#get me one of these for Christmas so i can have joint problems in style

[holmesoldfellow]

Silver, faux ivory, and beechwood Sherlock Holmes walking cane by Comoys of London

[zillennial97]

Enemies to Lovers | Larry Fanfic Recs

Walk That Mile by purpledaisy | 149k | Explicit

Harry stares at him, the line of his jaw standing out scarily. “I wanted to get the most out of this trip so I planned it carefully.” His voice is low and steady and somehow that’s worse than when he was yelling. “So far, you’ve put your sticky fingers on everything I’ve tried to do.”

“Sticky fingers?” Louis repeats, offended. “Are you saying it’s my fault you got stung by a bee? Had you been alone you would have gotten halfway to the Dotty Diner and ran the car off the road because of an allergic reaction, so don’t go blaming me.”

“Polk-A-Dot Drive In,” Harry spits before getting out of the car. He slams the door shut with a deafening reverb and Louis rolls his eyes.- A Route 66 AU where falling in love was never part of the plan.

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry | 136k | Explicit

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

we're not friends, we could be anything by nooelgallagher, yoursongonmyheart | 115k | Explicit

Louis narrows his eyes at Harry. “What that supposed to be a fucking joke?”

Harry narrows his eyes right back. “It was a good joke.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Jokes require laughter, Curls.” Louis glances down at Harry’s thighs again, Christ. “Your pants must be so tight they’re restricting airflow to your brain.”

Harry wipes a bead of sweat off his forehead. “Pretty sure yoga is supposed to increase airflow, blood flow, and all that,” he responds dryly, finally jumpstarting himself and walking away from Louis towards his own bedroom.

Louis can’t help but stare at his broad back, still sheen with drying sweat, and his perky bum in the tight yoga pants.

Louis swallows. Christ.

...Or, the one where Harry and Louis are unlikely uni flatmates who definitely don't like each other and definitely won't fall in love (even if Liam and Niall think otherwise).

Our Lives, Non-Fiction by indiaalphawhiskey | 113k | Explicit

Heralded as the next Neil Gaiman, Louis Tomlinson does not appreciate being told that his very serious novel is in dire need of a PR boost. Even worse, that it comes in the form of a joint book tour with the UK’s #1 online romance-writing sensation Marcel Styles. Already turbulent at best, their partnership takes a drastic turn when, overly stressed about his looming deadline, Marcel accidentally blurts out a secret: though he’s famed for his scorching hot literary love scenes, he is, actually, a virgin.

Convinced that the only way to rid himself of writer’s block is to gain some experience, Marcel asks Louis, author-to-author, to sleep with him – for Science. And of course Louis agrees because, well, what on Earth could possibly go wrong?

Or, a lesson in romance that proves that sometimes the best love stories aren’t always by the book.

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose by dolce_piccante | 112k | Mature

American Uni AU. Harry Styles is a frat boy football star from the wealthy Styles Family athletic dynasty. A celebrity among football fans, he knows how to play, he knows how to party, and he knows how to fuck (all of which is well known among his legion of admirers).

Louis Tomlinson is a student and an athlete, but his similarities to Harry end there. Intelligent, focused, independent, and completely uninterested in Harry’s charms, Louis is an anomaly in a world ruled by football.

A bet about the pair, who might be more similar than they originally thought, brings them together. Shakespeare, ballet, Disney, football, library chats, running, accidental spooning, Daredevil and Domino’s Pizza all blend into one big friendship Frappucino, but who will win in the end?

Dance to the Distortion by Lis (domesticharry) | 96k | Explicit

Louis accidentally breaks Harry's camera lens and in order to get it fixed, they decide to participate in a romantic couples study. The only issue is that they are not actually couple. Well that and the fact they cannot stand each other.

You’ve Got My Devotion (Hate You Sometimes) by lucythegoosey | 95k | Explicit

Harry was in the biggest boy band in the world. He was also one half of the best (or worst, depends on who you ask) kept secret relationship in the music industry.

Now, almost five years on, after One Direction has broken up, and Harry and Louis' relationship has as well, a video threatens to put everything at risk.

One determined Irishman, a massive publicity stunt and two begrudging exes are all it takes to bring One Direction back to life and maybe, just maybe, Harry and Louis' mangled love life too.

Or: Harry and Louis are forced to fake-date after an old video from when they were dating emerges.

The Sidelines by RedRidingStiles | 47k | Explicit

"Alright, I know you guys are the best of friends but I'd like you to do this for the rest of the team,” Cowell says, making the rest of the team snicker. "So I want both of you to compliment each other." "I hate your trainers. I mean that in the nicest way possible. They're very...yellow," Louis says, arms crossed as he offers a fake close-lipped grin. "It's really nice of you to blow anyone you find slightly attractive," Harry replies, a sickening sweet smile on his lips. "Thank you, children, let me remind you this is a college hockey team. Try again," Coach says, completely unamused.

Or Harry and Louis play hockey for Penn state and can't stand one another, since they can't keep their hatred off the ice their coach and team do what they can to keep their hard earned spot in the playoffs and their two star players from killing each other

Wonderwall by AFangirlFantasy | 43k | General Audiences

Taking the sheet cluttered with times available for the next few weeks, Louis notices a pattern in the list. The name of the person Perrie had just mentioned: Harry Styles. It’s written at least seven times, and three of which are during timeframes Louis wants.

“Who the fuck is Harry Styles?”

“You’re about to find out,” she answers, pointing over Louis’ shoulder.

Or a Love/Hate College AU where Louis Tomlinson is the lead singer of The Rogue - the most popular band on campus - and Harry Styles is the talented Freshman unknowingly challenging all that.

All the Right Moves by cherrystreet | 32k | Explicit

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

Nicotine by KrisStylinson | 32k | Explicit

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

"Just because you can get me hard doesn't mean I like you," Louis whispered. The fact was, he didn't like Harry right now, not at all. Not even a bit.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry murmured, his breath fanning over Louis' cock as he spoke. "You done telling me how much you hate me so I can suck you off?"

Like Candy In My Veins by littlelouishiccups | 31k | Explicit

“Um…” Harry said slowly after a moment. “Okay. That’s… this is… Let me get this straight.” He lifted up a hand and swallowed. “You told your family that you have a boyfriend… and my name was the first one you thought of?” “Harry Potter was on TV, alright? It wasn’t that much of a stretch.” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe he was explaining himself to Harry fucking Styles. He couldn’t believe he was stooping this low. “Forget it. I’m sorry I even thought about bringing you into this.”

Harry snorted. “What? Did you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”

(Basically the A/B/O, enemies to lovers, fake relationship, Christmas AU that nobody asked for.)

We're Like Bumper Cars by sincehewaseighteen | 31k | Explicit

“I have won, I won the final cross country. I win, Harry--”

“Whoever gets to fucking nationals wins it, pretty boy,” Harry teases. “You haven’t won. Interhouse is nothing compared to nationals, or interstate. You haven’t even won interschool. You can dream all you fucking want that you’ve won.”

Louis becomes so ignorant he decides to no longer eye the boy taunting him. “Trophies prove it all, Styles.”

“Where’s your trophy for biggest asshole?”

“Where’s yours for winning cross country?”

Harry growls before hooking his fingers in Louis’ belt loops and bringing them together for a flat kiss.

Or the AU where Louis and Harry are rivals of the century and Cross Country competitors before things get complicated and they play pretend.

After Hours by Velvetoscar for shipsdrifting | 26k | Not Rated

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are the bane of each other's existences. Unfortunately, they're already in love--even if they aren't completely aware of this minor detail.

[A "You've Got Mail" AU]

When It's Late At Night by Rearviewdreamer | 25k | Mature

Louis has zero interest in an ex-boybander turned solo artist when his appearance on the show gets announced, but that's exactly who he gets stuck with when Harry Styles shows up at the Late Late show to promote the release of his debut album. For an entire fucking week.

Or

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

Love Me Please by angelichl | 23k | Explicit

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs.

The only problem?

They're soulmates.

runnin' like you did by orphan_account | 20k | Explicit

“Should we tell him?”

When Lauren is met with everyone either nodding their heads or shrugging, she takes a deep breath. “I mean, I think it’s pretty obvious by now.” She stalls, sounding ominous and Louis doesn’t like it one bit.

“What is obvious by now?” Louis asks. He’s starting getting anxious. “I swear to God, spit it out. Stop being so damn cryptic.”

