#but the uni i want to go to is right next to UCL and i know its going to be full of posh wankers 😭💔💔

[mobiused]

Yes come to london 🍉❤️

I haaate london though shitty city overpriced full of southerners no offense I'm sure you're lovely

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 4 Transcript

00:00-00:29 *Intro Music*

00:28 John: Hello there, Mister Flatmate.

00:31 Sherlock (Resigned): What is it and why have you got your laptop?

00:34 John: It’s that time! My fine fellow-

00:34 Sherlock: For goodness sake. *sounds of him moving on furniture*

00:36 John: Oi, where you going?

00:38 Sherlock: I’m getting my cushion.

00:39 John: Your cushion?

00:40 Sherlock: Yes. Here. This one.

00:42 John: That- that’s Mariana’s.

00:45 Sherlock: Ah, it’s mine.

00:46 John: I know it’s her’s. I bought it for her for Christmas.

00:50 Sherlock: Are you sure?

00:51 John: Yes, because you don’t support Real Sociedad and she does.

00:56 Sherlock: *pause* I could.

00:57 John: Yeah, you could, but you don’t. Ok- *gibbers* It doesn’t matter. Just sit on the bloody cushion. Fine. Qs! And indeed As! Here we go. Uh, ahem, mm, just a disclaimer here, to the patrons. Um. I’m old. Uh, I’m thirty-four. If-if I see a question in the Discord, I-I just ask it. Uh, if it’s in the wrong order or i-if I’ve missed some out. It’s-it’s probably just me not seeing it. So, y’know. Right-o! Uh-Ooo! Off to a flyer here! Milque asks, “Favorite tube line?”

01:29 Sherlock: Victoria.

01:30 Yeah, Victoria. Yeah, yeah. Generally, most Londoners will give that answer. Umm, y’know clean trains, not too many stops, and some big stations on there. Y’know King’s Cross, Euston, Oxford Circus, um Victoria, obviously. Um, some other lines worth mention: Bakerloo brings a certain vibe. B-bit of a sort of kooky, deranged, but pleasant elderly uncle that doesn’t wash kind of vibe. Uh, central line is possibly the most hated, ah, especially during the summer. Um, Piccadilly gets a lot of people headed to Heathrow, so it comes with a lot of baggage. Hah! Literally clambering over suitcases on that one. The Elizabeth line is amazing, but seems to be closed or delayed most of the time. Um, so thanks for listening to TubeCast!

02:20 John: Heh, right. Next question! SaraHawke722 asks, “How do you both know Stamford?” Stamo! The Stamster! I think therefore I Stam. Heh, uh, I-I added those bits. They didn’t say that. Uh, right. Sherlock you go first.

02:36 Sherlock: I met him at St. Bart’s.

02:39 John: That’s uh Saint Bartholemew’s Hospital in London

02:42 Sherlock: I know.

02:43 John: Yes, I know, I’m just telling the listener.

02:45 Sherlock: *pause* Right… I met him at St. Bart’s. There was a study on skin grafting that he was undertaking. I initially made a number of enquiries about the study, he then hired me to work with him on it. Then after that he wanted me on other projects that I didn’t find that interesting, but *with emphasis* he did let me use the lab.

03:03 John: Great, uh ok, um, I met Stamo in Freshes week at University. Um, the University of London. W-which is kind of affiliated with UCL and King’s College London.

03:15 Sherlock: By kind of affiliated, you mean it’s for their underachieving undergrads.

03:19 John: Uh, sorry mate, what University did you go to, exactly? *silence* Yeah, right, thought so. Uh, by the way, um, few of our American listeners have mentioned that you and Victor went to college together. College in the UK is sixteen to eighteen, generally speaking. Um, but, sorry Sherlock, posh lads will sometimes call boarding school a ‘college’. Uhh, I d-I don’t know why. They also call their private boarding schools ‘public schools’. So, yeah, I know. Weird lot. Uh, anyway, yeah, met Stamo at University of London in Freshes week, we both liked football. He’s a Villa fan, Aston Villa that is. We, we kinda were, uh, both out of our depth a little bit with medical degree life, so y’know maybe stuck together. Which. Which was stupid really as you should probably attach yourself to some smartarse, but hey! Y’know! Live and learn! Uh, he started to do well at Uni. Um, he went on to y’know big-big private practice and cosmetic surgery for the most part. And I got shot at for a living, so. Yeah. Listen in school, kids. Listen in school. Uh, WeirdScience asks “Do you believe in ghosts?”

04:32 Sherlock: No. Do you?

04:33 John: Uh, no. No, no. Joff asks “Sorry to be intrusive doctor, but did you suffer any hearing loss during your army days?” Pardon? *wheezing laugh* Ha, uhh no. No, seriously, I did. Um, I burst an ear drum, twice, um, actually, in Afghanistan. I-in my right ear. Uh, thought it was fine, but then after Ukraine when I was getting a full body M.O.T. as it were, there were signs of hearing loss. Um, yeah, but I’ve been lucky I think. I hope it doesn’t get worse as I’ve built my career in audio now. So. Yeah-yeah, but uh a little. A little bit. Um, JellyBaby says, “Dogs or Cats, podboys?”

05:18 Sherlock: I prefer vermin.

05:19 John: Hm. I uh prefer dogs, through and through. Yeah. Um, y’know I like a cat, but they don’t get me. Dogs get me. Ain’t that right, Arch? Heh. Uh, don’t know where he is actually. He’s probably downstairs with Mariana. Catonk asks, “What’s your favorite musical?” We-well it won’t be ‘Cats’! Hahaha! Ahh, Sherlock, your favorite musical?

05:43 Sherlock: What’s the one with the man?

05:46 John: The. The one with the man. Um. Right. You’ve just described the entirety of art and media there.

05:54 Sherlock: He has a piano and he lives in a cave.

05:57 John: Piano in a cave?

05:59 Sherlock: There’s a girl he loves. He-he-he’s got half a face.

06:01 John: Ohh! Phantom of the Opera.

06:04 Sherlock: Yes! I thought that one was okay.

06:07: Great. Yeah, no, it’s a good’un, it’s a good’un. Good answer, I like Phantom. I like Les Mis. I know that’s a boring answer, but some incredible songs in that. Uhhh, yeah. Question via email here from Sartori, “Did you feel bad for Violet Caruthers, because I did.” Um, well yeah, I did. Um. She, uh- I-I-I don’t know how to put it, really-

06:34 Sherlock (interjecting): Had given up control of her life.

06:36 John: Yeah, it was- I don’t know- confidence shot to shit? Th-th-the truest sort of victim I think I’ve ever seen, really. She just, uh, she couldn’t grasp the wheel on her own life. Like Sherlock says. Was that why you were reluctant on that case, Sherlock?

06:55 Sherlock: Very much so. Men had muscled in and filled the gaps she had created from her own insecurity. I didn’t wish to be yet another imposing presence.

07:05 John: But we were.

07:07 Sherlock: We were. And what good did it do?

07:10 John: Saved a bloke’s life?

07:11 Sherlock: Mm, we didn’t pull the trigger but we may as well have. And we set the process in motion.

07:18 John: Welllll… right. Yeah. Okay, didn’t think this q and a session would get so deep. Um. But, yeah, t-that, uh… Welcome to True Crime! *awkward huff laugh* Yeah, we don’t always run off or cycle off into the sunset. Um. Yeah. Uh, okay. Mush-Pit asks, “How many languages do you know?”

07:47 Sherlock: Many.

07:48 John: Great.Uh, why?

07:50 Sherlock: When I was young, I often fooled myself into thinking perhaps it was my grasp of language that was the reason that I didn’t quite fit in. So, I decided to try a number of other languages to see if they worked as a better and more effective means of communication. I wondered whether the nuance and subtle signals of the English language were what was holding me back from social environments. So, I attempted other languages.

08:14 John: Right, and how did that go?

08:15 Sherlock: It’s the same. It would appear it’s nothing to do with language.

08:20 John: Yeah, I’m inclined to agree with you there. I’m rubbish with languages. Ha, it never sticks for some reason. Um, hole in my brain I think. Mariana is also a dab hand at the old languages. She cracked open a bit of Russian the other day. I nearly ducked for cover! * laughs at his own joke* Uh, *clears through* RangerPip asks, “Have you seen any of the fan content Sherlock?”

08:42 Sherlock: Yes, because you keep showing me. And sticking things on the fridge.

08:46 John: Uh, yeah because they’re cool. They’re really good mate! Just-just you wait until I show you the presentation.

08:52 Sherlock: The what?

08:53 John: Nothing. Right question via email from Unbelted, “Does the fingerprint in your logo make an ‘S’ and is that deliberate?” Yes, um is the answer to that. My idea, thanks. Uh, Jones asks, “What’s our spice tolerance?” So, um, right. Okay, yeah. I can go really spicy for Indian. Uh, I can hit the searing temperatures of the Madras and the Vindaloo no problem. Lot of Brits can actually. But I tell you what, Indonesian and Thai spicing I feel. Geez, whew, that is-is a whole different realm of spice. Um…phew. S-sherlock?

09:32 Sherlock: I like the sensation.

09:35 John. Yep, uh. Anything else to add?

09:39 Sherlock: It depends on my emotional connection to the food.

09:42 John: Of course, of course. Well, a-a-as mentioned in Gloria Scott, Sherlock will only eat certain foods if he’s in the right mood. The mood for food, heh. Uh, right-o. Few general questions asking how pancake day went. Uh, yep. No dramas. Went well. Went ‘flipping’ great. Eh? Hehe. Uh, yeah, uh oo! Questions and comments. A lot from North American Podpals, uh, about me describing a woman as ‘tasty’. Um. So, ‘tasty’ is a Carol Watson word. Uh. T-t-the sort she would use for young, handsome men that she flirts with when she can. Um, don’t know what the American equivalent would be? Um? Yeah, you know, what’s a lame word used to describe someone as good looking? Y’know what would an elderly woman use basically…get in touch! Right, another question here. Uh, by the way, when I started this whole question and answer thing, Goalhanger and I thought this would be a great way to field questions about cases. Um. Y’know about the people we meet, about the nature of the crimes we’ve dealt with, uh to fill in possible knowledge gaps, and impart little gems of information that expose the murky nature of crime. Um. Which takes us to this question from Saphhster, “John, what are your thoughts on ranch dressing?” *long pause* I mean, yeah. I like it. I like it, it’s good stuff. Um, Sherlock is nodding. Uh, it’s audio mate. Great. Thanks for your contribution. Uh, Tonky asks, “Does Sherlock have any tattoos?” Apart from my face on his bum. Heh, that’s a joke. That’s a joke, don’t write in. Sherlock, tattoos?

11:26 Sherlock: A spiral on my hip.

11:28 John: What?! Alright, well let’s see! Get it out. *sound of clothes being moved/removed* Oh, well that’s rubbish.

11:34 Sherlock: I know.

11:35 John: Why’d you get that done?

11:36 Sherlock: I-it’s scarring from falling out of bed. I had it filled in because it looked like a spiral.

11:42 John: Okay. Sarah Hawke again with a question, “What is your advice about dealing with a noisy flatmate? Would love both your takes on this lol. I’m at Uni and have a noisy and slightly annoying flatmate. Somehow I’ve agreed to live with them next year as well.” Um, okay Sara Hawke, w-

12:03 Sherlock (cutting John off): Try to tune them out as best you can. Bring in other elements to distract you from their noisiness.

12:09 John (cutting Sherlock off): Sorry, what are you doing?

12:10 Sherlock: Answering wonky-blonk’s question.

12:12 John: It’s not ‘Wonky-Blonk’, it’s Sarah Hawke. Who’s Wonky-Blonk?

12:15 Sherlock: They’re all called that.

12:17 John: Look, I live with a noisy flatmate, alright, it’s clearly directed at me.

12:20 Sherlock: They said both of us.

12:21 John: Yeah, but they added a ‘lol’, okay. That means they recognize the irony of you being asked.

12:26 Sherlock: Why?

12:27 John: Because you initiate a fucking marching band at three am every night.  Ssssake. Uh, yeah, Sarah Hawke, I would say get some earbuds. Play music. Uh, white noise is good. Um, oh, I l-looked into this. You can get quite cool soundproofing panels on Amazon. Um, they don’t look awful and they do kind of work. Sometimes. Uh, yeah, right, anyway. That’s it. Thanks for the ‘Qs’, hope you liked the ‘As’ and we will see you soon. He’s wav-He’s waving. It’s. It’s audio m- For god’s sake-

13:00-13:30 *Outro Music Plays*

[probably-writing-x]

Misspoken.

Arón Piper x Reader

Request by anon: can i request a very specific aron piper imagine where y/n is a london college student and she is secretly dating him while visiting him in spain for her birthday they have a big fight where he says something like thats why you don’t deserve to be loved, she gets back home heartbroken , he is really sorry about what he said, he tries to apologize several times in her college to her but at the end he decides to surprise her with a cake and a very sweet message

Request by anon: Hi! I love your fics! Could you write Arón being protective of his gf?

Gif is not my own

Requests are open 🤍

You were relieved as you finally set your bags down in Arón’s flat and knew that this week away to celebrate your birthday was actually going to plan. With you studying at UCL in London and him working and living over here, it was difficult to ever find enough time to see each other. But Arón had been completely set on spending your birthday with you.

“Welcome back!” He grins as he turns around to face you, having carried your suitcase up.

You laugh and walk over to kiss him strongly, cupping his face as you do, “It’s good to be back.”

He grins and lets his hands fall to your hips as he walks you back, “You know, we’ve got some time before my first plan of the day...”

You cock a brow as your legs hit the edge of the bed frame, “Enough time for me to unpack?”

He laughs at your suggestion as you fall back onto the mattress with him, “Definitely not.”

- - - - - -

As Arón had said, he’d set up plans for the entire week that you were here - saying that your birthday deserved to be celebrated over the course of seven days. The first day consisted of the two of you going on a hike through the countryside and the second consisted of a long lie in with breakfast in bed. Now, that evening, you were heading out for a meal at a restaurant in town that he’d said he always wanted to take you to.

“You’ve done too much Arón,” You sigh as he fixes his tie for the evening and you finish getting dressed too, “It’s not even my birthday yet.”

“It is in Australia,” He points out, gesturing to the clock that hung on his wall.

You roll your eyes as he reaches over and takes your hand, “Ready to go?”

The restaurant was only a short walk away so you decided that the warm evening called for an excuse for the two of you to walk down to the restaurant instead of calling a cab. He held your hand so contentedly, baffled as to how he’d spent so long without it. You always managed to make long distance work - you both just knew you had to make the most of the pockets of time that you did have together.

You arrive at the restaurant and the hostess takes you to your table, right by the window with a warm candle and low lighting.

“Tom will be your waiter for the evening, he’ll be over shortly to take your order,” The lady smiles before walking back to the door.

You glance around at the fancy interior, knowing full well you’d already feel guilty about the price he’d be paying in a place like this.

“Arón...”

“Don’t even say it,” He chuckles, “It’s the night before your birthday, I want to treat you.”

You smile gently at his instant response, knowing you too well.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for this evening,” A young boy, about your age walks over, speaking in a clear British accent, “What drinks can I get for you?”

“We’ll have a bottle of champagne for the table, please,” Arón nods, glancing at you with a light smile.

The waiter still turns to you and it’s only then that you recognise him.

“Hey, I know you, right? UCL?” Tom frowns, “I think we took a class together.”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, “How are you?”

“I’m good thank you, you look great.”

It’s an innocent comment. Nothing more than a polite remark really. But you see the way Arón shifts in his seat like it’s suddenly the most uncomfortable thing ever.

“Well, it’s really good to see you,” You nod, “We’ll have to catch up soon.”

Tom dismissed himself after that and you turn your focus back to Arón.

“Who’s that guy?” He asks, trying to seem nonchalant as he scans across the starters in the menu.

“Tom, I sat next to him in a class during second year but he’s been studying abroad for this year so I haven’t seen him in ages,” You explain, looking through the endless food choices on the menu.

“Hmm, you never mentioned him,” Arón points out, not once glancing up to you.

“I don’t really remember to mention every person I sit next to in class,” You laugh a little, “He’s just a friend.”

Arón looks up and sighs a little, “I’m sorry.”

You shake your head with a smile, “It’s fine, honestly. I’d be a little cautious too if it was someone with you.”

Tom comes over and places down the ice bucket with champagne and two glasses for both of you.

“Okay, and how about food?”

Arón allows you to order first as you pick out your starter and main from the menu.

“Great choice,” Tom shoots you a wink, “And for you, sir?”

Arón shifts in his chair again before reaching out one hand and linking it with yours across the table. Tom’s eyes fall to your hands but he’s likely just in confusion like you are.

