#any British ants in the chat?

[irrealisms]

everyone in mcyt fandom talks about bad inventories but i feel like we don't talk enough about the different types of bad inventory & the ways that inventories can be characterizing. i took most of these screenshots but one or two of them aren't by me and i've just had them saved for a few months sorry. i'm taking inventories from various people across various servers (wild life, dream smp, hermitcraft, lifesteal, and 2b2t) to illustrate my point here

like there are inventories that are bad because they're empty:

but then there's also inventories that are bad because they're full:

and, like-- the different ways an inventory can be bad are also characterizing? an inventory can be bad because the items aren't stacked; or because it's empty of anything useful; or because it's so full of building/fight supplies that there's no slots left for doing anything else; or because it's full of random junk. it speaks to a character's position (compare tubbo's diamond sword and empty inventory to ranboo's netherite sword or zam's full inventory of potions) and the rules of the server they're on (tubbo's not wearing elytra because elytra aren't allowed on the dsmp; zam's inventory has chorus fruit and wind charges but no ender pearls because ender pearls aren't allowed this season on lifesteal) and what their priorities are (building, pvp, lore) and how organized vs scattered they are and so much more. another inventory i like:

like!!! that's so instantly characterizing, for both the character and the server!!!! 5 stacks of end crystals + obsidian. 6 stacks of tnt. 3 stacks of god apples and a stack of chorus fruit as your only food. the bucket of lava and bucket of water for lavacasting. the fact that the flint and steel is enchanted with unbreaking. that's a STORY--of the character but also of the server! this is not the sort of inventory you have on most servers! it's so focused around griefing--explosions, lavacasts--and pvp, and the stacks of god apples as primary food source are an instant warning sign for widespread duping. the chorus fruit not for fights--ender pearls are strictly better, and he's got some so he clearly has access to them--which means it's for escaping traps, which means that's a live concern. it's got a lot of pvp supplies but it's so wildly different from the lifesteal inventory in ways that speak to the differences in server rules and cultures. like, horrendous inventory in many ways. also, very good inventory in some ways. also also, delightful inventory! fascinating inventory!!! inventories are such a delightful source of instant characterization i love them so so much

[newlabournewromantics]

okay so i'm not british (i'm just a teenage girl hungry for knowledge 😔✊) but i watched one video and as a result i've been consuming an insane amount of new labour media for the past week even though i've never been interested in uk politics besides keeping up with global news LMAO i genuinely wanna know more so where do you think i should start with books films etc 😭

hiii!! excellent question id be more than happy to help! this will be sort of an overview with general recs for newlab beginners (why am I treating this like its a profession omg) so just lmk if you want more specific recs + I've highlighted my favs

books (from the outside)

(by from the outside I mean written by people not directly involved in newlab, so historians/journalists etc)

the two classic newlab texts are servants of the people and the end of the party, both by andrew rawnsley from the observer. provide nice, extensive but not overly fussy histories of newlab from opposition to 2010. good balance of gossip and actual information!

my personal favourite is rivals by james naughtie (bbc reporter), I find the prose in it far more compelling than any other book on this list.

brown's britain (robert peston) is also very good!

you've mentioned that you're not from the UK, so I really really really would recommend reading a book/a few articles on the broader history of the British Labour Party, just so you can understand why newlab was so revolutionary. I quite like keeping the red flag flying

autobiographies/diaries/books from ppl directly involved:

(these will inevitably be more biased)

the new machiavelli by jonathan powell is my absolute favourite self-written newlab book - and you might learn some stuff ant machiavelli whilst ur at it so this is an essential imo

my life our times by gordon brown is another one I really enjoyed, although it's less gossipy than some of the other books on this list. admittedly I do agree with basically everything gordon brown has ever said so this is a very biased review, but I would give it a go!

obviously alastair campbell wrote a load of diaries. I would be careful with which volumes you choose to get - go for the ones published 2010 and onwards bc he made the choice to omit stuff from the first few volumes he published so that it wouldn't' hurt gordon's premiership. also, they're really long and really extensive, so pick which volumes you want to read based on which specific period of newlab you find yourself drawn to!

as a comms/polling fan (boo) I really liked unfinished revolution by philip gould, but this might not be the best book to start with.

damian mcbride's power trip (more diaries) is also interesting

big fan of point of departure by robin cook asw!

I found tony's books excruciating to read but that's bc im crazy and think I know the inside of his mind like its my own so they might be good for you. his new book is FASCINATING but only in the sense of it exposing how big his messiah complex is. don't read any of his books if you're not down to hear about sex and/or technology.

oh a note: mandelson has written books but I don't like him so im not going to recommend them <3

tv/film

tony and gordon aren't really all that into big heartfelt chats about newlab, esp not together, but a few good docs have been made

blair and brown: the new labour revolution (bbc, 2021) - this is a classic, it's where I got my newlab start as a tender sixteen year old politics student u can't beat it! watch this one first

the blair years (bbc 2007)

out of the shadows and we are the treasury (here and here)

blair's thousand days (1 2)

if you're into tbgb, please please please watch the deal. I don't like much of the michael sheen as blair content, but the deal (2003) is so good.

if you want me to rec bits of tv from the newlab years that I think r cool and worth watching then send another ask and ill tell u! but obv theyre not much use if you're just getting into newlab :)

alastair did interviews with tony and ed miliband 6/7 years ago. not all about newlab, but very interesting to watch and observe the dynamics!

podcasts

matt forde of the political party has done interviews with a lot of newlab figures, from tony all the way to the more junior spads. I especially like the joint one he did with ed balls and alastair campbell, and the first tony one. these r less good for actually learning facts about newlab but really like listening to them as a way to sort of get into these ppls heads and observe them in a more casual setting. also a gordon interview asw !

if you can bear listening to george osborne talk (I can but others r more sensible) then political currency is also a good place to get lil tidbits of newlab gossip, bc ed balls is one of the hosts and he's super messy he loves chatting abt gordon.

ideology/boring stuff etc!

ok u can ignore this section if you want but these r some books about the ideology that underpinned newlab - I think it's fascinating!

the third way by giddens (literally the newlab bible and I think the only theory that blair took seriously)

crosland’s the future of socialism!! influenced gb and caused so much internal labour drama so evidently its excellent

if you want a really interesting essay on Iraq I recommend this

podcast on centrism that touches a lot on clinton/newlab/blair etc

oh and just for fun!!!!! here's a playlist of all the songs written canonically actually irl about tony blair.

lmk if you want any other recs!!!!!

[irrealisms]

#hello i am here#i am subscribing to your newsletter#please go on (tags by @firesnap)

i don’t know if you’re asking me or the op but i am taking this as permission. (i encourage op to do the same. two cakes. :P)

so the first thing about the silmarillion is that it has really vicious apologist discourse...

you know, I crossed that out, but I do actually think it relates to my primary point: the thing with the silmarillion is that it doesn’t have a main character in the way a traditional novel would! it has... protagonists of certain chapters? sometimes? it has characters and ideologies who get more or less page time, who do more or less unforgivable things, which... to some degree correlates with fandom investment (maedhros is both the fan favorite and the most commonly used name in the book) but, uh, distinctly not perfectly, and just as there are characters whose stories are completely inseparable, there are characters who have almost entirely unrelated stories from each other. on the whole it’s a history book more often than it is a novel, and likes recording details about the terrain, borders, cities, and so on; even when it is being a novel, it’ll jump around to give you the perspectives of different factions, families, species, etc., which are often doing totally different things; you basically always know where every character is, and you generally have a pretty good idea of what they’re doing. every character has their own storyline, their own arc, which is generally going on at the same time as everyone else’s; their decisions are internally justified; they are in a very meaningful sense their own protagonists; and as a result the fandom tends to be Rather Divided on various discourse issues and how justified various characters are (even disagreeing on factual details depending on which draft they prefer!) in a way that tends to break along lines of [which character(s) someone’s a fan of] and mirrors a lot of the in-universe disagreements and factions. I think you can see the parallels & I also think this would do really really well with the streaming format where multiple POVs are streamed at the same time! Not only this but Tolkien had a bit of a Thing for [who is telling the story, how does the story change based on who’s telling it]--compare Bilbo vs Frodo vs Sam as narrators of LotR, compare Ælfwine, Pengolodh, Rúmil, etc., as narrators of parts of the Silmarillion. This is another thing that the narrative conceit of multiple streamers could do really interesting things with, imo!

also, similarly to the dsmp, there is So Much Content (uh, once you expand into HoME, UT, the Letters, NoME, Vinyar Tengwar essays, etc) of varying levels of obscurity that it’s.... not very accessible, and fairly rare for one person to have consumed it all, even dedicated fans who write meta on it as a hobby, and much more doable and common for people to have ‘specialties’, focusing on a few characters in a shorter time period. I think that a lot of the inconsistency of worldbuilding and what’s considered canon vs not due to different drafts would, uh, transfer over well to the multi-POV format--it’s not like the DSMP has particularly consistent worldbuilding or a single standard agreed-upon canon. The varying power levels of different factions, the inconsistent progression of tech, and the steadily decreasing scale of warfare work less perfectly but would be really interesting to see represented in an adaptation like this, especially considering both Minecraft and Third Age LotR as essentially post-apocalyptic societies, with strange and unexplained magical places and ruins; if you wanted to do something a bit different with it, you could have the First and Second Age as the backstory to minecraft. also, it’d be sick-- warfare on a scale that turns countries into oceans is the sort of thing that would be Just Plain Cool to see adapted into minecraft.

does anyone here like tolkein and followup question does anyone here want to hear my rant about how cwilbur and feanor are the same character on different scales or no

[wizkiddx]

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.  

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something. 

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer. 

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about. 

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?” 

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard. 

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts. 

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face. 

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat. 

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement. 

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock. 

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour. 

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too. 

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face. 

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and  frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.” 

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side. 

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other. 

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?” 

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set. 

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding. 

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all  and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick.  Naturally too,  you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything. 

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat  the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot,  after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep. 

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked. 

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that. 

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth? 

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares? 

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam? 

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

[enderspawn]

"#i. dont know if you intend this as dsmp op but my apologises im tagging it as it regardless" hshdklfjskd i totally did, "#any british ants in the chat?" is my tag for commenting on dsmp stuff (usually discourse) when i don't want to put it in the main tag

OH OKAY GOTCHA FJDKSLFJKL

i just wanted to double check it wasn't like. you venting or something and im barging in, clown shoes honking with each step, going like HEY EVERYONE COME LOOK AT MY FANDOM STUFF

[sportsnet]

any british ants in the chat?

[is-it-madness]

My Glorious Purpose | Loki x OC Chapter 1

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my very first fanfic that I’ve finally had the guts to post on tumblr. I do have it on other sites, but was too nervous to post it here. After some convincing from the lovely @wowjeena​, I decided to post it here. This is a story about Loki and my OC. I really hope you all enjoy it! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! If you would like me to tag you, send me an ask or message me. I will gladly do so!

Pairing: Loki x OC  (Tera Digitalis)

Word Count: 1704

Warnings: None in this chapter :)

Chapter 1: Conference Room

(Tera’s POV)

I run through the helicarrier, not believing what Natasha told me. A Norse god? Here? At S.H.I.E.L.D? She said there was a small scuffle in Stuttgart. 

Yeah right, I think to myself as I continue my path down to the cell they are keeping him. There is no such thing as a small scuffle when a super soldier and Tony Stark team up to take him down. Natasha didn’t tell me his name, but that may be because I ran out of the room to see him for myself.

I reach the door that had the cells on the other side. I try to open the door, but it’s locked and I don’t have a key card. One of the perks of being an intern, I huff internally, frustrated at my inability to enter. 

“Something wrong?”

I spin around, coming face-to-face with Natasha. She gives me a smirk when I sigh. 

“I wanna see the ‘Norse god’ you were talking about,” I tell her, putting air quotes around Norse god because I still haven’t seen him.

“Come with me, Fury’s having a chat with him right now. We can watch from the bridge.”

“Okay,” I tell her.

We walk through the set of doors to find Dr. Banner and Captain Rogers already watching the scene unfold.

“Dr. Banner, I’d like you to meet one of our interns here at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

I stick my hand out, “Nice to meet you Doctor.”

He hesitates slightly before taking my hand in a firm shake.

Our attention is brought back to the screen by the sound of the wind screaming.

“Thirty thousand feet straight down in a steel trap. You get how that works?” Fury tells a man with dark black hair, who was imprisoned in the cage.

He pushes a button and closes the floor. He gestures first to the man.

 “Ant.” He then points towards the panel, “Boot.”

“It’s an impressive cage. Not built, I think, for me.”

This is the first time I hear him speak. He speaks with formality and an air of superiority. His accent is almost British, but there’s something else to it that made it seem more sophisticated.

“Built for something a lot stronger than you,” Fury shoots back.

“Oh I’ve heard,” the man says, turning to look at the camera, directly at us, as if he knew we are watching. Dr. Banner gives Natasha a look. He must have known that S.H.I.E.L.D. would take precautions.

“A mindless beast‒ makes play he’s still a man.”

I suddenly notice that a tall, blond, and extremely muscular man is in the room with us and is not watching but listening intently.

“How desperate are you, that you call on such lost creatures to defend you?” the black-haired man mocks.

Fury takes several steps closer to the cage, “How desperate am I? You threaten my world with war, you steal a force you can’t hope to control, you talk about peace and you kill ’cause it’s fun. You have made me very desperate. You might not be glad that you did.”

“Ooh. It burns you to have come so close, to have the Tesseract, to have power—unlimited power—and for what?” the prisoner asks. He looks back at the camera, towards us, and with a smile he says, “A warm light for all mankind to share?”

He turns back to face Fury, “And then to be reminded what real power is.”

Fury just smirks back at him, unshaken. “Well, let me know if ’real power’ wants a magazine or something,” he says before taking his leave.

The monitors go black.

 Captain Rogers looks up at us from where he sits, watching.

“He really grows on you doesn’t he?” Dr. Banner asks dryly.

“Loki’s gonna drag this out. So, Thor, what’s his play?” Captain Rogers asks, turning to the muscle man standing beside me.

“Wait. Thor? As in the Thor? Like son of Odin, the god of thunder, wielder of Mjolnir? And your adopted brother, Loki? That’s who we have? You’re that Thor?” I ask, incredulous. 

He looks at me, with an eyebrow raised. “Yes mortal child, that is I whom you speak of. How do you know so much of me? We have only just met.”

Embarrassed by my outburst, I simply mumble, “I read a lot. Also I’m not a child.”

I make note of Natasha smirking at me from the corner of my eye, as Thor smiles at me before turning back to the Captain.

“He has an army called the Chitauri. They’re not of Asgard, nor any world known. He means to lead them against your people. They will win him the Earth, in return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.”

Agent Maria Hill joins us in the conference room. She stands behind Thor, quietly listening.

“An army, from outer space?” Steve says in disbelief.

Dr. Banner fiddles with his glasses, “So, he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

“Selvig?” Thor repeats.

“He’s an astrophysicist,” the doctor explains.

“He’s a friend,” Thor responds. 

Natasha looks up and speaks for the first time since the screens went dark. “Loki has them under some kind of spell - along with one of ours.”

I can hear the hurt in her voice, she and Clint had a special bond, they were extremely close.

“I wanna know why Loki let us take him. He’s not leading an army from here,” Steve says turning to Dr. Banner.

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats, you can smell crazy on him,” Banner jokes.

Thor takes a step closer to the table, “Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason but he is of Asgard, and he is my brother.”

Natasha gave Thor a look. “He killed eighty people in two days.”

“He’s... adopted.” Thor falters, blaming Loki’s action on his adoption. I roll my eyes.

Banner speaks up, “I think it’s about the mechanics. Iridium, what do they need the Iridium for?”

We hear a voice answer back from the hall, coming closer.

“It’s a stabilizing agent.”

It’s Tony Stark, walking beside Agent Coulson. He whispers something to Coulson about keeping love alive. I raise an eyebrow, but don’t say anything. Coulson smiles before heading off in another direction. Tony starts walking towards Thor.

“Means the portal won’t collapse on itself like it did at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Tony explains, with a wave of his hand. “No hard feelings Point Break, you got a mean swing,” he says patting Thor’s biceps with the back of his hand. 