“I—We think it’s pretty obvious that you’re in love with Harry,” she states simply and shrugs as if she isn’t telling him he’s in love with the second—Nick being the first—most annoying person on the planet.

or, a college au where Louis knows how to hold a grudge and is definitely not in love with Harry Styles

Three French Hems by 100percentsassy, gloria_andrews | 20k | Mature

In which Louis is a designer at Burberry and Harry spends December wearing Lanvin… and Lanvin… and Lanvin.

once bitten and twice shy by pinkcords | 19k | Mature

This time as his stomach rolls, there’s no doubt about it. He’s going to vomit. And if he does, it’ll be on Louis’ shoes, a nice little parting gift to go with the embarrassment he’s caused the both of them. “I’m gonna throw up,” he says just as Louis turns to look at him, blue eyes swimming with shock and confusion, and asks, “Is that true?”

Or, in a rush of bravery only senior year can bring, Harry confesses his feelings in a letter to his neighbor and best friend, Louis, only for the entire school to hear it and laugh him out of their small town in Wisconsin. Ten years later, Harry's a successful lawyer at Columbia Records, coming home for Christmas for the first time since he departed for college. He plans to work his way through the trip, eat his mom's cooking, and avoid everyone from his past for as long as possible. The only problem is best laid plans hardly ever go as intended.

That's How I Know by allwaswell16 | 19k | Explicit

Louis Tomlinson has just landed his dream job, coaching soccer at Augustus University. When he moves into a new house near campus, he meets his very fit new neighbor, English professor Harry Styles. Although their first meeting leads to an instant mutual dislike, the more Harry gets to know Louis, the more he likes what he sees.

Or the one where Harry’s African grey parrot spills his dirty secrets to his very hot neighbor.

Get Off of My Cloud by Marora_Daris | 9k | Explicit

Harry is the most annoying neighbour that sexually frustrated Louis could have. Niall decides it's a good idea to handcuff them together.

Featuring guinea pigs, animal print leggings and inappropriate boners.

Erase My History, (Expo)se Me by BayouSexual, pacificrimjob for Edandcurly | 6k | Teen And Up Audiences

“My hair does not smell like strawberries.”

Louis blinks up at Mr. Styles. “I never said your hair smells like strawberries. How would I even know that?” Harry’s hair does smell like strawberries, Harry himself smells like strawberries, everyone who’s been within three feet of him knows this. ~~~~~~~~ Or the one where Harry and Louis both teacher history, their students think they should date, and one pink dry-erase marker is trying to ruin their lives (with a little help of course).

[janamelie]

Dimension Jump XXI Report

I suppose I’m a DJ veteran now as this was my fifth consecutive one and the fourth at the Nottingham Crowne Plaza which is an expensive four-star hotel.  Sharing with a friend helps keep the cost reasonable and honestly, it’s worth it for the sheer convenience of being right there in the hotel and being able to nip back to your room as required.  (To be clear, you don’t have to stay in the hotel to attend the con.  There are plenty of other hotels nearby.)

Plus there is always the chance that you’ll see a guest at breakfast as I did Danny once.  He picked out a few pieces of fruit and nibbled at them before wandering over late to his photoshoot.  What else would you expect from a cat though?

Friday

Myself and @downonthepharm-red-dwarf (Amy) had arrived the previous day so had plenty of time to be near the front of the queue for registration.  Which meant we saw Hattie Hayridge arrive in a stunning designer coat and with smart luggage.  She really brought her outfit A-game and looked great the whole weekend.

Once we’d presented our respective proofs of full Covid vaccination or a recent negative test, we were given our DJ passes and booklets.  The latter has spaces for signatures from guests, an Order Of Events and various handy tips for the weekend.

The con kicks off at 5pm with an hour of gradual build-up in the Main Hall - they show videos from previous events, specially made titbits with various guests past and present such as Mark Dexter doing a mock guide to DJ and Rebecca Blackstone voicing Pree.  It all helps with the atmosphere, as do the numerous RD posters dotted around the hotel.

Then it was time for the Opening Ceremony featuring various Fan Club team members and an overcrowded stage full of cardboard boxes - the joke was that they’d had too much time on their hands during lockdowns and bought loads of stuff online.  It was obviously also a nod to Lister’s hoarding in “The Promised Land”.  

The sketch featured a specially made shot of the AA adverts’ Starbug model landing outside the Crowne Plaza and an 80s computerised version of the lovely convention logo.  You could tell a lot of loving effort had gone into the whole thing.

Once the guest line-up had been announced (I’ll get to that not-really-a-surprise-guest shortly), we went straight into the RD Pub Quiz, hosted by Hattie.  DOTP and I had been joined at our table by Lapsang and Barbs from our Discord (No Kind Of Atmosphere) plus various other attendees we’d befriended.

Someone in the crowd yelled “I love you, Hattie!” to which she quipped “I’ve pulled already!”  Another bloke shouted “Fuck off, she’s mine!” which led to a few shouts of “Fight!”  When neither seemed keen to do so, Hattie joked: “Only two?  That’s a bit pathetic!” and then we got started.

The quiz is hard, by design, but I’m good at quizzes and my team - No Kind Of Atmosphere after our Discord - came joint third which was gratifying.  (I was on the winning team a few DJs ago, to blow my own trumpet for a moment.  This is my report, after all.)

And then it was time for the first guest Q&A with - surprise, surprise - Johnny Vegas aka the Crit Cop in “Timewave”.  Not a great episode but he more than made up for that with an appearance I can only describe as chaotic.  Warning - DO NOT attempt to heckle him unless you want to be singled out and humiliated in front of the entire audience in a “Can’t look away” fashion which was nonetheless entertaining.  The man in question tweeted about it afterwards and seems to have taken it in good spirit.

Once we’d moved on from encouraging people to leave unpleasant things in room 429, it turned out Johnny’s a big fan of the show and owned it on VHS (so did I).  He thinks of the main characters, Holly would win at “Taskmaster” and had good reasons for that conclusion.  

He was dubious about the pink costume he wore in “Timewave” as he thought it might take away from the character but said he eventually decided he needed to get over what he was wearing and just go for it.  He also said one of his worst working moments was on “Benidorm” when he had to hold his breath underwater in a freezing swimming pool and his co-star kept forgetting her two lines so they had over 30 takes.  Ouch.

Johnny left commenting that he got less love at his 50th birthday party.  But we hadn’t seen the last of him by any means as people kept buying him drinks during the Auction, leading to him successfully bidding for one of the items on offer.

And then he was back for the Karaoke.  Now if you - as he informed us - had to undergo emergency dental surgery in the morning and had practically lost your voice, would you sing karaoke?  And not only that, would you sing a version of “Love On The Rocks” which lasted 11 minutes according to someone on Twitter (I wasn’t timing it, but I can believe it), followed by the full-length version of “American Pie”?

If you answered no, you’re clearly not Johnny Vegas.  He went to bed so late that the unfortunate Fan Club team member assigned to look after him got a grand total of 90 minutes’ sleep.

Saturday

DOTP and I had paid for the Photoshoot with Mr Vegas, Danny John-Jules and Ray Fearon.  We got in the queue at 9am which was when it was supposed to start.  An hour later we were still waiting.  Yep, Danny was late.

Once he made it to the hotel, I got my photo in front of a Science Room backdrop.  You might think Mr Vegas would be hungover and rushing through it, but on the contrary, he was still enjoying the hell out of proceedings which was refreshing to see.  Since he’d been added to the line-up too late to be in the souvenir booklet, he signed extra inserts for the Fan Club which they handed out to everyone at the later Autograph sessions so attendees got his autograph after all even though he’d finally left.  That’s what I call throwing yourself into an event.

Next up was a combined Q&A with Danny and Ray (originally separate but Danny’s lateness meant they were teamed up).  This wasn’t a problem at all though - on the contrary, it worked really well as the chumminess between them added to the vibe.  Also it was Ray’s first convention so he probably preferred to have Danny backing him up, especially since the poor man tripped on his way to the stage and almost fell.  I don’t think he was hurt but I cringed with secondhand embarrassment and empathy.  He wasn’t the only one to fall foul of the edge of the stage that weekend; I think it was the slightly raised dancefloor in front of it.

As is usual for Danny, we were treated to over half an hour of what you can only really describe as a stream of consciousness as he pontificated about various things.  He and Ray did also talk about working together on “Death In Paradise” and Ray described his worst working experience there - he had to play a scene in a club in 45 degree heat with a live snake wrapped around his neck!