Arón reels off his order and closes the menu, “Cheers buddy.”

As Tom walks away, you turn to Arón with a sigh, “Can we please not let this affect the evening?”

Arón takes a deep breath, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to make the most of our time here,” You comment, “Come on, tell me how filming’s going.”

Just like that, the two of you fall back into your old ways and everything and everyone else seems so far from your little bubble. He tells you all of the little stories from set, anything he feels like he’s struggling with for his character and most definitely tells you more than he should do about the storyline for the next season.

“How’s Omar doing?”

“He’s good, yeah,” Arón nods, “He told me he’d have loved to see you this week but we were thinking we could maybe do something in summer with a bunch of us.”

“Yeah, that sounds great,” You agree, taking a bite of your starter, “Like a holiday or something?”

“Yeah, maybe, even if we all head to the beach and rent out a house,” Arón explains, “I’ll let you know. How has uni been? Did you manage to get those projects done in time?”

As your starters arrive, you chat him through everything about university - the best parts, the stresses and the work. You forget all about Tom or how Arón had reacted to his presence, maybe you would’ve done the same if it was someone unknown speaking to him. But there was nothing between you and Tom, just friends.

As the evening comes to a close, Tom comes to collect your plates. Sure, he’d made a few comments as he’d seen you through the night but it was never anything more than that.

“How was everything for you this evening guys?” Tom asks as he leans over to pick up the empty champagne bottle, “At least you can hold your alcohol better than that night in London!” He shoots you a smile.

You laugh it off and roll your eyes.

“What’s this?” Arón frowns, glancing between the two of you.

“She gets wild on a night out, such a lightweight!” Tom exclaims, going to pick up the last of the plates before walking off.

Arón turns to you, “Wild, huh?”

You roll your eyes, “He’s just being silly, it was one of the Christmas balls and I-“

Tom walks back over with the bill and sets it down onto the table.

“Here,” Arón sets down a few notes before he can walk away, “Keep the change and keep your eyes off my fucking partner next time buddy.”

Toms eyes widen a little as he looks to you and back to Arón.

“Don’t look all innocent now, I wonder what your manager would think about you flirting with someone all night whilst their boyfriend sits across from them.”

“Arón!” You warn, trying to keep composure in the public eye, “Thank you, Tom, you were great tonight. I’ll see you around, okay?”

Tom fumbles and quickly takes the money with him to get away from you as quickly as possible.

Arón clenches his jaw and stuffs the receipt into his pocket, not once looking at you.

“We’ll talk about this when we’re home,” You state, standing up from the table and grabbing your jacket.

He reaches for your hand as you step onto the path, never really walking anywhere without a small gesture like that. But you pull away almost instinctively.

“(Y/n)...”

“We’ll talk about it when we’re home.”

- - - - - -

And, as soon as you step into the flat, your patience wears thin.

“You had no right to act that way Arón,” You state calmly, coldly, “You were completely out of line and it was humiliating.”

“Humiliating?” He scoffs as he tugs the tie from his neck, “What’s humiliating is having someone flirt with you when I’m sat right across from you!”

“He wasn’t flirting Arón! He’s a friend from class!” You defend, “Believe me, Id tell you if it was anything more.”

“You’d tell me? Seems like there’s a lot you’re not telling me if you think there was nothing going on there.”

“I’m not saying it again Arón. Tom is a friend. Nothing more than that. I’m here with you, I want to be with you,” You turn around to face him, “Isn’t that enough?”

“You’re oblivious (Y/n)!” He’s losing his patience now, “God! This is why it’s so hard to love you sometimes, you don’t deserve-“

“I don’t deserve what? I don’t deserve to be loved?” Your voice breaks at the words as the clench on your heart tightens beyond repair.

All of his anger drops instantly, “No, no, babe, that’s not what I meant.”

“Forget it,” You shake your head, “Let’s just go to bed.”

“No, no, come on, love,” He goes to reach out for you but you snap your arms back instantly.

“Don’t call me love. The one that’s hard to love, huh?” You swallow the lump in your throat, “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

You change out of your clothes in silence, do all of your typical routine in silence and eventually settle into the bed without a word too. It’s cold in the apartment, too cold for such a warm evening. You wrap your arms around yourself in the place where his should be.

“Please talk to me (Y/n),” He sighs as he sits on the edge of his side of the bed, “I can explain, l didn’t mean-“

“It’s fine, Arón. I don’t want to talk now.”

- - - - - -

The following morning, even though it’s your birthday morning, you make the decision to book onto the earliest flight available and start collecting up the few things you’d actually unpacked since being here. Things would only get worse if you stayed here, and you couldn’t put yourself through that. Arón was still asleep just as you were picking up your bags to meet the Uber outside.

“(Y/n)?” He frowns as he reaches out to your side of the bed and feels that you’re not there.

You glance over at the innocence of his sleeping form and feel such a reluctant desperation to go and lay back next to him.

“Whe-where are you going?”

“I found an early flight, I thought I’d get out of your way,” You explain, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Get out of my way?” He scrambles to sit up, “(Y/n), it’s your birthday.”

“Right, and I don’t want to spend it with someone who finds it hard to love me,” You state coldly.

He sits on the edge of the bed and looks toward you, “You really think that’s how I feel?”

“I think that’s what you said last night, and I don’t care if you didn’t mean it. Words like that can’t just be dismissed by you saying that you didn’t mean them,” You shake your head, “So, I’m going back to London.”

“So, what does this mean? You want to end things with me?”

You glance down at his bare torso, looking so innocent in his appearance, the moon and sun tattoo on his chest always being your favourite.

“I don’t know Arón,” Your voice trembles, “But I can’t risk being with someone who would ever tell me that it’s hard loving me. I’m sorry.”

- - - - - -

The next few days in London are the real killer. You chose to skip out on celebrating your birthday at all and had instantly been wallowing in your own self pity ever since you’d got back. Arón had been trying to call you relentlessly but nothing had worked. You couldn’t imagine picking up the call, knowing yourself too well to think you’d ever be able to resist hearing his voice so pleading. Part of you regretted leaving that day. But he’d hurt you. And you couldn’t just let that pass.

You’re just about to leave to go and get a coffee from the local Starbucks when there’s a knock at the door of your flat. You expect it to be one of your friends, trying to encourage you once again to come out with them.

When you open the door, you’re met with something completely different. Unexpected above anything.

“Arón, what are you doing here?”

He’s in your doorway with a rucksack over one shoulder and his hands held around a brightly coloured cardboard box, “Nobody deserves to celebrate their birthday on an aeroplane.”

He hands over the box and you open it to find a birthday cake inside with the numbers of your age in candles placed firmly in the centre. It’s decorated simply and he’s managed to pick your favourite.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” You smile politely, setting the box down onto the side as you’re still reluctant to let him inside.

“No, I did. And there’s a lot more that I need to do,” He sighs, “Just hear me out, okay?”

You hold firmly onto the door handle like it’s going to steady you at all.

“(Y/n), it’s not hard to love you. From the first moment I laid eyes on you on a beach in Spain, to the time you tried to teach me to surf, to now. It’s never been difficult to let my heart do what it was always meant to, fall for you. You make every part of that easy. And you give me another reason every single day to love you. I don’t know how, but you do. It’s so fucking easy to love you, and you deserve every piece of you to be loved and adored and cherished,” He says the words so confidently that you believe them over anything else he’s told you, “It’s not hard to love you. What’s hard is letting myself love. Letting myself be so fucking vulnerable that I give half of myself to somebody else. It scares me that you’ll ever find someone who can give you more than I ever could. That can be more for you than I am. But I promise you I’m getting there, and I also promise you that - if you let me - I’ll prove to you that you will never be hard to love, ever.”

[carat10library]

Prelude

Pairing: Mingyu x You

Genre: fluff

Word count: 1,272

A/N: Mingyu biased carats falling head over heels with Mingyu (of course) is a normal scene. Why not reverse the situation? You all got this! One of my places-to-go in the near future is London. Just want to share that info, mates! Sorry for trying to sound like a Brit. :D (I beg for the British/English carats’ pardon)

Getting lost in London with Mingyu is not a bad thing, yes? I feel the same.

  London’s climate seldom matches your feelings and emotions. You are too happy today compared to the gray skies above you which look like it is threatening you of rain later. The skies would have to wait, you thought. Today, you are looking forward to see Kim Mingyu. It would be your first time to hang out with him outside the university grounds. You and Mingyu are one of the many international students that University College of London is catering to. He is from South Korea whereas you are from (name of your country). The thought of meeting someone like him far from home comforts you. UCL offered you not only quality education but also a guy who can be your inspiration in the midst of learning and expectations. Feeling silly, you smiled as you walk the south bank along the side of Thames River.

“Y/N!” Mingyu called, reaching you with long strides. Thanks to this lad’s long legs, the wait is now over.

A little hurting from you cheeks told you that you’ve been smiling at him for who knows how long. And now you felt like you can’t move or say anything. Mingyu just arrived and you are probably messing this hangout by not talking. You willed yourself to say something at him.

“Hey, Mingyu,” you managed to say. He nodded, staring at you. “Can you tell me I’m being weird today?”

“You always are,” he said, smirking. “Would you believe I almost got lost on my way here? I should really learn more about this city,” he thought loudly.

“Right, London’s a bit complicated.”

His eyes turned to you with eagerness in them. “Maybe we should try exploring? We’ve been here for only two months and I’ve never thought of touring around.”

“You mean we should try getting lost today?” you asked matter-of-factly. But you liked the idea of it.

“That sounds fun but I hope we won’t. I believe there are road signs here and there.”

But it does not matter to you whether you get lost in this city for you are with him.

“We can do that some other time, yes? You don’t look fine to me—I mean you’re fine and all but I think—”

“Okay, okay. Can you calm down a bit?” He placed a hand on your shoulder as if he thought that can help you sort your thoughts and words well. “So, you think I’m fine and then?” he said, a tone of mischief in his voice.

Words slipped out easily. You blushed as your heartbeat joined the chaos. You took a deep breath.

“What I mean is you’re probably stressed with college as much as I am. Can’t we just stay here?”

“See, you’ve spelled it out. But I’m perfectly fine today. Are you sure you just want to sit here? I don’t want that, Y/N. With all these spots London has to offer?”

Then again, he used his power over you. He’s really good with convincing you without him overdoing it. The moment you agreed, he was pulling you to board a double-decker bus. The bus traveled from one stop to another. You randomly chose your destination, walking along busy streets lined with shops and pubs full of people. Of course you never missed the chance to watch the exchanging of the guards outside the Buckingham Palace. Mingyu kept on taking photos on whatever his eyes laid upon. You watched him marvel at the sight around him. It seems like this is his first time to really look at London as a tourist spot more than a place where he goes to uni. His childlike expression made you smile.

Mingyu looked at you then and snapped a photo of you. So, he caught you smiling at him.

“It’s the best photo of you that I took,” he said quickly as if the words just slipped.

“Can you show me the others?” For a moment, he hesitated. But he still gave you his phone.

With others, he meant loads. You are greeted by some of your candid shots. Embarrassment filled you with a bit of flattery. He had been taking photos of you ever since you rode the bus—and there are some taken from inside UCL too. You wanted to ask him about it but he’s gone walking towards the red telephone box. He called you to come over.

“Take a picture of me, please?” he requested. You nodded your head and took several shots. “Let’s take a picture together.”

You stand beside him and he inch closer, your shoulder brushing his chest. Your mind is still not over with the candid photos of you in his phone gallery. What does that mean? You ruled out the assumption that he’s into you. Yes, you are the subject of those photos but that could mean nothing. You dropped your smile after he is finished taking pictures. There is nothing between you and him but you can’t help feeling disappointed that there is none.

“I think we should save the other towns and streets for next time,” he concluded, taking your hand.

After another bus ride, you are back with him on the South Bank beside Thames with the view of Westminster and Tower Bridge not far from where you are now. The skies did not brighten and you wonder what’s taking the rain long to fall. The Victorian lamp posts along the street are already lit. This place is magical and it helped you to clear out your thoughts.

“Why are you so quiet?” Mingyu asked, breaking the silence of your stroll.

“Has it been ages since I stopped speaking?” you asked, making a joke to lighten up the mood. “Spying on me, are you?”

“I just noticed you won’t talk to me,” he said. “Loads of times.”

A smile creeps on your lips. If you aren’t both faking your British accents, talking like Brits is your idea of fun. He smiled at you a smile mirroring relief.

“I like you, Y/N. I like you a lot,” he stated calmly for you to hear. You froze on your spot even when the rain started to fall. Mingyu had no time wait for your reaction but pulled you to a nearby shed. He grabbed you by the hand and you felt like falling. The rain is cold on your hair and skin that it brought you back to your senses.

“Did you hear me earlier?” You remained staring at him, taking in everything about how he looks expectant, brave and scared at the same time. “Why, don’t you feel the same?” he asked, now sounding worried.

You worked up the courage to sweep his hair off of his eyes to look properly at him. The street was now abandoned. It felt like you are the only people in that part of Thames. His thumb wiped the rain on your cheeks lightly as he could. He held your cheek, watching you stare at him.

“What an absurd question to ask,” you told him. “You don’t know how much I wanted you to tell me that. Mingyu, I like you, too. The photos on your phone really surprised me. What do you mean by those?”

Mingyu’s smile returned and it was sweeter this time. You held his hand on your cheek. Maybe he thought that was some sort of a sign because he lowered his face to yours, gazed at you and kissed you finally. You were taken aback with what’s happening, but you relaxed into him and let yourself feel him.

“You fascinate me,” he said when the kiss ended. “It’s your fault.”

[the-magnus-archives-archiver]

Alone

Case: 0161301

Name: Naomi Herne Subject: The events following the funeral of [her] fiancé, Evan Lukas Date: January 13th, 2016 Recorded by: direct from Naomi Herne, under the supervision of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[John: Right, let’s try this.

Naomi: Really? Does that thing even work? It must be thirty years old.

John: I know, but we have previously had some success using it to record statements that our... digital recording software struggles with.

Naomi: Yeah, well that’s one way to put it. You need to get some better equipment.

John: Believe me, I have been trying. Still, the tape recorder seems to work fine as a backup, and I can have it transcribed later, so for now if you’d be so kind—

Naomi: You’re serious? You actually want me to tell my story into that rattling piece of junk? I see why no-one takes you guys seriously.

John: You’re under no obligation to speak to us.

Naomi: No, I just... I guess I’m just desperate. The last paranormal investigator I went to laughed at me when I suggested talking to you. Still, I-I guess you have to believe me.

John: Something like that.

Naomi: ... Okay, from where we left off?

John: Probably best to start over. Name, date, subject, et cetera. I’m not optimistic that any of the previous recording will be salvageable.

Naomi: Fine. My name is Naomi Herne, and I’m making a statement about the events following the funeral of my fiancé, Evan Lukas. The date is the 13th of January 2016. To be honest I’m not even sure I should be here. What happened was weird and, alright, I can’t think of a rational explanation for it, but I was distraught. I still am. I should go. I probably just imagined the whole thing. He’s gone and that’s all there is to it.

John: That’s certainly possible. It might all be in your head, though there is the matter of the stone.

Naomi: That could be... I don’t know. I just don’t know what to think.

John: Take your time.

Naomi: Wait, where are you going?

John: I was going to give you some privacy while you make your statement.

Naomi: Ok, it’s just... could you stay please? I don’t want to be alone.

John: Very well. Let’s start from the beginning.]

Alright. I guess the beginning would be when I met Evan. I’ve never really been the social type. I’ve always been more comfortable alone, you know? My father died when I was 5 years old and my mother spent so much time working to keep us fed that I hardly ever saw her. I wasn’t bullied in school or anything like that. I mean, to be bullied you need to be noticed and I made sure that I wasn’t. It was the same in secondary school and even in uni up at Leeds. When everyone was moving out into shared houses for second year, I stayed in a nice cosy room for one in university accommodation. I’ve always just been happier alone.

Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me. I knew my own company and was comfortable with it. I didn’t need other people and they certainly didn’t need me. The only person who ever really seemed to worry about it was Pastor David. He worked in the Chaplaincy, and I saw him occasionally when work or stress was getting to me. My mum’s a Methodist, and I felt more comfortable talking to him that any of the secular counsellors. He used to tell me it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation, that we were creatures of community by nature. I remember he always used to say that he was “worried I’d get lost”. Back then, I didn’t know what he meant. I think I do now, though. Anyway, the point is that when I graduated three years ago, I left Leeds with a first in Chemistry and no real friends to speak of. And that was fine by me.