Thor gives him a look of death, but Tony doesn’t see it as he heads towards the control panels. Agent Hill rolls her eyes as Tony walks past her.

Tony continues without missing a beat, “Also, means the portal can open as wide and stay open as long as Loki wants.”

Tony turns to face the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, “Ah, raise the mizzen mast, ship the topsails.”

They all turn to look at him, with confusion plastered all over their faces. I can’t help but laugh.

Tony suddenly points out excitedly. “That man is playing Galaga! Thought we wouldn’t notice, but we did.” 

We all look towards the man Tony had pointed out, and sure enough, he is playing Galaga.

Tony walks towards the command area of the ship, where Fury usually stands.

He covers an eye. “How does Fury even see these?”

“He turns.” Agent Hill responds simply, with her arms crossed.

“Sounds exhausting.”

Tony starts messing around with the screen. Pushing things, moving them aside.

“Is he even allowed to touch that?” I ask Nat.

She just shrugs and rolls her eyes.

“The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily. Only major component he still needs is a power source of high energy density. Something to kick-start the Cube.” Tony says.

Agent Hill interrupts him. “When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?”

“Last night.” responds Tony, with attitude.

Hill looks at him, confused.

“The packet, Selvig’s notes, the extraction theory papers, ” Tony elaborates. “Am I the only one who did the reading?” he asks with his arm open. “And why is there a kid here?” he asks, pointing at me.

I give him a tight smile. Why does everyone think I’m a kid? “I’m actually an intern here, Mr. Stark. Agent Romanoff is my mentor.”

“Intern, huh? How old are you? 15? 16?”

“Nineteen, actually. Sir.” I add, not wanting to be rude, because Mr. Stark is a genius and you don’t want a genius against you. They can come up with some cruel, creative ways to get revenge. 

Steve speaks up, “Does Loki need any particular kind of power source?”

Banner responds, still playing with his glasses, “He’d have to heat the Cube to a hundred and twenty million kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier.”

I start to zone out. I have no idea what they were saying, and besides, this isn’t the field I’m planning on going in to.

I snap out of my daydream when Director Fury enters the room.

With his eye on Tony, he tells him, “Doctor Banner is only here to track the Cube. I was hoping you might join him.” 

Steve interjects, “I’d start with that stick of his. It may be magical but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.” 

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the Cube. And I like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” Thor asks, “I do not understand‒”

“I do!” Steve interjects, excited.

We all turn to look at him, while Tony rolls his eyes. I feel a smile forming on my lips.

“I understood that reference,” he continues.

I think he’s happy to find something in this world that he actually understands.

Tony breaks the silence. He turns to Dr. Banner. “Shall we play, Doctor?”

“This way, sir.” He answers and they walk out. 

Part 2

[rantreader]

That Bloody Potter Boy

Look. I wrote part one of that fanfiction.

Summary: The Dursley’s never should have taken in Harry. He had been a nuisance from the start. His life with the magical world slowly started affecting the Dursleys, and now they have to flee for their life. As they are forced to encounter magic, they also have to confront their own relationships with each other and with the bloody Potter boy. 

It took Vernon Dursley Weasley twenty years to pay off his home. Petunia was delighted as they made their way through the freshly painted doors. It marked a beginning to their life together, and at first, it was perfect. Dudley made the family home complete, as he grew from a little tyke to a brave man who had encountered far more than any other person his age. That pristine home slowly morphed into a family home, but as they drove away, Vernon was not sure when they would see it again. If they would see it again.

He glanced into the mirror one more time before turning right. He suddenly became aware of the uneven atmosphere that filled the car. Petunia sat next to him, keeping her legs and arms closed to her. Dudley sat in the back, between the two magic police or whatever they were called. Vernon kept an eye on them. Every time Dudley was caught up with magic, he would get in trouble. That Potter brat must have put a curse on him. Vernon was not sure if the scar he gained from when that brutish giant cave Dudley a pig tail would ever recover.

“So, what was it like growing up with the Harry Potter? It must have been an amazing experience,” said the female. “It’s such a shame that he was not able to teach you anything, but it still would have been nice.”

Vernon tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“It was alright. I guess. He kept to himself,” Dudley mumbled. Dudley had only just astonished Vernon by being friendly to Harry. Even though that boy was nothing but trouble since the day he arrived on the doorstep, he was still the closest thing Dudley ever had to a brother. As annoying as they were, you can never really hate your sibling.

“Yes. He always had this little attitude that he was better than all of us,” Vernon added. “He always spoke back and never did what he was told.”

The female chuckled.

“Sounds like a typical teenager.”

If he wasn’t driving, Vernon would storm away from the woman. It was not just typical teenage blues, but there had always been something deeply disturbing about that boy. That was the one good part about the whole fiasco: they never had to see him again. For the first time in 17 years, Vernon could be able to breathe without worrying over what that boy had done.

Vernon continued to drive down through the neighbourhood he had grown accustomed to; arrogant drivers swerved in front of him while others thought it was perfectly acceptable to drive at a snail’s pace.

“Where exactly am I meant to be going anyway?”  he grunted. So far, this little rescue was a complete disaster.

“Oh, sorry. That’s why I never quite understood driving. You can’t just go in one direction. You have to do all these twists and turns. We need to go to the British Post. You have to –“ Vernon could just make out the man rubbing his temple via the mirror – “Well, I’m sure you know how to get there this way.”

They were bloody useless. Potter might as well have left them with a spork for defense. At least then they could have stabbed someone with it. It didn’t matter; it was all nonsense. No one was going to come after them. It was all just a rouse to get the house. Yet, Vernon had to play along. Maybe they would get tired of the foolishness and just move on.

The car ride remained as Vernon made his way into the city. Pedestrians ran through the street as if it were a zoo. Vernon nearly ran over a few teenagers. Did no teenager have any respect for those around them?

He parked the car outside the British Post. Everyone stayed in the car, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Petunia shook her head and stepped out. The wizards followed, and Dudley stumbled out after them. Vernon got out and looked between them.

“Now what?” he grunted. The wizard smiled at Vernon.

“Have you ever used a portkey before?” he asked, making his way to the building. The Dursleys followed them. Vernon kept his eye on the man and scrambled after him. Occasionally, he glanced at the other pedestrians. He had not seen anyone that he knew – that was always a good sign.

“Yeah. We’re not complete idiots. We use keys all the time,” replied Dudley.

“No. no. A portkey,” the woman said.

“Oh. Then no.”

“It’s fine. Well, it is going to be a strange feeling, but also completely harmless,” the woman told him with a soft smile. “It’s the easiest way for us to travel. At least, for now.” The smile disappeared and deep wrinkles of concern appeared on her forehead. The man sighed.

“Yes, we may have to reconsider more in the future, but until that happens, let’s enjoy what we have for now.”

“Why? What’s going to happen to it?” Dudley asked. He was becoming strange. All of the changes that were happening around him intrigued Dudley, but he was also hesitant. Occasionally he glanced over at Vernon.

“I’m sure a chat would be lovely once we get to whatever hellhole you take us too,” he growled in a low voice. There were still people walking by. Petunia’s eyes fluttered between her family and the other strangers. She clutched her cardigan and tugged on it slightly in an attempt to hide her already thin body. “But until then, it’s probably best to keep quiet about the whole

The woman sighed and nodded.

“Fine.” She reached the building and pulled out her wand. Vernon swore and shook his head. These people must have no idea how to act around normal people. It’s what he expected from them, but it was still infuriating. She moved closer to the door until she was basically pressed against it. Vernon heard her mutter something before pushing the door open. “Quickly,” she whispered.

Vernon stood back, feeling his anger rise up his body.

Stop. Take a deep breath

Vernon closed his eyes and exhaled. Apparently, it was supposed to let all the frustration out of his body in a socially acceptable way. It was a stupid idea and as soon as Vernon did it, he felt like an idiot. At least he didn’t yell.

He followed the freaks into the building. Fortunately, it had closed. No one could see them and try to make conversation, but it also led to another problem.

“This is ridiculous. We’re going to get arrested for breaking and entering,” Petunia growled. The wizard smiled at her.

“Don’t worry. We won’t be here for much longer.”

He made his way to the front desk and looked up at the wall. 6:20.

“Ok. We have to close up,” he told them. Vernon raised an eyebrow but felt the witch push him forward.  

“Now what? You took us all the way here just to see what the time is? We could have done that at home,” Vernon said. The woman rolled her eyes.

“No. We told you; it’s a portkey. On the count of three, we’re all going to have to touch it at the same time. And as I said, be careful, and try not to puke. On the count of -”

“Now, hang on,” Vernon interrupted. He glared at the witch. “We’re not going to do anything unless you tell us what the bloody hell is going on. What if that clock turns us into ants or cockroaches?”

Every time one of Potter’s ‘friends’ were involved, it caused chaos. That was the issue with them – they didn’t care how they hurt the normal people. They just went about their day and not care about collateral damage.

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t do that,” the man quickly replied while shaking his head. The woman tilted her head.

“Well, it might make everything a lot easier. I don’t think the Death Eaters would be looking around for a group of ants.”

“Hestia,” the man remarked and shook his head. “Don’t worry. She’s just kidding. The portkey is basically a transporting device. When you touch it, it takes you somewhere else immediately.”

“So where will we be going?” Dudley asked.

“We figured it is best to go as far as way as possible immediately. That way, they won’t know where to start. Don’t worry,” he added to Petunia with an attempted comforting smile, “nothing can go wrong as long as you hold the clock.”

He stared at the Dursley’s. Vernon felt everyone’s eyes fall upon him: Petunia and Dudley had to know that Vernon approved the decision.

“Fine. But if I get killed, I am going to sue you for all your worth,” he grunted. The man laughed and shook his head.

“I don’t think you should waste your time doing that. I’m really not worth that much. Ok. On the count of three. One. Two.”

The Dursley’s hesitated but brought their hands out and placed them against the clock.

[cinephiled-com]

New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-costume-designer-anna-robbins-returns-us-sumptuous-downton-abbey/

Interview: Costume Designer Anna Robbins Returns Us to Sumptuous ‘Downton Abbey’

Like many diehard fans, I was beyond excited when I heard that Julian Fellowes’ popular British TV series Downton Abbey was following its six-season run with a full-length feature film. Taking place between 1912 and 1925, the television series had introduced us to the aristocratic Crawley family and their domestic servants who lived together in an incredibly grand Yorkshire home called Downton Abbey. Throughout the series, the Crawleys and their servants snaked their way through many of the big historical events of the early 20th century. As the film picks up the story in 1927, the Crawleys and their intrepid staff are preparing for one of the most important experiences of their lives: a royal visit from the King and Queen of England. This exciting experience will ultimately unleash scandal, romance, and intrigue that will leave the future of Downton hanging in the balance.

Among the joys in revisiting these beloved characters is seeing the amazing work of costume designer Anna Robbins (Emmy-nominated for her work on the series) which is even more spectacular on the big screen. This is a time just beyond the Gilded Age, entering the modern one, which is reflected in great detail in the costumes from Dowager Countess of Grantham Violet Crawley’s (Maggie Smith) pastel, formal Edwardian garb to the more flapper-friendly styles favored by Lady Mary and Lady Edith (Michelle Dockery and Laura Carmichael). For the latter pair, the silhouettes and color schemes reflect their outlook – Lady Mary in more angular blacks and whites for instance, and a beautiful gold flowing 1920s gown for Lady Edith, a gorgeous use of fabric and pattern and color where you can really see the texture and detail. I loved sitting down for a chat with the talented Anna Robbins about her work on the film, even if I did feel painfully underdressed.

Danny Miller: I so loved being with these characters again. And as far as I’m concerned, your work is one of the most important stars of the film. It was already so gorgeous on the TV series but am I correct in noticing that it all seems ramped up a bit for the movie?

Anna Robbins

Anna Robbins: Oh, yes, it is definitely ratcheted up a notch! We set a high bar for the show, with all the departments really pushing to elevate everything, but I think watching it on television we all thought it could be even bigger. And then along comes the opportunity to make it literally bigger which was so much fun to do.

I know, I just wanted to stare at the threads on the fabric seeing all those beautiful clothes on the big screen.

Yes, which is exactly what made it so challenging since I people would be able to see the threads and the quality of the craftsmanship in such detail. I like to use as many originals as possible and those had to be of a very high quality to withstand that scrutiny.

Wow, how on earth do you find 90-year-old dresses that are in good enough shape to look new?

For women’s wear I’d say it’s about half and half. I use more originals in evening wear because those dresses were often carefully preserved and they weren’t the kind of things to be worn every day so they haven’t worn out. Some pieces do require restoration, of course, and if it can be done to a very high standard, we do it but sometimes the fabric is simply too fragile so I might be able to re-imagine it as something else or take the fabric and rework it somehow. It’s a combination of a lot of things, but yes, I really had to raise the bar for the film and make everything even more sumptuous.

And, of course, this film includes the royal visit, so I’m sure that storyline also ramped things up.

Yes, that definitely upped the ante but it also meant you weren’t going to be exploring the most up-to-the-minute risky trends in women’s wear because there’s a very specific elegance and classicism to how you would dress to meet a royal.

I would imagine that you get to know these characters better than almost anyone. Do you have to think beyond the script to the whole of their personal histories? For example, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) having been raised in America, do you think that influences her clothes?

Oh yes, where they came from is very important. The wardrobe’s got to say as much about the past as it does about the present day. It’s a very intimate process as well, working with an actor to find that characterization and it becomes a very important tool for them. But I have gotten to know the characters really well which meant I had a shorthand when I went onto the film that allowed me to work at pace right from the beginning without needing to do the huge amount of research that I did when I first came on board.

Shorthand like you could see something and think, “Oh, Lady Mary would never wear that.”

Yes. At this point I can walk into a vintage shop and see a Lady Edith dress across the shop and know it’s going to work.

Lady Edith is someone who really interested me in this film because, as we know, she had a big change at the end of the series. It did seem like her new status was reflected in her clothes.

I think Edith had one of the biggest journeys of anyone throughout the series. I remember in Series 5 her wardrobe was very restrictive and pared back, very autumnal colors during the period when she was estranged from her daughter and just very low emotionally. Then in Series 6 she literally blossoms as a human and finds her identity and she’s suddenly in this literary world so I created this London working woman’s wardrobe which was very different from her estate wardrobe. It still felt like the same person but she was far more adventurous and bold in her choice of prints and color.

You can literally see her self-confidence change over the course of the series and it was amazing to watch how her physical appearance reflected that.

Yes, I loved dressing her. And now in the film it was important that we didn’t lose that sense of style she had found even though now she’s no longer a magazine editor in London, she’s the Marchioness of Hexham and outranks all of them. So we took everything that she’s learned about herself including her self-assuredness and sense of style and moved it up into the position that she’s in now. But still always focusing on the level of craftsmanship in the textiles, it might be embroidery, it might be devoré, it might be printed silk. There’s always some sort of interesting surface to the fabrics that I use for Edith.

Was there at all a touch of rubbing her new status in Mary’s face with her clothes at all? A bit of showing off?

I don’t think so because I don’t think Edith has an ego like that. And she and her husband are very modern in their approach to their high positions. Remember — they arrive at Downton without a nanny. They call themselves “modern folk.”

I guess just the fact that she’s happy now is enough for her to stick it to Mary.

(Laughs.) Yes, exactly. I love dressing the two of them in their scenes together. Even when they weren’t at each other’s throats, there’s always a contrast, I always look to create some kind of dichotomy between them. Their dresses should always work with each other but create a nice contrast. And, of course, as individuals they’re very different.

I know the film takes place in 1927, which is a few years after the series ended, but do you have to think about certain characters like Violet (Maggie Smith) who may hold on to past styles in some way?

Well, Violet is a Victorian/Edwardian lady and that will never change. But the fabric choices may change. Where she once wore a fabric with an Edwardian pattern, that may become more art deco. You’re always looking for different micro trends that affected clothing manufacture, the way they were put together. And her jewelry might go from being more square cuts to show more modernity. I like to find ways to show that sense of modernity without changing her very recognizable silhouette.

Dame Maggie Smith

Did you know that there was a movie coming as the series was ending? Were things saved in a different way than they might have been otherwise?