Ray is attractive in a “Hollywood hunk” way and Danny was clearly conscious of this, joking that he’d “brought his own security with him” and muttering “I’m better-looking anyway!”  But all in a jokey way as they’re clearly friends.

Danny had come from filming and dropped a heavy hint that he’s appearing in a Dickens adaptation which I imagine will be shown at Christmas as they generally are.  He also complained that Craig Charles never answers his phone: “You send him a message and he answers it on Twitter a month later!”  (Interestingly, Chris Barrie later mentioned a recent phone conversation with Craig so make of that what you will.)

Ray was quieter but happy to talk about the vagaries of showbiz and typecasting - he said that due to his Shakespearean background he gets a lot of serious roles so people were genuinely surprised that he could also do comedy but “I was always funny!”  He also gently teased Danny about the age of some of his references before admitting he still finds Tommy Cooper funny.

Danny usually performs “Tongue-tied” with a good grace when inevitably asked to by an audience member but perhaps it’s finally starting to pall as this time he did it in the style of Oliver Reed’s Bill Sykes and included a lot of X-rated references to cunnilingus etc.  It was entertaining though.

Next up was a live Q&A (over Zoom) with Chris Barrie.  Danny decided to stick around as he wanted to show Chris something he’d ordered online.  It took a while to get the cameras in the right position for Chris to be able to see it and Danny needed a knife to open the parcel, leading Chris to quip “Is this a good time for me to step out for some lunch?”

However, it turned out to be worth it as it was a custom-made Ace Rimmer doll which impressed Chris with its quality and he complimented the maker.

Danny and Ray then departed for their lunch and to take part in the Coffee Lounge which this year had reduced its numbers for Covid-related reasons and held a ballot for entry in the interests of fairness.  Amy and I didn’t get in but happily stayed for the rest of Chris’s Q&A.

In the “working from home” spirit, Chris was in a hoodie in his living room as opposed to his more usual smart suit.  He was suitably relaxed and revealed he got through lockdown by concentrating on the things which make him happy, such as his hobbies, his garden and his family.  His favourite episodes are “Marooned”, “Dimension Jump” and - less predictably - “Twentica”.  He also referred to a recent “mannerly, as he would call it” phone conversation with Craig.  No details but it had clearly been a positive experience.

Amy decided to liven up the ending of his Q&A by asking a vitally important, “TPL”-related question.  Whom would Rimmer find more attractive, a female version of Lister or a female version of Cat?

Once the laughter had died down and Chris had bought some time by pointing out that “neither of them are women”, he gave the question appropriate consideration.  He pondered whether Rimmer would be more taken by the “simple charms” of Lister or the “feline grace” of Cat.  This next bit is courtesy of Amy as my memory isn’t infallible: He said it’d be a choice between a feline form or a rounder, a bit more slovenly woman - he wouldn’t want the perfectly feline woman because she might not like his imperfections, but he also wouldn’t want someone who ate curry three times a day.  “Basically, a balance would be ideal.”

That was the last question but Chris provided a little more entertainment as he had a “How do you turn this off then?” moment a la Gordon the computer in “Better Than Life” and made amusing faces as he figured it out.  If it was anyone but Chris I’d think it was a deliberate reference to that but I think he was genuinely befuddled.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Autographs with Hattie, Danny, Ray and Norman Lovett.  I got the latter three to sign the “TPL” poster I’d brought with me but gave Hattie the booklet instead as it seemed more tactful.  She complimented the dress I was wearing and I returned the compliment, telling her how much the fans appreciate the effort she makes with her DJ outfits.

Norman commented how there’s a version of the “TPL” poster he isn’t on, bemusedly.  Fortunately mine was the version including him. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon chilling in the bar with Amy, Lapsang and Barbs, chatting to other attendees.  Graphic Designer Matthew Clark was now in the Merchandise Room with various props from Series XII and “TPL” including the Starbug manual used onscreen.  I got his autograph on my poster but it’s an incomprehensible squiggle.  Oh well.  He was very friendly and easy to talk to.

After a break for dinner, the Main Hall reopened for the Costume Competition.  This seems to get better every DJ, with an amazing “Greyscale Rimmer” who was discomfiting to be around due to the corpse-like makeup, a Natalina Pushkin, a Nirvanah Crane who could almost have been Jane Horrocks herself and a Diving Suit Cat from “BTE”.  Other entries included Rimmer’s Mum, “Giraffes who were armed and dangerous” and a Confidence And Paranoia who were later pictured at the bar chatting to Paranoia himself, Lee Cornes.

We then had a special video message from Doug Naylor which I won’t go into as I’m sure everyone’s already heard the details.  Suffice to say, his tone was positive.

The second Auction was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who made it more entertaining by adding his own commentary to each item.  This was followed by a stand-up set from Norman.  It was amusing but he misjudged the mood a bit, I feel.  When you’re waiting for a disco to start and it’s already hours late due to Danny’s tardiness, you don’t particularly want to contemplate your own mortality.  We were here to get away from all that, as much as possible.

Anyway, the Disco was a lot of fun even if Dave Benson Phillips’ presence as host was sorely missed.  Hattie danced for the best part of an hour alongside everyone else.  The stand-in DJs did their job and I stayed until the end.  The final two songs were “Bohemian Rhapsody” and … “Tongue-tied”.

Sunday

Not being in the Sunday Photoshoot, Amy and I had a nice leisurely breakfast and got over last night’s festivities before the first Q&A, live over Zoom with Robert Llewellyn.

This was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who in his capacity as Dave era audience warm-up knows Robert well.  Clearly well enough to get away with teasing him relentlessly about not being at the con in person until poor Robert was a mess of Krytenesque guilt.  

His protestations that he’d been scheduled to be in Munich this weekend but no longer was (he was at home) only made things worse.  Ian: “Oh, so that’s two sets of people you’ve disappointed now!  Stop saying yes to things!”  It was hilarious and Robert took it in its intended spirit.  Also Ian was getting a measure of revenge for Robert - in character as Kryten - dry humping him at recordings.  One attendee asked “With the groinal attachment?!”

Robert admitted that he finds Kryten’s various groinal attachments hilarious and if he was writing the show they’d be in every episode.  He praised Doug’s restraint.

He also admitted that in “TPL” he had an earpiece to have his lines fed to him.  Since it’s controlled by an iPad, certain unscrupulous cast members took great delight in feeding him rude ones.

He still intends to update “The Man In The Rubber Mask” but atm “Fully Charged” is consuming a lot of his time as it’s become much more successful than he anticipated and he’s in charge of several people.

Surprisingly, he would hate appearing in RD without the Kryten makeup, both because it’s become much quicker to apply and because it provides him with a shield and he becomes Kryten and forgets stagefright.  He still can’t watch “DNA” for that reason.

Lapsang, who played Kryten in “Into The Gloop”, asked Robert if he’d seen it.  He hadn’t but said he was now very curious and would find a way to.

Next up was Lee Cornes aka Paranoia who said he originally auditioned for the lead roles and like the other unsuccessful actors got the consolation prize of a guest appearance.  Upon being asked if he’d gone out for a drink with Craig Ferguson’s Confidence, he said no because at the time they had a frosty relationship due to rumours that Craig was plagiarising other comics’ jokes.  Lee said it was all very silly and he’s since apologised.

Interestingly, Lee is a qualified science teacher and carried on with that career alongside his media one, leading to surreal situations where his pupils would ask: “Sir?  Were you on the telly last night?”  “Yes.”  “Are we on the telly now, sir?”

Someone asked a good question - what would Lister’s Paranoia be like now 33 years later?  Lee would be willing to reprise the role but isn’t sure it would work as the original had a childish quality whereas he feels now the character would be a lot darker and less funny.  Lee was both thoughtful and entertaining in his responses.

He was followed onstage by Hattie and Norman, who resolutely refused to rise to the bait of an audience member attempting to stir up a rivalry between them.  That only works when one isn’t the nicest person you could meet.

A tactless audience member asked both if they’d watched “TPL” instead of directing the question at Norman.  Luckily Hattie had seen it and particularly enjoyed the cat flap joke although she felt there was a little too much focus on the guest cast.

Norman didn’t really watch RD after he left but Hattie has seen Norman’s early episodes as he lent them to her back when she was originally cast as Hilly for research purposes.  Bear in mind this was 1988 when they weren’t even available on VHS so presumably he recorded them off the TV.  