I got a job as a science technician down in Woking. It didn’t pay well, and the children were a thick, entitled lot, but it was enough to live on and kept me close enough to London that I could apply for the various lab jobs that I actually wanted. It was interviewing for one of these where I met Evan. He was going for the same position as I was – lab assistant in one of the UCL Biochemistry departments. He got the job, in the end, but I didn’t care. He was so unlike anyone I’d ever met before. He started talking to me before the interview, and I amazed myself by actually talking back. When he asked me questions, I didn’t feel uneasy or worried about my answers, I just found myself telling this stranger all about myself, without any self-consciousness at all. When he was called in for his interview, I actually felt a pang of loss like nothing I’d known before. All for a stranger who I’d met barely ten minutes ago. When I came out of the building after my own, somewhat disastrous, interview and saw him standing there waiting for me... I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

We went out, and dating gradually turned into living together. I’d had two boyfriends in the past – both short-lived relationships that ended abruptly. In both cases they said it was because they never really felt like I wanted them around and, looking back, that was kind of true. With Evan it was different. It never seemed like his being there stopped me being myself or crossed into spaces that I saw as my own. Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realise that we hadn’t said it already. He had friends, as well, plenty of friends, how could he not? And he would take me out to meet them when I wanted to, and when I didn’t he let me be. After a year with him I actually had what could perhaps be called a social life and, more than that, I didn’t hate it. I always used to roll my eyes at people who said that their loved ones ‘completed them’, but I honestly can’t think of any other way to describe how it felt to be with Evan. I proposed to him after only two years, and he said yes.

I’ll skip over the bit where he dies. It’s only been a year, and I don’t want to spend an hour crying into your crappy tape player. Congenital, they said. Some problem with his heart. Always been there, but never diagnosed. No warning. One in a million chance. Blah. Blah. Blah. He was gone. Just gone. And I was alone again. 

There was no-one I could talk to about it. All my friends had been his friends, and once he was gone it didn’t feel right to see them. I know, I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded, they would have said they were my friends too, but I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone as though Evan had just been some wonderful dream I was now waking up from. 

I don’t remember the week between his death and the funeral. I’m sure it must have happened, but I don’t have any memory of it at all. After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is walking into that big, austere house. I don’t remember where it was, somewhere in Kent, I think, and I must have been given the address by someone in Evan’s family who had organised the funeral. It was strange. Evan never really talked about his family. He said he wasn’t on good terms with them because they were very religious, and he never had been. I’d never met or visited them, or even been told their names, as far as I remember. But they must have known me enough to invite me, as I somehow ended up at the right place. Just as well they took on the responsibility for the funeral. I was in no fit state to organise anything. 

The house was very large, and very old. It had a high gate separating it from the main road, which has the name “Moorland House” carved into the stone of the gatepost. I drove there alone, my old, second-hand Vauxhall Astra complaining all the way. You remember that storm that hit at the end of last March? Well, I hardly noticed it. Thinking back, I really shouldn’t have been driving at all, but at the time it barely registered. The trees were bending ominously when I finally parked at Moorland House, and I immediately lost the only respectful hat that I owned to the wind. Evan had once told me that his family had a lot of money, and looking at this place I realised why the funeral was being held there. I could see round the side what appeared to be a well-kept mausoleum. The last resting place of Evan’s ancestors, and soon, I guessed, of Evan himself. This thought set me crying again, and it was in that state, weeping, windswept and soaked through from the rain, that I saw the door open.

I don’t know what I expected from Evan’s father. I knew he couldn’t be anything like the easy, charming man I’d fallen in love with, but the hard-faced stranger that confronted me on the doorstep still came as a shock. It was like looking at Evan, but as if age had drained all the joy and affection from him. I started to introduce myself, but he just shook his head and pointed inside, to a door down the corridor behind him, and spoke the only words he ever said to me. He said, “My son is in there. He is dead.” And then he turned and walked away, leaving me shaken, with no option but to follow him inside.

The house was full of people I didn’t know. None of the lovely, welcoming faces I’d come to know from Evan’s friends could be seen among the dour figures of his family. Each wore the same hard expression as his father, and I might have been imagining it, but I could have sworn that when they looked at me, their eyes were full of something dark. Anger, maybe? Blame? God knows I felt guilty enough about his death, though I have no idea why. None of them spoke to me or to each other, and the house was so quiet and still that at times it seemed like I could hardly breathe under the weight of the silence.

Finally, I came to the room where he was laid out. Evan, the man I was going to marry, was lying there in a shining oak casket that seemed too big for him, somehow. The coffin was open, and I could see him, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. I realised I had never seen him wear a suit before. Like everything else in his death, it seemed utterly alien to the life that had he had created for himself. I remember going to my father’s funeral when I was very young. I remember seeing him lying there, after the undertakers had done their business. My father had looked serene, peaceful, like he had calmly accepted the reality of his passing. It had comforted me, as a child, though it had done little to blunt the acute sense of loss I felt. There was none of that on Evan’s face. In death he seemed to have that same hardness and reproach that I saw on every one of the silent family that claimed him for their own.

I don’t know how long I stood there. It felt like seconds, but when I turned around I almost shrieked to see dozens of black-clad figures stood there, staring at me. The rest of the Lukas family were standing, waiting without a word, as though I was between them and their prey. Which I suppose, in some ways, I was. Finally, an old man walked forward. He was small and hunched with age, his black suit hanging off his body like sagging flaps of skin. He spoke, “It’s time for you to leave. The burial is a family affair. I’m sure you want to be alone.” 

I tried to reply but the words stuck in my throat. They stood there, waiting for me to respond or to leave, and I realised the old man was right. I did want to leave, to be alone. I didn’t care where I went, but I had to go, to get away from that awful place with its strange quiet watchers. I ran past them and out into the storm. Inside my car, I just turned on the engine and began to drive. I didn’t know where I was going, and could barely see a thing through my tears and the driving rain, but it didn’t matter. Just as long as I kept going, as long as I didn’t have to stop and think about what had just happened. Looking back, the only thing that surprises me about the crash is that it wasn’t bad enough to kill me. 

When I became aware of myself again, I realised I was in the middle of a field, quite a distance from the road. The tracks behind me showed where I had skidded into the dirt. Luckily I hadn’t hit anything or flipped over, but smoke billowed from the engine of my poor old Astra, and it was clear I wasn’t going anywhere. It was dark, and the time on my dashboard said twelve minutes past eleven. My phone said the same thing. I had arrived at Moorland House at 6 o’clock, as instructed. Had I been driving for hours, or had I spent even longer with Evan’s body than I thought? I hadn’t hit anything, so I couldn’t have been knocked unconscious. Had I just been sitting there in my smoking car all that time? 

It didn’t matter. The rain was beating down hard, and I needed to get some help. I tried to call the emergency services or use the GPS on my phone, but the screen just said “NO SERVICE”. I took a deep breath, trying to stifle panic, and got out the car. I was soaked through in less than ten seconds, as I struggled through the downpour towards the road. I could hear no sound except for the howling wind, and there were no headlights anywhere to be seen. Having no idea where I was, I made the decision to turn right and began to walk. I tried to use my phone again, but as I reached into my bag I realised how much of the rain had soaked through. Pressing the power button only confirmed what I already suspected – my phone wasn’t working. Anger washed over me, and all the bitterness and rage that had been building over the worst days of my life surged of me and I threw the useless lump of plastic at the ground. The corner shattered as it hit the road, then it bounced off the side and disappeared into the thick mud. 

I suddenly felt very cold as I stood there in the road. Rain beating down, tears flowing freely, and utterly alone. I kept walking, desperately hoping to see headlights in the distance, but there was nothing but darkness and the steady pounding of the rain on miles of empty countryside in every direction. I didn’t have a watch, so without my phone I have no idea how long I walked. The cold bit into my soaked funeral clothes and I shivered, falling to my knees and just about giving up. No cars were coming, and I didn’t have the first clue where I was going.

It was then I noticed that the rain had stopped. Wiping the tears from my eyes I saw that a fog had gathered around me, and I could no longer see more than a few feet in front of me. I kept walking, though, as the clinging mist made me feel somehow even colder. The fog seemed to follow me as went and seemed to swirl around with a strange, deliberate motion. You’ll probably think me an idiot, but it felt almost malicious. I don’t know what it wanted, but somehow I was sure it wanted something. There was no presence to it, though, it wasn’t as though another person was there, it was... It made me feel utterly forsaken. I started to run, following as much of the road as I could see in the hopes of getting to the other side, but there seemed to be end to it.

I don’t know exactly when the hard tarmac of the road became dirt and grass, but I realised after a few minutes that I had strayed off the path. I tried to backtrack, but it was gone. All that remained was the fog and the skeletal outlines of half-glimpsed trees. The dark lines of them bent away from me at harsh angles, but if I tried to approach them then, rather than becoming clearer, the trees would disappear back into the hazy night and I would lose them. Kneeling down, I was surprised to realise that the ground I was now standing on was not wet. The hard-packed earth was damp from the creeping mist but it did not appear to have been rained on. The despair I felt was quickly turning into fear, and I kept moving forward, further into the fog.

I realised afterwards that the night should have been far too dark to see the fog. There were no lights there to show it, and the moon had been shrouded in storm clouds all night, but despite this I could clearly see it. Shifting, slate-grey and smelling of nothing at all. As I walked I saw more shapes nearby. Dark slabs of stone, sticking out of the ground, leaning and broken. Gravestones. They spread out in all directions, and the gentle blurring of the mist did nothing to soften the hard weight of their presence. I did not stop to read them.

I kept moving until I reached the centre of what I can only assume was a small cemetery, and there I found a chapel. The top of its steeple was lost in the gloom and the windows were dark. I started to feel relief, as though I might have found some sign of life at last. I began to circle it, moving around to where I assumed the front doors were. As I went I noticed that there was stained glass in the windows but, without any light from inside, I couldn’t make out the design. Finally, I came to front of the building, and I almost lost hope. Wrapped around the handles of the entrance was a sturdy iron chain. I would find no sanctuary here.

I came very close to making a rash decision at that point. I started to shout, to scream for help, but the sound seemed muffled and disappeared almost as soon as it left my throat. No-one heard me, but I continued shouting for some time, just to hear the noise, even if it did seem to die as soon as it touched the fog. It was useless, though, and as I finished I felt the prickling damp flow in and out of my lungs. It was cloying and heavy and I decided I had to do something. I started to look around the ground for the heaviest rock I could find. I was going to get inside that church, even if I had to break a window to do it. Anything to get out of the fog. I was sure that eventually someone would find me.

I noticed that one of the graves had been slightly broken by age, and a small chunk of it could be seen on the ground. It had an engraving of a cross on it, and the weighty lump of stone now lay embedded in the graveyard soil. I bent down to lift it, but as I did so I saw something that froze me in place. The grave was open. And it was empty.

It wasn’t dug up, exactly. The hole was neat, square and deep, as though ready for a burial. At the bottom there was a coffin. It was open, and there was nothing inside. I backed away, and almost fell into another open grave behind me. I started to look around the cemetery with increasing panic. Every grave was open and they were all empty. Even here among the dead, I was alone. 

As I stared, the fog began to weigh me down. It coiled about me, its formless damp clung to me and began to drag pull me gently, slowly, towards the waiting pit. I tried to back away, but the ground was slick with dew and I fell. My fingers dug into the soft cemetery dirt as I looked around desperately for anything I could use to save myself, and my hand closed upon that heavy piece of headstone. It took all my self-control to keep a grip on that anchor, as I slowly dragged myself away from the edge of my lonely grave. Flowing around me, the very air itself willed me inside, but I struggled to my feet. The image of Evan’s family suddenly came into my mind, and I vowed to myself that they would not be the last human contact I ever had.

I looked towards the chapel, and saw with a start that the door was now open, the heavy chain discarded on steps in front. I ran to it as quickly as I could, crying out for help, but when I reached the threshold I stopped, and could only stare in horror. Through that door, where the inside of the chapel should be, was a field. It was bathed in sickly moonlight, and the fog rolled close to the ground. It seemed to stretch for miles, and I knew that I could wander there for years, and never meet another. I turned away from that door, but as I looked behind me I could have wept – beyond the graveyard’s edge lay that same field. Stretching off into the distance.

I had to make a choice, and so I began to run from that chapel, into the field behind me. I nearly fell into a hungry grave but kept my balance well enough to get beyond them. The fog seemed to be getting thicker, and moving through it was getting harder. It was like I was running against the wind, except the air was completely still. I could hardly breathe as I inhaled it. And then, as I found myself in the middle of that open, desolate field, I heard something. It was the strangest thing, but as I tried to run I could have sworn I heard Evan’s voice call to me. He said, “Turn left”. That’s it. That’s all he said. I know it sounds ridiculous, but that’s what he told me to do. And I did it. I turned sharply to the left and kept on running. And then... nothing.

[John: That’s when the car hit you?]

Yes. I remember a second of headlights and then nothing until I woke up in the hospital.

[John: I see.]

So what do you think? Was it real?

[John: Well, we’ll need to do some investigation into a few of the details that you raised, but at first impressions I’d say it was only real insofar as trauma can have a very real effect on the mind. Beyond that, it’s difficult to prove either way, but I would suggest you leave the stone with us, so we can study it. And it would likely help you move past this unpleasant incident. Some time with a more... qualified care professional might also prove helpful.]

Right. I don’t know what I expected, really.

[John: We’ll let you know if we find anything.

Oh, this is ridiculous! I can’t believe I’ve wasted my time–

Archivist Notes: 

Following Ms. Herne’s statement, we did as much follow-up as we were able, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. Evan Lukas did indeed pass away from heart failure on March the 22nd 2015, and his body was taken by his family for burial. All requests to the Lukas family for information or interviews have been very firmly rebuffed.

At roughly one in the morning on the 31st of March, Ms. Herne was involved in collision with one Michael Getty. She had apparently run out into the road in front of Mr. Getty’s car near Wormshill in the Kent Downs. She was quickly taken to a hospital and treated for concussion and dehydration. Her car was found abandoned in a field five miles away.

There are no cemeteries matching Ms. Herne’s description anywhere near the road she was found, nor could there have been any fog, given the incredibly high winds during the storm that night. I’d be tempted to chalk this one up to a hallucination from stress and trauma, if it wasn’t for the fact that when she was hit, Ms. Herne was found to be holding a piece of masonry. It appears to be lump of carved granite with an engraved cross design. The size and style match what would conceivably be found atop a headstone, though we have been unable to trace its origin. Still attached to it is a small fragment of what we can assume would have been the marker itself. The only text that can be made out simply reads “forgotten”. I’ve arranged for it to be transferred to the Institute’s artifact storage.

Source: Official Transcript and Podcast (MAG 13 Alone)

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 51.12 - Dundee vs Royal Northern College of Music

There’s something autumnal to me about University Challenge. I know that it starts in Summer, then runs through Autumn, Winter and into Spring too, but there is something in the intrinsic vibe of the show that screams layered clothing and falling leaves. I don’t know if this is true, but the way I remember both the Starter for Ten book and film is that they are mostly set in Autumn. That’s probably not right, but it feels right to me. And whenever I think about those things I am reminded of one particular route I used to take from my flat to Uni and back, in the cold and often wet, lit only by streetlights. 

There is something about the cosiness of a night in front of the TV when outside is dark and blowing a gale. A cup of tea and a quiz programme in a blanket. That many of the contestants still dress in thick knitwear even under the hot studio lights might help add to the illusion of an everlasting Autumn too, but when it gets to this part of the series I always feel like we have now entered into true University Challenge season. 

Anyway, pop the kettle on and grab your warmest turtleneck; here’s your first starter for ten…

Only one member of the Dundee team is wearing any sort of knitwear, Russell with a sweater vest, but it has strawberries on - distinctly a Summer Fruit - so my theory appears to be in tatters. RMCM have one jumper too, and are making only their second appearance on the Challenge of the Paxman era. Dundee are making their first, though they did win the title back in 1983. 

Aiming to replicate that feat, Philip gets the Scots off to a good start with Mint, and they take two from the first set of bonuses. Spurrel recognises the film Parasite purely from the directors name and the year of release, but they only manage one bonus on screenwriting siblings, missing out on Christopher Nolan, which, to me, is sacrilege. 

Wills has a go for RNCM on the next starter, but all he succeeds in doing is pushing them below zero, allowing Spurrel to swoop in for his second in a row. Going into the first picture round the scores were a satisfying (though not for RNCM) 55 to -5. 

Stonier increases the lead for Dundee with Oklahoma City and they take two bonuses on cities which have NBA basketball teams (cards on the table, I wrote this bit then realised I couldn’t remember if I’d actually heard Paxman say this, but all of the answers are indeed cities which have NBA basketball teams, so I’m going to leave it in, regardless of what I find out when I go back and rewatch this section. Yep, so that totally isn’t the link, its just pure coincidence, so when I was telling them off for going with Nashville instead of Memphis it was actually me who was being silly).