No, we didn’t know. We hoped, but nothing was certain back then. Luckily, the main jeweler I worked with wasn’t organized enough to disband the collection and use it in other things so it was mostly intact.

Plus, the series was so popular, you could take the whole collection on the road!

Yes, we did work on a touring Downton Exhibition over the years so we’ve always been aware that there’s a life for the costumes after filming whether or not they ended up in a new film. But really getting to create new costumes for these wonderful characters was just a hypothetical dream that has thankfully now come true.

We’re talking so much about the women and my first instinct is to assume that costuming the men isn’t as interesting, but then I see their gorgeous clothes on the big screen and I’m totally fascinated.

Oh God, I love working with the men, I love tailoring. If you get that right, everything just looks so good. And the fabrics are fantastic. I was talking about using original pieces with the women, but it’s very rare that you’ll find any originals that you can use with the men.

Because men back then wore their clothes so much more often and they just wore out?

Yes, exactly, they just haven’t lasted. But the bits we do find are wonderful references for the cut and shape and how the pieces are constructed. I also work to make sure the men’s clothes complement the women’s and that all the scenes work together in composition. But the detailing in the menswear is just wonderful. And if you look closely in the film, the men change as often as the women do. I think Robert changes four times on the day that the Kind and Queen come to Downton. I was even able to design new dress uniforms for the livery staff with the Crawley insignia in the fabric, it was wonderful, those beautiful green tailcoats with silver frogging and lacing with the white breaches and stockings. Just brilliant.

Matthew Goode, Michelle Dockery, Allen Leech

So incredible. And then you leave work and go out into London and see people dressed like I am right now — it must be so depressing!

(Laughs.) I mean, I’m sure it was very hot and uncomfortable at times, so it’s good that we’ve moved forward, but those clothes do look so fabulous and I’m glad I get to spend such a huge proportion of my life with them!

Is designing for the servants more of a case of strict research on what the staffs of big houses would be wearing in 1927?

Well, there is lots of research and looking at what would have been worn but then you design touches for each character. For example, there is always a sort of very subtle floral pattern within the silk for Anna. And it may be more geometric for Baxter, with a more complicated cutting technique since Baxter is a dressmaker.

Is the implication that the servants would be mending their own clothes?

Yes, to some extent, so you’re going to see differences. They’re all designed to the character and to make them identifiable even if there’s a common look.

Lesley Nicol and Sophie McShera

I imagine at the first fittings for the film it must have been heavenly for the actors to slip back into these costumes to get back into character.

It was wonderful seeing them literally step back into their characters’ shoes. And it’s always been a very collaborative process working with them. It’s a joint effort to find the right looks. I lead it, for sure, since I have an overview of how the whole thing has to look and I know what’s going to work together in each scene such as they’ve got to start off in this setting which may be against red and then move into this room which might be green.

Oy, that seems like so much to keep track of. And it’s not like in real life we ever know the colors of every room we’re going to walk into!

Exactly, but I have to create these huge charts that allows me to painstakingly keep track of all those different elements. I work very closely with the director, production designer, the DP, and the actors. I have to think about lighting and how the colors are going to behave on camera.

I remember reading about the making of Gone With the Wind and how Selznick and costume designer Walter Plunkett tortured the actors with real corsets and other undergarments from the period even though they would never be seen. Are you a stickler period detail as well?

I am all about what makes the right silhouette but I might make the garments worn under the costumes more comfortable than the originals might have been. Remember, they didn’t have the luxury of stretch materials! Unless you actually see the underwear, as you do in some scenes in the film, then I absolutely insist on the real thing, of course.

Of course, the 1920s were more kind to women than previous eras in terms of undergarments.

Absolutely. You had underwear then that created a more boyish silhouette which could still be confining for some. But I also find that actors are quite keen to use whatever underwear creates the foundation that makes the clothing look more authentic and therefore more believable. And sometimes the underclothes affect posture and even the way you speak. I think it’s worth noting that while the girls lost the corsets, the gents were still wearing stiff-collared shirts full of starch with starch-fronted shirts. These are very uncomfortable, and you shouldn’t even be able to get a finger down the collar. So, rest assured, I still put the actors through the ringer.

I used to love the original Upstairs, Downstairs before Downton Abbey and I remember the actors talking about how they tended to be treated differently on set depending on what class they were playing. I remember Jean Marsh, who played the parlourmaid Rose, once said to the people on set, “Hey, I created this series, why is everyone treating me like I’m not as good as Lady Marjorie?” Did you ever notice anything like that on your set?

Oh, that’s funny. No, I wouldn’t say so. We were really like one big family and very equal. I think something the downstairs characters might get a bit of envy in terms of all the beautiful fabrics and costumes that the upstairs characters got to wear, but by the same token the upstairs characters had to do fittings week upon week upon week. The downstairs characters had a much easier time of it pre- and post-filming where they could just get into their cars and leave whereas I had to drag Lady Mary to do the fifth fitting that week for a new dress that she was wearing the following week.

I do feel inspired by your magnificent clothes in this film. As God is my witness, I want to start dressing better!

Go for it! The thing is, a bespoke suit can be very comfortable because it’s been made specifically for you. It molds to your body.

Thanks so much for chatting with me. I’m excited about all the Downton Abbey frenzy I’m seeing. This is definitely the movie that we need right now in this country, if you know what I mean.

Oh, trust me, we need it right now in the UK, too!

[taronfanfic]

I suppose there should be some mystery when it comes to you three. And it’s really neat that you and fluffyeggsy are sharing conversations about each of your own stories too. Shows that you support each other’s work.

We all get a lot of joy out of surprising you, whether it’s with our stories, @bluesfortheredj and I meeting up, or sending little gifts to each other at random times of the year! 

Honestly, if we had a public group chat with just the 3 of us you’d get days where it was mundande and quiet and you’d all get bored quickly I’m sure!! But feel free to drop in on any of us randomly and we can share what’s being discussed that day - you might get lucky! 

Today I’ve been educating @fluffyeggsy on the joys of the British National Tresures, Ant & Dec... We’ll make a Brit out of her yet!!

[decandantfics]

Just the Two of Us - Part 2

                                        It’s All Over Now

"Al, have you seen me bowtie?" a mellow voice echoed down the hall. "On the armoire, dear," Ali replied lightly, eyes smiling as she heard her husband scurrying around in the room opposite where she was seated with their 8-month old baby, Isla, reading her daughter's favorite book about a hungry caterpillar that ate everything in sight. A few minutes later, Dec emerged from their bedroom, resplendent in his tuxedo and shiny shoes, eyes sparkling with excitement. "You sure you'll be okay on your own here?" he questioned, eyes clouding with concern and a hint of guilt as he took in his wife's tired features. "Yes, love, we've been through all this before," Ali smiled. "Anne-Marie's coming over around 3 to help out with Isla, and then we're going to watch the BAFTAs together – keep an eye out for your cheeky faces on the big screen!" Chuckling, Dec walked over to where his wife was sitting with their daughter, and kissed and hugged them both fondly. Hearing the honk of a horn outside, Dec gave his girls one last cuddle, and bounced out of the room with a cheery wave, trotting down the stairs – taking two at a time – before shouting "Love ya!" up the stairs and quietly shutting and locking the front door behind him. Hopping into the car, Dec gave Joe, their driver, a sunny smile and settled down for the journey, pulling out his phone to send a quick text.

Half an hour later, the car pulled up outside a discrete Wimbledon residence. A black-haired man wearing a cheesy grin was waiting at the gate, and quickly climbed into the car after being enthusiastically accosted by his slightly shorter friend, who had insisted on jumping out and giving him a warm, welcoming hug before Ant could even take one step away from his gate. Dec was now sitting in the middle seat, right next to Ant, chattering excitedly about the day to come. Ant could only smile in amusement at his friend who, quite frankly, greatly resembled a hyper, overexcited puppy right at the moment. It was adorable, and it warmed Ant's heart to know that he was the reason for Dec's exuberant animation right now. He knew his friend had struggled mightily with his extended absence last year, and he still felt guilty about everything he'd put him through, but days like today reminded him that Dec really did rely on him a great deal for his own happiness. Ant was excited about attending today's BAFTAs, too, but he had to admit he was a little bit nervous about it as well. In the end, though, he couldn't help but get swept up in Dec's boyish excitement, and found himself looking forward to this day out with his best friend just as much as Dec clearly was.

Another 30 or so minutes later, their car arrived at the Royal Festival Hall, pulling up at the drop-off site for those walking the red carpet. "Here we go, then, Ant. You ready?" Dec questioned gently, seemingly just now becoming aware that Ant might be a bit nervous about today's event. "Yeah, I'm fine," Ant grinned, his eyes meeting Dec's, which, although they were still sparkling with excitement, held a deep hint of concern. And to be fair, Ant was actually feeling quite fine indeed, Dec's high spirits having rubbed off on him, making him almost sort of giddy. Apparently convinced as to the honesty of Ant's reply, Dec squeezed his wrist gently before opening the door of the van and climbing out, Ant following close behind. Meeting Simon Jones as they exited the vehicle, the boys got a quick briefing of what to expect as far as media interviews, photocalls, etc., and then they were off. Both Ant and Dec had been insistent that they didn't want to focus on red carpet interviews and photo ops today, but instead wanted to spend as much time as possible with their fans, giving back to those who had helped them through the toughest year of their life.

As they made their way onto the red carpet, dispensing multitudinous autographs and selfies to adoring fans, Ant and Dec just couldn't stop smiling. Ant couldn't help but notice how Dec was staying close by his side protectively, like an overzealous guard dog, never letting more than a few strides separate them at any one time. It was quite heartwarming, really, although the thought of Dec as a small but mighty guard dog brought an amused smile to Ant's face – Scrappy Doo! Catching Dec looking at him curiously, Ant just shook his head at him and grinned. Even though their day at the BAFTAs had only just begun, it already felt like it had been a great day. To see and feel the love and support of their fans close up and personal was quite moving for Ant, since there had been many days when he had questioned whether he would be welcomed back. Dec had always insisted that everyone was missing him, but there had always been that seed of doubt in Ant's mind, making him wonder if he could still be accepted by the public after what he'd done. So to be amongst such an outpouring of love from their fans today was very special, and Ant was immensely grateful to the fans and to his loyal friend – still glued to his side – who had helped him through his darkest days.

Eventually reaching their first photocall area, Ant and Dec stepped in front of the red carpet backdrop. Dec couldn't help but be reminded of the previous year's horror as he walked up to the backdrop, and shuddered as he remembered the never-ending nightmare last year's BAFTAs had turned out to be. Feeling Ant's concerned gaze on him, Dec met his eyes, trying hard to squash down the sadness that had come over him with that sudden, unwanted memory. "It's nothing," Dec said, as casually as possible, trying to downplay his inner distress as he knew it would only make Ant feel guilty. Clearly unbelieving, Ant raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, but couldn't continue with his questioning due to the shouts of photographers. Realizing Ant hadn't believed him – really, how did he ever think he'd fool him, anyway! – Dec decided he wasn't going to let the ghosts of last year's event haunt him today. This was their day out together, just the two of them, and they were going to enjoy it. With that thought, Dec glanced at Ant again, a genuine smile on his face this time. Understanding dawned on Ant's face as he realized Dec had had a flashback to last year – 'Bloody hell, it's impossible to hide anything from him,' Dec thought to himself – and he smiled reassuringly at his smaller friend. He understood well enough the struggles Dec was continuing to have with his mental health – Ant himself still had flashbacks which would occasionally result in small setbacks in his recovery, but both men's wounds were healing, slowly but surely. "At least your date's a heck of a lot prettier this year!" Ant quipped, while camply fluttering his eyelashes at Dec, making him throw his head back with laughter, his eyes sparkling like the night sky with love and joy. On the sidelines, Simon Jones smiled – Ant and Dec were back.

They had finally made it into the Royal Festival Hall and taken their seats. Dec had joked that maybe they should sit the wrong way 'round, just to confound everyone, but they laughingly decided that that would be too disruptive to the British public's sanity, so sat in their normal formation, Ant on the left and Dec on the right. Dec was basking in all the close physical contact with Ant today. One of the things he had missed most in the past year was Ant's presence next to him – not having Ant to lean on, grab onto, hold him, hug him. It was terribly destabilizing to reach a hand out or lean to his right, only to find nothing but thin air there. Ant had already gently teased him for being "clingy" a couple of times today, but that certainly wasn't going to stop Dec from getting more than his fair share of "Ant time." Dec was currently leaning on Ant slightly, their upper arms pressed up together, as they held a whispered conference on the merits of 'Killing Eve'  vs. 'Bodyguard.' Dec was hoping Killing Eve's leading actress, Jodie Comer, would win the Leading Actress BAFTA tonight – Ant had forced it out of him that he had a bit of a crush on her – while Ant was hoping Bodyguard would take home at least one or two BAFTAs tonight. Most of the award categories up until this point hadn't been all that interesting and the boys had become bored, so started chatting to each other, much to the amusement of the teams from their three shows – all of which were nominated for awards tonight – who were sat in the rows surrounding them. Ant and Dec were basically dead to the universe at this point, completely wrapped up in their own world – made up of each other – and didn't immediately notice that one of their team members was tapping them both on the shoulder from the row behind them, trying to get their attention.

"BGT and Takeaway are up next!" the lady whispered, nodding towards the screen. 'Oh, right, when did that happen?' Dec wondered, again reminded of last year's awards ceremony that had seemed to drag on for hours. Now the time had just flown by. Ant nudged him with his shoulder as their first category of the night was announced, and they glanced at each other, sharing a nervous grin. Both men's hearts raced as the clips of the nominated shows were shown one by one. Both Ant and Dec were really hoping Takeaway would win this year since it had been such a big series, what with the 100th episode and all that. Dec was rather more optimistic about their chances tonight than Ant was – Dec had defiantly stated in one red carpet interview that they could sweep all three awards tonight, while Ant had been rather more reserved, cautioning Dec that they could also be the biggest losers of the night. But Dec was still holding onto the hope that they would pick up at least 2 of the 3 awards tonight. He wanted this to be a special night for Ant, a night where he would realize that not only the fans, but also the industry, his peers, were welcoming him back and accepting him despite everything that had transpired over the past couple of years. So it was to Dec's great delight when Britain's Got Talent was announced as the winner of the Entertainment Programme. His arms itched to wrap around Ant in a celebratory hug, but Ant was already off, hugging everyone on their team, so Dec had no choice but to head down to the stage, knowing Ant would be close behind him. A massive grin etched onto his face, Dec strode up onto the stage, accepting the proffered award and taking his place behind the podium, turning to wait for Ant. His eyes shining, Dec beamed at Ant as he came to stand next to him.

"Well, thank you very much!" Ant started off, before becoming more hesitant. Only then did Dec realize that he and Ant hadn't actually discussed this award – he had just assumed they'd do the acceptance speech, since that's what they'd always done over the years. "I guess we're speaking on behalf of everybody?" Ant addressed Dec, a slightly nervous look on his face. "It looks like it," Dec rejoined, a bit concerned now as Ant let out a stressed-sounding, "Okay!" But Dec needn't have worried, as Ant's quicksilver mind started firing immediately and they fell into easy banter between the two of them, taking the Mick out of the judges, and playing up their own role on the show. Dec could tell Ant was nervous, so took the reins a bit whenever he felt Ant was unsure of what to say next. Finishing off with a completely in sync, "Thank you very much!" the boys made their way off stage, congratulating their team as they went. Once off stage, Dec enveloped Ant in a massive bear hug, whispering a "Well done," in his ear. Ant grinned fondly at him as they pulled away, patting him on the back before lightly pushing him forward. They had decided to do a very brief backstage photo op for BGT before letting the rest of the team go on to the main photograph session and press room interviews. There wasn't a whole lot of time between the first two awards they were nominated for, and they didn't want to miss anything on the off chance they won something else tonight.