Hattie confirmed with a sigh that she’s simply never been asked to return in any capacity: “That’s the short answer.”  What the hell, I’ll say it one more time - Bring Back Hattie!  One episode, that’s all I ask.  As it stands, it’s starting to look like a pointed and deliberate snub which mystifies me.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Rob Grant and Paul Jackson.  For obvious reasons they didn’t go into the current legal mess, opting instead to entertain the fans with the story of how they met and their early pre-RD work (Rob and Doug as freelance writers for Paul’s producer).

We saw some clips from their early shows including “Three Of A Kind” with Lenny Henry, Tracy Ullman and … later magician David Copperfield; apparently they all had the same agent and Paul took on David as a favour.  For a 40 year old show it held up pretty well and was in much better sound and picture quality than older shows often are. “Carrott’s Lib” was just as funny.

It’s a bit hard to summarise but this session was entertaining and gripping.  Rob still wants to write another RD novel and I believe there’s nothing actually stopping him as both he and Doug had an option to write a second solo novel.  So we’ll see.

The final Q&A was Matthew Clark who was very informative and interesting, showing us numerous production stills from Series XII and “TPL” and talking us through them.  There was a groan when time was called before he was finished.

By now time was running short and Amy and I went back to the room to pack and leave our luggage with reception before watching the start of “Dibbley Family Fortunes”. Since I knew I wouldn’t have time to watch it all, I instead nipped upstairs to Autographs with Lee and Ian, timing it perfectly as the queue had almost vanished.

Ian was still performing, drawing scornful attention to the fact that Lee had a longer queue: “Can you imagine all these people queueing to see Lee Cornes?!”  It sounds rude out of context but he was clearly joking.

I decided to ask Lee what flavour the yogurt Paranoia eats was.  He said it didn’t really taste of anything as it was the cheapest, nastiest canteen yogurt available and was also starting to curdle under the studio lights so eating it can’t have been much fun.

Since I now had about 15 minutes before I had to go, I caught a bit of Dibbley Family Fortunes, said goodbye to Amy, Lapsang and Barbs and then dashed off to catch the tram to the train station.  Another great DJ.

[welcomingdisaster]

@rowantreeisme took the bait i posted... here’s roughly 4k for a space pirate WIP i started writing over christmas break  steve/tony, roughly a t-rating, canon typical violence, 616 & mcu elements May 29th, 2234

Gravel crunched underneath Tony’s feet as he made his way down the garden path. Prickly rosebushes lined the edges of the path, their dark leaves perfect almond shapes, the delicate flowers modeled at the perfect levels of complexity. The artist had taken the time to include minute imperfections on each flower, tiny places where the petals had worn ragged, little round holes in the leaves. The grass underfoot was the real deal, and Jarvis objected to anyone touching it, lest they somehow extinguish its delicate life. He stood, perhaps, in the most realistic recreation of the old Earth that existed anywhere.

The garden normally brought him calm, but today he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the anxiety that boiled up under his skin, the ball of nerves in his stomach. If he could leave, perhaps… leave the city, the country, the planet, look for answers elsewhere — 

But he couldn’t. Tony categorically could not leave, and he knew this, and perhaps this was the part of the issue that troubled him most; he was one of the richest men on this side of galaxy and yet he was homebound, trapped. The power others assigned to him was a mirage, as empty as plastic bag fluttering in the wind. 

It was his twenty-fourth birthday and he still felt like a child, a spoiled child, perhaps, a child with  money to spare and any toy he could desire at his fingertips, and yet still powerless to define his own life, to make the choices that mattered. 

It was his twenty-fourth birthday, and he felt, with every bone in his body, that he had never done anything of value. When he was younger, he imagined he had potential. He was genius; everyone he knew had told him so. One day, he would inherit his father’s company and the power and responsibility that came with it. One day, he would make choices that would affect hundreds of thousands of people. 

In the years since he had come of age, he’d never been allowed anywhere near that power. His latest disagreement with his father made him feel the company would never be willed to him. He would never have the steel his father was looking for. 

Next time, he thought he wouldn’t be told any plans at all. He should have just kept his mouth shut, he knew. He should have played along. 

No, he should have done something about it. There had to have been something to do. 

The problem was that he wasn’t the kind of man who ever did much about anything.

He wanted a drink. He would have one as soon as he was inside, and he could almost taste it. 

It didn’t take a lot these days. 

Hands in his pockets, hat pushed low on his head, he turned to head back towards the tower that housed his penthouse apartment. His abject misery and lowered gaze almost prevented him from seeing the shadow lurking on the path to his left. 

It was a little shadow, the shadow of a small woman or a teenager, dressed in white, and it knelt by the recreation rosebushes, its hands flat on the ground and head down. An intruder. 

Tony wasn’t particularly worried. The few people who’d broken into the garden, over the years, have been paparazzi or petty thieves, looking to steal the roses. Even if someone more dangerous — a more serious thief, some fringe activist,  anyone looking for random money — tried something, they’d find Tony better protected than anyone expected. 

So he crossed the garden over to approach his uninvited guest. Up close, she seemed even smaller, bunched in on herself like she was hurt. The dress she wore, just under her knees, seemed a little long for the fashion, and seemed charmingly childlike for it. Her boots, so tall they reached long past her knees, were similarly out of style. She was probably a few years older than him at most, fair-skinned and lightly freckled. Her green eyes were a little wet, like she was holding back tears.

“Are you alright?” Tony asked, kneeling down by her. “How did you get in here? What happened?” 

“I’m sorry,” she said, immediately, “I didn’t mean to intrude, truly, I just— they were coming after me, and I didn’t know how to get away, so I scaled the fence.” 

She straightened out to face him, setting her shoulders. At first, Tony thought he was seeing some kind of design on her dress, two bright red triangles facing each other, uneven and splotchy. Then, with a sinking feeling, he realized it was blood. 

“Oh!” He cried, his hand landing on her side and coming away wet. “Oh, let me get you inside.” 

She let him help her to his feet and leaned heavily against him for support as he walked her down the path, a little unsteady on her feet. 

“Who’s after you?” He asked, glancing over his shoulder. “Did they follow you?”

She only shrugged and shook her head, jumbling her words. “No, I don’t know, no— thank you, I dunno.” 

“It’ll be alright,” he said, as they reached the doorstep of the tower and no one seemed to be in pursuit. “I’ll make sure you’re alright. What’s your name?” 

“Nat. Natalie.” 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Tony.” He couldn’t use his fingerprint for the door anymore, so he leaned in to let the retinal scanner to its work, unpleasant blue light scanning up and down his eye. It took so long to work that he was beginning to wonder if someone had locked him out. Finally, though, he heard the faint click that indicated that the locking mechanism was allowing them access.

 He pulled the door open for Natalie and held it. She stood, still shaky, and stumbled, stabilizing herself with a hand on her own high boot. 

Her next move happened so quickly that Tony hadn’t realized what she doing until several seconds later. In one smooth motion, she reached into her boot and pulled something out, a long, metallic bracket ending with a spike, and slapped it onto the door, preventing it from shutting. Then, with that same forward momentum, she socked him in the jaw hard enough to send him flying back away from the steps. 

Tony let out a yelp of surprise. Momentarily, his vision went dark, but he was scrambling back up on his elbows before she could get the chance to pursue him. 

Flat metallic plates slid out from under his skin, covering the most vulnerable parts of his body; one plate for his chest, four for his arms, one over the neck, a rounded helmet. At the same time, cursing himself for not doing it sooner, he activated the scanners in his helmet. 

There were four people in his vicinity, the scanner informed him, three heartbeats where there should have been two. His own. Two from the two people who now rose out of the rosebushes, deactivating their photo-disguises as they did so, green leaves fading into dark skin. 

Tony took a step back. His scanner hadn’t picked up Natalie’s pulse or respiration at all, just a slightly garbled, low heat signature. She must have been wearing something that threw him off, some kind of skintight suit or armor he was missing. 

He raised two glowing hands at the intruders, one facing Natalie and the other the two people — man and woman, youngish, probably siblings by the near-identical jawlines and lip shapes. 

“This will fire if you approach me,” he said, firmly, “stop in your tracks and put your hands, all of you, and this can end without bloodshed.” 

Natalie smiled slightly, a sort of you got me written into her features, and raised her hands, showing her open palms. The two on the gravel path did the same, emotionless. 