Both sides looked flummoxed by the next starter question, until a hail Mary guess from Wills, which turns out to be right, and are back in the black. Carew takes the next for the musicians as well - they’re on a roll! - and they are given a very tough bonus set on Polish football. Even with the clues they’re given, which make it less of a football question per se, its still a difficult set. 

The roll is ended by Spurrel, and Dundee stretch their lead again. But having got a taste for starter questions, Carew isn’t keen to let them get out of sight, and comes in with a very early buzz on a music question - still an impressive buzz even from a musician. The actual music starter is on TV theme songs, and Carew gets this one too, with Stranger Things. They close to within thirty points courtesy of Twin Peaks and Bladerunner. This is very quickly cut to five as Carew obliterates a bonus set on video games released in 1991. Paxman says ‘who would have thought that time wasted could be so useful’, and Chrisp, quite correctly, rolls her eyes at this. 

She takes the lead for RNCM with the next starter, knowing that ‘The Boy Who Lived’ was the title of the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, a question I would have loved the chance to answer. RNCM look absolutely delighted to be in front, and are all grinning their heads off. But there are still bonus questions to be answered, and they don’t manage any of them. To be fair, one of the answers is Peterhead, a tiny town just north of Aberdeen, which I’d be amazed anyone outside of Scotland would even have heard of.

Thus, the lead switches back to Dundee quickly, as Spurrel is once again quickest on the buzzer. Again, this doesn’t last long, and RNCM storm back ahead with the second picture starter. They almost slip up and give The Night Watchman instead of the Night Manager for one of the bonuses, but Chrisp is stopped at the last minute from making the costly mistake. 

Stonier hits back to tie the game with another starter, but Dundee can’t get any bonuses, and the scores remain at 115 apiece. The ping pong nature of the game is ended now, as Stonier gets a second in a row, but the bonus-work is abysmal once again, and they are only ten clear. Spurrel makes this twenty, and finally they take a five pointer! And another! They are thirty points ahead with only a few minutes remaining. 

Robarts makes this twenty, but RNCM will have to be quick if they want to get anything out of this. Fifteen… Ten… Gong…

Final Score: Dundee 145 - 135 Royal Northern College of Music

A good game that, between two really lovely teams. Dundee will probably need to up their game on the bonuses if they want to go beyond the second round though. And RNCM are currently tied with UCL and Emmanuel, Cambridge as the second placed high-scoring losers. If the two losers from the next two episodes score fewer than 135 points then they’ll all go through to the play-offs, but if one or more teams score more than 135 then I’m not sure what will happen. 

Personally, I’d give the place to the team who achieved their score against the highest scoring winning team (i.e 135 plays 200 would be better than 135 plays 150), but UCL and Emmanuel were both beaten with 140 so I don’t know what would happen if it came down to that. I guess we’ll find out soon...

[kaleidoscopic-writing]

Mind Over Matter

Chapter 5: That Gold Mine Changed You

        The first few days back home were taxing to say the least. Mum and Dad were trying to be on their best behavior, and so were Ali and I. My dad was just a loud and boisterous person as it was, so he was up to his usual antics. My mum was clearly annoyed at my dad for his existence it seems most of the time, but she was trying to not call him out. Alison and I just had to deal with this and my mum’s ability to cut you with her words. 

       When we were at dinner the first day, I was telling them how I finished my first semester. I had all A’s, although two of them were A-’s. I slaved over these grades; I was happy with these grades. I was in the top decile of GPA’s for my class at UCL this semester, and all my mom responds with is “Try harder next semester. Minus reflect poorly.” There was no humor in her voice; she was serious in her reprimand of me. She didn’t know me to know how hard I worked for these grades and how they don’t come easily at UCL. 

      My mom never even went to uni, but that is a whole other story. My dad didn’t either until later in his life. Alison, of course, went to the Tisch School of the Arts in New York University. She had been acting long before she went to uni, but it was still a testament of how good she was that she got in there and graduated from there.

All those things happened in the past few days. It was morning and a fresh start to the day. Walking down the stairs for breakfast, I spotted my mum and Ali sitting at the kitchen table. Both had a plate in front of them and a cup of tea in hand. With a creak in the floor beneath my foot, both their heads turned to greet me. 

“Good morning, Edie. There is some eggs and toast on the stove,” my mum said before turning back to Ali. They continued their conversation as I made myself a plate before sitting down next to Ali and across the table from mum. “We were just talking about my new movie,” Ali filled me in. “Was just telling mum about Brady.”

I turned to mum with wide eyes. “Brady Cooper, mum. He is sooo fit.”

She raised her eyebrows at my seriousness and let out a small laugh. 

“Is this a big budget or indie film?” My mom asked, turning about her attention back to Alison, not responding on my comment.

“It is an indie film, limited theatre showing. I think it could really help my portfolio though,” Ali said with a sip of her tea.

“Big awards contender,” my mum questioned.

“Possibly. Depends on how it is received,” Alison said, nerves evident in her voice. To me. I don’t know if my mum notices her apprehension to her questioning. 

“Well let’s hope,” my mum said with a small smile.

Dad entered the kitchen then with a loud “Good morning, beautifuls!’ He was too loud and too happy as usual. He walked in the room, walking over and giving mum a kiss on the forehead. She smiled at the contact, but it almost seemed forced, like there was a moment where I could see the annoyance on her face. But, my dad pulled away, and my mom’s face was neutral again.

“What are we ladies talking about,” my dad asked over his shoulder while pouring himself some tea.

“Alison might be in an award contending movie,” my mum cut in, raising her head slightly to speak over my shoulder line.

Before my dad had a chance to respond, Ali cut in, “I don’t know if it is an award contender. It is just a project I am doing.”

Mum just barely rolled her eyes when I looked at her, Ali and my dad were looking at each other, so only I saw my mum’s reaction.

“Well, that is amazing. Big things for my big girl,” dad said as he came down and sat next to mum, completely our square at the table. 

“Dear god, dad. Stop saying that. It is so cheesy,” Alison scoffed.

“Never,” my dad jeered. 

“Are you going to the Oscars this year, Ali?” Mum spoke again.

“Haven’t got the invitation yet but I assume so. I’ve gone the past two years,” Alison said. I could hear the slight annoyance in her voice. She was getting tired of mum’s prodding question. 

“Well let’s hope they invite you again. Oscar appearances are always great for boosting your image,” mum said with indignation in her voice. Almost like she was trying to teach Ali lessons, as if Ali didn’t know her or industry, or as if Ali wasn’t already one of the UK’s most well known actresses. Mother knows best.

I forewent watching the movie with my parents, opting for some alone time. After sitting in my room for sometime, I decided that I wanted more books to read, and that I could grab some from the library and take them back to school. I knew my father had the book somewhere in the house, as I had seen it in the library before, so when I ventured into the quiet library, I then had to figure out where the book would be amongst the bookshelves. Mum and Dad were very unorganized, partly because they didn’t speak to each other enough to have a cohesive organization system but, also, because I don’t think they appreciated literature as much as I do. No one in my family did; I had always loved reading. Mum, Dad, and Alison were always so artistic in their own rights, but I don’t have much creative ability. I have always been obsessed with literature, though.

 I could never come up with my own universes, my own stories, or characters with enough interpersonal struggle to warrant a story worth telling. So, reading was an escape. Whether it was romantic novels, classics, or alternate universes of dystopian reality, I had always been in awe of literature’s ability to allow you to step into another character, another life. I walked along one of the bookshelves, my fingers spread out, running them lightly along the books and feeling the bumps by the different sizes and widths of the books. 

I had a good portion of the books in here, at least, but I promised myself that one day I would read all the books in my parents’ library. To read all that they have read. To have those connections to them and to understand books that have moved and shaped them.

After a few minutes, and taking a few books off the shelf to bring back to my room, I was still looking for my dad’s copy of The Great Gatsby. I had read a few of Fitzgerald’s novels this past year, and I had finally gotten around to wanting to read The Great Gatsby now. I had seen the movie a few years back with Leonard DiCaprio, another major love of mine, and I knew I would have to read it someday. It had always been one of my dad’s favorite books, if not his number one favorite book. He used to tell me about it when I was younger about Jay Gatsby’s rise to affluence from a means of nothing. I think my dad always felt like he could relate from the aspirations of Jay, coming from nothing and gaining wealth, fame, and reputation from his music. I don’t know though how Dad must relate to the fragility of Jay’s empire and the consequences of striving for too much. I mean, my dad has always had his struggles, but he still has all that he holds dear.

Finally, a green bound leather book, with gold lettering that I have seen many times over my childhood on my Dad’s desk sat right in front of me. My fingers stopped brushing along the rows of books, taking a second to feel over the spine of the novel and feeling the leather under my skin. I was so excited that I could finally read it. I hadn’t told my father yet that I wanted to read it, but I know that it will make him happy. Hopefully. I don’t really know with him these days. I don’t know how he couldn’t be happy, to share his favorite world with me as I am excited to glimpse it. 

But, then, one of those moments happened.

It feels like time stops — that you experience a moment you would give an entire world to reverse but never can. A moment where the sheer odds of occurring are one in a million, and yet, somewhere out in the cosmic universe, the odds decide to play a cruel joke on you, yanking you from your blissful ignorance and placing you in your utter reality. A reality that you should be completely used to at this point, but each time these moments happen, you feel like someone threw an ice bucket on you. It’s that shocking feeling when you realize some things will never change, no matter how hard the things’ appearances might, or in this case, how hard someone appears to have changed.

When my fingers had pulled out the little leather book, the sound of a packet falling made my world stop. Even when I first looked down to see the packet between my feet on the floor, I was still in complete confusion at the twist in events. It wasn’t clicking that there was a packet hidden in the bookshelf with my dad’s favorite book. It wasn’t clicking that this little packet had a white power on it. It wasn’t clicking, until it did. 

My dad was hiding cocaine in his bookshelf. Which still seemed hard to process because my dad had been clean for years. He had been clean since…

“This wasn’t right. Something is wrong,” I frantically thought to myself. But as my eyes stayed on the little white package, I realized the only thing that was wrong was my Dad. This packet between my feet confirmed every wall and blocks that I had put around myself. The reason I was so closed off, and it all comes down to this white packet on the floor. 

“What the actual fuck,” I finally spoke aloud, to no one but myself.

I bent down and picked up the packet. I must have stared at it for minutes, wrapping my head around the impossibility of the predicament I found myself in. I could have very easily picked every book in this library off the self except that one and gone on my merry way, unaware of my father’s secret. But, I chose the one book that revealed my father’s lie to me. 

I guess he did relate to the fragility of Jay Gatsby’s life style and the dark secrets he held.

With the packet in hand and anger boiling within, I slammed the book down on the desk adjacent to the bookshelf. Storming out of the room, my feet were walking faster than my brain could process. I should take time to go to my room, figure out how I was going to handle this situation and address my dad for his bullshit. But, I didn’t do that. Before I could blink, I was entering the living room. Whatever movie they were watching was still going on. The lights were dimmed but still on. However, they flashed to full brightness when my finger reached out and turned them all the way out.

My chest was burning and my eyes were stinging by the time all three heads in the room snapped by way, startled by the saddle turning on of the lights. Their confused looks didn’t stop me from my march to the center of the room. Rounding the corner, I heard mum call out my name, sounding confused, but I didn’t answer.

I stopped in front of the three of them, all sat comfortably on separate chairs. I threw down the packet on the coffee table in front of them all. My chest heaved uncontrollably. I could hear my heart beat in my eyes. All their eyes were on the the table and the little packet I just threw down, but mine were on my dad. His wrinkled forehead pulled down in confusion, his eyes squinting. And, when he realized the situation, all the air left his body, shoulders slumping. His head tilted downward in what I hope is shame but my as well but annoyance he was caught. 

Mum and Ali didn’t speak then. Their eyes had risen to mine; I could feel their gazes in my head. They knew what was about to come. An explosion of family catastrophe.

It was utter silence until my dad finally raised his head slowly, sad eyes meeting mine. His mouth opened to speak, but I surprised even myself when I spoke quicker.

“What the fuck is this,” I almost yelled. Anger clear in my voice, and tears visibly welling in my eyes.

“Eden, please let me explain,” he said softly. His hand reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped back.

“How long,” I cut him off, with a shaking voice.

“Eden,” my dad spoke again. 

He clearly did not want to answer my question. He was avoiding the truth, which proved to me that this facade had been going on for quite a long time.

“HOW FUCKING LONG,” I screamed, tears rolling down my cheeks. I could feel the heat in my face. “Has it been this whole time? Everything we’ve been through, everything YOU PUT ME through, was all for shit.”

In the quietest voice I have ever heard my loud-spoken dad speak in, he said through the silence, “A few months after I left rehab.”

The incident occurred two weeks before my thirteenth birthday. He entered rehab a few days after being released from the hospital, almost went immediately from the hospital to the facility. Of course, I didn’t see him during that period. I didn’t see him for almost a year. I couldn’t look at him after the incident. My center of reality had completely shifted. My world had completely tilted over because of my dad. Now, five years later, he hadn’t learned any lesson. I realized he never would.

“You are sick and selfish. I have tried to forgive and forget because I thought you had gotten better, but I know now the only thing that got better was your ability to hide it,” I said. My body trembling and my knees weak. Ali, finally not being able to stand my duress, stood up and came to stand by my side. Her arm wrapping around my back and gripping my other side. Her arm gave me support not only physically but emotionally to feel her standing beside me. My dad’s head hung downward, in guilt, shame or sadness, or maybe even all of them. I could hear my mum sadly sigh. I turn my head towards her. She seemed uncomfortable and sad, but I was past the point of compassion. 

“Did you know,” I bite out to her.

With the solemnest of motions, she slowly nodded her head. I tried to scoff, but it turned came out as more of a sob.

“You are both unbelievable, insane, and devastating.”

“Eden, it hasn’t been like it has been before. Your father has it controlled.” My mum tried to reason.

I shook my head.

“Dad clearly has no control if he has resorted for years to the thing that quite literally killed him and has chosen to lie about it rather than rebuilding the foundations of this family that he broke that night.”

There was silence. No objections from my parents. All I felt besides sheer anger was the squeeze of comfort on my arm from Ali. I could see her mouth quivering and tears falling down her cheek.

“I am leaving. I can’t be in this house since it is clearly all a lie. Don’t even think about trying to contact me.”

With that, I stormed out of the room just as I had entered it. The entire path to my room seemed like slow motion. Everything had piled up in just a few minutes, and I felt like I was being suffocated underneath it all. Once I got into my room, I slammed the door behind me and fell down to the ground. Scrunching my legs up to my chest I wrapped my arms around my legs and cried into my shoulder. 

After a minute or two, I felt the overwhelming urge to move, to get out. Standing up, I grabbed my suitcase from the corner and began pilling all my stuff back in. Rushing over to my dresser, I pulled out more clothes. I had planned to bring more clothes with me back to school, but now in such a hurry, I couldn’t grab as much as I wanted. Finally when my suitcase couldn’t fit anymore, I closed it up and grabbed my backpack of my desk, stuffing my computer and books inside of it.

It was in my hectic pacing that I heard the subtlest knocks on my door, and I was not surprised when Ali stepped in a few seconds later because I knew my parents had just enough reason to give me space. Her face looked so sad; her eyes taking in the scene of my scattered but more barren room with my things packed. 

“I can’t go home with you, Eden,” she spoke softly. 

I stopped my pacing to look up to her. She seemed really cut up, but I don’t understand why she wouldn’t leave.

“What? You won’t? But, you saw.. you know,” I trailed off, eyes beginning to burn again.

“Eden, I would much rather be with you in a heartbeat. I didn’t know about dad, and if I did, things would not be what they are right now. I’m not staying to be with mum and dad. I told you I have that meeting with the director on the second here in Manchester. It’s massive; I can’t reschedule.” 

Ali stepped forward to me, arms outreached. I hugged her back without hesitation. We held each other tightly. I knew she understood my anger. She wasn’t there when everything went down, neither was mum, but no one understood the effect it had on me more than Alison. No one knew me better than Alison.

“Can you drive me to the train station?” I said to her as we hugged.

“Of course. Let me go grab my keys,” she said pulling away.

Once again, I was alone in my room. My eyes wandered over my life within these walls. Pictures from my childhood littered the walls. This home was so happy, but I couldn’t stand it right now. My dad and I had our rocky times, but my final year or two home when I was in college were good to us, when he was home, that is. He was a way for a good portion of the year due to his music, but when he was home, we were comfortable to each other. I could relate to him more as mum and I came to more of blows. He was away enough to not see mum and my fights, but here enough to understand my mum was unruly. But now, I was saddened by him. I have had conversations with Katherine in the past about whether he uses when he was on the road. I told myself that he wasn’t because I don’t think a person could break themselves with a habit like that after what it had done to them, like if you have a harrowing enough experience to something you can finally cut the straw. I should have known better I guess. My dad should have known better.