Ant, Dec, and the BGT team were lining up backstage – not quite in order yet, it had to be admitted, as Dec was on Ant's right instead of the other way around – when someone cracked a bizarre, somewhat inappropriate joke. It particularly tickled Ant, who broke into fits of laughter, leaning his chin on Dec's shoulder – their heads touching – he was laughing so hard. In that moment, Dec could have burst with happiness. This is what he'd been hoping for tonight. Yes, he was mainly excited because he and Ant would get to spend some quality time together, but he also really wanted Ant to just be Ant again. He wanted to feel like things were back to normal, that the past was no longer haunting them, that they were just plain Ant and Dec again. It might seem a simple and unimaginative wish to the outsider, but that feeling of normality was something Dec had craved incessantly throughout the weird solitude he'd had to endure for most of 2018. So now, with Ant leaning on him, his raucous laugh resounding in his ears, another previously gaping wound in his heart and mind healed over. His Ant was back – normality had been restored.

I'm a Celebrity... was now up, and Dec could sense Ant's tension. Dec had been dreading this award a bit, since it would be rather awkward for both of them if they won. Holly Willoughby had come along today – to be fair, who wouldn't if there was a chance of their winning a BAFTA – and she would be coming up on stage if they won. But Ant would be, too – Dec had insisted that he should be up there, too – leaving Dec with a slightly odd feeling of betrayal. Yes, of course he understood that Holly fully deserved to be on stage – she had been a life saver last year and had been fantastic – but Dec still felt like he would be betraying Ant by even just having Holly join him at the podium. He knew it was nonsensical, but that's just how his brain worked. His place was at Ant's side and vice versa – it would just be odd for them to be on the stage at the same time but separated. Groaning softly to himself, Dec shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the nominations were read out for the Reality and Constructed Factual award. Feeling a stare on him, Dec tilted his head to find Ant giving him a quizzical "What gives?" sort of look. With Holly sitting right behind them, Dec couldn't say anything, so just shrugged noncommittally before turning back to the screen.

"I'm a Celebrity...Get Me Out of Here!" Oh, goodness, they'd only gone and won it. Dec's face froze in shock for a moment, a slight grimace turning into a wan smile as he remembered there would be cameras trained on him now. As Ant cheered and clapped beside him, a grin found its way onto Dec's face, although it felt sort of pinched. Dec was torn – he was beyond happy that their show had won a BAFTA, but upset because now he'd have to navigate what his mind deemed to be a very tricky situation of having the only two professional partners he'd ever had up on stage with him at the same time. Twisting around to look at the celebrating IAC team behind him, Dec caught Ant's eyes, relieved to see a genuine gleam of delight dancing in those green irises he adored. Suddenly remembering Holly behind them, Dec turned the other way to see Holly handing her purse to her sister in preparation to go on stage. Sensing Ant standing up beside him, Dec rose, swiveling on his heels to watch Ant yet again. Dec was so worried about this – he didn't want Ant to feel left out or like he was second best – and found himself studying Ant's face as his friend leaned over the back of their seats to give Holly a warm hug. Right, here came the awkward bit. After pecking Holly on the cheek, Dec headed down the aisle towards the stage, sucking his lips in in a grimacing smile, the expression on his face belying the earthquake that was happening inside.

Mind going into automatic mode, Dec helped Holly up the stairs before jogging forward to accept the award. Without even really thinking about it, he stood on the left side of the podium, leaving a wide space to his right. Oh, this was painful. Dec's eyes were trained on Ant, who was standing well behind the podium while greeting the award presenters and congratulating the team. An intense anxiety filled Dec's heart and mind – this was like going solo again, except this time, his rightful partner was standing on stage with him but couldn't say a word. Ant had been so reluctant to even come up on stage for this award tonight, but Dec had refused to even countenance him not being there, so Ant had eventually agreed to Dec's demands. Right now, it seemed like Holly was going to stand back with the rest of the team. That might make things a bit less weird, Dec thought, before deciding he really ought to say something now. He was meant to be accepting the award, after all! Hearing Ant's voice, Dec turned to see him pushing a slightly unwilling Holly forward, placing her next to Dec behind the podium. Letting out an awkward laugh and trying to make a joke to ease the tension, Dec tried to get on with the speech, but his eyes were drawn to Ant again, who was now standing next to Saul Fearnley, their producer friend who worked on both SNT and IAC.

It was as if Dec's mind was frozen – he couldn't quite spit out the words that needed to be said. His mouth drier than a desert, Dec began with, "Thank you, BAFTA," his voice catching on the last word, sounding slightly tremulous. His hands shook as he played with the heavy gong. Cringing inwardly at his own clumsy words, Dec tried to stutter out his thanks to their team, before deciding to take the bull by the horns. "I'd like to say thank you to Holly...{awkward pause}...for helping me out last year, who did a fantastic job...." He just couldn't do this, he couldn't ignore him, couldn't pretend he wasn't there. "...Erm...standin' in for Ant, who has reluctantly come up here tonight." Dec tried to look around Holly in order to see Ant, Holly quickly stepping out of his way. Grinning as Ant waved at him, Dec turned again to the microphone, "There he is," while letting out a little laugh. Only a handful of laughs rang through the auditorium – oh, this was so awkward! – and Dec was painfully reminded of all the haters, all the people who would make a fuss about Ant coming up on stage with the team, all those who felt Ant didn't even deserve to still be alive, much less on the telly. Feeling a fierce need to protect his friend, Dec continued, an uncomfortable but defiant tone to his voice, "Because he's part – still part – of the team, obviously, and we wanted him up here to celebrate with us as well." There, that should do it, right? That should shut up the idiots! Finishing off with a special shout out to Medic Bob and another awkward joke that didn't quite land, Dec tried to wrap it up as quickly as possible. He couldn't bear much more of this. He honestly just felt like crawling in a hole at the moment. This was so ridiculous. Why couldn't things just go smoothly for him for once?!

Dec and the team had just entered the backstage area when a body collided with his, gentle arms pulling him close and rocking him from side to side. "Well done, kidda," a warm voice whispered into his ear, "I'm so proud of ya." Melting into the embrace, Dec felt tears come to his eyes, his anxiety momentarily receding as he found safety in Ant's arms. Finally pulling away, he and Ant shared a long look that, to even the most casual of observers, could only be classed as a look of love, each finding reassurance in the other's gaze. Dec now had to attend both the photocall and the press room for 'I'm a Celebrity...' and it was something he'd been dreading. Ant accompanied him and the team to just behind the photo backdrop – pausing to cheekily poke his head around the curtain and give a thumbs up to all the photographers, which had the desired effect on Dec: genuine laughter bubbled out of him, and a wide grin appeared on his face. Their moment of fun over, Ant smiled, "I'll be outside, Dec – just going to have a vape. You know where to find me." Squeezing Dec's arm and giving him a wink, Ant sauntered out, heading towards the outdoor area he had traditionally gone to in past years whenever he needed a smoke.

Inwardly, Ant was worried about Dec – hence telling him where he would be – as he knew questions might come up in the press room that Dec would rather not answer. Dec was still exceedingly emotional about the past year's events, and would start crying at the drop of a hat – even in public – if he was forced to relive what he had gone through. Ant wasn't entirely unaware of how poorly Dec had coped with the BAFTAs last year, either, having one day dragged information out of Saul Fearnley about everything that had happened. Saul had been extremely reluctant to reveal Dec's secret rush to the toilet at the previous year's event, but Ant had refused to let it rest until he knew every last detail. He had wept, unashamedly, when Saul had finally divulged what little he knew of the cause behind Dec's overwhelming distress: "All he said was that he 'missed you so much'," Saul had carefully stated, resting a hand on Ant's arm as he broke down. And now Dec had to face the photographers and press all on his own. Again. Sighing, Ant pushed open the fire exit door and stepped out into the cool air, thoughts revolving around his friend who was currently having to face his demons alone.

Dec felt decidedly self-conscious as he stood next to Saul on the far end of the team – he had outright refused to stand in the middle, giving the excuse that it would look odd to have Becca (one of the executive producers) standing anywhere but in the center, adding that she was very much prettier anyway. His grin felt forced, and he had a strong sense of déjà vu to the previous year's photocall for BGT. There was a herd of elephants rampaging up and down the walls of his stomach, and it felt like a massive bullfrog was lodged in his throat, making it hard to breathe. Trying to squash down the rising panic, Dec forcibly pushed the corners of his mouth up, keeping that false grin in place for as long as it took to get these wretched photos done. Ant should be standing next to him – they should be in the middle like they normally were, putting on their best smiles for the camera. Instead, here he was again, all alone. Oh, how longed for those few moments backstage with the BGT team, when everything had seemed to be back to normal. He hated this, and the thought of what was facing him in the press room made him want to vomit.

Pictures finally finished, Dec and the team filed into the press room, Dec's wobbly legs taking him to the microphone where he – completely unconsciously – stood far to the left, leaving a wide berth where someone else, namely Ant, should be standing. No one came to his rescue – this was his battle to fight, and his alone. The first few questions were benign enough. He hated having to think back to that first show with Holly – they had both been so nervous, Dec also fighting the feeling of cheating on Ant – but he could deal with it if he didn't dwell on it too much. His face still held a mildly painful look, though, as he remembered the days leading up to his debut with a new, albeit very temporary, partner. Then came the kicker. The one question he had been hoping against hope no one would dare ask: "What was the past year like for you?"

Heart wrenching in his chest as the floodgates of painful memories rushed open, Dec paused for a moment, his mind paralyzed by what he was experiencing internally. "Um...It was...Er...a...a...a tough year...um...personally, and professionally," Dec stuttered, daring the tears in his eyes to remain where they were and not embarrass him by rolling down his cheeks. Behind him, Saul Fearnley took a deep breath and shared a despairing glance with another of the producers, before fixing his concerned gaze on Dec yet again. This wasn't going well. Staring up at the corner of the ceiling, Dec blinked several times, while continuing, "Erm...So, yeah, but you know, I just....I...I kind of...I went out and...just tried to do my best and...and k- keep the shows warm for him when he was ready to come back...erm...." Dec was just barely keeping it together, the pain of the past year overwhelming him with its fierceness. Right, focus on that last bit – Ant is back now – Dec commanded himself, willing away the iron fist that was clutching at his throat. "...So...I...I...just tried to deliver as best I could..." Finally winning a partial war with his mental agony, Dec tried to deflect any further questions on the subject by ending with a bit of playful self-praise: "...and, thankfully, they- they've both won BAFTAs tonight, so how cool am I?"

To his great relief, the room burst into laughter, while one of the producers loudly proclaimed, "You really are the world's best mate!" causing Dec to laugh even harder, kicking the floor nervously as he shifted from side to side. Unbeknownst to Dec, Simon Jones had been holding a whispered conference with the lady directing the order of questions from the press while Dec was struggling to answer that terribly unsympathetic query. Simon had ordered that there could only be one further question, and then his client would be leaving. He was a close friend of both the boys, and he hated to see either of them hurting; it was his job to protect them from the press when needed, and that was exactly what he was doing right now. The final question was fairly straightforward, regarding the upcoming live shows for BGT, and Dec could put his feet on solid ground again, answering it easily. With that, he was ushered out of the room by Simon, while Saul fell into step with him for a moment, reaching out to pat his back comfortingly. Saul had never mentioned last year's BAFTAs incident to Dec again, pretending it had never happened to save Dec from embarrassment and further pain, but he knew Dec hadn't forgotten. And he was slightly worried now that there might be a repeat performance, given the fragility of Dec's features and the unnatural sheen to his eyes.

Dec couldn't take it anymore. Giving his team a hurried, grateful glance, he choked out, "I'll be back," before jogging towards a fire exit, not caring that others milling about backstage were staring at him curiously. Barging through the door, Dec burst into tears as he was immediately engulfed in a tight hug, the warmth and familiar hold of his best friend breaking down his defenses and leaving him a helpless, crying mess. Ant honestly didn't know what to say, tears coming to his own eyes as his friend sobbed in his arms. He had suspected Dec might need some time away from the rest of the crowd after having to deal with the press room all by himself, and had devised his "going for a vape" plan, knowing Dec wouldn't suspect anything as it was a perfectly normal thing for Ant to do. But he hadn't quite expected Dec to be this distraught, and it hurt to imagine how much Dec must have been struggling internally as he attempted to answer whatever awful questions they'd tortured him with. Stroking Dec's back comfortingly as he held him close, Ant finally found his voice, murmuring, "It's all over now, it's just the two of us, love." Dec snuggled closer to him at that, breaths slowly evening out as a warmth spread through him, re-sealing all of the metaphorical bullet holes with which that wretched question had riddled his still-recovering heart and mind.

"Yeah, just the two of us," Dec repeated, voice recognizable as his own once again, no longer strangled with untold pain and suppressed emotion. Dec pulled away first, finding Ant's gaze bashfully as Ant wiped his tears away, holding Dec's face in his palms for a moment before gently patting his cheeks and letting his arms fall to his sides again. "Y'all right now?" Ant asked carefully, scrutinizing Dec's face for any continued signs of needing his comfort. As Dec nodded silently, they turned as one to reenter the building, both heading to the gent's – one to relieve himself and the other to wash his face – Ant with his arm slung around Dec's shoulders supportively. If anyone dared stare at them as they made their way to the restroom, Ant glared at them, tightening his arm around Dec protectively. After surviving a year of bleak solitude, Dec finally had his fierce protector back by his side, the one person who would fight to the death for him. He was no longer facing the world alone.

Later on that night, Ant and Dec were leaving the BAFTAs after party. In the end, they'd both had an incredibly fun day – winning 2 out of 3 awards – despite it being quite emotionally charged at times. After having greeted a few waiting fans, both men tiredly clambered into their car, settling down for the long journey ahead. Once their car had left the grounds and they were safely out of reach of any paparazzi, Dec unbuckled his seat belt and slid over towards Ant. Having predicted Dec's move, Ant lifted his left arm automatically at the first sign of movement on the other end of the seat. Snuggling into Ant's side, Dec let out a contented sigh and laid his head on Ant's shoulder, murmuring, "This was the best day ever." Raising an eyebrow, Ant questioned, "Really? It didn't seem all that great for you at times..." trailing off as he remembered the way Dec had completely broken down in his arms only a few hours prior. "Yeah, I know, but that's just me, innit," Dec replied softly. "But you were right, what you said earlier. 'It's just the two of us, love,' you said, and that's what today was all about." Voice warming further, Dec continued, "Today was about you and me being back together, just the two of us, how it used to be. Yeah, we had to deal with some stupid stuff, but just being with you, spending the whole day with you....It was the best day ever, Ant. Just the two of us." Somewhere in the middle of Dec's heartfelt soliloquy, Ant had rested his head on top of Dec's, and now simply nodded, knowing no words were needed in way of a reply. Gently squeezing Dec's shoulder, Ant moved his head briefly to drop a kiss onto his friend's hair as the true meaning of Dec's words hit home. It was just the two of them­­ again – and that meant the world.