They must have been trying to break in. It was a gutsy plan, Tony gave them that, and his stomach twisted at the thought of the punishments they could face if he called the police now. Justice came swiftly and brutally in Timely.  If he could scare them away, it’d be best both of them and for his conscience. 

“Well, I didn’t expect that,” Natalie said, her voice low and darkly humorous, “should have. Stark tech, isn’t it?” 

“Sure is,” Tony replied, “turn around and shut that door, keeping in mind that I can and will shoot if you try something again, alright?” 

He was still working off the assumption this was an attempted home invasion when something popped up on the display of his helmet. Intercepted communications. Natalie was wearing a wire. Perhaps all of them were. 

He motioned with his eyes to tell his AI to play them to him, to intercept.

“… him talking, Widow.” A deep, authoritative male voice said low into his ear. “And stay put, Quicksilver. I know you can get in, but we want to do this without shots fired. Hawkeye’s lining up to make the shot.” 

This was concerning. 

“What shot?” Tony asked. His gauntlets glowed a warning glow, gearing to make shots of his own. 

“What are you talking about?” Natalie asked, her voice perfectly genuine, but he saw confusion and worry reflected in the faces of the brother-sister pair. They’d heard, too. They knew he was on their comms. 

None of the three people he could see were in a position to make a shot at him. His scanners picked up knives on the man on the gravel path, and some sort of blaster on Natalie’s calf. Both of them had their hands high in the air. 

He let the protective plates of armor come up higher, covering nearly every inch of his body. They were solid, made to stop bullets and refract light from blasters. Only the tiniest cracks remained to allow movement around the joints, half a centimeter across. It’d be an impossible shot. 

“Natalie, leave the door,” he decided, “all of you, back out of the garden. I need this to end as soon as possible. If you cooperate, I’m not going to call the— ” 

Something sharp stung the side of his neck. Tony yelped, turning towards the direction the shot should have come from, and saw nothing but the glittering metallic tower. 

The cracks between the neck and shoulder plates were the thinnest of all. This shot should not have been successful, should not have been possible. Tony felt overwhelmed, dizzy with confusion. Or, perhaps, just dizzy. 

“Easy there, big guy,” Natalie said, softening her voice and stepping closer, her hands still raised in a placating gesture, “easy, easy.” 

There had been something on the dart fired. 

Of course there had been; it’d only barely hurt otherwise. Tony’s metal covered fingers couldn’t fit through the little crack, and he had to grudgingly lower the plates long enough to pull the dart out. His hand only barely closed around it, suddenly big and clunky. It felt hard to string two thoughts together. 

The dart was sleek and bright purple, old fashioned in a way that might have been charming under circumstances. Who had shot it? 

He glanced at the brother and sister on the path, and then at Natalie, looking for any possible answers. When he looked back at the siblings, the brother was gone, and the sister crossed her arms and smirked at him. That couldn’t be right, either. 

Natalie caught him by the shoulder as he fell heavily onto his knees, still muttering “easy” to him under her breath. His head seemed suddenly to be weighed down with lead, and he couldn’t help falling forward. When his helmeted forehead hit her stomach, he felt no give, and metal clinked against metal. 

Somewhere to his left, a muted thud indicated that someone — or something — had landed heavily on the grass from high above.  

Too slowly, he pushed back and away from Natalie, and, still on his knees, raising a hand to fire off a repulsor blast in the direction of the newcomer. He must have— he must have been perched, somehow, on the walls of the building.

The pressure in his head seemed to build, until he felt like his brains would be coming out through his eyes soon, too big for his skull. He couldn’t focus on the image in front of his eyes, couldn’t tell the man apart from the grass. 

Another muted thud. Tony’s hand shook. What was he aiming at? Who was he aiming at? 

Never shoot what you can’t see. He let his hands drop to his sides. Natalie’s gentle, steadying hands remained menacingly on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, he’s down.” An unfamiliar male said. The words echoed in Tony’s ears, on the comm channel he was still intercepting. “Too fucking fast, though, wonder if he’s faking.” 

“Should it be taking longer than that?” Asked the first voice — no, the, the second, the one which had— he’d talked earlier, Tony was sure, at some point. 

He could feel himself being pulled. Barely able to hold on to a sliver of consciousness, he tried to bat at the hands, but moving his hands through the air felt like bobbing for juice-balls in murky, thick water. His gauntlet fired up, and then back down again. 

“That’s alright, take it easy.” One of the voices said again. Someone — the owner of the voice— pulled him up off the ground bridal style. “No one’s here to hurt you.” 

Tony sincerely doubted that. 

*** 

When Tony woke, he was sitting upright, his hands handcuffed in front of him with heavy police handcuffs. Someone had put a pillow under his head, which otherwise would have fallen backwards. Someone had also managed to disable his armor; its plates had been pried out from under his skin and lay in their folded state on the short platform in front of him. 

This wasn’t a good sign. 

The room was chilly without being cold. The air around him was pre-naturally still and a little stale, cheap air purifiers leaving a slightly metallic taste in his mouth. For a moment, he couldn’t place the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the slight over-lightness, and then he realized that one had set the gravity a couple of degrees lower than normal. 

He opened his eyes, blinking crusty out of his left, and took in the room. He was sitting on a ratty old platform sofa, the bright green of which could have been charmingly vintage if it hadn’t been worn nearly all the way through. The walls were bare metal, and the ceiling low and domed. 

Unlike all of the luxury space vessels he had owned, this one made no attempt to hide what it was. 

Tony shivered. 

He had been abducted for an unknown purpose by a well-armed band of criminals who were in the possession of a space ship. He’d been taken off planet and disarmed. 

It was hard to imagine a scenario where this did not end with his body floating lifeless through the freezing expanses of space. Even if this was about ransom money, he wasn’t naive — very few kidnapping victims were returned safely, considering the sort of brutal punishment being caught would entail. 

He twisted his hands around, testing the cuffs, pushed his fingers into the grooves of the lock to try to learn its secrets. It held firm — he could barely guess at the type of locking mechanism used. Thinking to try the door, he pushed himself to his feet. 

The door opened before he could cross the room. 

The man who stood in the doorway was broad shouldered and bearded, his hair strawberry blond and eyes a deeper, darker blue than Tony could remember ever seeing on a human being. His face was broad with flat, squared cheekbones and pale blond eyebrows, handsome in a simple, straightforward way. He wore what looked to be a circular shell on his back, the strap wrapping around his chest. The the six pack underneath his skintight blue turtleneck was so well-defined Tony thought he must be padding. 

“You can sit down, Mr. Stark,” he said, not unpleasantly. Tony immediately recognized his voice; he’d been the first man he heard on the intercepted comm line, the one barking orders to the rest. 

The was no reason to piss this man off. Tony sat. 

The man pulled on something on the wall. It creaked and didn’t immediately give. For a moment, Tony braced himself, but he only pulled down a low metallic panel, on which he sat down, facing his captive. 

“First things first, my name is Steve Rogers.” he said, holding out a hand. 

Tony gestured down to the handcuffs, then fumbled to shake it anyways. The hand was warm and calloused. 

“I’m guessing you know who I am,” he said. 

Rogers gave him a tiny, tight smile, and nodded.

“So,” he began, “this is a little awkward, considering you’ve only got our word for it, but no one is going to hurt you.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow, letting his skepticism show. 

“This about making our voices heard,” Rogers said, “and the common good. I’d have much preferred to vote, had that been an option, but…” 

Ah. He was a radical, then, here to make a spectacle of himself, and, as talk of democracy suggested, most likely the kind of regressive traditionalist that tended towards such measures. Tony couldn’t say he’d never sympathized. The failures of the democratic system had been well explained to him, of course; the vision was perfect on paper but never possible in reality. No truly democratic nation had existed. 

Rogers shrugged, something slightly nostalgic in his expression. “… but I’m afraid your father hasn’t left us with a lot of time.” 

“What does that mean?” Tony asked, keeping his voice neutral. If he could somehow convince these people that they had the wrong guy, that his death would accomplish nothing— maybe if he made them feel like they could let him go without being caught— perhaps he could have a chance. “He owns a biotech company. He doesn’t produce weapons, or… anything of the sort, really. It’s all medical technology, things people need to live.” 