Grabbing all my things, I gave my room one last look over. My entire childhood was in this room — the good, the bad, and most importantly, the ugly. Turning back and walking out, Alison met me outside her room in the hallway, and together, we walked out of the house. I didn’t spare a glance anywhere besides my path to the front door. I didn’t know where my parents were; I didn’t want to know. The house was completely silent, unsettling.

Alison and I drove to the train station in silence. Both too caught up in our own heads to begin the conversation. How did we both go on from here? What did this mean for our family? Our incredible fucked up family. I was just over it. Everything that came with my parents life was cancerous. The fame. The money. The drugs. I couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t normal. All I wanted in life was stability, and the cautionary tales of fame and fortune just seem to be proven again and again in my family. It will never be me. 

Once Alison parked outside the train station, we sat in silence for a moment. But, Alison was the first to break. 

“Kathryn is going to pick you up from the train station. I texted her,” she said softly.

My eyes begin to burn again as I turned towards Alison and hugged her so tightly. Alison may be like my parents in lifestyle, but she could never be them. She understood me and why I have been pushed to the opposite side of the spectrum from Mum and Dad. She took care of me.

“Thank you, Ali! Please come home quickly,” I said as my breathing began to calm.

“I will, Eden. I’m sorry that you have to go through this.”

“It isn’t just me, Alison. You are stuck with this fucked up family too.”

I pulled away and stepped out of the car. Opening the backseat door, I grabbed my bags and gave Alison a parting ‘I love you.’ Walking to the train, I was leaving behind this disaster of a trip. I was worried coming home. Leaving for college took me away from the toxicity of my family, but I guess, I will never escape it.

Finally getting my seat on the train, I slumped down into it, which made me realize just how exhausted I was. I was just drained of everything. Within minutes of the train beginning to pull out of the station, I was pulled into sleep. My eyes were closing and the nothingness and reprieve of sleep was calling my name. I wasn’t fighting it. Soon enough I would be home, my real home in London, and I would be away from all that has transpired today.

I’m glad this is how I get to end my last two days of 2017. My life is a joke.

[helenaupatree]

bless

I realised.

Idk if it’s just me but, normally life for me is either at a pace of a 100 or a 0, or at least that’s how I’ve been feeling it to be. Every time I start a year of uni/an academic run of years I go to a 100, there are always things to plan and there are always things to do. But the second all that ends, I’m at a 0, and I realised eh, that’s when things REALLY get difficult. Not that it’s not difficult when I’m at a 100, but ‘it’s’ even more troublesome when I don’t have an actual purpose, which is..problematic. Because I just want to relax and enjoy myself whole-heartedly without all this damn baggage of constant worries, you know?

So since I’ve graduated, I’m at an 0 right now. Thought of working for a bit but I need to get my head right first before I plunge into academia/employment for the next 40-50 years.

I set goals for this purposely jobless summer.

1. Count my blessings and be confident in everything I have done so far

- I did it, I’m a graduate, I will be a degree holder in biomedical sciences, from UCL(!)

- somehow got myself into a masters’ in UCL too, and holding my breath till I start it

- 2 years of the ukulele now, more and more covers. Started songwriting, still a long road to go to get to my ideal stage of songwriting but eh, I started, that’s great!

- Did internships in both of my uni summers, so I deserve a full summer of nothing for now...right?

2. Kick my own ass and get myself to prep for a year of Cognitive Neuroscience MSc.

3. More Songwriting. On the keys

4. Somehow learn about the General Theory of Relativity if I have time.

5. Somehow learn about all these finance stuff I probably will have to know in life, unfortunately a big deficit from my knowledge as a “very committed science student”

6. Just chill the fck out. Forgive myself. Make sure I don’t chicken out and take the easy road out. Don’t be too sensitive to people’s opinions, not everyone can possibly know what’s constantly brewing inside of me so they don’t know what can lift me/hurt me. Hype myself up, because at times where no one will, I only have me.

7. Meet interesting people either physically or...online(? if i have to, people who really captivate me are not floating about everywhere unfortunately)

8. Read stuff for fun. Build that EQ. Improve that english. Culture that soul.

9. CHILL THE FCK OUT. Forgive myself if I don’t complete these goals. It’s still a lot to do in 3 months, and I’m supposed to be relaxing above all.

God bless <3

Lorde - Alexandra Palace, London 2017

[ineffablywriting]

seven / icebreaker

uni AU co-written with @faux-styles

a story of late nights, unorthodox household plants, and a trip to Vegas that changes everything

“How was your date?” he asked, clearing his throat. He glanced over at her when he paused at an intersection, waiting for her response.

She rolled her eyes, thinking back to the disaster of a night she’d had. “It was alright,” she clipped back at him, leaning back into her seat. 

“Really?” he raised a brow. 

“Sure was.” 

chapter six / story page

“So how do you know Harry?” Savannah and Alexa had been chatting to this guy for a solid ten minutes, and yet neither of the two remembered his name.

“I don’t,” he replied, the three of them watching as Harry flit through the crowds, coasters in his hands.

“It’s not that hard to bloody put your drink on this instead of the table,” he was telling someone, a worried frown on his face. “My dad will kill me if the oak is ruined.”

“Maybe we should help him?” Alexa offered, even as neither one of them made any move to do so.

“Or not,” the guy quirked a brow, evidently amused.

“We like to see him suffer,” Reyna shot as she walked past them with Louis, on their way to get another drink.

“I can’t believe he pulled it off. I was convinced that Harry would cancel this whole thing last minute,” Alexa mused, shaking her head at Louis as he walked by.

“I’m pretty sure Louis would’ve found some way to make it work,” the guy laughed, trying to find some traction within the conversation. He was obviously trying, and Savannah had to admire his audacity.

“How do you know Louis anyway?” she asked him, trying not to pay any attention to a very stressed looking Harry. She'd asked him how he'd been when she first walked into the flat and he'd almost pulled her into a conversation about the importance of disposable cups - which was not something Savannah really wanted to discuss at a party… or ever, really.

“Met him down at the bar a couple of weeks ago,” he shrugged. “He was raging on about how he always throws some of the best parties and when I scoffed in response he said he’d show me. So here I am, I guess.”

“Sounds like Louis,” Alexa agreed. “How are you finding the party so far?”

“It’s definitely entertaining,” he used his drink to gesture to where Harry was currently trying to pry a black marker out of the hands of a visibly wasted Louis.

“And this is one of Louis’ more tamer parties,” Sav cut in. “You should see the place when he goes all out. Harry would’ve killed him if he’d thrown one in his flat though.”

“I don’t doubt that. So how do you know Louis?” he changed the subject by directing the question solely at Savannah.

Alexa fought off a grin as her friend looked a little taken aback by the guys flirtatious tone. “I’m going to go help Harry out,” she told Sav slyly. “He looks like he can use a hand with Louis and Reyna’s not being much help,” she gestured to their friend who was standing in the corner twirling her hair between her fingers as she spoke to a man who looked like a lumberjack.

“Wait, Lex,” she tried to stop her from leaving but Alexa just twisted away from her before Sav could grab her arm.

“So, how do you know Louis?” he tried asking her again.

“He’s just a really good mate,” she replied. “Met him through another one of my best friends, Reyna. She’s known him since they were kids and he kind of just charged into our lives along with her,” she rambled.

“So you’re not dating him?” the guy - she still didn’t know his name - pushed.

Savannah shot him a strange look, “Um… no. Are you?”

The guy quirked a brow. “Dating him?”

“Oh! No - dating anyone, I mean,” she stammered on awkwardly. God, this was why her friends should never leave her on her own with someone she doesn't know.

“Right…” he grinned in reply, taking a sip of his drink before answering her. “Nah, I’m not dating anyone at the moment.”

“That’s… cool.” Savannah was in dire need of a distraction from the disaster that was this conversation.

“Do you go to UCL too?” he continued, looking over at her curiously.

“Yeah I do. Psych, actually,” she replied informatively. This guy was not letting up, and frankly, she was getting tired of trying to keep the dying conversation going.

“Oh, that’s really cool,” he commented awkwardly, not seeming quite sure where to take the conversation from there.

Savannah had to try and stop herself from rolling her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she checked herself - there was no need for her to be a bitch to the guy. He was just being nice. “Do you study?”

“Oh, I’m actually in the workforce already. Carpentry,” he answered. “I went straight into it after my A levels. Uni just wasn’t for me.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugged. “It’s not for a lot of people. As long as you like what you’re doing with yourself, that’s all that really matters. Work hard, play hard or whatever that saying is,” she waved her drink dismissively.  

He snorted and when he next spoke Sav couldn’t help but note the slight bitterness to his tone. “For some of us that might ring true,” his eyes shot across the room where Harry was now being aided by Reyna as they tried to coerce an expensive looking crystal duck out of Niall’s hand. How cliche, she thought.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked him carefully.

“Just that most of the people here don’t look like they’ve worked a day in their life,” he said, lowly. “I mean, that bloke with the brown hair and ridiculous duck owns this place and he’s probably not even in any debt,” he shook his head. “Don’t think I’ll ever own a place like this no matter how hard I work,” he added wistfully.

“Yeah,” Savannah agreed, feeling a little bit more understanding of him suddenly. “Don’t think I will either.”

“It’s still a nice place to have parties, though,” he said, brightening up suddenly. “I’ve always preferred the bar myself, but this is a nice change of pace, I ‘spose. Have you ever been to the bar on fifth?” he questioned, not waiting for an answer before he continued. “You should come by, it’d be nice to see a pretty face more often.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?” she quirked a brow, even though all she wanted to do on the inside was run away. She really wasn’t looking to get back into dating.

“I guess,” he blushed a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only if you want it to be?” he posed as a question.

“You can pick her up on Friday night,” Alexa interrupted them, popping up behind Savannah and making her jump. “Here’s her number,” she handed him a neatly folded square of paper making Sav wonder just how long she’d been planning this.

Shooting a glare at her best friend, Savannah felt her face growing red rapidly as the guy glanced at the number in his hand before grinning and tucking it away. Alexa was going to pay for this.

“Great, I'll text you sometime tomorrow. Nice to meet you Alexa… and Savannah,” he waved before disappearing into the crowd.

“I’m warning you now, you better sleep with one eye open tonight,” Savannah growled at Alexa, who just shrugged nonchalantly.

“What? He was cute!” she said indignantly.

“And boring as hell,” Savannah added.

“Who knows? He might change your mind,” she grinned before grabbing Savannah’s arm. “Come on, let’s go check on the others. Niall’s been eyeing that bottle of Dom in that wine cabinet since he got there. Knowing Harry, it's probably vintage.”

“I don’t even know his name,” Savannah whined, following Lex.

“We’ll ask Louis once he’s sober,” Alexa shrugged, “You’re going on this date, it’ll be good for you.”

“That’s debatable,” she mumbled, not looking forward to Friday at all.

-

“Alexa I’m going to kill you,” Savannah muttered into her phone. “I can’t believe you made me agree to go on this bloody date and now you’re not picking up your phone,” she paused, allowing a car to pass by before she spoke again. “It’s half ten in the middle of the night and I’m freezing my bum off trying to find a bloody bus stop to try and get home because someone won’t answer their phone. Just, call me back when you get this message will you?” she sighed, ending the voicemail and swiftly crossing the road to where she could just make out a bus shelter.

The scene was eerily reminiscent of the time she’d run into Harry and Zayn - although Savannah supposed ‘run into’ was a nice way of putting it. She still felt guilty about the rather prominent bruise Harry had carried around with him for the better part of two weeks.

Sitting gingerly on the bus bench, she pulled out her phone once again, wondering whether she should take him up on the offer to call him for a ride. She fiddled with her phone for a little, contemplating whether it was worth putting her pride aside. “Screw it,” she muttered, unlocking her phone as a cool breeze sent a shiver down her spine.

Scrolling down to Harry’s contact, she paused, her thumb hovering over the call button before switching to the message icon - it was safer, she decided. Savannah quickly typed up a text, hitting send before she could chicken out.

Hey, are you still awake?

The bubble that indicated he was typing instantly appeared on the screen, followed promptly with a reply.

Yeah, what’s up?

Deciding it was now safe to call him, Savannah dialled his number. The dial tone rang only once before Harry was on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Harry, hey. It’s Savannah,” she greeted him, her voice extra perky as she tried to butter him up to the favour.

Harry chuckled. “Yeah, I gathered as much,” he joked, and Savannah imagined him rolling his eyes. This was good. Sarcasm she could deal with. “What’s up?”

“Uh, I was hoping you could do me a favour?” she posed it as a question. When no reply came, she assumed he was waiting for her to finish. “Remember that time you said if I ever needed a ride and it was the middle of the night, to call?”

There was a slight pause. “Oh yeah,” Harry laughed. “When you clobbered me with your textbook.”

“Oi, I apologised for that,” Savannah defended herself, feeling the guilt creep up on her once again. “Besides, you shouldn’t have come screeching down the road like a serial killer ready to abduct their next victim anyway.”

“And maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to jump to unlikely conclusions,” Harry said down the line, and Savannah could hear the amusement behind his words. “So, you need me to pick you up?” he asked, sounding smug.

“Yes,” she reluctantly admitted. “But, I’d like to prefix that by saying that I tried calling Alexa but she wouldn’t answer, and Rey has gone underground with a pile of assignments that she has due soon, so it was either call you or wait an hour and a half for the next bus.”

“Why didn’t you just drive?” he asked, curiously.

“I never learnt how remember?” she shrugged.

“Right. Driving makes things so much easier, you know, you should really get onto that,” he advised her. “Yeah yeah, are you coming to get me or not?” she asked, unwilling to get into a discussion about why exactly she didn’t have her driver’s permit.

“I’m on my way,” Harry offered brightly and she could distinctly make out the sound of keys and a door closing in the background. “Whereabouts are you?”

“I’m at the bus stop on Earls Court Road. It’s opposite Nevern Place.”

“You’re in Kensington? What in the bloody hell are you doing there?” he questioned.

“I had a date,” Savannah replied glumly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Don’t get snippy, I’m coming to pick you up, aren’t I?”

“Just hurry up will you? I’d rather not catch pneumonia tonight, thanks.”

Harry laughed lightly. “Be there in twenty,” he said, dropping the call straight after.

Savannah didn’t think time had ever passed so slowly before, and yet every time she checked her phone, it seemed as though time was slowing down. By the time Harry had arrived she was sure her fingers were about to fall off.

“Finally,” she said relieved as Harry reached over and opened the passenger side door from the inside. She wasted no time before jumping into the car, the heating instantly warming her up.

“Alright?” Harry asked, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye as he edged back onto the road.

Savannah shrugged. “I’ll live,” she muttered, holding her hands out in front of the heater for extra warmth. It was silent for a while as he drove and Savannah considered how best to go about asking him to stop for some food.  

“How was your date?” he asked, clearing his throat. He glanced over at her when he paused at an intersection, waiting for her response.

She rolled her eyes, thinking back to the disaster of a night she’d had. “It was alright,” she clipped back at him, leaning back into her seat.

“Really?” he raised a brow.

“Sure was.”

“Hm, is that why I’m picking you up at eleven at night?” he continued amusedly. “Because you know, if it wasn’t so bad, I can drop you back off and you can finish the night with a nice bang.”

“Piss off,” Savannah scoffed, fighting the urge to smile. “And fine, so it wasn’t the greatest date. But it doesn’t even crack the top ten worst first dates I’ve been on.”

“Oh, do tell,” Harry leaned forward, glancing from right to left, then right again, before turning into a side street.

“Only if we take a pitstop at McDonald’s,” she said, spotting the big yellow ‘M’ down the road. “I’m starving,” she confessed to him.

“You didn’t have dinner?” Harry asked, surprised.

“He took me to a pub,” she deadpanned. “And not a nice clean pub either. I swear, the place was covered in a nice thick layer of grease.”

“So you didn’t have dinner,” he stated, to which Savannah shook her head. “Alright,” he nodded, turning the blinker on to turn into McDonald’s. He put the car into park and jumped out with Savannah following close behind him. “Ladies first,” Harry bowed mockingly, holding the door open for her.

“You know, I was told that when guys say that, it’s only an excuse to check out the girl’s bum,” she threw over her shoulder.

“Huh. I’ve never thought of it like that,” Harry admitted, eyes subconsciously slipping down to look at Sav’s bum.

“Oi, eyes up here!” she clicked her fingers in front of his face.

“It was instinct!” he defended himself, even as his cheeks pinked up a little.

