room, Harry remained rooted in his seat beside your bed. His unwavering presence was a testament to his devotion and concern for you, a quiet guardian watching over you as machines softly beeped and hummed in the background, a symphony of hope and uncertainty.

As the day's shadows grew longer, Harry turned his gaze to your serene face, his fingers still delicately entwined with your frail ones. With a tender smile, he began to speak, his voice a soothing balm in the hushed room.

"M’sun," he began, his words a blend of affection and determination,

His voice carried a note of eagerness, a glimmer of the future he envisioned. Gently, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against her hand as if conveying his sentiments through touch.

"When y’better we’ll go back t’England," he continued, a touch of excitement in his tone. "We'll leave everything behind f’a’while – the tour, the noise, the schedules. It can all wait. We can wait."

His gaze then shifted to her stomach, where their child was growing, a symbol of their love and resilience.

"N’this lil’one," he said softly, as though speaking directly to their unborn child, "we'll take y’to the places y’never seen. The countryside, the beaches, the parks. We'll have picnics and adventures. Your mum, I, and your big brother, Alf, we're going t’show y’the world."

A tender smile played on Harry's lips as he imagined the joy that such simple moments would bring to their son's life.

"We'll watch the sunset by the sea," Harry murmured, his voice an intimate whisper. "It'll be just the four of us, wrapped’n’blankets, sharing stories’n’laughter. We'll make memories that'll last a lifetime, (Y/N)."

His hand gently left hers and reached out, his palm resting tenderly on her stomach. The connection felt tangible, a bridge between the present challenges and the future joys they were determined to experience.

"We'll have all the time in the world," he promised softly. "Time for us, f’our family. No rush, no pressures. Just our love and the life we're creating."

DAY TWO. 14th August, 2022. — 08:03am.

The next day's gentle light filled the hospital room, casting a sense of quiet hope. Anne, Harry's mother, entered with a mixture of concern and determination etched on her face. Her gaze fell upon Harry, who remained hunched over in his chair, his fingers tightly interwoven with yours, and his eyes red-rimmed with sleeplessness. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she took in his exhausted appearance, noticing the telltale signs of strain.

"Harry," Anne's voice held both care and worry as she walked over. She crouched down next to him, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention. "Hey, love."

His eyes blinked open at her touch, his gaze filled with a mixture of surprise and relief as he registered his mother's presence. He managed a small smile, grateful for her being there.

"Mum?" His voice was hoarse, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion.

Anne offered him a soft smile, her fingers brushing a wayward strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, Harry."

He pushed himself up in the chair, a mixture of relief and emotions washing over him. He looked at his mother, his eyes red and heavy with sleepless nights, his exhaustion painted across his features like a canvas of worry.

Anne's eyes flickered with concern as she took in his appearance. "Harry, love, you look exhausted. How long have you been here?"

His gaze dropped, a mixture of guilt and weariness weighing heavily on him. "I... I haven't left ‘er side."

Anne's voice was a gentle mix of understanding and concern.

"Oh, Harry." She reached out, her hand gently lifting his chin, guiding his gaze back to her. Her fingers brushed away the tracks of tears that had silently fallen down his cheeks. "You can’t do this alone, my love."

He looked at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, his emotions finally bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mum. But I can't leave her. I can't..."

Anne's touch was soft as she cupped his cheek, her eyes brimming with motherly warmth. "Harry, you need rest too."

He turned his gaze back to yours, his expression one of intense worry and fear. "M’scared, Mum. Scared t’leave ‘er."

Anne's voice held a comforting note as she spoke. "I understand, H. But you need to recharge so you can be strong for (Y/N) and for Alfie."

His eyes met hers, his vulnerability shining through as his voice cracked. "Thank you, Mum. F’being here."

Anne's smile was tender, her thumb brushing his cheek as she wiped away a lingering tear. "Always, Harry. Always."

As their gazes held, the room seemed to fill with a sense of connection, the unbreakable bond of family reminding them that they were not alone in facing the challenges ahead.

Anne's voice held a reassuring note as she spoke once more. "Listen to me, Harry. You need to go home, get a shower, and spend some time with Alfie. He's probably got a lot of questions about where you and (Y/N) are. You can come back right after."

Harry hesitated, his eyes drifting back to you. "But ‘hat if something happens?"

Anne's hand rested on his cheek, her touch warm and grounding. "I'll be here the whole time. I promise, if anything happens, I'll call you right away."

The weight of Anne's reassurance settled over him like a comforting embrace, giving him the permission he needed to take care of himself and his family.

"Okay," he finally nodded, his voice soft and weary. "Okay, Mum."

08:58am.

Harry's car pulled into his manager Jeff's driveway, the engine's soft hum fading into the tranquil neighbourhood. He sat there for a moment, his thoughts a maelstrom of worry and uncertainty. This visit, intended to be a routine pickup of Alfie, had taken on a weight he hadn't expected. He took a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel tightening briefly before he finally turned off the ignition. For a few lingering seconds, he sat there, his hands resting on the wheel, gathering his strength.

With a deep sigh, Harry opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement. Each step to the front door felt heavy, a silent acknowledgment of the upheaval that had consumed his life. Before he could fully process it, he stood before the door, his knuckles poised to knock. In that fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, as if hoping to find solace in the darkness behind his lids.

The knock resounded through the door, a signal of his presence. As he waited, his heart seemed to echo the rhythm of the universe, the anticipation hanging thick in the air. The door swung open, revealing Jeff, his manager. The lines of concern etched on Jeff's face reflected the tumult that Harry carried within himself.

"Hey, H," Jeff greeted, his voice a mixture of understanding and empathy.

Harry managed a faint smile, though the weariness in his eyes betrayed the facade. "Hey, mate. M’gonna pick up Alf and then take ‘im t’see ‘is mum."

Jeff's eyes softened, recognizing the weight Harry carried. "Yeah, he's inside. Come on in."

Harry stepped into the familiar surroundings, the walls of Jeff's house offering a silent embrace. He took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of his emotions press against his chest. A mixture of memories and apprehensions filled the air, an intangible current that Harry navigated with each step he took.

"Alfie, it's your dad!" Harry's voice carried a blend of warmth and longing, the words directed down the hallway where his son would soon appear.

From within the depths of the house, a small voice responded, "Daddy?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his son's voice. He waited, his gaze fixated on the hallway, his breath caught in his throat.