[irrealisms]

i've seen a lot of people talk about mcyt as a constantly burning library of alexandria recently, and to some extent that's true. people are constantly deleting their blogs, going scorched earth with animatics, fanfics, etc., that they made. but i've also seen people (three in the last few days!) make this claim about VODs, when talking about large fandoms like DSMP and QSMP, and.... guys. that was true in 2020. that's not true anymore. archivists have been working tirelessly for years now to make sure that isn't true.

the dsmp VOD masterlist is here. in november 2020, it's missing 16 VODs, if i am counting correctly--which is still a fairly small minority, but it's a lot, and it sucks!--but in november of 2021, it's missing one, and that's because the cc of that VOD does copyright takedowns, not because the archivists didn't save it. no one in the archivist project is deleting VODs off youtube with no backups the way people are deleting fanfics. three months ago, one of my dsmp archivist friends finished coding a tool that let them reconstruct VODs out of twitch clips, and reconstructed six tubbo dsmp VODs from 2020. not only are we basically not losing VODs anymore, we are actively gaining VODs that have been lost for years, that were thought to be lost forever. the library isn't burning anymore; it's being rebuilt.

the qsmp VOD masterlist is here. it is usually a month or two behind the present day, to give creators time to archive their own VODs, but... look at it. in january of 2024, every single qsmp vod was archived. the same is true of december of 2023, and november, and the vast majority of months for the past year.

i'm not going to say that there isn't a problem. just a few days ago, i realized that a lifesteal VOD from last year was missing--that its youtube upload was messed up somehow, and no one noticed and it wasn't mirrored on the internet archive and the person who uploaded it deleted the original file. and now it's gone forever. this made me super sad! like i said: i'm not going to say that there isn't a problem.

but... look at the lifesteal VOD masterlist here. lifesteal's a smaller fandom than qsmp or dsmp. open the 2022 tab and you'll see months and months of lost VODs, of no one's VODs being saved, because there weren't any archivists saving them. then open the 2023 tab and see: they lost four VODs, over the course of a year. even in smaller fandoms, archivists are working. they're making progress. they're saving VODs. in 2024, lifesteal archivists screenrecorded five streams on tumblr live to make sure they would not become lost media. mcyt may be a constantly burning library of alexandria, but the people with fire extinguishers are dedicated. they're making incredible progress. i know people with petabytes of VODs saved, who have spent money on extra storage for this. i know people who are constantly running up against their storage limits as they download/upload to the internet archive/delete for space/rinse and repeat. a decent fraction of the time, my internet at home is slow because it's downloading VODs.

and these aren't the only mcyt fandoms with archiving projects! the outsiders smp VOD masterlist is here. origins smp VOD masterlist is here. smp earth VOD masterlist is here. rats smp VOD masterlist is here. there are so many others that i just don't happen to know about. the older and smaller a fandom is, the more likely it is to not have an attached archiving project, or for the archive to be missing a lot of VODs. but... guys, we've saved a lot. there are people out there, working tirelessly to save even more. yes, mourn what we have lost--the archivists i know are also the ones mourning the most for the VODs that are, in fact, forever lost media. but don't dismiss how much people have saved. we are making progress. we are losing less and less every month. the vast majority of the dsmp and qsmp still exist, i am not going to say they're the same experience as watching live because they're really not, but.. they're out there. people have put in a lot of work to save them.

if you have publicly available VOD masterlists or other mcyt archiving projects that aren't on this post, please add them in a reblog. i want this post to serve as a reference for how much archivists have saved in this community; unfortunately, i'm not super connected to every community. but i know that--for every person deleting things, there are people working, tirelessly & with little external reward, in so many different mcyt fandoms, to save things. and we should appreciate that more often.

[yhalee489]

BEST NEGATIVE PROGRESSION?! - "Negative Fibonacci" 안전공원 System

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In 2001, the British company — BS Group — bought a stake in Tokyo Plaza, which was running almost 20 parlors in all of Japan, and had also opened parlors in the United Kingdom. Caribbean Holdem is a direct descendant of Caribbean Stud, but played “Holdem” style, with community cards. The dealer and player each get two cards, and one community card is dealt face up. This reflects the fact that the player is churning the same money over and over again. A 23.6% hold, for example, would imply that, on average, the player bets the total he brought to the table five times, as 23.6% is approximately equal to 100% − (100% − 5.26%)5. For example, a player with $100 making $10 bets on red (which has a near 50/50 chance of winning) is highly unlikely to lose all his money after only 10 bets, and will most likely continue to bet until he has lost all of his money or decides to leave. The use of electronic equipment at the table, such as mobile phones and cameras, is prohibited in most jurisdictions.

There have been instances where a dealer has been caught cheating and casino security has been able to uncover the cheating. Some games require only one number to be matched, while cover-all games award the jackpot for covering an entire card. 먹튀검증사이트웹툰미리보기 Variations are available that pay different amounts for the quad "deuces", such as Double Deuces (2000), Loose Deuces (2500), Triple Deuces (3000), and Royal Deuces (4000). In many jurisdictions (most notably the United Kingdom) this is considered gambling on credit and is illegal. An "announced bet" is a bet called by the player for which he immediately places enough money to cover the amount of the bet on the table, prior to the outcome of the spin or hand in progress being known.

Play on any one machine within the group causes the jackpot to increase. The selected cards are replaced and the decks are reshuffled for the next roll.This substantially reduces the odds of a natural (from 8/36 to 6/36) and of making the point in general (since you're adding a 3:1 dog to the mix). All other things equal, the house edge on the Pass Line and Come bets for this play variation jumps dramatically to 9.75%. By 1994, the pachinko market in Japan was valued at ¥30 trillion (nearly $300 billion).

Another option open to the player is doubling their bet when the original two cards dealt total 9, 10, or 11. The 32 tiles in a Chinese dominoes set can be arranged into 16 pairs, as shown in the picture at the top of this article.Each reel had many symbols, so literally thousands of outcomes were possible. These include roulette, baccarat, money wheel and pokie machines.

In Illinois, where such statistics are released by the Illinois Gaming Board, the average casino customer loses about $100 in a typical day at the barge or boat. A don't pass bet is a bet for the shooter to lose ("seven out, line away") and is almost the opposite of the pass line bet.Most prominently, it is universally considered bad luck to say the word "seven" (after the "come-out", a roll of 7 is a loss for "pass" bets). A lay bet is the opposite of a buy bet, where a player bets on a 7 to roll before the number that is laid. Players may only lay the 4, 5, 6, 8, 9 or 10 and may lay multiple numbers if desired.

[johhhhhhnintheusa]

Hollywood

I've somehow managed to get a cold in 30 degree heat, so there's been a lot of resting and little else in recent days.

That and watching the World Cup. Because British.

Either way, there's a fair amount to catch up on. I've been in LA now for a week and a half, longer than I've spent anywhere on my travels.

There might be a fair few people reading this to whom staying in hostels is an alien concept. To those people, it's unusual for someone to stay in any one hostel longer than a few days. Normally a week max. So staying here this long means you see a lot of people come and go.

I've shared a room with Australian actresses (yes I know who, no I'm not saying who here), northern English labourers, Austrian strip club enthusiasts, and one person who sleeps almost constantly. I will call her Sleepy. More on Sleepy later.

It's definitely a eclectic cast.

Blimey, so I'm just now realising how many things I have to write about. So here are a few observations about this mad place and where I've been.

Firstly, my hostel is on Hollywood Boulevard itself. To the initiated, that's where the walk of fame is, with all the stars on the sidewalk.

Remember the game where you'd walk on the pavement and try not to step on any of the cracks? Well that's how I was to start with, with the stars. I religiously avoided stepping on any of them. It kind of felt...I don't know...disrespectful to step on someone's name. Didn't last long mind you.

A few things struck me about the walk of fame: for one, it's reeeeeeally long, there are so many stars, some for people long dead who I've never heard of. Second is that there are actually quite a few empty ones. In retrospect this makes a lot of sense, so there's room for the inevitable next big thing. But this has created a lovely little cottage industry of people offering to put your name on a star in gold coloured foil for a price. And yes it's every bit as fake and tacky as it sounds. The last thing is something that I'm sure only affects me and my stupid brain.

Picture the scene, John Tyson is an up and coming actor. He's got a profile in Forbes magazine, he's had a string of affairs with impossibly attractive supermodels, he's on the short list for a Golden Globe but he hasn't yet made it onto the Walk of Fame.

And then he walks along that famous street.

And he looks down.

And he reads the star below him.

It says Donald Duck.

Donald Duck? DONALD FREAKING DUCK!?

He's a duck! Also he's not real! He doesn't even wear trousers! How does he get a star and I don't!? Did I mention he's a cartoon duck!?

I'm going to have stern words with Hugh Jackman this evening at our weekly Scrabble game.

I understand Mickey Mouse having one, I understand Snow White having one. But he's not even the best cartoon duck!

It's ok, I'm fine. Let's stop taking about it.

One of the other things about the boulevard is it's a popular place to hold movie premieres.

They held the premiere for Ant Man and the Wasp, Marvel's 908th film, the day after I got here.

Red carpet and everything. Security everywhere. Fans camping outside to get a glimpse of that cheeky chappy, Paul Rudd.

But you see, staying in a hostel above this madness gives you an advantage: elevation. We could see everything and everyone from the second floor.

When I say we, I don't include myself. I can't say I really understand the whole celebrity thing. They're just people who more people have seen.

I mean it's only Paul Rudd. He's funny, don't get me wrong. And he seems like he'd be fun to hang out with.

Oh and there's Evangeline Lilly, I liked her in Lost. She was in the Hobbit too.

Ooo Karen Gillan's here...

Wait when did I get to the window?

So yeah I suppose there's a pull to this rubbish I'm not immune to either.

Earlier that day, I'd taken advantage of probably the best part of hostel living: I signed up for a group activity with other people here. It's hands down the best way to meet new people.

We hiked to the Hollywood sign, past the fancy houses. The views California has are maddeningly gorgeous and you can see the entire city from the top of the hill, behind the sign. Inexplicably there were at least six Brits there at the time I was there, making us the dominant force there. We get everywhere, we're like rats.

After that, our little group decided to try and find a Korean BBQ place. I'd never been to one before so didn't know what to expect.

What ended up happening was a monumental flare up up my hatred for the tipping system over here.

I've been over this before so I won't rehash it here. I'll just explain what this place was like.

The first major difference between this place and a normal restaurant is that they don't cook the food. Each table has a hot plate on it. They bring you bowls of uncooked meat and you cook it yourself. That is the only service they perform, other than bringing out the bill.

A bill, which they decided to include a 15% tip on without telling us. That by itself would be enough to melt my ordinarily easygoing British sensibilities into molten rage. But are you kidding me?

You brought us meat. That you put in a bowl. Explain in what universe that warrants tipping?

I recognise that some people dine out for an experience. But the primary reason is because you don't want to cook yourself, or you want something you wouldn't normally make yourself.

And obviously I didn't get the tip removed. I'm British, we're not normal people. How can I get angry about it later if I fix it at the time? Be rational, please.

Later, we decided to go out drinking, which involved going back to the hostel to get changed. It's about 7pm at this point.

Myself and Germanna (Nope, better without context) went back to our room and, naturally since it's early evening, we're not being quiet.

This makes Sleepy deeply unhappy.

She gives me the dirtiest look I may have ever experienced and rolls back over to continue her eternal slumber.

We get changed. We go.

Long story short, we end up in a gay bar, I remember dancing on a podium. Let's move on.

At one point, around midnight, I realise most of the people I came with have disappeared.

Something to know about me, my patience for clubs is famously thin.

My idea of a good night out is surrounding myself with interesting people and chatting to them over alcohol.

Clubs are where conversation goes to die.

You spend the evening either screaming in someone's ear, screaming over a bar for an overpriced drink, or just generally screaming at the generic EDM being played.

So when even the possibility of conversation has been taken away from me, it very quickly becomes apparent that I don't want to be there.

So I left.

The next morning I wake up to find Germanna's bed empty. This is strange since I didn't think she was leaving that day. Sleepy (surprisingly) is sleeping.

Later that day I run into Germanna and she fills in some gaps for me.

Turns out she came back at around 2am. She had something to eat and then tried to sleep. Sleepy decided this was the opportune time to apparently play loud music.

She asks Sleepy to turn it down. Sleepy calls her a bitch and threatens to kill her.

A calm, measured response, I'm sure we can all agree.

So she changes rooms. The day after, Sleepy is moved to what I can only assume was her own room since we still saw her around.

To be clear, a raging argument, including at least three people and death threats, happened  within centimetres of my head. And I slept through all of it.

Clearly, I'm the man you need in a crisis.

What else happened...oh I continued the trend of buying tickets to see British bands who aren't big in America at stupidly low prices. This time it was Years and Years. Though this time I actually got to SEE the band.

And I met a couple of gay guys in the crowd who also thought I was gay. Must be a California thing.

Although perhaps insisting on maximum sass in the Hollywood sign photos maybe influences people's perception of me. Who can say?

[lovemesomesurveys]

survey by xflirtykaosx

Alphabetti Spaghetti (1/3)

And we will fall in love with shooting stars. - A

Have you ever seen an Aardvark? Hm. I don’t think I ever have in person.

Were you ever abandoned in a public place as a child? Where? No.

What accent do you have? A California one, I guess. It’s weird to think of myself as having an accent.

Is there someone in your family addicted to something? What is it? I have family members who have/had drug and alcohol addictions. 

Have you ever been under general anaesthetic? What were you having done? Yes. I’ve had to have several surgeries.

How do you show the ones you love affection? I haven’t been doing a good job at that lately. :/ I’ve been such a pain and difficult to be around lately because I’ve been so miserable and irritable and depressed and in pain and just feeling really, really shitty and ugh. I feel so guilty because my family gets the brunt of it and they don’t deserve it at all and they do so much and more for me and I’ve had to be totally dependent on them and do it anyway and they’re so patient and loving and ughhhh. I’m a piece of shit.

Are you more passive or aggressive? Passive. 

Do you like the band Aha!? I only know taaaaaaaaaaaaaaake on meeeeeeeeeee (take on me) takeeeeeeee meeeee on (take on me)..... <<< I’ll beeeee goneeeee in a month or twooooooo.” haha.

Do you know anyone called Aidan? What are they like? Nope.

Ever heard of the band Ajax? Doesn’t ring a bell.

Do you know anyone called Akash? No.

Do the sound of fire alarms scare you? Yes. I’m super jumpy anyway and don’t like loud and/or ringing noises. 

Do you live in America? If so, which state? If visited, where’d you go? Yep, I live in California.

Have you ever had an ant infestation in your house? No, nothing that serious. 

Aora - did I spell that correctly? Were you going for Aurora? 

Do you have a preference in Apple? What type do you prefer? I like Apple products if that’s what you mean. My laptop and phone are Apple.

Are you an Aquarian? Is anyone in your family/your partner/best friend? My younger brother is.

Have you ever worn any type of armor? Which type? No.

Do you use the word ass a lot? No.

Have you or your family had an attorney? What for? Nope.

Is your car/family’s car an automatic gear or manual? My mom and brother have an automatic and my dad’s is manual. 

Are you interested in aviation, piloting and aircrafts? Nope.

What was the last award you recieved for? I received awards for the psych club I served as a board member for in college.

Axl Rose - like or dislike? I don’t have an opinion.

Do you like air being spelt ayre or ayer in rap or hiphop or is it nasty? ....what?

Is the sky outside Azure? If not, what shade is it? It’s pitch black out currently.

Belle amour (we’ve been here before). - B Do you call anyone baby? Is it sweet or an overrated name for affection? I don’t call anyone that.

Bby - does this shortened version bug you? It doesn’t bug me, but I wouldn’t use it.

Do you know what BC in terms of time stands for? Yes.

BDf - For or against? Uh, so I Googled this and got an Urban Dictionary definition and I’m not sure if that’s what you’re referring to or not...

Do you prefer beach breaks, city breaks or winter breaks? Why? Never heard of beach or city breaks, but I’m definitely going with beach breaks. I’m guessing that’s just a beach vacation/trip?

Do you spell out boyfriend properly or put bf in texts/online? I spell it out.

Do you know what bg is short for? Background? *shrug*

Do you know anyone with the last name Bhays? No.

Have you ever been bird watching? What did you see? Nah.

Do you like Bjork? I know who she is, but I don’t have much of an opinion. 

What does this read: bk 2moz miss u lyk fk. Doesn’t this text speak annoy? This is super annoying.

Do you like BMWs? Sure.

What is the nearest book to you called? How many times have you read it? "Flooded” by Nicki Koziarz. This is my first time reading it.

BnQ - gone there? What did you buy? What’s with all the weird shorthand/abbreviations??

Are you more brainy or brave? I’m not brainy, but I’m certainly not brave.

Did you like the BSBs (Backstreet Boys) as a kid? How about now? Yeah.

Burgers, Hot Dogs or Salads at a Barbecue? Burgers.

Do you have a Byro? Sigh.

Cold eyes and filthy lies all leave me petrified. - C Do you have a Cactus (Cacti)? Nope.

Do you know what a CCTV is? Yes.

How many CDs are in the room you are currently in? Zero. 

What’s your favourite cereal brand? I like all the sugary ones, basically.

Do you like children’s TV shows still? Which one(s)? Yeah. I like the stuff from when I was growing up like As Told by Ginger, Hey Arnold, Rugrats, Doug, etc. 

Cinnamon - Yum or Yuck? Yum.

Do you know anyone with the initials and or name CJ? No.

Have you ever met a self professed clairvoyant? What did they do/say? Nah.

Do you watch CNN News? What’s your prefered news channel/show? I get most of my news from the news app on my phone, but sometimes from my local news channels or the Today Show.

How many cousins do you have? A shit ton.

Do you still draw with crayons? When was the last time you did? Drew what? Nah, I use colored pencils. 

Do you know what a CSS feed is? What is it? I know there’s a CSS feed on here. It has to do with the coding for the layout, right?