Roger met his eyes, his gaze level. The judgement in them made Tony glance down and away, the guilt of his fathers’ secrets weighing him down. Rogers couldn’t possibly know what Tony knew, but he was looking at him like he recognized the lie of omission. 

“Yes,” he said, a flat statement of fact, “exactly. People need your technology to live.” 

Tony’s eyes fell to the floor. Could he know? 

“I don’t have any control over what he does,” he said, quietly, after a moment, “if I did—“ 

“There’s no need to mince words, Mr. Stark,” Rogers cut in, sharply, “if you did, his company wouldn’t be extorting money from two hundred thousand people next month under the threat of death?” 

Tony could feel something in his stomach swoop and then fall. He knew. 

“I’m—“ he swallowed, and managed, too mildly, too quietly, “not happy about it.” 

Rogers reached over and set one big, heavy hand on his shoulder. It didn’t quite feel threatening, but it sure as hell wasn’t friendly. 

“Then we’re on the same page,” he said, pleasantly, “are you going to try anything if I uncuff you?” 

Tony shook his head and held up his hands, and Rogers reached down to stick his finger in the lock. Finger print scan, then. 

As Tony rubbed his wrists, Rogers picked up one of the flat armored plates that Tony had pulled up from under his skin in the garden. 

“These are neat,” Rogers observed casually, “I’ve never heard of an armor you can store inside your own body. Did your father make those?” 

“Uh, no,” Tony said, “I did.” 

“Family business, huh?” Rogers stepped forward, holding the plate up to the light. “Show me your arm.” 

Tony did so, rolling up his sleeve. He assumed Rogers wanted to see the exposed ports where his armor would come out, thin tubes that lead deep inside his body. Instead, the man held the plate up to Tony’s arm. It was almost twice as wide. 

“So,” he asked, “how does that fit in there?”

Tony considered lying, but there was no point. 

“Nanotechnology,” he said, “feel how light it is? The armor’s hollow. Each plate comes apart into microscopic pieces and locks back together on demand. It’s not too much to store, with a… well hidden pouch.” 

Rogers nodded, thoughtful. Some part of Tony wanted him to be impressed, wanted his approval. Some part of Tony already could not stand the waves of removed condemnation he could feel coming off this man. 

“When’s that hitting the market?” Rogers asked. 

“I don’t think it’s hitting the market,” Tony replied. It wouldn’t be wise to elaborate. 

“No,” Rogers said, “I didn’t see anything like it in the files we intercepted.” 

“The ones where you read about Stark+?” Tony asked, though he knew it had to be the case. Next quarter, his father’s company would be rolling out a new plan, one which would turn the biological enhancements and medical implants produced by the company into a paid subscription service. On paper, this offered benefits to the consumer; several tiers included reduced price medical appointments and free upgrades. In practicality, he knew those unable to pay would be left without functioning organs. 

“Mmhm.” Rogers said, clearly not very interested in talking about the files or his source. 

“Who even are you people?” Tony asked. “How did you—“ 

Rogers didn’t answer for a few moments. His lips twitched slightly; Tony could see him thinking, stringing words together, building the image he’d like to present of himself. 

“We’re just a group of regular people,” he said, “men and women no different from anyone else in the galaxy. We’ve taken it onto ourselves not the let the big guys step on the little ones.” 

“What are you going to do?” Tony asked. “About all this?” 

“We’re searching the computers we’ve taken from your apartment for anything we can use,” Steve said, “information about the technology. Blackmail material. Anything at all which might help. If we can form a viable plan, our colleague is going to wipe some memories from you and we’re going to take you home.” 

“And if not?” 

“If not, we’re going to use you as a bargaining chip against your father.” 

[sailorzakuro]

MY BIG STRICTLY PARTY POST OF THE 2020 FINAL

Um... excuse me... Mr Bill Bailey won... and I am deceased.

For real I screamed so hard I knackered my jaw which is problematic anyway but now it’s slightly worse and it’s painful to eat but BILL FUCKING BAILEY THE COMEDIAN FINALLY WON 😭. I’ll get into it later I need to actually talk about the dances haha.

HRVY and Janette (Jive) - I’m remembering the criticisms I had about his Jive in that first week, I mean it was obviously amazing then but I knew where I could see areas for improvement, and oh my GOD did he improve them. He had more precision, he extended his arms fully upwards, just everything was so much cleaner and I was so happy for him 😂.

Jamie and Karen (Charleston) - Similar to HRVY’s Jive I remembered what I wanted from this dance and, again, Jamie BROUGHT it, he loosened up and cleaned up so much and he looked so much more relaxed with it. The first time round this dance definitely made him more confident but you could really feel a total change in his attitude towards himself and his dancing this time.

Bill and Oti (Quickstep) - AHH SORRY I’LL TRY TO BE CALM but AGAIN he really cleaned up this dance! First time it was the “oh snap Bill Bailey’s actually good” dance, but there was still flaws. I feel like this time he really added more grace to his movements, keeping the energy and the lightness of the footwork but adding in those smooth dynamics that make some of the moves feel deeper, it was great 😂.

Maisie and Gorka (Samba) - I have to say, BOLD move giving her the Samba again, but she did well with it! I felt like her balance was a lot better this time round, looking back at the first time she did it there was some balance issues probably to do with her feet, but she was very stable throughout this and achieved the technical and performance aspects of her moves really well 😂.

HRVY and Janette (Showdance) - I mean... that was perfect. Choreo was on point, everything was executed perfectly, what more do you want? And you can tell Janette’s been itching to do a Showdance WE’RE HAPPY FOR YOU JANETTE WELL DONE HUN 😂.

Jamie and Karen (Showdance) - Oh the shaaaaaaade starting with the dance off lights THEN HE JUST FUCKING FLIES DOWN LIKE YES WE LOVE I think this dance was just totally Jamie like everything this dance was, was just Jamie 😂.

Bill and Oti (Showdance) - Now THAT’S a Showdance, Bill was playing guitar, Oti was spinning on a hoola hoop, they were doing dance moves from their previous dances, it was literal fire, and it gives me SO much faith in humanity that the guy who did the rock and roll epic go for it dark Showdance won, thank you for that 😂. AND CRAIG GAVE HIM A 10 YES THANK YOU AGAIN 😭🤘.

Maisie and Gorka (Showdance) - I think this was more suited for a Christmas special than the main final but it was great! They really went for the classy Hollywood style Showdance and Maisie really captures that style well, she was gliding around no problem with such finesse and spirit 😂.

HRVY and Janette (American Smooth) - Again, perfect, I have nothing else to say.

Jamie and Karen (Couple’s Choice) - LOVED IT AGAIN tbh I didn’t see how Jamie could dance this any better than he did first time but HE DID he just had that absolute power in his moves and, again, had the absolute spirit of the dance just flowing throughout him it was amazing 😂.

Bill and Oti (Couple’s Choice) - THE WINNING DANCE I GUESS Bill also cleaned up his moves here it was amazing! He improved on the energy in his top half, as last time I felt like there was an energetic and precision imbalance between his top half and his bottom half, and this time they were A LOT closer. His hands shaping was great, his arms moved with sharper and tighter movements, it just flowed a lot better to me 😂.

Maisie and Gorka (Couples’ Choice) - (nearly forgot whoopsie) I mean it looked pretty similar to the first time for me but it was really good the first time so 😂.

Okay, now we get BONUS ROOOUUUUND 😂.

Nicola and Katya (whatever dance it was supposed to be idk Showdance??) - SHE’S BACK YEEEEEEES and WOW has that long amount of time to practice paid off she was EXCEPTIONAL to me. Honestly, comparing stuff like her Jive and her Couple’s Choice to THAT was, wow, I don’t even know what to say 😂. First of all, dancing to Muse, love them, second, she had so much better posture and shaping in her upper body it all looked so smooooooooth 😂. I think there was a couple of balance issues with the lifts, but who cares this wasn’t competitive so does it matter? 😂. I’m just so proud of her 😭. AND FINALLY SOME CLOSE DANCING BETWEEN TWO FEMALES I’M GLAD THEY WENT FOR IT LMAO.