And then, as if from a distant dream, Alfie burst into view. His face lit up like the sun breaking through the clouds, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he saw his dad. "Daddy!"

A rush of emotion overcame Harry as Alfie ran towards him, his little arms wrapping around his legs in an enthusiastic hug. Harry's own arms encircled his son, holding him close as if he were his anchor in the storm. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, a mixture of relief and tenderness flooding his heart.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry murmured, his voice tinged with both love and weariness. He knelt down, his fingers ruffling Alfie's hair with a gentleness that only a father could muster.

Alfie looked up at him, his eyes wide with curiosity. "Are we going somewhere, Daddy?"

Harry managed a small, affectionate smile, his heart a tapestry of emotions. "Yea’ Alf. We're going t’go home and then go and see someone."

Alfie's face lit up with a radiant smile, his excitement contagious. "Yay!"

09:16am.

Harry's car rolled to a stop in front of their home, the engine's soft purr fading into the tranquil surroundings. The journey from Jeff's house had been a mixture of quiet conversations and Alfie's enthusiastic recounting of his day. As Harry stepped out of the car, he glanced up at their home, a mixture of warmth and heaviness settling over him. The familiarity of the place was a welcome comfort, yet the weight of the situation cast a shadow over everything.

Alfie bounded out of the car, his small steps carrying a youthful exuberance as he rushed towards the front door. His laughter filled the air as he fumbled with the keys under Harry's watchful eye.

"Alright there, buddy?" Harry's voice carried a mixture of amusement and tenderness.

Alfie looked up at his dad, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Yeah, Daddy! Can we play pirates when we get inside?"

Harry's smile was fond, a genuine reflection of his love for his son. " ‘f’course, mate. We can play pirates."

With the door unlocked, Alfie swung it open with a triumphant grin, his youthful energy infectious. As they stepped inside, the house enveloped them in a familiar embrace, the creak of floorboards and the soft hum of appliances a testament to the life they had built together.

"Daddy, look!" Alfie's voice carried from the living room, his excitement tangible even from a distance.

Harry followed his voice and found Alfie standing amidst a makeshift pirate ship of cushions and blankets. A sense of warmth filled Harry's heart as he watched his son play, the innocence of childhood a precious balm against the storm of emotions that had consumed their lives.

"Great job, Captain Alfie," Harry said with a playful salute, his heart aching with both sadness and a fierce determination to be strong for his son.

As Alfie continued his pirate adventures, Harry's gaze lingered for a moment before he turned and quietly retreated down the hallway. He stepped into the bathroom, the door closing with a soft click. The sound of the running water provided a gentle rhythm, a backdrop to the thoughts that had been hovering at the edges of his mind.

The water cascaded over Harry's body, the warmth soothing his muscles but doing little to ease the ache in his heart. As he stood under the spray, his head bowed, tears mingled with the water, the release of his emotions a quiet catharsis.

He lathered up a razor and carefully shaved, the rhythmic motion offering a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and reached for another to dry his hair.

As he moved through the motions of getting dressed, his eyes caught his reflection in the mirror. The image that stared back at him was a complex tapestry of emotions – a father, a husband, a man who was holding onto hope amidst uncertainty.

The tears he had shed in the shower had left traces on his face, a silent testament to the pain he was carrying. But as he looked at himself, there was a quiet strength in his eyes, a resolve to be the pillar of support that his family needed.

With one last glance in the mirror, Harry stepped out of the bathroom, his footsteps carrying him back to the living room where Alfie's laughter echoed. The journey ahead was uncertain, but in the simple moments like this, Harry found the strength to navigate the storm, determined to be the anchor that held his family together.

10:01am.

As they sat in the back of the car, the engine's gentle hum providing a comforting backdrop, Harry stole a glance at Alfie. His son's curious eyes were fixed on the passing scenery, his mind likely filled with questions that he didn't yet know how to voice. Harry took a deep breath, his heart heavy with the task ahead.

" ‘ey, buddy," Harry began, his voice gentle yet tinged with a mixture of sadness and reassurance.

Alfie turned his head to look at his dad, his expression a mix of curiosity and trust. "Yeah, Daddy?"

Harry smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "Y’know how Mummy's not at home right now? She's in the hospital."

Alfie's brows furrowed slightly, his young mind processing the information. "Why is Mummy in the hospital, Daddy?"

Harry sighed softly, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel for a moment before he continued. "Well, y’remember when we talked about how sometimes people get hurt or sick, and doctors help them feel better?"

Alfie nodded, his gaze fixed on his dad's face, absorbing every word.

"Exactly," Harry affirmed. "Mummy got a lil’hurt, ‘n’the doctors are taking care of her t’make sure she gets better."

Alfie's expression shifted to one of concern, his eyes widening slightly. "Is Mummy going to be okay, Daddy?"

Harry's voice held a soothing tone, his hand reaching back to briefly squeeze Alfie's knee. "Ye’,buddy. The doctors are doing everything they can, and we're going t’visit her right now."

Alfie nodded slowly, the weight of the situation evident in his gaze. "Can I see Mummy, Daddy?"

Harry smiled softly, his heart aching at his son's innocence. " f’course, Alf. We're going t’see her together."

As they continued on the journey to the hospital, the atmosphere in the car was a blend of quiet anticipation and unspoken emotions. Harry's grip on the steering wheel was steady, his thoughts a mixture of concern for (Y/N) and a determination to provide comfort and reassurance to Alfie.

"Buddy," Harry said after a moment, his voice gentle, "if y’have any questions or if y’feeling worried, y’can always talk t’me. I'm here f’you."

Alfie's small hand reached out to grasp Harry's, his fingers curling around his dad's hand. "I love you, Daddy."

Tears pricked at the corners of Harry's eyes, his grip on the steering wheel momentarily tightening. "I love you too, Alfie. We're a team, okay? We'll get through this together."

10:35am.

Harry walked into the hospital room, Alfie nestled in his arms, their footsteps quiet against the linoleum floor. The room, typically a place of healing, was filled with an air of uncertainty and tension. Harry's gaze shifted from the floor to the sight that awaited them – you lying still on the bed, your eyes closed, your form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman he knew.

As they entered, Alfie's eyes widened, his gaze immediately drawn to the figure on the bed. He also noticed Anne sat next to the bed,However, this time, the usual excitement that would accompany seeing his grandmother wasn't present. His little body tensed in Harry's arms, his eyes fixated on his mother's still form, the weight of the situation settling over him.