Do you like cycling/biking? What type of bike do you have? No.

Do you really like it, is it is it wicked. - D What is the most dangerous animal you’ve petted/held? Nothing dangerous. 

Do you like Death Metal? If so, which band(s)? Nah.

Did you ever keep a diary/journal? I had an actual journal in middle school and some of high school and then switched to Xanga and LiveJournal. This is my journal now.

Do you prefer small, medium, large or no dogs? Medium.

Do you know what DP stands for in porn? No.

Have you ever dressed up as a celebrity for a party/Halloween? No.

DS or Wii? Why? DS.

Does dust make you sneeze or cough? Both.

How many DVDs do you have all together? I have no idea.

Do you dye your hair regularly, sometimes or never? I was dyeing it regularly. I’m currently well over a year due now.

Every love lies sometimes … - E What’s something you refuse to eat? Seafood is one of many things.

Don’t you think the word ebb is so pretty? No.

Do you like Chocolate Eclairs? Meh.

Ever tried edible paper? I rememer this candy I had as a kid where you could eat the wrapper and I thought it was so cool haha.

Eevee - pretty name or too Pokemon-y? I just think Pokemon.

Do you sometimes mix up the spellings/meanings of affection and defection? No...

Do you have a big ego, low self esteem or somewhere in between? I have no self-esteem. It left the chat a long time ago.

What Element does your starsign fall under? *shrug*

Do you show your emotions easily and freely or hide them? I didn’t used to show the sad ones so easily and freely, but my emotions took control and I don’t have any say now.

What is your favourite form of entertainment? Tumblr, doing surveys, reading, YouTube, watching TV.

What will they write on your epitaph? I don’t know, man.

Estimate/guess what number we are on now? Nah.

Do you know basic social etiquette? Yes.

Does your country use the Euro, Great British Pound, Dollar or other? Dollar.

Do you still get excited on Christmas Eve? Aww, yeah.

What animal/creature that is extinct do you wish wasn’t? Hmm.

What colour eyes do your parents have? My mom has brown eyes, my dad has blue eyes.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Love is a Layered Cake (7/10)

Summary: Summer has come, and with it, the Great British Bake-Off. Sheep farmer and spinner Rum Gold is one of twelve contestants competing for the crown in the latest show. In addition to navigating the perils of televised baking, ridiculous challenges and his fellow bakers, he also has to contend with his undeniable crush on one of the judges, the beautiful and talented Belle French…

Rated: G

====

[Week One: Cake] [Week Two: Biscuits] [Week Three: Bread] [Week Four: Pies and Tarts] [Week Five: Desserts] [Week Six: Pastry] [AO3]

====

Week Seven: European-Inspired Cakes

In which Gold gets into Ella’s good books and seriously considers chloroforming Aunt Elvira, and Belle has a night on the tiles.

Also, Jefferson performs edifying feats of edible architecture.

[For reference, savarins are made in ring moulds and kugelhopfs are made in moulds similar to US bundt moulds.]

====

Belle was feeling distinctly positive as she pulled up outside the filming venue and entered the building. She was one of the first to arrive and availed herself of the fresh coffee that had been put out in the break room before anyone else could get to it. Things seemed to be looking up in all respects. She and Gold were moving along quite nicely, she felt, and their friendship, well, a little bit more than a friendship now, was definitely cemented. She knew that he was available, and that he was definitely looking for something more than what they already had. That was a good sign. She was very much looking forward to seeing him again today and she hoped that the future would hold something spectacular. Even if he did end up going home this week, she knew that she could ask him for his number without any kind of guilt or unease creeping up on her, and she was certain that they could keep in touch.

“Morning Belle,” Leroy said as he entered the break room. Belle could see Astrid rushing hither and thither outside the open door, and she wondered what on earth it was that had to be done so early that required such speed, but she didn’t ask. Astrid had already proven herself to be an incredibly invaluable member of the crew and it wouldn’t do to question her tasks. If she was doing it then it was important, whereas all Belle had to do was turn up on the day and talk to the camera. She remembered when she had first started doing baking shows on the TV; she had been so nervous and would never look at the camera properly, always addressing the person who was standing off to one side with the boom mic. Over the years she had shed her fears considerably and the camera was now just another thing in the room, another observer. Seeing the bakers’ reactions to the camera was always fun, and it was great to see the ways that they relaxed over the course of the show as they became used to its presence - and in some cases befriended the camera operators. Jefferson had been a natural in front of the camera from the first day, and Emma had not been bad either. Gold, Aurora and Regina had taken a little bit more coaxing out of their shells, but they too were now talking through the steps of their recipes with the camera operators with ease. At least one of them - probably Jefferson - would go on to other television appearances, even if it was just being invited back to one of the bake-off Christmas specials, wherein they asked a few previous contestants to return to the tent for one more weekend of baking and camaraderie. There were still a few more months before they had to think about that though. Best to get through the current competition first. Belle thought back to the filming work that she had done during the week with Granny - alongside the bake-off, the production company also filmed a series of how-to segments that would be aired after the series finished showing how all the various technical challenges ought to be made and giving people ideas for their own signature bakes. This week, Granny had been making kouign-amann and Belle had been perfecting puff pastry. It was always an enjoyable experience filming the segments with Granny, and even now, years after she had learned to bake and begun her career in the professional patisserie world, Belle was still learning new things.

She stopped to chat to Leroy for a bit as the other bakers began to arrive in the room, then with some reluctance she moved away into the little ante-room that she shared with Granny. Passing the open front doors on her way, she could see a taxi pulling up at the gates, and a familiar figure with greying hair and a cane getting out of it, and Belle smiled.

X

Bonjour tout le monde!” Jefferson exclaimed as he came into the break room. Gold raised an eyebrow and took a sip of tea. His enthusiasm was laudable, but it was too early in the morning for it to be reasonably applauded. For his part, the tailor just rolled his eyes at the lack of response to his greeting and came over to get some coffee.

“Honestly, all I’m trying to do is inject a little bit of European verve into the day to get us all ready for the challenge.”

“Jeff, I have not had any coffee yet, therefore my brain can barely understand English let alone a language I’ve never learned,” Emma muttered. “Although I am looking forward to this week’s challenges. Maybe not the technical, I don’t think anyone ever looks forward to the technical.” She narrowed her eyes at Jeff. “Well, except perhaps you, because you’re weird.”

“I look forward to the challenge, not necessarily to the recipe,” Jefferson said. “These are the things that you have to embrace in the competition. We can’t change it so there’s no use in dreading it. Jump in with both feet I say, and grab the bull by the balls.”

“I think you’re mixing metaphors there, Jeff,” Lance said. “I certainly wouldn’t want to grab anything by the balls, least of all a bull.”

“Don’t try it with a ram, either,” Gold said dryly. “I can speak from personal experience on that one.”

The other gathered bakers looked at him with expressions ranging from the startled to the disgusted to the faintly admiring, and he gave a snort of laughter. “Perhaps I won’t start the lecture on animal husbandry before we’ve even started with food today, it might put us off. But if you ever do want any tips on healthy sheep breeding, I’m right here.”

“I trust your own appendages are intact following the incident with the ram?” Jefferson inquired politely. Gold just looked at him. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The subject was thankfully dropped as Astrid came in to fit their mic packs and Ursula rushed in, grabbing a pastry from the breakfast basket.

“Morning all,” she said. “Slightly held up in make-up. Ella drew her eyebrows on wonky this morning and neither of us noticed. I’m not sure what’s worrying, the fact I didn’t realise or that I thought she was just giving me a permanently surprised look for no apparent reason and didn’t question it. Still, good luck for today and I’m sure you’ll all do well. I’ll see you down in the tent in a minute.”

Soon enough they were being herded down into the tent ready for filming to begin. Whatever Ella had done to her eyebrows had evidently been fixed, as Gold could see no difference to their usual starkness. Still, enough of the presenters’ eyebrows, it was time to bake.

“Good morning bakers,” Ursula began. “Welcome to the first day of a weekend inspired by European cakes. Considering our rather tenuous position within the EU at the moment, we decided that it was probably a good idea to get this week out of the way in case it causes anything politically catastrophic down the line.”

“For your signature challenge this week, Granny and Belle would like you to make a cake inspired by a traditional European bake - a savarin or a kugelhopf, or something along those lines. This cake must be leavened with yeast instead of a raising agent such as baking powder. You have three hours to complete your cakes, so on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

The usual flurry of activity in the tent began, and Gold got to work. Up until being selected for the bake-off, he had never heard of using yeast in a cake before, and he’d had to do some research into the types of cakes that used it. The baking cupboard in his kitchen did play host to a beautiful kugelhopf mould that he had never used and had never had cause to question. It had belonged to his Aunt Miriam and had been passed down the generations ever since her grandmother had brought it over with her from Germany, but according to his Aunt Elvira she’d never used it in all the years she’d been living in the farmhouse, and since all the old recipes that he could have used from Miriam’s stash were in German and coming up for one hundred years old, he didn’t really have a lot to go on in terms of tried and tested recipes. In the end he’d resorted to scouring the Internet, and was going with a rich chocolate and hazelnut cake, drizzled with syrup.

With fewer bakers to get around now, Belle and Granny seemed to be taking their time in talking to each of the contestants, spending a little more time with each one instead of rushing away to the next person, and as a result when they came to Gold, his mixture was already in the proving drawer, waiting until it rose to the top of the tin. That was a problem that Gold had discovered during the practice bakes he had made - because the kugelhopf tin was patterned all the way to the very top, if the mixture did not rise enough then it would lose definition and not look even. He’d tried to make the dough as quickly as he could it order to give it maximum rising time, but it would still need about an hour in the oven to make sure that it was well cooked all the way through. He was busying himself measuring out the ingredients that would form his syrup when the camera crew arrived.

“Good morning Mr Gold,” said Ella. “I can already tell that whatever you’re making I am very much going to enjoy it.” She indicated the large bottle of chocolate liqueur that was standing on his workbench and that would form the basis of his syrup. “In fact, I don’t really care all that much about the cake, just give me the syrup.”

“Well, I care about the cake,” Granny said. “What kind of a cake are you making, Raymond?”

“This will be a chocolate and hazelnut marbled kugelhopf, with a chocolate liqueur syrup, drizzled with white and dark chocolate.”

“It sounds lovely,” Belle said. “How have your practice attempts turned out?”

“Not too bad, considering I made up the recipe from about three different ones and I’m using a mould that’s almost a century old. I’m just hoping that I get a really good marbled swirl throughout the cake, as the last thing we want are lumps of colour. I was reading that the traditional kugelhopfs were marbled cakes, so that was what I went with today.”

“Well, the best of luck to you,” Granny said. “Just make sure that your syrup doesn’t crystalise on the top of the cake, make sure it soaks in nicely.”

“Yes, no pressure there at all, Granny,” Ella said sagely. “Whatever happens, I am very much looking forward to tasting it.”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “I would never have guessed.”

Given the size and comparative density of the cakes, they required a long bake, and by necessity towards the end of the bake they ended up spending a long period sitting around watching their ovens. Gold had managed to get the necessary rise on his dough before it went into the oven so he just hoped that it would hold its shape and not sag. It was a good opportunity to find out what everyone else was making and track down the delicious smell of cinnamon that was pervading the tent. It turned out to be coming from Regina’s bench, where she was caramelising apple slices to top her kugelhopf with.

“I cook a lot with apples,” she said. “I just hope that people don’t start to associate me with them too much. I know we all made fun of Zelena for making everything green, but in all seriousness I don’t want it to become my trademark. I just have a huge apple tree at home and I can’t use them quick enough.”

Lance had gone with an orange savarin that Ella was also looking forward to sampling given the large quantities of Cointreau in the glaze, and Leroy was lamenting the fact that his almond and raspberry savarin seemed to be shrinking in the oven before his eyes. All too soon it was time for the cakes to come out of the oven and glazes and various other decorations to be applied in the hope that the syrup would permeate well through the warm cake and would make it moist and delicious. Perhaps now more than ever before, Gold wished that he could cut into his bake before the judges sampled it so that he could see what it looked like on the inside. It didn’t look amazing on the outside since it was so dark from the cocoa in the cake itself and the dark syrup soaking into it, but hopefully some artistic chocolate drizzling could make it look slightly more appetising.

Ursula called time on the challenge and Gold looked at his bake critically. It didn’t look the neatest thing that he had ever made, but he knew that it was cooked through and it didn’t appear to be over or underproved. It looked like all his practice attempts had looked, and they had come out rather well, all things considered. Well, Bae and Aunt Elvira had said that they tasted all right, which was as good as he was going to get before he faced the judges. The clean-up began around them. That was one thing that was noticeable as the number of contestants dwindled - the clean-up time was faster and faster with now only six people to wash up after. One of the things that had amused Gold the most when he had first come into the tent was seeing all the little hidden cubby holes that the production crew used to store all the equipment and cleaning products that were invisible to the viewers at home. No matter what kind of mess might have been generated during the baking time, whenever it came to the judging, the tent always looked pristine. Watching at home, no-one really got to appreciate just how long the filming process took, and all the waiting around that was involved between the baking time finishing and the judging time beginning. Clever editing made it all look so seamless.

The judges began to make their way around the tent. Leroy’s shrunken savarin was put down to it being underproved, but the taste was good. Emma had also had shrinkage problems, but hers came from a different source - she’d added too much syrup to her cake and it had become so saturated that it had started to dip and sag with the weight of the liquid on it. Regina’s apple and cinnamon cake was well-praised, as were Lance and Jefferson’s bakes. Then it was the moment of truth for Gold, and he crossed his fingers under the table as Granny cut into the cake. Thankfully, it was marbled properly and he let out a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about.

“It tastes very good,” Granny said. “The dough is quite sweet but the bitterness of the dark chocolate sets it off nicely. You could have used a bit more syrup, there are some places at the bottom here where you can see that it’s quite dry, but it’s been well proved and well baked, your timing is excellent.”

Gold smiled. “Thank you.”

“I agree,” Belle said. “Don’t be stingy with the syrup. Don’t flood it, but you do need to make sure that it gets right down inside the cake. And I love the marbled effect, you’ve done that really well.”

“If there’s any syrup leftover…” Ella began, but Gold shook his head with a smile and she gave in with good grace. It had been a good start to the day. He wasn’t on shaky ground going into the afternoon’s technical, so there was room for error, he felt. Of course, there was still another day to get through, one that would prove very tricky for various reasons, but that was something to worry about tomorrow. For now, it was time to forget baking and have lunch.

Well, if sampling everyone else’s cakes counted as lunch. Astrid kept trying to push them all back up to the house so that they could reset the tent for the technical, and eventually all the cakes had been tasted by everyone and they returned to the break room.

“I seem to have a penchant for sogginess,” Emma was musing as they ate. “First the tiramisu, then the savarin. It’s all very strange. I wonder if the cake universe is trying to tell me something.”

“That’s probably something best left unexplored,” Jefferson said. “We’ve already caused enough of a stir with Gold’s remarks on rams’ unmentionables. At least we’re not on camera. That would certainly draw us a few complaints from the viewers.”

“What with all the trouble Zelena caused I don’t think we’ll have a lot to worry about on that score. She’s upped the scandal count enough on her own. To think, bake-off always used to be so calm and placid and now we’ve got proper drama!”

“Let’s not think about it,” Gold pleaded. “We’ve only just managed to exorcise her from the tent, can we not drag up her memory?”

“Yes, she might be like one of those b-movie monsters where you say their name three times and they appear and cause havoc,” Emma said.

“Oh god, can you imagine her crawling out of the freezer?” Jefferson sounded morbidly fascinated by the prospect and Gold buried his face in his hands.

“Please Jeff, just stop.”

“All right.” There was one thing to be said for Jefferson and it was that nothing ever really phased him. “We’ll move onto much more palatable topics. What do you think that they’re going to get us to make this afternoon? I mean, the last time they did a European-themed week they had them making a classic Savarin so I don’t think that it’s going to be that. And they did Sachertorte last year. I can’t think of any other classic European cakes that they could choose, and I don’t really think that we’ve got enough time for a croquembouche.”

“Baumkuchen?” Lance suggested. “I can’t think of anything more technically complicated than that.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s cooked on a spit?” Jefferson said. “I mean, we had enough trouble with fire scares when Mal was here with her blowtorch, I dread to think what would happen if we had to start spit roasting cakes.”