Okay, next is my favourite part of every final, THE LOSERS DANCE (or the rejects group as Anneka came up with last year), but the clip’s not been uploaded to YouTube yet and I cba looking it up on iPlayer so I’m gonna go from memory 😂. THEY DIDN’T COME OUT IN ORDER WTF I mean I know they wanted Caroline for the “Sweet Caroline” bit but surely they could have stretched Jacqui, Jason, Nicola and Max over that part until Caroline’s bit 😂. But I do get ending with the infamous POW Samba 😂. I loved seeing Ranvir in her Dreamgirls dress again though, that was such an iconic dance of hers and it made her believe in herself I think, so even though she couldn’t be in the final she got a sense of glory there 😂. Sorry I’m still not over Ranvir getting booted off 😭. I can’t remember much else haha, there was the Christmas stuff which was nice 😂. Omg Gio playing the xylophone tho iconic 😂.

And that leads us on to... THE CROWNING MOMENT. My man, the comedian, the metal loving icon, Bill ruddy bloody Bailey, only went and won 😂. Not even just for Bill himself, but the fact a comedian who is so musical and loves and embraces heavy music and expressed that through a lot of his dances, just makes me so happy 😂. Bill himself of course is amazing, he’s hilarious, he’s dedicated, he won’t let anyone try and make him the wally or the stupid one, he put so much time and effort in, proved everyone wrong and did it how he wanted to. What can I say, I stan a rebel 😂. For the past 3 series I’ve been watching the comedian has either been my favourite or one of my top couples, I know them and I love them and their work, and if one day I can be one myself I’ll be so happy. But to watch this comedian go out there and be serious, embrace each dance as it comes, but still be himself? I respect that SO much, and I don’t think I could have been happier with any other winner. Well, of course not, they were my joint favourites from the start 😂. AND MOTSI OMG SHE WAS SO PROUD OF OTI WINNING AGAIN (do not start that conspiracy I do not want to hear it) AND I MEAN WE ALL FELT THE SAME 😭. So, well done Bill and Oti, just for giving a big old v sign to what people tried to make you. You can do things properly and not lose yourself, that’s the story of Bill Bailey on Strictly 😂.

And now my big thank you to ANYONE who has read any of my posts this year. I know I can be biased, I know I can be problematic, but it makes me feel so good to share my love for this weird BBC show about teaching celebrities how to ballroom dance 😂. It’s just so much fun to share my love for this show, and to anyone who actually reads and cares about what I have to say, I thank you SO much. Seriously, thank you ❤️. I guess until next year!!

[scrunchyharry]

RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

So, this inspired me to go through my google drive and unearth this fic that I’ll most likely never finish. I haven’t touched it since March 2014, so, you know. I might as well have not written it myself.

meet this 1950s, Oxbridge, shy librarian worker meets bad boy AU that almost was. the title of this google doc was “kill your darlings - library sexcapades”, so you can see where my mind was. I was in library school, I’d just gone to see Kill Your Darlings in theatres, it was so predictable, really. reading through it earlier, I realize that I used many of the underlying ideas I had for this fic in fondre ton absence, which I first started only two months after I abandoned this one (and I only posted it in 2019, I know.)

I abandoned it because, if I remember correctly, it was only my second ever historical AU (the first one wasn’t in this fandom, it’s a glee fic, if you bully me enough I can provide a link) and I really, really struggled with it, not only with keeping it free of anachronisms, but also relevant to 1950s British culture rather than American culture, which I am more familiar with as a Canadian. I vividly remember panicking when I couldn’t figure out if Brits went bowling in the 1950s, or even now???? we had different problems in ye olde days before the pandemic, hm?

now, of course, I’ve come to love the pain of researching historical AUs, it’s literally the only thing I’ll write, but 6 years ago was a different story. also, I’m not in grad school anymore, so I have more free time. this helped a lot with fleshing out my fics, this whole “no longer being in university” thing (that I say while being 5 years out of university and now only posting a single fic per year).

anyway. enough from me. here’s the fic. it’s 6500 words long and stops abruptly.

Lying awake in his bed, Harry listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windowpane, the yellow streetlamp outside his dormitory room’s window casting distorted shadows on the floorboards as it filtered through the water running down the glass and the sheer curtains. On the other side of the room, Niall was fast asleep, his breathing regular and slightly wheezing from the cold he’d caught playing football out in the rain the day before. Every six or seven inhale, he’d snore loudly, rousing Harry from the half-sleep he had managed to slip into. Staring at the ceiling, Harry was trying to tell the shadows of the bare tree branches from the cracks in the off-white plaster. The room smelled dank like the rest of the building, the wood creaking and beads of water oozing from the walls from the rain that had been plaguing them for close to a week.

Harry turned on his side, wincing as his joints ached in the cold, humid air of the room, Niall’s congested nose asking for the window to be left ajar, which only let more humidity in. His bedsheets were moist and stuck to his skin in a way that made him feel queasy and promised to rob him of sleep for the entire night.

From somewhere down the hall came a peal of laughter, the sound piercing through the still night air and drifting to Harry’s ears. The sound was almost comforting, breaking through the oppressing bubble of his insomnia to remind him that he was not stranded, or alone. There were other people alive, other people asleep in the rooms next and above and below his, and the sun would rise even if it was behind grey clouds, and not being able to sleep was not the end of the world, no matter how it felt as he lay in his bed, restless and exhausted. 

He reached for his alarm clock, the bells quietly chiming as he moved it, and he frowned when he saw that it was half past three. He had to be up in four hours, hours which he knew he wouldn’t sleep. With a final sigh and a resentful glance at the sprawled shape of Niall, Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown, a plaid atrocity his sister had given him as a joke two Christmases past. 

The hallway was quiet as he made his way down to the creaking staircase, holding on to the railings as he went down so his slippers didn’t skid on the polished wood. He nodded at the night guardian reading a library copy of A Christmas Carol, his feet up on the desk by the double, windowed entrance doors.

“I’ve still got two more days to read this, haven’t I?” the man asked, lowering the book to squint at Harry in the dimness of the hallway.

“Three, sir,” Harry replied, hands deep in the pockets of his robe and shoulders slumped forward as a shiver ran through him. He could smell the fireplace burning from the common room and yearned to reach it soon. 

“Greg, give Harold a break, will you? He’s not working right now,” Zayn said, appearing out of the dark hallway and stopping by Harry’s side. “It’s already tedious enough to watch you read a Christmas novel in November, don’t make it worse on us by bothering poor Harry here about his job in the middle of the night.”

With a wink to Harry, Zayn dropped a pack of cigarettes on the guardian’s desk before walking past him again, back where he had come from, a quick nod inviting Harry along. He followed and closed thankful eyes as he crossed the common room’s threshold and was met by a wall of warm, dry air.

“Liam’s nicked logs from the hall across campus,” Zayn explained as he slouched in an armchair by the fire.

“Bless him,” Harry said, sitting opposite Zayn, close to the hearth. He extended his feet and let the flames warm them, feeling as if every crackle eased his weariness from the past few days.

September had been a neverending blur of mixers and social events to try and make friends as quickly as possible before it was too late and you were relegated to the ranks of social outcast. By the time October rolled by, Harry had managed to be late in all of his classes and had found himself locked in the library even when he did not have to work, his entire universe reduced to the dusty smell of books and ushed voices whispering about classnotes and midterms. On most nights he had to stay up well into the early hours, the grey light of dusk filtering through his foggy mind like through dirty glass as he tried to read three novels at once. Now that midterms were over, he had hoped he might be able to sleep while he counted down the days until finals, but he had managed to well and truly mess up his sleep rhythm. 

“No offence, mate, but you look like shit,” Zayn commented after a while, startling Harry out of his most-welcomed doze. 

Rubbing his eyes, Harry let out a small laugh. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know a guy--”

“No, thanks,” Harry cut him, not unkindly. 

Zayn always knew a guy, who knew a guy, whose brother could get you whatever you needed. He himself took nothing, keeping a record as straight as his ridiculously white teeth; scholarship kid, they said. Harry knew better than that, because he was one himself and had never seen Zayn at any of the disastrous mixers the financial aid office tried to organize. Besides, scholarship students were expected to work on campus, which Zayn did not do. He always seemed to be drifting from place to place, black hair carefully styled so that a swirl appeared to carelessly fall on his forehead and jacket nonchalantly hanging off his shoulder like something out of a magazine, without a care in the world. Harry figured it was the sort of attitude you had to adopt when you had a name like Zayn Malik. Not that Harry gave a damn about any of that, but, to put it mildly, it was not because people were quick to point a finger at Germany for what they had let happen that they were willing to face their own ignorance. In short: people whispered, and all of this despite the thick Northern accent that surprised the wits out of Harry the first time he heard it come out of Zayn’s mouth.