"Daddy," Alfie's voice was a mere whisper, tinged with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

Harry held him a bit tighter, his heart aching at the realisation that Alfie was trying to process what he was seeing. "Yea’, buddy?"

Alfie's small hand pointed toward the corner of the room, where Anne stood, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and love. Typically, Alfie would have dashed over to her with the energy only a child possessed, but now, he seemed frozen in place.

"Is that Grandma, Daddy?" Alfie's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Harry nodded, his own eyes briefly meeting Anne's before he turned his attention back to his son. "Yea’, that's Grandma."

Alfie's gaze shifted back to you, his eyes filling with a mixture of emotions that were too complex for his young heart to fully understand. He looked back at Harry, his voice carrying a request that seemed beyond his years. "Daddy, can I go hold Mummy's hand?"

Harry's heart swelled with both sadness and pride at Alfie's resilience. He walked over to the bed, carefully lowering Alfie to the edge of it. "Of course, Alf. Y’can even give her a little cuddle, j’gotta be careful."

Alfie's tiny hand reached out, hesitating for a moment before he gently placed it on your hand, his eyes studying her features as if searching for a sign of life. His other hand rested on your arm, his touch gentle yet filled with an innocence that brought tears to Harry's eyes.

As Alfie leaned in, his small body pressed against his mother's, Harry stood beside them, his emotions a tempest within him. He watched as Alfie's head rested on your chest, his breaths steady, as if seeking solace in the closeness of his mother.

"Y’doing great, buddy," Harry whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

Alfie's voice was soft, a mixture of curiosity and longing. "Is Mummy asleep, Daddy?"

Harry's heart ached at the innocence in his son's question. "Yeah, Alf, she's asleep right now."

Alfie's gaze remained fixed on yours, his small fingers curling around your cold hand. The room held a fragile sense of connection, as if time itself had slowed down to honour the moment. In that stillness, Harry watched his son, his heart both heavy with grief and full of hope for the future.

DAY THREE. 15th August, 2022. — 14:12am.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the hospital room. Harry sat by your side, his gaze fixed on your still form, his thoughts a jumble of hope and uncertainty. Anne had taken Alfie back to the house, giving Harry some time alone with his wife.

As he sat there lost in his thoughts, the door creaked open, and a doctor entered the room. Harry looked up, his eyes meeting the doctor's with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.

"Good morning," the Dr Parker greeted, his voice gentle and reassuring. “How’re you holding up?”

Harry managed a faint smile, his voice carrying a mix of gratitude and fatigue. "Doing m’best, thank you."

Dr. Parker nodded understandingly, his gaze shifting to your form before back to Harry. "I'm here to talk to you about the next steps. Given the circumstances, we'd like to perform an ultrasound to check on the baby."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the baby. The mixture of hope and fear that had been his constant companion intensified. "F’course, whatever y’think is best."

A nurse entered the room, carrying the necessary equipment for the ultrasound. She smiled at Harry as she prepared for the procedure. "Hello, I'm Chloe. We'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Harry offered a small smile in return although it never fully reached his eyes, his eyes shifting between the doctor and the nurse. "Thank you."

As the nurse prepped the ultrasound machine, Dr. Parker explained the procedure to Harry. "We'll be able to see the baby on the screen and check for any signs of distress or complications. It's a routine precautionary measure."

Harry nodded, his fingers involuntarily tracing patterns on your hand. "I understand."

The nurse positioned the ultrasound device on your abdomen, and the monitor came to life, displaying the fuzzy image of the baby. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the tiny figure on the screen – their unborn child, a symbol of hope amid the uncertainty.

He watched as the nurse moved the device, the image shifting slightly, revealing more details of the baby. The room was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the soft hum of the machine.

"There we go," the nurse's voice was gentle, her expertise apparent in the way she manoeuvred the device.

Dr. Parker stood by, her gaze shifting between the screen and Harry's expression. "Everything looks good so far. The baby's heartbeat is strong."

A rush of relief washed over Harry at the doctor's words. He couldn't help but feel a swell of emotion, a mixture of awe and gratitude for the life that was growing within your body.

As the nurse finished the ultrasound, she smiled at Harry. "You have a healthy, strong baby here."

Harry's eyes were fixed on the screen for a moment longer, his voice soft. "Thank you."

The nurse and the doctor left the room, giving Harry some space. He turned his attention back to you, his hand gently resting on your abdomen. The image of their baby, captured on the ultrasound screen, held a promise of better days ahead. As he sat there, a sense of determination settled within him, a resolve to be strong for his family and to hold onto hope, no matter the challenges they faced.

15:05pm.

Later in the afternoon, the room was bathed in a soft, warm light. Harry sat by your bedside, his gaze shifting between your still form and the monitor that displayed the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. The room held a hushed stillness, as if time itself had slowed down in the face of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

Harry's hand rested on your stomach, his touch gentle yet filled with an unspoken tenderness. As he looked at the monitor, his thoughts drifted to the tiny life that was growing within your – their unborn bundle. His heart swelled with a mixture of love and protectiveness.

" ‘Ey there, little one," Harry's voice was soft, his fingers tracing patterns on your abdomen. "Y’mum and I, we're here f’y’We're going t’be strong, just like y’mum."

His gaze shifted to your face, his heart aching at the sight of the bruises that were slowly starting to become more prominent. He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Y’mum's the strongest person I know, y’know? She's been through s’much, and she's still fighting. Y’going t’be just as strong as her."

A soft smile tugged at Harry's lips as he imagined their future together as a family of four. He leaned down, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your stomach, as if to convey his love and hope directly to their unborn child.

"Y’not alone in this, lil’one," Harry continued, his voice carrying a mixture of reassurance and determination. "We're all in this together. And when y’ready t’meet the world, y’have a whole lot of people who love ye’."

As he spoke, the room seemed to hold a sense of promise, a quiet sanctuary where his words held the power to bridge the gap between the present and the future. Harry's hand remained on your stomach, his touch a physical connection to the life that were growing within her.

"We're going t’get through this, y’and me and y’mum," Harry's voice was a whisper, as if sharing a secret with the unborn baby. "And when y’mum wakes up, we're going t’tell her all about ye’. She's going t’love y’so much."