“I don’t know, they do like to test all our different techniques.”

“Cannoli,” Regina suggested. “They’re Italian, that would fit. Mmm. I love cannoli, I hope it’s that. Mind you I might end up eating them before they can be judged.”

“What about you, Gold?” Emma asked. “What do you think it could be? You’re the one with German ancestry somewhere along the line.”

“I really need to point out that the Germans are on my Aunt Miriam’s side and she’s not technically a blood relation. I’m just as in the dark as you are.”

“Macaroons,” Jefferson suggested. “Or maybe they’ve gone to the other end of the scale and it’s going to be something completely different like a traditional bread or something. Maybe brioches. Or pizza. Did they specify that it’s cakes, or just bakes?”

“Cakes,” Gold said.

“Well, at least that narrows down the possibilities.” Jefferson’s optimism was unfailing, even as they went back down towards the tent.

“Good afternoon bakers,” Ursula began. “I hope that you’re all well rested and refreshed and ready for today’s technical challenge. As always, this will be judged blind so Granny and Belle will be leaving us to do mysterious things over in their little pagoda. This recipe is one of Granny’s, any sage words of advice for our contestants?”

“Read the recipe,” Granny said. “Read it very carefully.”

“Right. And with that rather ominous warning, I think it’s time that you left us.” Ursula shooed the judges out of the tent and the presenters turned back to the bakers.

“All right, now that we’ve sent Granny and Belle off to their extreme knitting class, or whatever it is that they get up to whilst you’re all sweating away in here trying to make their ridiculous confections, we can tell you what you will be making,” Ella said. “This is a traditional and complex recipe from Sweden.”

“Granny and Belle would like you to make a princesstarta, a celebration cake with layers of sponge, crème patissière, and jam, covered with a dome of green marzipan.”

Behind him, Gold heard Emma give a little gasp, and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly on realising that everyone’s attention was on her. “Carry on.”

“Ok. Well, you have two and a quarter hours to make this Scandinavian delight, so on your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold lifted the cloth off the ingredients that were stacked on the table, and turned over the recipe card. It was definitely one of the more demanding technical challenges that they’d faced over the course of the bake-off, and he read through the many instructions and looked over all the separate elements that had to be made, in such a short space of time. It was going to be down to the wire, and he had no idea what he was meant to be doing. Well, putting the oven on and beginning to make the sponge would probably be a good idea.

He glanced over his shoulder at Emma, who was working quite happily with a secret little smile on her face, and he wondered what she knew that he didn’t.

X

“For the record, Granny, I think you’re evil.” Belle and Granny were sitting in their little pavilion, eating slices of Granny’s ‘here’s one I made earlier’ princesstarta and enjoying a little respite before they had to go back into the main tent and judge the technical. “First the kouign-amann last week and now this. You’re on a role for giving them things to make that they’ve never heard of.”

“You can talk.” Granny gave her a sly look. “You’ve set them a povitica next week. How many of them are going to have heard of that?”

“They might not know what it’s called, but I bet that once they get reading the recipe they’ll know what it’s supposed to look like,” Belle said.

“Well, that’s not so different to a princesstarta. I gave them fairly specific instructions, so it’ll be interesting to see how differently they interpret them.”

“Last week certainly saw a lot of variation,” Belle agreed. “But then the recipe was a lot vaguer. I think it will probably be closer than last week. I don’t think cake is as easy to get dramatically wrong as pastry is, especially laminated pastries. I think it’ll be a question of timing for most of them, getting everything done in the time.”

“And making sure that nothing starts going wrong in the time it’s sitting waiting to be assembled,” Granny added. Belle knew that they were both thinking of Elsa’s mishap with the crème patissière during the eclair challenge the previous week, and since crème was one of the key elements holding the princesstarta together, she hoped that none of the bakers would have a similar catastrophe this afternoon.

“They’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to seeing the vast variations in colour on the marzipan coating though.” Granny looked positively mephistophelean. “In a way I’m sad that Zelena’s no longer here. She’d have been in her element with all that green.”

“Don’t remind me,” Belle muttered. All the same, she did have to wonder what the bakers who had already eliminated would have made in the previous few weeks if they had made it this far.

“Yes, you’re right. Let’s leave Zelena well out of it for the moment and focus on happier things. How’s our little tent romance going?”

“Well, Mal hasn’t been here for the last two weeks but as far as I can make out, she and Regina are still in touch and everything’s progressing very nicely,” Belle said blithely. She knew that wasn’t what Granny meant, and the older woman also knew that she knew, and just gave her a look over the top of her glasses.

“You know what I mean,” she said, and Belle looked down at her cup of tea to avoid meeting Granny’s gaze.

“It’s going all right. Slow and steady.”

“You seemed to be getting on well last weekend. Can we hope that something along the same lines might happen again?”

Belle didn’t reply, thinking back to the little proto-date that she and Gold had shared one week ago now. It had been a lovely evening, just the two of them talking and drinking tea, and as much as she wanted it to happen again, the very fact that Granny had commented on it put her off in some respects. It had reminded her forcibly that this relationship was beginning in the public eye. Not necessarily in front of the cameras per se, although there were the odd little flirtatious moments that she instigated whilst the baking was going on, that Gold never really quite knew how to handle. It was nice to see him blush, but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. No, it was the idea that there were no secrets in the tent, and that everyone knew everything that was going on in the small, open space. This thing that was developing with Gold, she wanted it to be private, not conducted out here under everyone’s noses where anyone and everyone could pass comment on it. It was true that the people who were best placed to notice it all seemed to be encouraging it, but that wasn’t what she needed. She didn’t want the scrutiny and she didn’t want people asking her how it was going all the time. Belle wouldn’t class her previous break-ups as failed relationships, but they were still break-ups and there were quite a few of them, and she was trying to look for something that lasted. And Gold too, as she had learned from talking to him the previous week, had not had the happiest time of it when it came to love. They were both looking for something real and solid, and she didn’t want outside pressure from Granny, Ella and Ursula to cause this fledgling little spark to buckle under the strain of trying to be the perfect storybook romance that they all seemed to be pinning their hopes on.

“Ok, I’ll leave it alone.” Granny reached across and patted her hand. “It’s unfair for me to take such an interest when I wouldn’t ordinarily. I think because it’s here on the show, we all feel more invested in it. We’re spectators just like the viewers at home, and we’re all cheering you on. The difference is, of course, that we’re here and we can actually talk to you and cheer you on, rather than being separated by a TV screen and thousands of miles.”

“Yeah,” Belle said. “It doesn’t matter when you’re rooting for two people on the TV to get together because you can yell and shout and tell them they’re idiots and throw popcorn at the screen whilst you wait for them to get their acts together, but it won’t make the blindest bit of difference and that’s absolutely fine. You can’t do that in real life.”

“I know. I won’t push it. But I’m glad that things seem to be going in the right direction, certainly. You deserve that happiness. I don’t claim to know Gold as well as you do, but I get the impression that it certainly wouldn’t hurt for him to have some love in his life.”

Belle smiled. “No, I think you’re right there.” She sighed. “It’s hard to strike a balance, I think. I don’t want to get too close too quickly, not only for fear of frightening him off but also for fear that someone’s going to get suspicious and raise it with the producers. I mean, the only person who I really fear doing that has gone now, but even so, it’s something that we’ve got to consider. And at the same time, I know just how changeable things can be on this show and he might go home tomorrow, and then I’m not quite sure where we stand.”

“They do always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Granny pointed out. “I think that where there’s a will, there’s a way. You’ll make it work, no matter what happens. But I don’t think he’s in too much danger this week. His signature cake wasn’t the best in the tent but it was still pretty good. He’s coasting along in the middle at the moment.”

“Yes.” Belle said nothing more, contemplating everything that was happening. She hoped that Gold would have a better technical than the previous week, when he had come last. That had really hammered home the possibility of him not coming back, and Belle wondered if perhaps another date was in order this evening to make the moment of parting a little sweeter - if it came at all. Or maybe Granny was right, and absence would make the heart grow fonder. Whatever happened, she knew that she wasn’t going to let him go home without giving him her number. She’d never felt this way about a contestant before. Certainly there were the odd couple whom she’d rooted for a little more than the others, but generally those were the ones who really showed an innate and exceptional talent for baking, or the younger ones who showed such passion and determination for it in the middle of studying to become something else entirely. She’d never had a favourite for personal reasons. If Gold won the competition then that would be great, but she wasn’t really hoping that he would stay in so that he would win, more so that she could keep on getting to know him better.

The first few spots of rain were pattering down on the roof of the tent as Astrid hurried over with an umbrella to bring them back in for the judging. The table, now down to just six bakes on it, looked very large, and the six princesstarta were showing great variation in shape, size, and colour. Belle’s eye was immediately drawn to the cake on the far end and she glanced over at Granny, because they both knew that one was likely to be the winner even without sampling it. From the outside, it looked absolutely perfect, as if it had been bought in a shop and brought out. The marzipan was a nice pale green, no telltale streaks or sugar marks on it, and it covered the cake evenly without patching, like some of the other cakes had. It was nicely domed and not flat, and the sugar and chocolate decorations, although a little rough around the edges, looked exactly like they should. Still, even though it looked like there was a clear victor, all the cakes had to be sampled, and looks weren’t everything - once they got inside it, it might not be up to snuff.

Most of the bakers had done a fairly decent job on the inside of the cakes but it was presentation that let them down - patchy marzipan or sunken cakes. A couple had crème patissière that was very obviously too runny, as if they’d run out of time on the bake and they were making the best of what they had. Lance’s cake was the messiest and came in last place, with Leroy’s sunken cake just above it, followed by Jefferson, Gold, and Regina, who could always be relied on to produce something with excellent finish, be it in a signature or a technical. Emma’s was the near-perfect cake, and as she received the congratulations of the judges, presenters and her fellow contestants, she looked a bit sheepish.

“I’m not sure whether I really deserve the accolade to be honest,” she said. “Because I know that this technical was probably chosen because it’s something fairly obscure that not everyone will have heard of or know what it looks like, but I’ve made a few of these when I was younger.”

“Really?” Jefferson was looking completely incredulous. “How on earth have you had such specific confectionary exposure?”

Emma shrugged. “I had a foster mum who was Swedish. Well, half-Swedish, half-Danish. She used to make these cakes for birthdays and stuff. I love them. They’re a reminder of one of the best parts of my childhood. As soon as you said it was a princesstarta I immediately remembered making them with Ingrid.”

Belle smiled. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to disqualify you based on your knowledge of non-mainstream cakes. I’m just glad that this challenge turned out not to be so much of a challenge for you.”

“Yes, and as the winner of the technical, you can stand us all drinks at the hotel bar,” Jefferson said with a wink. Emma rolled her eyes.

“You know, I really think that you ought to be the ones standing me drinks, but sure, I’ll get the first round in.”

“Bearing in mind, of course,” Jefferson added, “that it will probably be the only round because we need to make sure we’re all level headed tomorrow for the showstopper. We can’t have anyone turning up sozzled to make their cakes or else we could be in for some spectacular collapses. And I’m not just talking about the cakes.”

“You know, Jefferson, I do get the distinct impression that you were talking about me then,” Ella said. “I would be heavily offended if it wasn’t true.”

“Ella, my dear, you know I would never say anything that would slander your good name.” He bowed low, and the contestants left the tent, all of them moving up towards the driveway and the various forms of transportation waiting for them there. It was good to see these remaining few getting on so well together, and continuing that sense of community by going out after the day’s filming had finished instead of all going their separate ways. Belle and the others who remained knew better than to join them. They needed to maintain some distance, which was why Granny and Belle were always ensconced away in the little ante-room whilst the others were all relaxing in the breakroom. And even though Ella and Ursula had much more contact with the bakers and were on much friendlier terms with them, it would still be a little strange for them to socialise with them as a group outside of the context of filming. It was a bit like going on a school trip and having the teachers socialising with the kids - it would be awkward to say the least.

“Still,” Ella said brightly. “We can have our own girls’ night out. What do you say, ladies?”

“Well, I think I’m about fifty years too late to qualify as a girl,” Granny said, “but I wouldn’t say no to a gin and tonic if you’re offering one.”

“I am indeed. Belle?”

“Sure.”

They took a taxi into the town centre; the security team would keep their cars safe in the carpark overnight, although Belle wasn’t sure who would want to steal either Ella’s ridiculously large black and white Panther or her own nondescript Vauxhall. Ella was responsible for finding a suitable watering hole. The bake-off had moved location a couple of times during its run and every time, Ella always managed to find a new favourite bar. This particular one was on the less classy end of the spectrum, but the drinks were well made and reasonably priced, and no-one paid them all that much attention as they sat at a table in the corner with their cocktails. There was usually at least one night out like this during filming, a spontaneous trip with no real reason behind it, just because they felt like letting their hair down. Their tongues would be loosened by the alcohol and outside of the tent and the cameras, they could share what they really thought about the bakers and the progress of the show so far. It was never malicious; the nearest they really got to badmouthing a contestant was lamenting a bad run of bakes, or consistent mistakes like time management that weeks in the tent never seemed to put right.

This time, though, Belle knew that there would be more than a few disparaging comments about bakers not so dearly departed, and she hoped beyond hope that the conversation would not turn in the direction of her and Gold’s… What was it, exactly? It was more than a friendship, as mutual attraction had been admitted and acknowledged, but it wasn’t really anywhere near a relationship yet. It was just a kind of nebulous, undefined thing.

“So, here we are. We’re over halfway through the competition and we’ve got half the number of bakers that we started with,” Ella said. “The tent really does look horribly empty with only the six of them in it. I feel that we ought to start scaling it down, so that as we lose contestants, the tent gets smaller and cosier so it doesn’t feel so cavernous.”

“I don’t know,” Granny pondered. “I think that when it gets into the final few weeks they’re always glad of the extra space and the spare workbenches. You know what they say. However large your kitchen is, it’s never large enough, and we only give them the one, comparatively small, bench to work on. I know that when I’m baking on a large scale at home, every surface gets covered in ingredients and utensils and things that are cooling.”

“Considering your kitchen is the size of our entire apartment, that’s saying something,” Ursula said dryly. Belle just laughed. She was well aware of the problem of running out of space. When she’d been studying, she’d been living in a tiny bedsit with an equally tiny kitchenette that had practically no work surface space, so she’d often ended up covering her bed with a dust sheet and doing all her cooking and baking there instead of in the kitchen.

“Still we can’t deny that there are a few that we’re glad to see the back of, but we won’t dwell on those. Let’s focus on the ones that are left.” Ella said. “You know, I can never tell what Jefferson’s thinking. I keep expecting him to do something incredibly outrageous during filming because when you first meet him, you think of him as the attention-seeking sort. He’s always wearing the waistcoat and pocket watch combination, all he needs is a top hat.”

“Maybe he’s saving that for if he gets to the final,” Granny said. “Perhaps his final showstopper piece will be a giant sponge cake top hat.”

“Yes, but he couldn’t wear it then. Although, considering some of the mishaps we’ve had with messy bakers in this and previous years, I’m not sure that wearing it wouldn’t make it better.”

“So, it has to be asked at some point, I may as well ask it now.” Ella turned her attention to Belle and grinned conspiratorially. Belle rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said before her friend had even had chance to open her mouth. “We’re not talking about my lovelife. I mean, it can’t even be called a lovelife yet.”

“I don’t know, you were getting very close over a cup of tea last week.”

“I’m serious, Ella.”

“So am I. Come on, we’re already hearing wedding bells in the distance. It’s plain to see when you look at the two of you together that you’re absolutely made for each other and marriage is on the horizon once the show finishes.”

“Ella, I know hardly anything about him, we’ve been on one date that can barely be called a date. It’s bad enough that Granny’s already thinking about designing the wedding cake. Perhaps not adding too much pressure too soon?”

“Oh, but it’s so much fun!” Ella exclaimed. “You’ve always been so sensible about everything related to the competition and I’ve never had the chance to tease you about something, and now I do. It’s all part and parcel of the experience.”

“It’s the bakers that you’re meant to be bantering with, not the judges,” Granny pointed out.

“Yes, but the bakers are not here, so I have to make do with what I’ve got. Anyway, do you think that he can go the distance and make it to the final?”