“I’m going to let that slide because you’re about to buy me a large McChicken meal and a ten pack of nuggets with sweet and sour sauce,” she said cheerily, pausing to shove Harry towards the counter.

“I don’t remember agreeing to any of this,” Harry pointed out, even as he reached into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his wallet. “Hi,” he said with a charming smile, turning to face the tired worker behind the counter. “Can I get one large Big Mac meal and one large McChicken meal with two ten pack chicken nuggets?”

“Don’t forget the sweet and sour sauce,” Savannah reminded him.

“Right, sweet and sour sauce with the nuggets please,” he added.

“What’ll you have for the drinks?” the guy asked, totalling up their order.

“Coke?” Harry turned to Savannah, who nodded her confirmation, before pulling her phone out as Harry paid.

She shot a quick text - Ignore the voicemail I left you, I’ve got a ride - to Alexa, before turning to look back at Harry who was already watching her with amusement.

“You know,” he said, walking over towards where she had been waiting for their food with his hand in his pockets. “I never actually thought you’d take me up on the offer to give you a ride,” he said casually, shrugging his shoulders as he stared at her.

Savannah couldn’t help the slight attraction she felt towards him when he was looking at her the way he was now - with his big green eyes and unfairly pink lips, lifting up into a smile just wide enough that the beginnings of his dimples were visible.  

"Honestly, neither did I," she shrugged, trying to lose the tingling feeling that was settling in her stomach. "But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures," she joked, staring pointedly at him. "At least I'm getting a free meal out of it."

"Date was that bad, huh?" Harry laughed, taking Savannah's insult in his stride.

"Nah," Sav waved him off. "It actually wasn't too bad. I mean, the pub could have been nicer and he could have picked me up instead of making me catch the bus," she glowered momentarily thinking about the sleazy guy she'd ended up sitting beside. "But he was a nice enough bloke - in the beginning anyway. He started making some pretty suggestive comments a little while into the date and that put me off. Plus, I'm not really looking to get into anything right now," she shrugged.

"Ah, Louis mentioned something about a recent ex," Harry nodded, just as their orders were called. He grabbed the first tray, handing it to Savannah before grabbing the second for himself and following her towards one of the empty booths.

"Yeah, he was kind of an ass," she said, settling into the booth across from him.

"I've had my fair share of ass-y ex's," Harry agreed, prying open his Big Mac. "And not the good type of ass-yness," he joked, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he smiled over at her. "Had my share of terrible pub dates also," he added. "Some were admittedly my fault, though," he confessed.

"We've all had terrible dates," Sav agreed, taking a bite of her burger. She had to restrain herself from moaning at the taste - she hadn't had a McChicken in far too long. "I wonder who's had the worst date in the world," she pondered after swallowing her mouthful.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Harry said, dipping one of his nuggets into the tub of sauce before taking a bite. Savannah watched him do so before glancing down at her own food, thinking maybe she’d been a little too ambitious in her order - there was no way she could finish all of it. “Especially if they’re anything as bad as some of the dates I’ve had,” he shuddered.

“You do realise you now have to give me details, right?” Sav asked, waving a chip in the air before plopping it in her mouth.

“Give and take, Simba,” Harry smirked when she frowned at the nickname. “You have to offer me something if you want something in return.”

“I can’t believe you’re still calling me that,” Savannah sighed, shaking her head.

“Sooo,” Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table between them. “What’s one of the worst dates you’ve ever been on?” he questioned.

Savannah thought for a moment, staring intently at Harry, trying to decipher whether he had any ulterior motives or not. “Alright,” she said eventually, deciding it wouldn’t be too embarrassing. “Don’t laugh, yeah?” she warned.

Harry raised a brow. “Isn’t that the whole idea of sharing embarrassing stories?”

“Fine, then no repeating any of these to anyone, got it?”

“My lips are sealed,” Harry agreed eagerly, before munching on some of his chips.

Savannah thought for a moment. “Ok, so when I was about fourteen,” she began, already shaking her head at the memory. “I went out with a guy who was fifteen at the time - I think. And for our first date he took me to McDonald’s,” she paused, shooting Harry an amused smile, which he reciprocated. “Which you know, isn’t too bad. Because food is food, right? But as it turns out, he’d brought both his parents along without telling me," here Harry let out a slight cough that Savannah couldn't quite interpret. "Which itself was a major red light, but I went with it...until he bought me a Happy Meal."

Harry choked on the sip of drink he'd just taken, coughing slightly as he let out a loud laugh. "You're joking," he said, amusement sparkling brightly in his jade coloured eyes.

Savannah grimaced, shaking her head. "I wish I was," she sighed.

"So what'd you do?"

"I called my parents and one of them came to pick me up. And get this, they knew his parents were coming along which was why they'd let me go on the date in the first place!" Harry laughed, although Savannah noticed it was a little strained. “It’s alright,” she said. “You can laugh. It was a long time ago.”

“It’s not that,” Harry shook his head. “It’s just,” he hesitated. “The whole parent thing…”

“Oh god, Harry,” Sav groaned. “Please don’t tell me you were that guy.”

Harry nodded, making Savannah bite the inner side of her lower lip to keep from laughing at him.

“In my defense, though,” Harry said loudly. “I was only fourteen and it was just my mum, who sat at a different table.”

“You didn’t take her to McDonald’s and buy her a Happy Meal did you?” Sav joked, making Harry scoff.

“Please, I had some class. I also bought her chicken nuggets,” he joked. Savannah rolled her eyes, even as a small smile graced her lips.

“Your turn,” she urged, leaning forward to mimic Harry’s stance. “What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, thinking. “Uh, ok, this one particular date,” he began, pursing his lips as he thought back on the evening. A shudder ran through him and Savannah could already tell the story was going to be good. “I was twenty at the time and she was twenty-two so she was a couple of years older than me,” he explained. “And she was well fit but she was also proper mental.”

“She can’t have been that bad,” Savannah said skeptically.

“No, Sav, honest, she was proper mental.”

“Why’d you ask her out then?” she furrowed her brows, wondering why men were so baffling.

“Well I didn’t know she was mental,” Harry defended. “She seemed normal enough, and like I said she was fit.”

“So what happened?” Sav interrupted again.

“The night started off normal enough,” he leaned back into his seat, a pained expression on his face. “Until after her a couple of drinks she started to speak baby talk to me?” Harry posed it as more of a question than a statement, as if he still wasn’t sure himself what exactly had happened.

“Tell me you’re taking the piss,” Savannah clapped a hand over her mouth, as her shock turned into uncontrollable giggles.

“I wish I was,” Harry sighed, face twisted into a frown. “She even offered to cut up my food at one point,” his frown deepened as Savannah continued to laugh at his expense. “It was horrible.”

“I don’t doubt it,” she laughed. “What did you do?”

“As fit as she was,” Harry shook his head, “there was no chance I was sticking around for the end of that date. I snuck out the back,” he smirked. “I scored a date with a waitress as I did so - which was a disaster all on its own,” he mused, a slight smile on his face as he reminisced.

“Ok, ok, I have one,” Savannah said after a moment, the stories now coming freely as she and Harry sat munching on fast food. "I went out with a guy and this time we made it to the end of the night. The date itself wasn't terrible - at this point I'd been on way worse, but I wasn't looking to go on a second one with him anyway. So when he dropped me off at my place, I kind of brushed him off and said no thanks when he asked if we can do it again."

"Oh god," Harry groaned, covering his face with one hand, while the other picked up another nugget. "What happened?" he asked throwing it in his mouth.

"He sat in his car outside my home for two days 'in case I changed my mind'," she mimicked the sign for quotation marks with her fingers.

"Did you call the cops?" Harry asked, brow furrowed.

"Nah, he left after I got one of my mates to pretend to be my boyfriend. Although I did get a few creepy texts and phone calls from him at some point," she mused. "But they stopped just as quick as they started, you don't have to stress," she explained quickly, noting the worry on Harry's face. “It’s your turn again,” she said, brushing the topic aside and looking up at him.  At some point during their conversation, she'd pushed her own tub of chicken nuggets over to him, which Harry was yet to notice.

“It is my turn, innit?” he mused, amusement and warmth floating around in his gaze.

And as Harry started another story about a horrible date gone wrong, where he’d taken a girl to an amusement part and she’d thrown up all over him and everyone around them on a rollercoaster - he admitted to now having a perpetual fear of them - Savannah found she was quite enjoying herself.

The night itself had started off poorly, but after having spent the past hour or so with Harry munching on fast food and sharing bad dates, she found herself relaxed and not wanting for it to be over. But like almost every other good thing in Sav’s life, it had to come to an end. In this case it was because of an ironic twist of fate where the date she’d just abandoned pushed his way through the doors, his eyes connecting with Sav’s.

She let out a loud groan, instantly attracting Harry’s attention. “Alright?” he asked, his gaze following hers and settling on the guy. His brow furrowed as he began to make his way over towards them. “You know him?” Harry asked quietly.

Savannah met Harry’s eyes, an apology swimming in them before she answered. “Yeah, he’s the reason why we’re here,” she clasped her hands together. “Oh god,” she groaned again.

“Hey,” the guy greeted them with a sneer. “You went to use the bathroom and never came back,” he said to Savannah idiotically.

“I told the waitress to tell you I left,” she replied cooly, briefly looking up at the guy before turning back away in dismissal.

“Yeah,” he bent forward, placing his palms flat on the table as he leaned towards Sav. “That wasn’t very nice of you. I thought we was having a great time.”

“Not me,” Savannah scoffed trying not to flinch at his phrasing. “That wasn’t a good date.”

“Well maybe we can try again?” the guy asked, not letting up.

“Mate,” Harry interrupted, having already tired of the guy’s presence. “Bugger off, would you? She doesn’t want to go on another flipping date with you.”

“And who are you?” the guy trained his beady eyes on Harry, looking him over once before scoffing.

“I’m her friend,” Harry replied easily, shooting Sav a goofy smile. “Wanna get out of here?” he asked her, throwing the last of the nuggets in his mouth before standing up.

“Definitely,” Savannah nodded. “I’m knackered.”

Harry pushed out of the booth first, making sure to stand between Savannah and her disaster of a date as she followed. From what he’d heard tonight, she seemed to have a knack for drawing out the seedy guys, and he couldn’t in good conscience let anything happen to her while he was around.

They got to his car unscathed, and the moment they were inside, they shared a look before bursting into laughter.

“That was interesting,” Harry commented, reversing the car. His hand was resting on Sav’s headrest as he tried to safely navigate his way towards the exit.

“Interesting is definitely one way to put it,” she shook her head. “I can’t believe fate hates me so much. That was bloody awkward as all hell.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Has he cracked the top ten worst dates now?” he asked teasingly.

“No, but he’s definitely closer,” she shot back. “Mind if I turn the radio on?”

Harry waved his hand forward, “go ahead.”

Savannah played around with the stations for a while before settling on a song.

“Really?” Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his brow raised and smile just peeking through.

“What? It’s a good song!” she defended herself.

It was silent for a while, allowing the music to comfortably fill the small space between them - until the chorus hit.

Savannah hadn’t been expecting it, which is probably why she jumped and let out a slight squeak as Harry began to sing along with Nick Jonas.

“I turn my chin, music up, and I’m puffing my chest. I’m getting red in the face, you can call me obsessed.”

“Christ, Harry,” she held a hand up to her heart. “A little warning next time maybe?”  she growled as he outright laughed at her.

“You squeaked!” he said between chuckles.

“You surprised me,” Savannah glowered at him. “And your voice sucks, just saying.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Harry said confidently. The worst part was that it actually didn’t.

“I hate you,” she poked her tongue out at him to show she was joking, which only made him laugh louder.

“Sing with me,” he said once he’d calmed down enough.

“I’m alright, thanks,” she grimaced at the idea of singing. The last time she’d gone to a karaoke night had been a disaster.

“Suit yourself,” Harry shrugged, not pushing her. He continued to hum along to some of the songs that were played for the rest of the way to Sav’s flat, occasionally belting out a few notes in an attempt to surprise her again - she was grateful to say it didn’t work.

As he pulled the car onto Sav’s street, he began to slow down before pulling into a space right outside her building. He stalled the car, turning to smile over at her.

“I’m glad you called,” he said conversationally. “I was stuck doing a boring paper at home.”

Savannah frowned. “Was it important?” she asked, feeling bad about dragging him out in the middle of the night when he could have been studying.

“Nah,” he brushed away her concern. “Don’t even have to start it for another couple of days. I was just bored out of my mind. If it had been important I wouldn’t have come.”

“That’s comforting to know,” Savannah said sarcastically.

“You know I’m only teasing, Simba.”

“You’ve gotta stop calling me that,” she glowered.

“Why? It’s cute,” he shrugged like it was nothing. “It suits you. Anyway,” he said quickly changing the subject. “The lads and I are going to this Monte Carlo night happening soon. It’s sort of an event King’s students have set up and Louis wants to crash it. I was wondering if you wanted to come? Lex is invited as well of course, and Louis’ told me he’s already invited Reyna.”

“Sure,” Savannah shrugged, letting the name drop for now. “Gives me an excuse to dress up again.”

Harry bit back a smile. “I think there’s also going to be an open bar,” he added, watching with amusement as Sav’s eye lit up.

“Then I’m definitely coming,” she nodded decidedly, stepping out of the warmth of Harry’s car.

“Of course you are,” he rolled his eyes in amusement. “I’ll text you the details!” he called, waiting until she was inside before driving back home.

[the-fauxpas]

six / spice night

uni AU co-written with @ineffably-styles

a story of late nights, unorthodox household plants, and a trip to Vegas that changes everything

“All right then!” Niall clapped his hands, a dangerous spark in his eyes. “Hope you're ready," he grinned and Savannah thought he looked almost sadistic. "Never have I ever..." he trailed off glancing carefully at everyone in the room. His eyes lingered slightly longer on Savannah and Harry before his lips quirked up into a semi-smirk. "Let's start off with an easy one. Never have I ever slept with anyone in this room."

chapter five / story page

“Someone please remind again me why we’re here,” Savannah groaned, reaching over and swiping a drink from Reyna’s bag. She’d come packed with bagged sandwiches and everyone’s favourite drink along with bottles of water in a neatly organised backpack that she’d made Zayn carry.

“I want to be here about as much as you do,” she grumbled in reply, trying to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. “And I forgot my sunglasses too, can you believe how shit this day is already?”

“Hey, cheer up,” Zayn laughed, also grabbing a drink from the bag. “Look, we just scored a goal.”

“We did?” Reyna squinted at the scoreboard, where sure enough, the point tally had risen by one in favour of UCL. “When did that happen?”

“I’m guessing just before our side of the field started cheering,” Alexa mused sarcastically as she finished off her sandwich, earning herself a swat from Reyna. “Hey! You’re the one who asked.”

“I didn’t appreciate your tone of voice,” she replied as Zayn chuckled.

“I feel like bringing you guys here was a big mistake on Louis’ part,” he said thoughtfully.

“You got that right,” Savannah replied tiredly, eyes trained on the field. The only thing that she could gather was that the side she was supposed to be cheering for were in the blue and that one of their players was in possession of the ball. “Look, something’s happening!”

“That’s Harry,” Zayn explained. “He’s got the number 10 jersey on.”

“That makes him the attacking midfielder, right?” Reyna asked, biting into the sandwich she had in her hand. “What?” she asked, when the others shot her an astonished glance.

“Since when do you know anything about football?” Savannah asked, glancing at the field when the opposing team’s supporters started cheering.

“That was bullshit!” Reyna yelled in return. “Louis didn’t even tackle him! The twat faked it!” she grumbled. “I couldn’t sleep last night,” she explained to her friends.

“So you ended up on Wikipedia,” Alexa supplied.

“Figured I might as well learn something for today,” she shrugged. “You know how I hate not knowing things.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got Zayn to teach us,” Savannah pointed out.

“Uh, yeah,” Zayn scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I could try and explain things to you, but chances are I’ll be wrong. I told you guys I was never any good. I used to always accidentally scrape the ball with a part of my hand and that’s like an automatic free kick for the other team. Eventually they ended up putting me in goal. They figured I couldn’t cause much damage from there. Too bad I’m like super skinny and have next to no muscle mass, so I was a pretty shit goalkeeper too,” he grinned.

“So when you said you stopped playing, did you actually stop playing or were you dropped from the team?” Reyna teased, making Zayn laugh.

“Nah, I actually quit. They threw me a party and everything, but I always suspected that was more because they were glad to be rid of me than for anything else.”

“Well, it’s -”

“That was a blatant penalty! What the fuck is the ref doing just standing there. There’s a whistle in your mouth for a reason, BLOW IT!” Reyna suddenly yelled.