Harry's gaze shifted back to your face,his heart filled with a mixture of longing and hope. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Hang in there, love. We're all waiting f’you."

As Harry's words hung in the air, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was listening to his heartfelt monologue. His hand remained on your stomach, his touch both tender and resolute. He leaned in, pressing a final kiss to your forehead, a mixture of emotions welling up within him.

And then, in a moment that felt like a miracle, your hand twitches in his hold.

Harry gasped, his heart leaping in his chest. He stared at your hand, disbelief and hope warring within him. Before he could react, the heart rate monitor suddenly went off, the rapid beeping filling the room with urgency.

With a sense of determination, Harry bolted out of the room, his heart pounding in his ears. He found Dr. Parker in the hallway and quickly explained what had just happened – how your hand had moved, triggering the heart rate alarm.

Dr. Parker's eyes widened in surprise and excitement. "Let's not waste any time. Come with me."

Harry followed the doctor back into the room, his pulse racing as they reached your bedside. A sense of tension hung in the air, a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Dr. Parker approached the heart rate monitor, checking the readings and your vitals. His expression was a mix of concentration and cautious hope. He adjusted a few settings on the machines, his fingers moving with practised precision.

"She's trying to breathe on her own," Dr. Parker said, his voice carrying a note of astonishment. "Her body is responding to stimuli."

Harry's heart swelled with a mixture of joy and disbelief. He looked at your figure, his fingers gently brushing against your hand. "Y’doing it, m’love. Y’fighting."

Dr. Parker continued his assessments, his focus unwavering as he monitored the changes in your condition. The room seemed to vibrate with a newfound energy, a sense of possibility that had been absent for so long.

As the minutes ticked by, the heart rate monitor displayed a steadier rhythm, and Dr. Parker nodded in approval. "She's showing signs of improvement. She could wake up at any moment. It's a positive step forward."

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank y’Doctor."

18:45pm.

The hospital room was cocooned in the gentle embrace of the night. The soft glow of the dimmed bedside lamp cast a warm and soothing ambiance, casting delicate shadows across the walls. The rhythmic beep of the heart rate monitor punctuated the stillness, a reassuring reminder of the life that pulsed within the room.

Alfie sat nestled on his father's lap, his small frame comfortably settled against Harry's chest. The hospital chair cradled them both, a makeshift throne where father and son formed an intimate fortress of love and togetherness. Harry's arms wrapped protectively around Alfie, holding him close as they shared the moment.

Alfie's concentrated expression was etched with a mixture of focus and determination. His tiny fingers clutched a pencil, his brow furrowing as he tackled the math problems that were laid out before him on the sheet of paper. Harry watched with a blend of admiration and amusement, his heart swelling at the sight of Alfie's dedication.

"Okay, buddy," Harry's voice was a gentle blend of guidance and encouragement, "y’got this. J’add those numbers together."

Alfie's tongue peeked out from between his lips as he concentrated, his eyes narrowing in concentration. The tip of the pencil move with purpose, crossing out digits and jotting down numbers. Every so often, Alfie would glance up at Harry, his gaze seeking validation and assurance.

Harry's fingers gently brushed the back of Alfie's head, offering silent encouragement. "Y’doing great, Alf. Keep going."

The two of them formed a heartwarming tableau, a portrait of fatherly support and shared effort. Amid the beeping monitors and the hushed hum of the hospital, Harry and Alfie created their own small world, a world in which challenges were met with determination and love was expressed through shared moments.

And then, in the midst of the quietude, a movement caught Harry's attention. His eyes shifted from the maths problems to the bed, where you lay, and his heart ricocheted against his rib cage.

Your eyes were open and staring at your two boys.

“(Y/N)?” Harry spoke in a hushed whisper as you tried to smile at him.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1979 Pontiac Firebird

The 1979 Pontiac Firebird stands as a symbol of the late 1970s American muscle car era, a time when bold styling and performance were key selling points. The Firebird, produced by Pontiac from 1967 to 2002, had evolved significantly by the time it reached its 1979 iteration, marking one of its most memorable and iconic versions.

The 1979 Firebird came in several models, including the base Firebird, the luxurious Esprit, the sporty Formula, and the high-performance Trans Am. Each model had its unique appeal, but the Trans Am was undoubtedly the star of the lineup. Known for its aggressive styling, the Trans Am featured a distinctive "screaming chicken" hood decal, a hallmark that became synonymous with the Firebird brand. This large, flamboyant decal stretched across the hood, making an unmistakable statement about the car’s performance pedigree.

Under the hood, the 1979 Firebird offered a range of engine options. The base models came with a 3.8-liter V6 or a 4.9-liter V8, while the more performance-oriented Trans Am could be equipped with a 6.6-liter V8 engine, known as the "403" for its cubic inch displacement. This engine produced 185 horsepower, a respectable figure for the era, and provided the Trans Am with a powerful and throaty exhaust note that thrilled enthusiasts.

The interior of the 1979 Firebird was designed with both comfort and style in mind. The cockpit-style dashboard was driver-focused, with gauges and controls angled towards the driver for ease of use. Bucket seats, often upholstered in vinyl or optional cloth, provided a sporty feel, while the T-top roof, available on the Trans Am, allowed for an open-air driving experience that was perfect for cruising on sunny days.

In addition to its performance and styling, the 1979 Firebird also benefited from the popularity it gained through pop culture. The Firebird Trans Am was famously featured in the 1977 film "Smokey and the Bandit," starring Burt Reynolds. This movie immortalized the Trans Am as a symbol of rebellious spirit and high-speed chases, further cementing its status as a cultural icon.

Despite the challenges of the late 1970s, including increasing emissions regulations and the oil crisis, the 1979 Pontiac Firebird managed to uphold the spirit of the muscle car. Its blend of striking design, performance capabilities, and cultural significance make it a beloved classic among car enthusiasts. Today, well-preserved and restored Firebirds from 1979 are highly sought after by collectors, serving as a reminder of a bygone era of American automotive history where style and performance reigned supreme.

The legacy of the 1979 Pontiac Firebird continues to inspire car lovers, and its presence in the automotive world remains strong, a testament to its enduring appeal and the indelible mark it left on the muscle car landscape.

[crossdreamers]

New York Times Contributors Say The Newspaper’s Coverage of Transgender People is Unprofessional and Destructive

A group of more than 170 trans, nonbinary, and cisgender contributors to the New York Times published an open letter on Wednesday, condemning the paper’s coverage of trans issues, Buzzfeed reports.