Belle nodded. “Yes, I like to think so. The trouble is at this stage that they’re all so good that it’s hard to pick between them, but I think the finalists will end up being Regina, Jefferson and Rum.”

“Oh, so he’s called Rum now?” Ursula said, smirking, and Belle let out a long sigh, resting her forehead against the edge of the table.

“You know what, I’m just going to stop talking altogether and then see how you all get on for entertainment,” she muttered.

“Oh, you don’t have to talk, watching your reactions is just as good as listening to them,” Ella said airily. “But perhaps we ought to stop; we’re attracting attention to ourselves and it really wouldn’t be doing to be giving out any spoilers before the show airs. There was that time two years ago when the bookies stopped taking bets on who was going to win because I’d accidentally let slip who’d got through to the final when we went out for Ursula’s birthday that night. I was nearly fired for that and despite the inevitable yearly weight gain from so much sampling I do enjoy this gig.”

Thankfully the others agreed that it would be best to move on from the topic of the contestants and who they thought was going to win, and by necessity they moved on from talking about Belle and Gold’s developing relationship as well. They chatted about the renovations that Ursula and Ella were making to their home, and about Granny’s various relations up and down the country, and if anyone had come into the bar at that moment and overheard their conversation, none of them would suspect that they were television personalities unless they were recognised. All told it was an enjoyable evening; they usually went out as a small group at least once per season and Belle always looked forward to the event. Today’s impromptu outing was no exception. She could even take the ribbing she’d got about Gold, because she knew that it was all good-natured and that she had the complete support of the other three women around the table. It was a good feeling, and one that she couldn’t wait to act on when the time was right.

X

The second day of the baking weekend dawned grey and overcast, with the threat of rain hanging over them throughout the setup. Gold hoped that it would not actually rain. It was not that he feared the tent leaking, as Ella seemed to constantly threaten, but the sound of the raindrops on the waterproof canvas was maddeningly distracting and in the past, the downpours seemed to come just when he was trying to concentrate on something fiddly. Yesterday’s soirée in the bar with the rest of the bakers had been a good evening, and it had been nice to spend time with everyone all together for a change. Since there were only six of them left and they would soon only be five, it was good to have done something in which everyone had been included.

Ella stepped forward and cleared her throat. “Good morning bakers, and welcome to your showstopper challenge. Today, Granny and Belle would like you to make a dobos torte. This is a traditional Hungarian cake made with several layers and lots of caramel. The dobos torte must have two tiers and it can be decorated in any way you wish, but Granny and Belle are looking for a focus on sugarwork skills - whatever you can show off, use it and create the best caramel confections that you can. You have five hours to complete the challenge.”

“On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

The challenge began, and Gold set about making the sponge mixture. As soon as that was out of the way he could then start focussing on his caramel. Since the dobos torte was made up of so many thin layers of cake, it was essential to get them baking as soon as possible as he would have to make several batches. Each tier of his cake required six layers of sponge and he could only fit three in the oven at a time, so he would need to get a production line going. Sponges first, then the caramel buttercream that would coat the entire cake and sandwich all the layers together. Then the final caramel work that would be the pièce de résistance. Hopefully. If he got it done in time and without any mishaps, which was perhaps easier said than done. He’d already decided that caramel was going to be his nemesis throughout the competition, what with the florentines and then the crème brulées, and now he was having to face it again - and be judged on it no less. He couldn’t believe quite how much caramel he was willingly making, but if he wanted to impress Belle and Granny then he had to go all out, and no half measures or shortcuts would be accepted. They would notice if he had tried to shy away from making too much caramel, so he’d decided to just jump in with both feet and go for it. He glanced around the tent at some of the other creations that were going up. Some of the bakers were adding other flavours to their dobos tortes - chocolate and coffee being the predominant ones, and Gold wondered if perhaps the judges would think that his own was too plain. Still there was no time to be wasted worrying about that now; he couldn’t change anything. He just had to focus on making sure that what he was doing was absolutely top notch.

Over on the other side of the tent, Jefferson was talking to Ella and Ursula and outlining his plans for a massive three-tiered cake in chequerboard chocolate and caramel topped with squares of millionaire’s shortbread that Gold really didn’t think he would be able to get done in the time, but then again, if anyone could pull it off then Jefferson probably could. Behind him, Emma was counting sponge circles, hands on her hips.

“I’m just wondering,” she was saying to Walter, who was standing by patiently with his camera, “if it might be easier to bake all the layers of sponge in the same cake tin. That way I know that they’re all going to be exactly the same size and they won’t get thin at the edges. On the other hand, if they’re all packed in so tightly then they won’t cook as quickly. On another hand, they shouldn’t theoretically take longer to cook than a normal cake. Argh, decisions, decisions, and none of them right.”

Gold did not find out what Emma ended up deciding with regard to how to bake her sponges, because it was time for his first batch to come out and his second batch to go in, and at the same time the judges were coming over to speak to him. They did kindly wait until he was vertical and not holding delicate trays of sponge before they spoke.

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Ella said brightly. “So, what can we expect from you today? Great things, I hope.”

“I hope so too.”

“What kind of caramel work are you going to be using?” Granny asked. “Spun sugar, moulded sugar?”

“I’m making caramel buttercream which is going to coat the whole cake,” Gold said. “I’m making about three kilos of the stuff. Then the sides are going to be decorated with hazelnut brittle and caramelised nuts, and I want to do shards of caramel to stick on the top.”

“It sounds ambitious,” Belle said. “I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.”

“Well, it’s not as ambitious as some people’s.” Gold glanced across at Jefferson, who appeared to be juggling trays of sponge circles in one hand and making a biscuit base for the millionaire’s shortbread with the other.

“Maybe not, but there is such a thing as being overambitious, and for all this is a showstopper, you do need to be able to work within your limits,” Granny said. “We’ll let you get on. Those sponges are so thin and light that they won’t need long and I’d hate for anything to get burned because we were distracting you.”

The bake continued, with various exclamations and the odd torrent of profanity going up from various workbenches as the cakes were created to different levels of success. Gold’s sponges were not burned and his first batch of caramel for the buttercream came out well, but trying to make a second batch of caramel that he could use for brittle at the same time as trying to assemble and sandwich the layers together was never going to be an easy task and he ended up binning that lot of caramel. In hindsight he realised that throwing burning hot caramel into the bin was probably not a good idea and he’d likely melted the bin bag, but that was something that he would just have to chalk up to experience. He gave the caramel his full attention this time; luckily the brittle was easy to make and could just be left to cool once it was made and he could get back to the trickier task of icing. This, he thought, was where the challenge ended up being so time-consuming. With so few of them left in the competition, Belle and Granny would be looking for the slightest discrepancies that they could pick up on and anything less than perfectly precise icing would be marked down. The trouble was, as it always was with these things, that his hands were shaking with the pressure and it was going to be very hard to pipe perfect buttercream rosettes when the piping bag was going all over the place. At least he’d made the executive decision to assemble his second tier on top of his first tier rather than making the two tiers separately and then having to manouver one on top of the other like Jefferson was doing. The other man was calling out for a stepladder so as to have maximum leverage, and he ended up getting Ella and Ursula to help him hold the tiers in place as he assembled. Time was counting down and all of the dobos tortes were in various stages of disarray. Behind him, Emma was muttering under her breath as she made a spun sugar nest to sit on the top of her cake. She was already on her third attempt to make it and the muffled cursing was only getting worse until he finally heard a quiet hiss of eureka and he risked a glance over his shoulder to see her placing the nest - complete with sugar bird and chocolate eggs - on top of her cake.

He finally managed to get the rosettes piped cleanly and topped each one with a caramelised hazelnut before spreading out crushed shards of leftover caramel over the top of the cake. Overall, he didn’t think it looked too bad. It might not be as complex as some of the other bakers’ creations, but it was neat and well-presented, and that should hopefully account for something at this late stage.

Ella called time on the challenge and Gold sat back with a sigh of relief, looking around the tent. Jefferson’s gigantic masterpiece was looking magnificent, although Gold noted that it had only ended up with just the two tiers in the end. The clean-up began, and it was clear that everyone was checking out the competition and trying to work out who had done enough to make it through and who had fallen short. To be honest, Gold thought that it would be pretty close between all of them, he couldn’t see one cake that really stood out as being worse than all the rest. Finally, it was time for the moment of truth. Jefferson was up first, and Belle and Granny praised his ambition and creativity, although they criticised the texture of his caramel work.

“It’s a bit grainy,” Belle said. “Caramel in a millionaire’s shortbread should be smooth and creamy; I can feel that there are still unmelted grains of sugar in there, which probably came about because you were running out of time.”

Jefferson nodded. “Guilty as charged. I did rather misjudge how long it would take to get that many cakes in and out of the oven.”

The other bakers were all praised for some aspects and not for others; Gold’s presentation was good, Granny would have liked to have seen a bit more pizazz to it but the things he had done had been executed well. Emma’s bake overall looked a bit messy, but she’d used a wide range of sugarwork techniques to create her nest cake and when it was cut open, the sponge layers inside were striped with vanilla, caramel and chocolate. It was going to be very close, and during the judges’ deliberation time whilst the tent was reset, no-one could think of anything to say to each other, all of them too nervous about what was to come next. True, they were all friends in the tent and the conversation had flowed easily enough last night, but now things were different. Now they were baking and the competition was all too real.

The judges and presenters returned to the tent for the moment of reckoning.

“Well, bakers, the decision has been made. It’s been an incredibly close week, one of the closest we’ve had on the bake-off in a long time. We almost had to break out the boxing gloves again and have Granny and Belle go ten rounds to see who would come out on top. But at long last I can reveal that this week’s star baker, after giving us a show-stopping array of caramel and an almost perfect princesstarta, is Emma.”

There was a spontaneous round of applause and Emma went distinctly pink.

“We’d dearly love to take all of you with us,” Ursula said. “I even offered to smuggle one of you back into the tent in a huge cake. But sadly, Belle vetoed that idea as being against health and safety regulations. The baker who will not be joining us next time is Leroy.”

Leroy shrugged. He hadn’t had a terrible week, he just hadn’t had as good a week as the rest of them had had, and going into the quarter final next week, that was all it took to be sent home at this late stage. The bakers all gathered around in a little huddle, exchanging words of celebration and commiseration, and it was only once people started to disperse that Gold was able to talk to Belle properly.

“We didn’t get a chance to chat yesterday,” he said. “I just wanted to say hello, you know.”

Belle smiled. “Hello yourself. Well done for this week. You really pulled it off and held your own in all three challenges. I’m sure you’ll be able to keep it up to the end if you stay at this standard.”

“Well, I can hope. Fingers crossed.” It was annoying that it was the end of the weekend and there was no room for quiet, casual conversation like they had shared after the technical the previous week, but that was all right. There was always next week, and they could make the effort to make sure that they got more than a few minutes together.

Belle was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and Gold very much wanted to kiss her in that moment. He wondered where that thought had suddenly come from, but he didn’t act upon it and he just smiled at her instead.

“Well, I’ll see you next week, Belle.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Rum.”

X

“Rum! Rum!”

It was very irregular for Aunt Elvira to come running out of the house to greet him when he got in from filming on a Sunday evening, and Gold had the distinct urge to run in the opposite direction away from whatever catastrophe might have occurred in his absence. He knew, of course, that no tragedy had occurred in his absence because he would have heard about it much sooner via the medium of mobile phone. The fact that Aunt Elvira was waving a sheaf of papers at him and was grinning from ear to ear in an utterly terrifying manner served only to increase his desire to run away.

“Rum, you’ll never guess what turned up today!”

Gold could guess, and he really didn’t want to think about the prospect, but he duly stood his ground and let Elvira bound up to him as the taxi rolled away down the drive. She thrust the papers at his chest and waited for him to read them, bouncing up and down on her heels excitedly. Considering that his aunt was pushing eighty and constantly complaining about her bones feeling old whenever she got the chance to, she was remarkably sprightly today. Gold looked down at the papers, immediately recognising the letterhead of the bake-off production company that had graced so much of his correspondence over the past couple of months.

“Can’t I read them when I’m inside?” he asked, trying to put off the inevitable for as long as possible. Aunt Elvira rolled her eyes but dutifully conceded, and dragged him into the house by the hand. Bae was in the kitchen looking bemused but with a distinct excitement of his own, and he started making cups of tea without any prompting. Gold sank onto a seat at the kitchen table and spread the papers around in front of him. The first was a letter inviting Elvira and Bae (and himself, should he be knocked out of the competition within the next two weeks), to the grand finale party held in the grounds of the filming site outside the tent. All the bakers from the series and their extended family and friends would be there to see the winner crowned on the final day, and there was generally a celebratory atmosphere all around. If he was being perfectly honest then Gold thought that this was the part of the proceedings that Aunt Elvira had been most excited about ever since he learned he would be one of the twelve contestants. The other letter was addressed to him, and he looked up at his aunt with a raised eyebrow.

“You’ve been opening my mail.”

“Well, I could see that it was from the production company and I thought I knew what it was and I was just so excited. I didn’t really read it. Just skimmed it a bit.”

“And was it what you thought it was?”

“Yes.”

“Right.” Gold read the letter, which was informing him that the production crew planned to come to the farm to film in two weeks’ time, during the week between the semi-final and the final, and they had suggested a few dates, asking Gold to confirm which would be the most convenient. Every year the bakers were always filmed for a small segment at home - ‘baking in their natural environment’ as Elvira called it, and Gold knew that he would be no different. They would come and film a little of the farm and his day job, and his kitchen, and it would all be over within an afternoon or so. Except if he made it to the final, because then Belle would be coming to the farm and there would be a slightly more in depth mini-movie made about him, and the crew would likely want to talk to Bae and Aunt Elvira about his baking skills. Bae wasn’t going to be a problem, but Gold already felt a distinct sense of panic about the possibility of Elvira and Belle interacting. Was it bad to hope that he failed at the last hurdle just so that this possibility never came to fruition? No, ultimately he had grown to be too competitive to do that and considering that he was doing this for Bae, sabotaging his own chances because he was embarrassed of his aunt wasn’t fair. And he really wanted to do as well as he could for his own sake. Having had a couple of bad weeks but managing to claw it back to some degree of success today, he wanted to see if he could continue the streak. Next week was back to dough and bread, and he really wanted to prove himself again and show that his triumph in the third week could be repeated.

“You know, you’ve got to get through to the final now,” Aunt Elvira said sagely. “So that we can meet Belle.”

“You’ll probably meet her at the party anyway,” Gold pointed out. “You’ll meet everyone.”

“I know that, but I want to meet her here, where it’s a nice cosy environment rather than at a big party where there’s a hundred other people who’ll she’ll have to go forth and greet. It’s so exciting when it’s more personal!”

Gold shook his head. “I really think that you’re looking forward to this more than I am,” he muttered. “But fear not, for I am not intending to fail this late in the game.”

“You should get on fine next week, it’s one of your specialities.”

Gold raised an eyebrow.

“Anything that involves a deep fat fryer is not one of my specialities,” he said darkly, but Elvira just gave him the indulgent smile that showed she didn’t agree with him at all but wasn’t going to argue. He’d had a long couple of days after all, and he just wanted to be able to relax. All the same, he did have to consider what he was going to do with Aunt Elvira once the film crews arrived. He liked to think that he was above drugging her and shoving her in a cupboard somewhere so that she couldn’t embarrass him, but at the same time, it was worryingly tempting.

Still, before he had to worry about Aunt Elvira meeting Belle, he still had six more challenges to get through, ones that would only get progressively harder as time went on. If he was going to stand a chance of Belle coming to his home then he was going to have to really pull all the stops out over the next couple of weekends.

He stayed sitting at the table long after Aunt Elvira had left him to start pottering around the kitchen and Bae had excused himself to bed ready for school in the morning, thinking about the possibility of Belle coming to the farm. He wanted her to see it, he was proud of his home, and he liked to think that if their little proto-relationship continued to grow organically as it was doing, then there would be no reason why she shouldn’t see it anyway, with or without a film crew in tow.

Gold smiled at the thought.

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Next time - The bakers face advanced dough, try not to give the judges food poisoning, and discover new and innovative uses for doughnuts.

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Princesstarta recipe here

Dobos Torte recipe here