Savannah looked towards the field, noting the way a group of players had huddled around a fallen body, they moved apart a little and she was able to spot that it was Harry who was wincing a little as someone prodded his ankle.

“Is he all right?” she asked worriedly.

“I think so,” Zayn replied, equally worried. “Yeah,” he sighed in relief, the worry clearing from his face as Harry clambered back onto his feet. “He should be fine.”

“What happened to him?” Alexa asked, settling back into her seat as a free kick was handed to their team.

“Illegal tackle,” Reyna answered, still scowling at the field. “The twat should have been given a yellow card for that.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Rey,” Zayn laughed.

“Harry could have been hurt,” she insisted. “It was dangerous,” she crossed her arms across her chest.

“Got a bit of a crush on him, do you?” Zayn joked, making Reyna scoff.

“According to Louis, Harry’s their best striker. I’ve got money riding on this game and if Harry’s hurt then we’re not very likely to win, are we?” she grumbled, cracking open a bottle of coca cola.

“So you’re more worried about losing the game than an injured friend?” Alexa asked, her tone holding a little bit of judgment behind it.

“Bones heal,” was all Reyna said, before glancing at the disapproving look on her friend’s face. She rolled her eyes. “Fine, if you had to pick between a painting from eons ago that no one’s ever seen before, preserved in pristine condition and Harry not breaking a leg, which would you pick?” she asked.

“The painting,” Alexa replied without blinking.

“Exactly my point.”

“Yeah, but Lex’s choosing a priceless painting, you’re just choosing yourself,” Savannah cut in, the three of them completely tuning out of the match, leaving Zayn the only one who was paying any attention to the field.

Reyna snorted. “Please, if you were given the choice of never owning another plant again or Harry breaking his leg, you’d choose the broken leg,” she said to Sav.

“While that may be true,” Savannah paused. “Yeah, I’ve got no defense. I’d choose the broken leg. Like Rey said, bones heal,” she smiled sheepishly.

“All I got from this conversation,” Zayn mused, interrupting the three of them, “is that you’d all let Harry suffer from a broken leg if it meant getting what you wanted.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Savannah challenged as Reyna crossed her arms and stared him down. Alexa was the only one who seemed to have any sense of shame for her choice.

“Let’s put it this way, if I was given a choice between passing my biochemistry unit and Harry not breaking his leg, I’d pick passing.”

“So basically, we’re all selfish.”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “At least we’re all in this together.”

“Don’t you dare start singing High School Musical,” Alexa glared at Sav and Rey.

“Us? Never,” they said simultaneously, donning an innocent expression.

Lex merely shook her head. “How long until this game is over?” she asked Zayn, leaving Reyna and Sav to grin at one another happily.

“There’s another 15 minutes game time, so maybe around 20 minutes?” he posed it as a question.

“So that’s at least another hour till they’re out of the locker rooms,” she sighed.

“That was a bullshit call!” Reyna yelled suddenly, making her friends jump in response.

“You’ve really gotta warn people before you yell like that, Rey,” Alexa sighed.

“It’s not my fault the referee is shit. I bet he went to a public school.”

“Hey! I went to a public school!” Savannah said indignantly.

“Yeah, but you’re different. You’re going to college, that shitty ref is not,” she grumbled, pulling out a bottle of water.

“Actually,” Zayn squinted down at the field. “I think he’s a professor at King’s.”

“That’s bloody worse! Bias is a real thing people,” Reyna ranted.

“You don’t even like football,” Sav said, exasperated.

“That’s not the point. Do you want us to lose against King’s?” she glared at her friends, who shot her equal looks of disdain at the mention of their rival university. “Exactly, then I think it’s time we cheer because Harry’s just about to score another goal,” she said happily, just as the crowd around them erupted into applause.

-

“So, what did you guys think of the match?” Louis asked, bounding up to them as he, Harry and Niall finally walked out of the locker rooms.

“It was good,” Reyna shrugged. “Glad we won.”

“How’s your ankle, Harry?” Zayn asked, before Louis could say anything in response to Reyna’s less than enthusiastic response.

“Just a little banged up,” he shrugged.

“It’ll match his face soon,” Niall grinned gleefully.

“Piss off,” Savannah glared at him, her cheeks pinking up as everyone glanced at Harry’s bruised face.

“So, where to now?” Alexa asked, while Harry glared at them all, seeming thoroughly unimpressed.

“I need to head home to shower,” he muttered. “Dunno about the rest of you.”

“You didn’t shower in there?” Reyna gestured roughly behind them as they all began to walk towards their respective vehicles.

“God no,” Harry screwed up his face in disgust. “It’s a mess in there.”

“Also, last time he showered, his clothes were stolen,” Louis pointed out helpfully.

“Don’t remind me,” Harry scowled. “Bloody King’s students. I don’t understand why anybody would go to that rotten college in the first place.”

“Rotten,” Louis snorted. “My nan uses that phrase when she’s talking about teenagers. You know what I predict for you, Haz?” he held his hand up to his head the way Sav had seen psychics do at carnivals. “I predict that you’re going to be an angry old man yelling at children to get off his lawn.”

“Shove off,” Harry grumbled. “I love kids.”

Alexa sighed loudly, garnering everyone’s attention. “Is anyone actually going to come up with something to do because if not, I’ve got a couple of tv shows calling my name on Netflix.”

“We’re going down to the bar to celebrate,” Niall said quickly.

“Now?” Reyna put her hands on her waist. “It’s barely mid-afternoon. I’m not going to the bar at this time like some sort of alcoholic. Give me a week or two more of classes and then you’ll find me day drinking,” she joked.

“We can meet at Zayn and Niall’s?” Louis mused. “For pre-drinks.”

“Why at our place?” Zayn frowned, thinking back to last week’s party.

“Because, it’s closest to the bar,” Harry backed Louis up.

“So it’s decided, then. We’ll meet there around five-ish?” Savannah waited until everyone was in agreement, albeit grudgingly in Zayn’s case, before she turned to face Louis. “We carpooled with Zayn, think you could drop us off home since you’re heading that way anyway?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure,” he smiled, twirling his keys around his fingers before unlocking the door and allowing them all to climb in. Savannah swore mentally as Louis cut Harry off as they made their way out of the parking lot and watched as Harry flipped them the bird in return.

It was going to be a long drive.

-

“Never have I ever…” Niall began, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Fuck no,” Louis spoke up, taking a swig from his beer bottle. The group had all reconciled back and Zayn and Niall’s for a couple of drinks before heading out to a bar down the road. Where they had managed to find the energy after a football match, Savannah didn’t know, but she kind of wished she had that come exam time.

“Why not? It’ll be fun,” Niall argued, watching the random cricket match that was playing in the background.

“I agree with Niall… it’s better that watching that rubbish that he and Louis have got playing,” Reyna spoke up, shooting daggers at Louis who was not listening to a word that she was saying, his eyes trained on the TV. “Besides, it’ll let us all get to know one another on a more personal level,” she grinned.

“Right, cos knowing that Niall wet the bed until he was twelve is really something we can all bond over,” Harry rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“Oi!” Niall yelled. “You said you wouldn’t tell anyone!” he grumbled, before switching the subject back to the game - much to Sav’s disappointment. “So, are we playing then?”

Savannah glanced around anxiously at everyone else. If there was a drinking game that she hated, it was Never Have I Ever.

"I'm in," Harry spoke up, distracting Savannah from her thoughts. She turned her head sharply towards him, her eyes wide. She couldn't believe he'd just agreed to a game Niall had suggested - she couldn’t believe Reyna had either. From the short amount of time that she’d known Niall, she’d pretty much gathered that he and Louis’ suggestions often went ignored...except for tonight, apparently.   

"I’m in too, I guess," Zayn shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Not like I had anything important to do before you lot hijacked my flat," he said sarcastically.

"Fuck off, Z," Niall scoffed. "You’ve been sat in your room playing with paint since we got back."

"I wasn't playing with paint, you tosser," Zayn crossed his arms. "I was working on an art project."

"Really?" Alexa turned towards Zayn, her attention piqued at the mention of art. 

"Not now Lex," Reyna groaned from where she was frowning over at Louis, her eyes flicking from him to the television remote in contemplation. “We know how much you love art, but once you start you’re pretty much dead to the world for the next few hours.”

"I can show you some of my stuff later if you'd like,” he said, glancing at Lex. “They're not very good though," he warned as an afterthought.

"I'm sure that's not-"

"Excuse me," Alexa was cut off by Niall, and Savannah felt her shoulders slump. "You two in?" Niall asked Savannah and Alexa.

“Yeah, ok,” Alexa nodded, making Savannah sigh when everyone turned to stare at her. “Don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” she said bitterly.

“Louis,” Reyna tapped him on the shoulder. “Turn that bloody game off and join in with the rest of us.”

“It’s England versus Australia, Rey,” Louis said, barely glancing away from the television screen.

“All the more reason to turn it off, England sucks,” she snorted. “Cricket is worse than football, if you ask me,” she retorted, trying to grab the remote that Louis held away from her reach.

“You are the most uncultured person I know,” Niall muttered, re-entering the lounge with a tray filled with various alcoholic drinks - Savannah hadn’t even realised he’d left the room.

Louis turned away from the screen long enough to roll his eyes. “The only sport you’d willingly watch is the tennis,” he raised a brow, daring Reyna to argue with him. When no argument came, he continued, “And personally, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than sit through another year of the Wimbledon.”

“You can always check the score later, mate,” Zayn said from where he’d taken a seat beside Alexa. They’d all rearranged themselves into a small circle in the middle of Niall and Zayn’s lounge room after Harry had moved the small coffee table to rest against a wall.

“Bloody hell,” Louis huffed. “Fine. But I’m only agreeing because it’s looking like England is getting their arse handed to them.”

“As usual,” Reyna commented, only to be ignored.

“So you’re playing?” Savannah asked miserably.

“That’s what it looks like,” he grumbled, grabbing a beer from Niall. “Budge up,” he ordered, before dropping onto the floor between Savannah and Reyna.

“Who’s going first?” Alexa asked.

“We’ll go in a circle,” Niall grinned, pouring everyone a shot and handing them out evenly.

“Shots? Really, Niall?” Savannah rolled her eyes, taking her glass from Louis. “You’re going to poison us all.”

Niall let out a loud laugh and Savannah found herself wondering if he’d maybe snuck in a few drinks beforehand. “That’s just to loosen us up, Sav,” he explained. “We’re not going to take shots after every question. That’s what the beers are for. Bottoms up,” he said cheerily before knocking back his glass. “I’ll go first then Zayn, Alexa and so forth,” he waved his hands dismissively, eager for the game to begin.

Savannah sent out a silent prayer before following suit, making a face as the alcohol burned its way down her throat. She considered asking for another shot, but decided that getting piss drunk probably wasn’t in her best interests tonight.

“All right then!” Niall clapped his hands, a dangerous spark in his eyes. “Hope you're ready," he grinned and Savannah thought he looked almost sadistic. "Never have I ever..." he trailed off glancing carefully at everyone in the room. His eyes lingered slightly longer on Savannah and Harry before his lips quirked up into a semi-smirk. "Let's start off with an easy one. Never have I ever slept with anyone in this room."

"Wait," Louis interrupted loudly. "Do you mean shagged or actually slept? Because if it's just slept then I've slept with most of you at least once. Sometimes twice, if you're lucky," he stated slyly.

"Shagged," Niall said immediately. "I definitely meant shagged." And Savannah was sure he had momentarily glanced over at her as he said so.

She bit her lip to hide a groan as she took a swig from her beer, refusing to look over at Harry. She knew, theoretically that everyone probably already knew about the two of them but confirming it during a drinking game just seemed a lot more confronting to her; as if she was sealing the final nail on her own coffin, dramatic as that may be. So when she took a swig of her beer, she might have taken a little bit more than was necessary.

Zayn was next and she felt like she’d be a lot safer with anything he could throw at her. “Never have I ever,” he paused in the contemplative manner that she thought only he could pull off, “gotten into a physical altercation,” he shrugged.

“Fight. You mean you’ve never had a fight,” Louis rolled his eyes. “There’s no need to be so bloody formal while we’re playing a fucking drinking game.”

“Oh, piss off,” Zayn retorted. “Fight, then,” he rolled his eyes.

Then came Alexa’s turn. Savannah assumed that most people would feel comforted knowing that it was their best friends’ turn, feel safe even. But Sav found herself breaking out into a nervous sweat because while they were her best friends, they were also the ones who knew the most about her - which meant they could, with a single sentence, essentially ruin her life.

“Never have I ever pretended to regret sleeping with someone,” Alexa said quickly and Savannah breathed out a breath of air as not only she but Louis, Niall and Harry also took sips of their beer.

It was her turn next and she was determined to make Niall drink again - not that it seemed like he cared. She rather thought he was hoping he’d get to drink himself. “Never have I ever failed to make someone orgasm,” she smirked, raising a challenging brow as all four boys glanced down and away from everyone else. She was delighted when they all brought their drinks up to their mouth and took long drawn out gulps. She was even more giddy when she spotted the significant pinkness she could spot on Niall’s usually pale cheeks.

Louis cleared his throat. “Right,” he said awkwardly. “My turn. Uh, never have I ever made friends with a one night stand.”

As expected she and Harry took sips, Reyna doing the same and collectively surprising everyone in the room.

“What?” she shrugged. “He was a nice lad.”

“Who was it?” Lex asked curiously.

“Someone from uni,” she waved her off, returning back to the game. “My turn,” she said cheerfully. “Never have I ever had to ask someone if we’d shagged because I wasn’t sure.”

Savannah, Zayn, Niall and Harry all took a sip, sparking a discussion as to with whom and when and how it had happened. The only one who had been willing to disclose any of the details was Niall who launched into a detailed story about a girl he’d met named Olivia.

Harry and Savannah shared a mutual grimace - whether at Niall’s story or the reminder that neither of them had been sure what had happened the first night they’d met, she wasn’t sure - before turning away and back to Niall who was still in the middle of a story. She sighed, tracing the neck of her beer as she waited for Niall to finish his tale complete with hand gestures and sound effects that no one really wanted to see or hear.   

“It’s my turn, innit?” Harry spoke once he was done in that deep, slow drawl he had. “Never have I ever,” he paused for a second, as if choosing his words carefully, “lobbed a textbook at an innocent person’s face.”

He turned to grin at Savannah, his face expectant.

“I hate you,” she deadpanned before taking a long gulp of her beer, glaring daggers at a smug Harry. “Can’t leave that in the past, can you?”

Harry scoffed, pointing a finger to the bruise that was still quite prominent on his cheekbone. “I’ve been walking around looking like a tosser who’s been socked in the face. I’m never letting you hear the end of it.”

“It does look pretty bad, mate,” Louis piped up unhelpfully. Harry’s attempts at telling the story to Louis himself had completely failed - Zayn had already texted him earlier about what happened - which meant that Louis had given him shit for getting hit in the first place, and also for not telling him about it as soon as it had happened.

“Thank you so much, Lou. Thanks for your input. It was appreciated greatly,” Harry said sarcastically.

“Alright, this game looks like it’s pretty much over,” Alexa interrupted them. “Are we ready to head off?” she asked, checking her phone for the time. “It’s almost half eight and we want to get good seats.”

Everyone started to get up and gather their things. Savannah helped Reyna pack away the empty bottles of beer, and lingered behind the group while everyone filed out of the door. Harry was still by the kitchen counter, shrugging on his jacket.

“I really am sorry about this, you know,” she said, waving her hand in the general direction of his cheek.

“I know,” he replied. “It’s ok, really. I’m just taking the piss,” he reassured her upon seeing the worried look on her face. “Come on, we should go. Don’t wanna be late.”

-

The atmosphere around the bar was buzzing by the time they all got there and Louis and Reyna immediately disconnected from the group to find them a table large enough to fit them all. In the end, they managed to all squeeze in a booth towards the front of the room, right in front of the mic stand after Reyna had done some negotiating with the previous two occupants. 

“Look, we’ve got a perfect view of the stage,” Louis commented, setting a handful of beers down on the table and seating himself beside Harry. 

“They are pretty good seats,” Harry agreed. “We got lucky.” 

“Yeah,” Savannah snorted. “Lucky is one way to put it. What’d you promise them, Rey?” 

“Nothing,” Reyna shrugged. “I asked nicely if they could pretty please move so we could sit.” 

“Right,” Lex dragged out the word, “‘cause that always works, doesn’t it?” 

“So I might have bribed them a little,” Reyna shrugged. 

“With what?” Savannah asked, sipping on a beer while she watched the guy up on the stage try his hand at some standup comedy. 

“Told him Louis would buy them a bottle of whatever they want,” Reyna shrugged, following Savannah’s line of sight. “This guy sucks.” 