The letter, which was written in conjunction with the Freelance Solidarity Project, a group of freelance writers in the National Writers Union, was signed by journalists — including current Times staffers — politicians, novelists, and other news media workers. Prominent signatories included Cynthia Nixon, Pennsylvania state Sen. Nikil Saval, and writers like Rebecca Solnit and Jia Tolentino.

The letter — addressed to the associate managing editor for standards, Philip Corbett — draws attention to the last year of coverage in the Times, during which time, the group writes, the paper of record published 15,000 words across its front pages “debating the propriety of medical care for trans children.”

In the letter they put the current policy of the New York Times into a wider context, reminding them that the paper has been on the wrong side of history before:

As thinkers, we are disappointed to see the New York Times follow the lead of far-right hate groups in presenting gender diversity as a new controversy warranting new, punitive legislation. Puberty blockers, hormone replacement therapy, and gender⁠-⁠affirming surgeries have been standard forms of care for cis and trans people alike for decades. 

Legal challenges to gender⁠-⁠nonconformity date back even further, with 34 cities in 21 states passing laws against cross⁠-⁠dressing between 1848 and 1900, usually enforced alongside so-called prohibitions against public indecency that disproportionately targeted immigrants, people of color, sex workers, and other marginalized groups. Such punishments are documented as far back as 1394, when police in England detained Eleanor Rykener on suspicion of the crime of sodomy, exposing her after an interrogation as “John.” This is not a cultural emergency.

You no doubt recall a time in more recent history when it was ordinary to speak of homosexuality as a disease at the American family dinner table—a norm fostered in part by the New York Times’ track record of demonizing queers through the ostensible reporting of science.

In 1963, the New York Times published a front⁠-⁠page story with the title “Growth of Overt Homosexuality in City Provokes Wide Concern,” which stated that homosexuals saw their own sexuality as “an inborn, incurable disease”—one that scientists, the Times announced, now thought could be “cured.” The word “gay” started making its way into the paper. 

Then, in 1975, the Times published an article by Clifford Jahr about a queer cruise (the kind on a boat) featuring a “sadomasochistic fashion show.” On the urging of his shocked mother, Times publisher Arthur Ochs Sulzberger sent down the order: Stop covering these people. The Times style guide was updated to include the following dictum, which stood until 1987: “Do not use gay as a synonym for homosexual unless it appears in the formal, capitalized name of an organization or in quoted matter.”

New York Times have some really good and open minded journalists. It is time the editors made them write about transgender issues, and not the ones trapped in a transphobic mindset.

[ourloveforgear]

an overview of paul's guitars

before we look into pauls gear, i want to make sure we all are aware that im talking about the guitars he used WITH interpol. ill add some notes on his other instruments at the end of this post.

[paul with his and daniels guitars]

LES PAUL CUSTOM

"I've owned my Les Paul Custom since high school... its all I pretty much use today."

from what i can tell, paul has two les pauls, and he uses them interchangeably. first, though, id like to do a quick spec overview. his guitars have an ebony finish, and seeing as this guitar was most likely acquired in the 90s, gibson 490r and 498t pickups. in almost every picture i see of his les pauls, it seems he or a guitar tech have switched out the stock gold bridge with a black one. im not a gibson expert, so im not sure of the exact model, but it looks to be a tune-o-matic style bridge. he also has removed the covers on the pickups of his guitar. another quick note, in photos from around 2004 to 2005, there is a square shaped hole cut clean through his piece of velcro on his les paul. this was done to hold his ebow during take you on a cruise. thats all the specs/mods to show, ill put some pictures highlighting the points ive gone over.

[a close up of one of pauls les pauls, 2015. note the bridge, and absence of pickup covers]

[what i thought was a hole turned out to be a piece of velcro]

[hole has been blocked/filled! may 21, 2005]

[early picture of paul, with his pickup covers still on. very modest]

JAGUAR

"The Jaguar actually came about specifically within Interpol because I had written a part in which I wanted whammy, and I don't like Les Pauls with Bigsbys."

from what i can deduce, i think this guitar is a fender american vintage jaguar from 2005-06, in black. paul hasnt done too many mods to this instrument, though their are a few changes, most importantly, the pickup swap. he changed the stock jaguar pickups to seymour duncan hot rails sometime after recording our love to admire. while this definitely changed the sound a bit, this was after OLTA, so i wont bother finding dates, as the songs the jaguar was likely used on wouldve been the stock single coils. next up, the pickguard. the american vintage jags in black came with a tortoise shell pickguard, but pauls has a black one. what gives? well, seeing as carlos' jazz bass came with a white guard, but that was switched to black, its not outlandish to believe that this was done by paul or his tech, to give the jag a darker look. paul also put tape on the guitars lower horns control switches, most likely to stop his hand from accidently hitting the switches, and changing his sound mid song.

[paul with his jaguar, before he swapped the pickups.]

[another pic before the pickup swap. note the tape on the control panel.]

[a later pic, where we can see he added MORE tape to the guitar, and after he swapped the pickups to hot rails.}

INTERMISSION

if you ask me, pauls les paul custom and jaguar are the two guitars youd definitively need to get his sound, and also the two guitars HE uses to get his sound. but what other guitars has paul used with interpol? lets see.

LES PAUL DELUXE

used during the TOTBL era, this guitar is sort of a mystery. for one, he didnt seem to favor it for certain songs, using his les paul custom and deluxe interchangeably for many songs, even playing full shows with his deluxe. secondly, from what ive seen, this instrument was NOT used after the TOTBL era. its probable that this instrument was either used on a few songs from TOTBL, and brought along on tour as a backup that paul just happened to really like and play alot, or it was rented for shows over seas. either way, its an interesting case.

[the mysterious gold top deluxe. wonder what song hes playing here?]

FLYING V

paul has stated that he thinks the flying v is the coolest looking guitar out there. to each their own, i guess. that doesnt matter, what matters is that he played this instrument in the barricade music video. he used this guitar at the end of the OLTA era, during the self titled era, and has rarely been seen with it after that. most likely has the same pickups as his les paul custom, but dont quote me on that.

[as long as he likes it.]

CONCLUSION

there is one more guitar i didnt bring up, so ill do it here now, and its his dave murray strat. he hasnt used it live with interpol, though it is seen in behind the scenes footage of el pintor. anyways, leave a comment if youd like me to cook up a list of what guitars i think were used on each song! i hope you enjoyed reading this, next up i think ill go over his amps and other equipment. till next time.

[Paul Banks.]

[arceespinkgun]

No negativity, just interesting. Why is jazz considered black? English is not my native language, and in most cases I read/watch "Transformers" in translation (Google Translate, dubbed voiceover or other). And in the process of translation, context and details are often lost. I'm used to the fact that Jazz is depicted as black in the fanart of humanization, but what exactly indicates this in the canon?

I can see how this wouldn't be as obvious in other languages since many of these references have to do with Black culture in the USA.

Jazz is a musical style heavily associated with Black musicians

He was most famously voiced by Black voice actors—notably his voice actor in the Sunbow cartoon, Scatman Crothers, was cast with no audition because the voice director thought that he was perfect

He uses a lot of terms and phrases from AAVE (African-American Vernacular English) when he speaks, usually ones that originate from the 40s-50s

If you look at his G1 comics bio, even in just the first paragraph, many things stand out:

Jazz would be cruising down Bourbon Street in New Orleans or be double-parked outside a cellar club in Greenwich Village soaking up the local sounds if he weren't in the middle of a war. He's a confirmed Earthen culture junkie - he can talk fluently about ballet or break-dancing (although he prefers the latter), and he's always on the lookout for more stuff to turn on to.

New Orleans and Greenwich Village are both places super important to Black history in the USA, the links lead to very basic introductory resources explaining some of the reasons why. Also, this bio mentions that Jazz prefers breakdancing. I've linked the Wikipedia page for the art that gives an overview of the African origins of breakdancing, its link to hip-hop, the Black artists who developed breakdancing, and so on.

[specialinterestshows]

Join your girlfriend’s found family as they prepare Dom for his title match in this latest chapter of my Rhea Ripley x lady!reader fic, Absolute Smokeshow.

Warnings for this section: Social/crowd anxiety, stalking mention, jealousy, PDA, parasocial behavior

-

Absolute Smokeshow (Part 73 of ?): From One Show To The NXT

Rhea kept a comforting hand on you the entire ride over to the next show while you did your best to stay calm. Dominik was in the back with the both of you and Damian drove, his hand moving over to rest on Finn’s thigh whenever the cruise control was on. Your head was swimming with anxiety, but the warm, loving atmosphere in the car kept it from getting to be too much. Every time you tried to focus on the present, concerns for the future seeped in.

“Thanks again for letting me tag along,” it must have been the third time you’d said it.

Need to remember to call in sick for work tomorrow, but I’m not sure how many sick days I have left.

“Take it easy, chica,” Damian chuckled, eyes fixed on the road, looking like there was nowhere he would rather be.

I’m technically not insured to have someone who isn’t me driving my car, no matter how good Damian is at it.

“Yeah, you’re Rhea’s girl, so you’re pretty much part of the family,” Finn chimed in, smile evident in his voice despite the headrest blocking your view of his face, “Family takes care of family, no hesitation.”

I need to stop looking back, but what if someone’s following us again?

“We should make her an “honorary member of The Judgment Day” shirt,” Dom suggested.

I bet my apartment complex is going to be crawling with creeps when I get back. If it isn’t already.

“I’ll style it for her - I know exactly where to make the first cut,” Rhea insisted, eyes admiring your chest.

How many more panic attacks until they all decide I’m not worth helping?

“Don’t worry, love,” Rhea quietly reassured you, clearly sensing your anxiety, “This next show has a much smaller audience, and JD is getting there ahead of us to make sure we have a path inside that isn’t crowded by fans. We’re all going to do our part to keep people from getting too close to you.”

“Thanks, Rhe. Thanks everyone-“ you said again, before being cut off.

“Fuck’s sake, lass,” Finn’s sigh turned into an amused chuckle as he explained his interruption, “You’ve helped me and Damian get together and you’ve been nothing but good to Rhea - not to mention what the three of you did last night, because I know our man here had the time of his life” - he gestured to a blushing Dominik with a jab of his thumb - “So quit acting like you’re a burden and face it: you’re worth more than you realize.”

This coming from the man whose first words to me were about some money I allegedly owed him? The fact that Finn’s position on you seemed to have completely changed made it difficult to deny the sincerity of his words, leaving you in a stunned silence.

“Good one, babe,” you just barely heard Damian whisper to Finn.

Just as Rhea had promised, JD McDonagh was waiting for the three of you when you pulled into the parking lot, giving the group directions before taking the keys to park the car. JD seemed determined to help and Finn was happy to see him - but Damian definitely wasn’t.

“Cuidado, mi amor,” he muttered, a protective arm around Finn as he watched JD slide into the driver’s seat, “He’s still looking at you a little too long for my taste.”

“You know I only have eyes for you,” Finn reassured Damian, sticking his hand in his boyfriend’s back pocket.

“Yeah, but does he know-“ Damian jumped a bit, presumably in response to the squeeze Finn had given his ass.

Rhea quickly brought up the hand that wasn’t holding yours to stifle her laughter, muffling it just enough for you to catch Damian whispering “brat” to Finn under his breath.

The topic of conversation soon turned to Dom’s match to win back the NXT North American Championship, and before you knew it, you were backstage.

Rhea held your hand tightly as you all walked to the locker rooms. “That’s her” and “belt bunny” were whispered more than once as you walked through the groups of wrestlers, managers, and technical staff. Suddenly, you were self-conscious, trying to fold in on yourself away from all the curious eyes.

Someone whistled suggestively and the entire Judgment Day stopped to look for the source - to no avail. Rhea let go of your hand in favor of putting a protective arm around your shoulders. You held her tight until you were in a less crowded area. Rhea gave you a loving squeeze before following the rest of the group into the locker room to help Dom get ready for his match.

You were about to follow them, until an arm in a dark jacket blocked the closing door.

“Hey, you’re Rhea’s girlfriend, right?”

The question came from a woman dressed in black and silver ring gear. She somehow looked simultaneously bored and threatening, flipping her long, two-toned hair out of her face as she stared you down.

“… Yeah,” you answered reluctantly, “Why?”

“But you’re not a wrestler, are you.”

It was more of a statement, but you confirmed anyway.

“I’m not, no.”