“You did what?” Louis demanded. “And yeah, he does suck. Even I could do better than him.” 

“I told them to put it on your tab,” she grinned. “Not like you can’t afford it.”

“Can we go back to the part where Louis claimed he could do better than the lad on stage?” Harry cut in. 

“Yeah,” Zayn nodded. 

“I’d pay to see that happen. And for the inevitable show that would follow from the crowd’s reaction.” 

“Oh please,” Louis scoffed, “I’ll be the best act up there tonight.” 

“Oh no-” Alexa muttered under her breath, predicting what was going to happen before it did. 

“Then prove it,” Harry said simply, challenging Louis with a smirk while the others watched on gleefully. 

“You’ll have to do better than that, Styles,” he huffed in reply. “I’m not doing this without some form of payment.” 

“500 quid.” 

“Deal.” In a flash, Louis got up and disappeared amongst the tables, no doubt on his way to find the sign up sheet. 

Reyna sighed. “Look what you’ve done!” she glared at Harry and Zayn accusingly. “You’re paying the tab if he embarrasses us all.” 

“I’m out, I’m already five hundred quid down because of this mess,” Harry replied, looking stubborn. 

“Like that was anyone’s fault but yours,” she replied, rolling her eyes before looking over at Zayn. 

He sighed, “Fine.” 

“Is that how you rich kids play?” Savannah spoke up sarcastically. “Bet away the amount of a person’s life savings?” 

Everyone at the table looked away uncomfortably, the silence broken by a loud screeching coming from the microphone as the owner of the particular bar got up to introduce the next act. 

“Wasn’t that just incredible?” he yelled encouragingly to the crowd only to be met with a light splatter of polite applause. “Now our next act is someone a bit more local to us. Enlightening us with his favourite one-liners and punny jokes, we have Louis Tomlinson!”

Louis’ entrance on stage was met with loud, raucous applause - which, Savannah thought, might have been due more to the fact that he frequented the bar every Thursday night rather than his success as a local comedian.

“Good evening, fellow comrades. I hope you’ve been enjoying the acts so far,” Louis began into the microphone. He waited for the cheering to die down before continuing, “Now I’m going to start off the night by asking you all to honour one of our own, Mr Harry Styles.”

“Oh no,” Harry muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing as Louis smirked in his direction from the stage.

"Harry's been having, well, let's just say he's been having some 'performance' issues lately. So I just wanted to reassure him - publicly - that it’s completely normal, and yes, there are medications out there to help with that. A moment of silence for Harry Styles, everyone."

“I’m going to kill him,” Harry muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Well, can you do it after he’s done?” Reyna requested, casually sipping at her drink with one hand and holding her phone up with the other. “I’d really like to get this all on video in case he’s shit.”

“I dunno, he seems to be doing pretty well up there,” Savannah shrugged, as the crowd started laughing at something else Louis had said.  

“For now,” she shrugged, looking quite confident that he’d mess up soon.

“So anyway,” Louis was saying, “it’s quite hard thinking of a funny joke when I’ve got the friends I’ve got. You know, since they’re the biggest jokes anyone will ever come across.”

“I’ll help you kill him,” Reyna leaned over to whisper to Harry.

“No, no, but really,” Louis spoke into the microphone, trying to quieten the crowd’s laughter a little. “My friends can be funny sometimes. Once, when I was quite drunk, I texted Reyna - she’s the one with the phone, guys and gals. I told her that she was my moon and stars and she texted me back - and this is a direct quote - she said, ‘thank you. You’re my pluto’, then she linked me to an article about how pluto no longer existed.”

“I remember that,” Savannah snorted.

“Yeah,” Alexa agreed. “Reyna was quite proud of it. She showed it to everyone who’d listen.”

“Louis did the same thing,” Zayn leaned back, draping his arm over the booth behind Alexa.

Savannah smirked into her drink, turning her attention back to the stage. “Look’s like Louis’ done.”

“Thank god,” Harry snorted. “If I had to listen to another one of his jokes, I was walking out of here.”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to kill him,” Zayn said casually.

“Reyna would do it for me.”

“True,” she agreed. “I probably would have.”

“What would you have done?” Louis asked, sliding back into the booth.

“They’re planning your murder,” Alexa answered him.

“I can’t believe that was actually funny,” Savannah piped up, completely taken by surprise and ignoring the current conversation. “Like, people were legitimately laughing at you.”

“I like to think they were more laughing with me,” Louis shrugged.

“They’ve got shitty taste then, don’t they?” Harry grumbled in reply, still slightly annoyed that he was the first one to be roasted out of the group.

“Aw, don’t worry Harrykins,” Reyna started, cooing at him as he glared at her. “Erectile dysfunction affects about-”

“-please stop talking,” he groaned, running his hands through his hair as he sunk deeper into his seat.

“Alright, alright,” Alexa tried to calm the group, always the voice of reason. “Let’s all just agree that Louis surprised us all and that he did something that none of us would be willing to do.”

“Pft, I could do that,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Really?” Zayn perked up, leaning forward interestedly.

“No, not this again,” Savannah cut in. “We’re going home now,” she told them all decidedly.  

“We’ll talk about this later,” Zayn told him as they all made their way out of the bar, leaving Louis behind to pick up their tab.

“We’re not going to be talking about anything,” he said, charging in front of the group as they made their way down the street back towards Zayn and Niall’s.

“What’s the plan now?” Louis asked, catching up to them as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket.

“We’re going home,” Reyna said, gesturing to herself, Sav and Lex.

“That’s no fun,” he grumbled in reply. “You guys are grandmas.”

“Come again?” she challenged in reply, the cogs turning in her head as she prepared for a fight. Savannah quickly pulled out her phone and ordered an Uber, just in case they needed to make a quick escape.

“Let’s just pretend I never said anything,” Louis said quickly while Harry snickered at his response.

“That’s what I thought,” Reyna replied smugly. Savannah waved to the car pulling to the kerb, before walking up and greeting the driver.

“Let’s go,” she said quickly, opening the door and moving to get in.

“Hold up,” Louis called, halting her mid-movement. “You guys are coming to the party next weekend, right?”

“What party?” Alexa questioned curiously.

“The one at Harry’s,” he replied matter-of-factly, shrugging slightly.

“What? What party? I didn’t plan a party,” Harry piped up quickly, eyes darting from his phone to Louis.

“I did,” Louis said casually, hands in his pockets as he turned towards the street and headed in the opposite direction.

“Wait, Louis-”

“We should go,” Savannah said quickly, climbing into the car. “Good luck,” she said to Zayn, gesturing towards the image of Harry scrambling after Louis while the latter seemed to not notice him.

“Thanks,” he replied sarcastically, waving as he jogged after the pair.

AN: hi guys, sorry again for the one-day lateness but it’s up! let me know what you think xx 

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 48.17-20, 2R Matches 1-4

Given that this would be my largest online portfolio of writing samples, if I ever wanted to point to here as an example of my prowess for a potential employer, the past year and a bit wouldn’t exactly be a shining display of my ability to work to deadlines. However, given that there aren’t any real deadlines since I make them up myself, perhaps batching together episodes, as I am doing today, would showcase a flair for efficiency and time-saving in the long run. 

Either way, a lot has happened in the time since the current period of slacking off started. Jacob-Rees Mogg and his gang of Victorian rabble-rousers attempted, and failed, to oust Theresa May, in a move that achieved nothing except to stall already stalling Brexit negotiations for a few hours. So I guess not a lot has changed there, actually.

But in more pertinent news, Tumblr has announced a crackdown on pornographic content, meaning that I will have to tone down my descriptions of any lightning-quick buzzes or preposterous recollections of scientific minutiae. I may also have to rethink a meme idea I had that was going to be a picture of a stern Paxman with the caption ‘Question me, Daddy’, because I don’t know where the line will be drawn. 

Anyway, the first in this gargantuan compilation review was an Oxbridge Derby, featuring the 2010 winners.

St Peter’s Oxford vs Emmanuel, Cambridge

St Pete’s had already trounced another Cambridge College by a 175 point margin in the first round, so will have been looking forward to their second El Quizico match. Emmanuel, meanwhile, would just have been delighted to be there, having coming through the play-off round after a tight defeat in a high-quality game against Glasgow.

I described upon their first appearance how the Oxford side had the look of an archetypal Uni Challenge quartet, and they remain largely the same for this episode, right down to Cooper’s beret, although Braddock has taken off his scarf. Perhaps he realised (as I suggested in my review) that such a garment may lead to overheating beneath the heat of the studio lights. Still, if you told a sketch artist to draw a UC team (with no other information), the result would probably be quite close to these four. 

Emmanuel look pretty quizzy too, but they have a female captain, which unfortunately is still unusual enough that it might cause our artist, painting blind, to slip up.

It is they who take the initial lead, MacDonald coming in fairly late for an opening starter with The Giant’s Causeway to claim the first ten points. Captain Cugini gives a whispered ‘Yes!’ when her team’s guess of Watteau is correct on a bonus. You can see how much this means to her, even at such an early stage. 

St Peter’s then negged a few starters, but Emma couldn’t capitalise, and the Oxonians won the picture round to bring them up to half points. Not that it was really a proper picture round though, it was one of those ones where they have pictures of words, which sort of defeats the pictorial element. Of course, sometimes it works, like if the words are in foreign languages, but it just seems lazy when its simply another question about bloody Sonnets. 

This would be the closest St Peter’s came to challenging. Emmanuel increased their lead to beyond three full question sets (at which point a comeback becomes a truly tall order) and kept slapping away any hands that were threatening to come too close. 

Final Score: St Peter’s, Ox 120 - 195 Emmanuel, Cam

Hertford, Oxford vs Manchester

In days of yore (circa 2014) Manchester were a Uni Challenge monolith, seemingly the only team capable of smashing the Oxbridge duopoly. But they’ve failed to make it beyond the second round since then, and didn’t even make it onto the live shows last year. Their opportunity to break that duck would come against Hertford, Ox, who had made it through the second of the repechage rounds a few weeks earlier.

Tudor buzzed in with Bureau to give Oxford the lead, and Paxman bizarrely chose to chastise him for ‘being so dismissive’ when he hadn’t been in the slightest, even exhaling with relief when his answer was confirmed as correct. Starters were traded politely for a while, until Page gave Ford instead of Harrison (and then mumbled Harrison after realising his mistake) for the name that linked a number of people with the actor who played Deckard Shaw. At this point it seems kind of unfair to let Manchester steal the points, but they show no mercy and nudge in front for the first time.

With the scores tied at 80-80, the teams conspired to ramp up the tension, missing three starters in a row until Antao finally decided to buzz in. Ross took the next one, and Manchester now had the bit between their teeth, storming out into the distance with such ferocity as to end the match as a contest.

This week the picture rounds actually included pictures, with an excellent round on maps modified by the usage of various energy sources. By the time the second one, on self-portraits, came around, Manchester had a fifty-five point lead. Hertford would have had to take almost all of the remaining points to claim victory, but they couldn’t manage this. The Mancunians had returned to their rightful place in the quarter-finals.

Final Score: Hertford, Ox 115 - 185 Manchester

Edinburgh vs UCL

This was a rematch of a second round contest from last year, which Edinburgh won by the slimmest of margins, five points. According to my post from the time, there were eleven seconds on the clock when the Edinburgh player had switched the deficit with her starter, making it one of the slimmest ways in which you could win by the slimmest of margins. A slim-slim situation for the Scottish side, who would be hoping they wouldn’t have to cut it so close this time around. 

But its the London quartet who set off the quickest as they set out to claim their revenge. They raced ahead with the first three starters, after which Fitz-James decided to blaze in early, but he could only neg, and UCL stretched away even further. Edinburgh could only get in the game when the first picture round came along, but after that normal service resumed and Johnstone eased UCL out to a ninety point cushion. This was far from a slim margin. 

I said only paragraphs ago that a lead equivalent to three full question sets tends to be enough to get you over the line. This was nearly four full sets, but Edinburgh weren’t going to give up quite yet, and Malusa reduced the arrears with his first starter of the night. Fitz-James then buzzed for the music starter dangerously early, but got it right, and they stormed through the hat-trick to offer UCL some food for thought. 

Perhaps they were too busy thinking about that food, because they negged the next starter, and Auld Reekie took a third in a row to come within a single set. But UCL realise that we haven’t even reached the second picture round yet so they can’t rely on the gong to save them, and Fang wakes his teammates up with the sound his buzzer. However, when it did come around it went to Edinburgh, who slam-dunked another treble on the bonuses to bring the scores within 5 points. 

Walker and Malusa swapped starters, but Edinburgh continued their ridiculous streak on the bonuses (they took 19 out of 24, including an incredible 6 hat-tricks) to level the game. Fitz-James’ fifth starter of the night gave Edinburgh the lead for the first time of the evening, but this was where the streak ended, and they could only take a solitary five pointer. 

UCL returned fire, but they did continue their streak of poor bonusing, and missed the opportunity to take the lead. Five points in it. One starter to go. The exact situation as almost exactly one year earlier, but in reverse. And 6 seconds into this starter came the buzz from UCL’s Walker, to mirror the result. In the upper half of the screen you can see Fitz-James hurriedly trying to sound his buzzer, as if if he presses it hard enough it will overrule hers. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t need to.

Walker’s answer is wrong, and FJ picks it up without even waiting for the rest of the question. Before a bonus question can be read the gong sounds. In the end there are twenty points in it, but that doesn’t tell you the whole story. It may not have been the slimmest of margins, but it was the slimmest possible twenty point margin.

Edinburgh 180 - 160 UCL

Clare, Cambridge vs St Edmund’s, Oxford

We started off this bumper-review with an Oxbridge match, and we’re going to finish it with another edition of El Quizico (in case you didn’t get it when I said it earlier I’m trying out a riff on El Clasico, the name for matches between Barcelona and Real Madrid) (and if you found the explanation patronising, I’m sorry, I don’t know how big a crossover fandom I’m dealing with here).

Clare’s Elijah Granet clearly fancies himself a bit of a comedian, turning his head to the left after introducing himself (as being from sunny San Diego) despite having no one sitting there. What an absolute joker. His teammate Nixon opened up proceedings with one of UC’s classic ‘meanings of what word include...’ questions. Gurr tried to get the double on the second starter, but his buzz was wrong, and Teddy Hall captain looked to be considering having a guess before his neighbour Bresson beat him to it with the correct answer.

Granet, who had won Clare’s opening match with a gong-beating buzz on the last question, got himself off the mark on the third starter, but that would be the Cambridge side’s last involvement for some time. 

Captain Leo, the standout Teddybear from their first round win, took eight (8) of the next nine starters (with the other going to endsman Pisharody) to go 155 points clear. Now I know Edinburgh did manage to come back from 90 points, which was more than my arbitrarily defined comeback-limit, but even though they managed to get back in with the second picture round, there truly was no hope for Clare. 

Captain Gurr is just happy to be back in play though, and does that thing where you rise a little bit in your seat and then sit back down emphatically to display his delight. But avoiding humiliation is the best they can hope for now, and to be fair to them they do manage this, striding over a hundred points despite Gurr giving Deborah Meaden when asked for a famous caricaturist from the early 1800s. 

He then says goodbye with an amorphous groaning noise, so perhaps the humiliation wasn’t totally avoided after all.

Final Score: Clare, Cam 105 - 240 St Edmund’s Hall

So we now have four quarter-finalists confirmed, two Oxbridge, and two non-Oxbridge:

Emmanuel, Cambridge

Manchester

Edinburgh

St Edmund’s Hall, Oxford

Glasgow take on Goldsmith’s tonight looking to make it two Scottish sides in the Quarter Finals for the first time since 2010.

If this wasn’t too much University Challenge Reviewing for you to stomach, then it would be remiss of me to not mention an amazing Christmas present I can offer you. If you’re bored and sitting around with family member to whom you have nothing much to say, and you can’t decide on which Netflix Original you want to watch, why not binge past seasons of UC instead, along with handy reading guides prepared by yours truly. I have compiled the past two years-worth of reviews into lovely little eBooks which can be found on Amazon at the Links below. So if you enjoy the blog, or want to get your nerdy cousin a gift for less than £3 then why not add it to your Kindle basket. And if you don’t want to get it yourself, then I’d be v grateful for a wee review, which is something proper authors say to boost it up the rankings or something like that...

The 2016-17 (Monkman and Seagull) series: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/University-Challenge-Review-2016-Monkman-ebook/dp/B077W9RRWQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1545075467&sr=8-1&keywords=university+challenge+review

The 2017-18 series: 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/University-Challenge-Review-2017-18-Questions-ebook/dp/B07DYZRBPP/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1545075584&sr=1-2

Cheers, and Merry Christmas!