The anxiety was obvious in your voice; maybe that’s what made the woman smirk and lean in before asking:

“So is it true what they say about Rhea?”

“What do they say?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Jacy! We still need to get ready for the match,” an excitable blonde in matching ring gear ran up and addressed the woman before she could answer you, “Come on!”

Jacy sighed, looking you over before letting out a short laugh and following behind her tag partner.

What do they say about Rhea?

“Babe?” your girlfriend opened the door in front of you, looking confused, “Come join us; we need to know where you are if we’re going to keep you safe.”

You walked in and sat in the corner of the locker room as the others talked strategy - the last thing you wanted was to make the wrong move when Rhea was getting ready for a match.

A buzz made you pull out your phone.

It was Marisol:

“Is this you? Or do you have a twin?”

The message had a photo attached of the same tabloid cover you saw at the hotel that morning, but this one seemed to be sitting at a checkout counter.

You sighed, tapping away at your phone’s keyboard.

“That’s me: Rhea Ripley’s girlfriend.”

Looking over your response as you hit “send,” it dawned on you that another part of this mess was weighing on you in a way you couldn’t have expected: Rhea had become a celebrity because of her own talent, but you were only interesting to the world at large because you were dating her.

Your phone vibrated in your hands: a reply from Mari.

“I actually had to look up who she was - not really into wrestling. Hope you won’t hold it against me.”

You breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as her follow-up text reached you:

“How are you doing, belleza?”

“Overwhelmed” you typed.

Then deleted.

“Stressed” you typed instead.

Then deleted that too.

“Wish I could just go home. But it doesn’t feel safe.”

You typed and hit send.

Marisol responded quickly:

“Let me know if you need to crash at mine, hermosa.”

You were thrown - she barely knew you.

“U-Hauling already?” you reply, avoiding giving an actual response to the offer.

“No need for a U-Haul when you have a truck” was her reply, a winking face ending the message.

By the time your eyes had read down to the emoji, another message from popped up from Mari:

“Kidding. But if you do move someplace, you can use my truck if you smoke me out after.”

“Did you hear me, love?” Rhea’s voice made you look up from your phone.

Not only did you miss what your girlfriend had said, you hadn’t noticed JD was now in the locker room as well.

“I didn’t, sorry,” you admitted, gauging her reaction.

“I said all of us are going to be out there,” Rhea said, unfazed, “So you might be on your own for a little while, but I’ll have JD run back to you after he’s done his part. Sound good?”

You nodded and she smiled before turning to Finn and Damian. Looking over at a slightly fidgety Dominik, you tune out Rhea’s lecture about postposing the eye-fucking until after the title had been won.

“Nervous?” you asked your metamour.

“A little,” he said, moving to sit next to you on the bench, “Everyone is counting on me.”

“Anything I can do to help you with your match?” you asked, knowing it was unlikely but still wanting to offer.

He looked away for a moment, a blush blooming on his face.

“A kiss for good luck?” Dom asked finally.

“…Don’t get used to it,” you replied, holding his chin gently as you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

“So they get to be distracted and we don’t?” Finn asked, making Damian laugh.

“That kiss was more chaste than any single time the two of you have looked at each other since you met,” Rhea insisted, “Now let’s get back to business.”

[end part seventy-three of ?]

Part 74: https://www.tumblr.com/specialinterestshows/751959352476368896/absolute-smokeshow-part-74-of-locker-room

-

Tag list (thank you!)

@littlemiss-fanficlover , @babybatlover , @girlofpink , @kagome2909 , @domripley , @wiccanpriestess , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence , @riverina69 , @itsrheasgirl , @1-800-sinister

[motocrunch]

Sinnis Motorcycles, Outlaw – American cruiser style – Image: Sinnis Motorcycles

The Outlaw has a single-cylinder, 4-stroke 125cc engine. Admittedly, with 7.8 kW (10 hp) @ 8,500 rpm and 9 Nm (7lb-ft) of torque @ 6,500 rpm

[accio-victuuri]

sharing the article for chanel show in shenzhen. ☺️

Movies are like an invitation, allowing us to enter a life created by vision. In a moving dream. The reason why Chanel has a deep connection with this field is that fashion also shares this vision and mission: dream creation, connection. Connect with each other and broaden your horizons.

Virginie Via interprets dreams through creation: bringing different worlds to each other. Connection and collision inspire rich and diverse beauty. Los Angeles and the American West. The film industry and joyful atmosphere of the coast inspired Virginie to create the 2023/24 early spring vacation and you are invited to join this event about the journey of dreams.

Following Los Angeles, the 2023/24 early spring vacation series conference will be as follows: Come to Shenzhen today. From this, we are in this vibrant city to together, experience the dream and witness the profound connection between the Chanel brand and China.

Los Angeles is the beating heart of film. This season's Chanel cruise collection interprets the city’s light and shadow, the charm of the black and white movies of the 1930s. How do you feel about this city?

Wang Yibo: Warm and sunny, rich street culture, vibrant city. This time I was also very happy to play roller skating in Los Angeles.

How do you see the relationship between Gabrielle Chanel's creations and cinema?

Wang Yibo: It has built a bridge between the film industry and the fashion industry. Ms. Chanel served as a stylist or costume designer in many early Hollywood movies.

What’s your favorite piece in this season’s early spring resort collection?

Wang Yibo: I prefer a hooded cardigan. The cardigan itself is low-key black. The white and gold hats make the whole outfit very stage-like, sparkling and very suitable for dancing. There are also various sneakers and skateboard-style accessories.

he wore the clothes from that collection so well! especially the third one! 🤍

[britsyankswheels24]

🇺🇲 Cruise back in time to the golden age of American automobiles with the iconic Pontiac Bonneville 1958!

🚗 Launched in 1958, the Pontiac Bonneville epitomized luxury, power, and style, setting the standard for American cars of its era. With its sleek lines and distinctive design, it captured the essence of automotive excellence.

👉 Powered by a range of V8 engines, including the legendary Tri-Power setup, the Bonneville delivered exhilarating performance and smooth cruising, making it a favorite among enthusiasts and collectors alike.

⚙️ Boasting cutting-edge features such as power windows, air conditioning, and a powerful stereo system, the Bonneville offered unparalleled comfort and convenience for its time, elevating the driving experience to new heights.

🌟 Today, the Pontiac Bonneville 1958 remains a cherished classic, revered for its timeless design and legendary performance, ensuring its place in the hearts of automotive enthusiasts for generations to come.

[whoishotteranimepolls]

Hey. I just wanted to apologize if my ask regarding Teen Titans caused you any sort of grief. When I sent it, I was genuinely confused about why it was banned when the reasons you'd given originally also applied to ATLA. But I realize my tone might have been rather harsh. My deepest apologies.

I've always considered Avatar The Last Airbender anime lite because unless you were a mega fan, you probably would have assumed it was a Japanese production, or at least partially a Japanese production.

That also goes for Castlevania, which is based on a Japanese game series even though it's an American production. Blue Eye Samurai tells a Japanese story even though it's in American production. Blood of Zeus is also in the same category it looks and feels more like a Japanese production than an American one.

However, Teen Titans never felt the same way to me. It definitely was a Warner Brothers DC animation project, even if it was trying to replicate popular anime art styles. It was trying to separate itself from the DC Animated Universe, but that might also be because American and Japanese superhero stories have a different vibe, at least to me. That's why I was hesitant to allow any Western superhero shows, including The Suicide Squad Isekai or even the ninja Batman films that were directed by the guy who did Afro Samurai

Also, remember that most of the Teen Titans characters are teenagers. I didn't initially allow teenagers in my polls, and no character from that show has an official age that I can find, so I kind of preemptively banned that show because it was going to cause so many nightmares for me. It's already causing me headaches right now since I had to delete, I think, good seven-ish comments complaining that these characters are underage. I've only allowed these characters for two days. We're cruising towards Fandom Jail people.

Also, I am running into problems where people want to argue. Any show that is animated in Japan, South Korea, or China should automatically be included because I allow not only anime and manga characters but manhwa and donghua characters, too. I will be fighting this a bit more because of how many shows I'm finding out are outsourced to studios from one of these three countries, including significant anime studios in Japan.

Any other show that has not been mentioned is probably on the list because someone has brought it up. I did minimal research to make a judgment call and have not watched the show. It will probably change dramatically if I ever watch most of the shows on that list. But I am a full-time college student with a job, so that is unlikely. I simply don't have time

[palmviolet]

Thank you so much for your incredible response to my ask, seriously above and beyond what i could've asked for, the extra references too! So grateful :')

Ordered a copy of outriders yay! That being said though, and obviously you don't have to answer after your generous fist answer, but I've been meaning to get into critical theory and have no idea how. You mentioned “E Unibus Pluram” by David Foster Wallace, (never apologize for a DFW rec btw) so I will definitely be starting with that, but do you have any other helpful reads for getting into critical theory? Some favourites? Anything would be useful, its such a big overwhelming subject lol.

Again thank you for your answer, and no pressure to answer this one! Excited to read your new fics whenever they come also :) I'm in love with your style and intellect! Cheers.

absolutely no worries — honoured you're coming to me for recs!

honestly 'theory' is such a broad topic it can get overwhelming, as you've noticed lol. i started in all this very much from a narrowed literary perspective, so looking at the basics of the different schools of thought — new historicism, structuralism etc — and then tossing it all out of the window to develop my own views (i was taught in the loose 'teach yourself' tradition of prestigious education lmao). which means my knowledge of the basics is fairly scattergun, but i can tell you what i started with, which was beginning theory: an introduction to literary and cultural theory by peter barry. as i recall, it was a good basis. i'm copying from my undergraduate reading list now but David Lodge, ed.: Modern Criticism and Theory: A Reader and Twentieth Century Literary Criticism: A Reader were also pretty good.

i can also absolutely recommend the a very short introduction series. they are indeed very short but they're great if you're just getting into a subject and really don't take very long to read.

from there it's really a matter of finding a) what subjects interest you and b) which voices/perspectives you accord with best. and it's best to draw from a mix. ie. my general approach is a blend of marxist/queer/postmodern criticism but i'm not going to brand myself that way because theory is really much more mutable than all the names suggest and in my experience it's kind of vibes-based anyway. so don't be intimidated, is the upshot. i've read a lot of criticism but not a massive amount of raw theory because i was always more text-focused, literary rather than philosophical, which has definitely contributed to my 'making it up as i go along' approach but also means i can confront texts on their own terms without necessarily the burden of theoretical preconceptions. that being said, i couldn't do what i do without a grounding in the central ideas of postmodern semiotics and queer theory. it's more useful context than anything else sometimes, if that makes sense?

i'm not sure exactly what i read to get a grasp of postmodern theory — it just sort of happened. going through my old downloads on my laptop i've got From Modernism to Postmodernism: Concepts and Strategies of Postmodern American Fiction by Gerhard Hoffman, which was pretty good i think. also in the vein of the DFW essay, New Sincerity: American Fiction in the Neoliberal Age by Adam Kelly is solid. and while we're on the subject of recentish fiction, i'll toss you Partial Faiths: Postsecular Fiction in the Age of Pynchon and Morrison by John McClure and The Program Era: Postwar Fiction and the Rise of Creative Writing by Mark McGurl.

re: queer theory texts:

No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive — Lee Edelman

Cruising Utopia: The Then and There of Queer Futurity — José Esteban Muñoz

Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories — Elizabeth Freeman

The Celluloid Closet — Vito Russo

Between Men — Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick

the former two are definitely the most influential in my practice. also have to mention jack halberstam and judith butler, but then of course you're getting into some pretty intense abstract gender theory that might be beyond the scope of what you're looking to begin with. anyway. sorry for the intensely rambling answer i have had a glass of wine and a long day. i probably have more in the tank so feel free to shoot me another ask and we'll see what i come up with next time lol

[sandssservices]

The 1972 Ford Mustang 2dr Automatic is a timeless classic that exudes power, style, and performance. Its sleek design, iconic Mustang emblem, and impressive engine make it a must-have for any car enthusiast. With its automatic transmission, cruising down the road will be effortless and smooth. The interior boasts comfort and luxury, with plush seats and modern technology. This vehicle is perfect for those who want to make a statement on the road and turn heads wherever they go. Don't miss your chance to own a piece of American history and experience the thrill of driving a 1972 Mustang. Upgrade your driving experience and fulfill your dreams with this incredible car. It's time to rev up your life with the 1972 Ford Mustang 2dr Automatic. We are asking $29,965.00 please call 903-340-2198