“It’s not healthy, though, is it? You should go see a nurse or something about it, you can die from sleep deprivation.”

Blinking slowly, Harry stared at his oldest friend on campus silently for a moment. “I hope you never make it into medical school, you’re going to be a shit doctor. ‘You can die from sleep deprivation,’ you tell the insomniac at four in the morning.” With a long sigh, Harry shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Zayn laughed. “Don’t worry, mate, I’ve heard worse. Have you met Louis?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Zayn. “Yes,” he replied despite knowing that this was a rhetorical question. “I know Louis.”

He shifted in his seat. Mentions of Louis had the pesky side-effect of making Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the curls as he yawned. He watched as Zayn light a cigarette and shook his head when offered one, instead pulling his legs up on the chair and curling up in it, arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still up at this hour?” Zayn asked after discarding his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

Tearing his eyes from the fireplace, Harry blinked slowly at him. “Do you want to tell me?”

Flashing him a wicked grin, Zayn winked. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I should have seen this one coming.”

“But you didn’t and that’s why we love you, Harold.” Zayn stretched and got up, picking his jacket off the back of the armchair and shrugging it on. “With this, I’m off to bed.” With a pat to Harry’s head, he headed out of the room.

“Goodnight!” Harry called after him before turning back to the fire, resting his chin on his knees with a sigh.

Harry considered following after Zayn for a moment, but the thought of his cold room made him wince. Instead, he carefully placed more wood into the hearth and pulled the armchair closer. He wrapped his dressing gown tighter around himself and then closed his eyes, turning his face to the warmth with a smile as his thoughts drifted through his memories.

The first time he had seen Louis did not technically count as the first time he had met him. His first glimpse of him had been a fleeting one: a knock at the door of his room and the flash of a crooked grin before a sharp voice called Niall out and the door slammed shut. It had been a whirlwind of sights and sounds, there and gone in a matter of seconds, and promptly discarded as one of Niall’s many boisterous friends.

The first time he met Louis, on the other hand, had made a much stronger impression. Harry had been working the counter at the library, alternating between reading a novel he kept hidden under the desk and staring off into space, eyes on the specks of dust as they drifted through the sunbeams pouring in from the tall windows. It had started with a gust of autumn wind sweeping into the room as someone threw opened the heavy oaken doors, causing the occupants of the library to look around in disgruntled curiosity. Harry himself had found himself craning his neck to try and see who was the utter idiot who was entering a library like it was a barn.

Louis had come running at top speed, muddy wingtips squeaking and skidding on the linoleum and his opened jacket flying behind him. He braced himself on a table as he took a sharp turn to the left and headed towards the counter, vaulting it and crouching down before Harry could stop him. He had stared down at him silently, blinking slowly, until the boy had pulled him down by the front of his shirt so he would kneel next to him.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had said lamely, feeling ashamed of the yelp he had let out as he looked at the red-faced, breathless boy still holding his shirt in his fist.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” the boy had said, letting go of his shirt to extend his hand for Harry to shake.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had repeated, ignoring his hand. “And I’m Harry.”

“I know,” Louis had replied, smirking. “So, I may or may not have dressed the statue outside the principal’s office in a dress. And I may or may not be currently running away from the school security.” He had paused to look up at Harry with big, pleading eyes. “My life depends on you, Harry. Please, hide me.”

“You--what? Why would you do that?”

Louis had squinted at him, an amused smile playing on his lips. “For fun?”

“Well, you can’t stay here, we--”

Louis had shut him up with a hand over his mouth. “Please, Harold. I’ll owe you one.”

“No, I mean, there’s--” Harry had mumbled against his hand, eyes darting to the top of the heads of the guardians he could see coming closer to the counter.

“Harry Styles, I am begging you, please let me hide here.”

Prying Louis’ hand away, Harry had rolled his eyes. “Shut up and listen to me, there are two guards coming over here right now, you need to run.” He wouldn’t be able to tell what took him, but had he found himself adding, in a quick whisper, “I’ll distract them. Go.”

Louis had grabbed Harry’s face to plant a loud, wet kiss on his cheek before repeating in a rush that he owed Harry his life and running back the way he had come.

A month had gone by since their meeting and Harry still winced with embarrassment when he thought back to it. He had looked like a proper fool in front of Louis, who, it turned out, was friends with all of his friends. He always turned up, no matter what they were doing or where they were going, teasing and joking and mocking, always constantly there in Harry’s peripheral vision. He was a third year, the rumour was that he had the lowest average in the history of the university (which made no sense, considering he still managed to pass his classes; besides, Harry had checked in old yearbooks during a quiet afternoon in the library and had found that a certain Lionel Hearst allegedly had the lowest average back in 1931--chances were that each year had their own Lionel Hearst, and the class of 1954 had elected Louis Tomlinson as theirs), and he was quite possibly the most annoying person Harry had ever met.

And there was another problem, a massive one that was threatening to destroy Harry’s sanity: he was gorgeous. Not your inoffensive “I can recognize that, objectively, Humphrey Bogart and James Dean are attractive males”, which Harry could very easily and comfortably live with. No, Louis was the kind of gorgeous that had poisoned Harry’s mind until it was all his twisted mind could conjure whenever he had what a psychology textbook he found in Liam’s room had called ‘nocturnal emissions’. 

When combined, Louis’ irritating personality and Harry’s inability to get him out of his head were a dangerous mix. One that he never missed an opportunity to use, because on a misguided evening, Harry had made the mistake to go out with Niall and had tragically confessed, over his fourth pint, that he was having unbecoming thoughts about Louis. The news had obviously rapidly travelled all the way to Louis’ ears and now it seemed he had made it his mission to make sure Harry never lived his shameful infatuation down.

Not to mention that, well, he was a boy infatuated with another boy. The same psychology textbook had told him that what he was had a name, and that it was diagnosable, and thus curable, but Liam had walked back in before Harry could read exactly what they meant by ‘aversion therapy’. He hadn’t dared ask Liam, not while Louis was sprawled on his bed, smoking with slow drags and slower exhales, winking at Harry whenever their eyes met. 

Louis had asked what Harry was reading and he had mumbled something about insomnia (which had been his first goal, mind you) and a wicked grin had appeared on Louis’ face.

“You were reading about paraphilias, weren’t you, you naughty boy? Which one was your favourite? I’m quite fond of homosexuality myself.”

Zayn had thrown a wrinkled jacket at Louis at that, saving Harry the embarrassment of having to reply by saying through a laugh: “The shit that comes out of your mouth is astounding.”

“It’s not shit! What’s it classified under, again? Payne, help me out.”

Reciting dully, as if he was used to the question - and Harry suspected he was - Liam had rolled his eyes. “Sexual deviations are under personality disorders of the sociopathic subtype.”

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t understand half the words in there, but I like the ring of ‘sociopathic’, don’t you? It makes it sound so dangerous, so ‘I will kill you in your sleep and then shag your corpse’.”

“Someone’s won the roommate lottery,” Niall had said, earning himself a slap upside the head from Liam. 

This particular exchange, and more specifically the image of Louis talking about sexual deviations while lying on a bed like some sort of caricature of a French painting, was running through Harry’s sleep deprived mind as he hurried to his morning class under the cold drizzle that had replaced the rain. He had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, but had woken up when the fire was out and the room had turned frigid. Going back to his room, he had collapsed on his bed, only to hear his alarm clock ringing what felt like three minutes later. And now, as he hurried up to the fourth floor on the slippery stairs, he realized with a groan he had forgotten to do the assigned readings for the class.

He took his usual seat near the centre of the lecture hall, unpacking his notebook and fiddling with his pen to keep his mind busy and, more importantly, awake. A three hour lecture on Shakespeare was the last thing he needed at the moment, his eyes unable to focus on the board for more than a handful of seconds before they closed heavily, his entire body jerking back as he drifted to sleep and started to fall forward.

The door opened loudly and Harry didn’t have to look to know who had just entered. He always banged doors opened, making his entrance known as if his presence itself wasn’t enough to get him noticed.

“Harold!” Louis’ voice echoed around the half-empty hall, off the wood-panelled walls and the high, off-white ceiling. He was holding a notebook in his hand, the poor thing in tatters like most of what Louis owned. The usual swirl of hair was falling on his forehead, disheveled in a way that felt more genuine than Zayn’s calculated styling, with the sides ruffled and looking mostly unkempt.

Harry waved at him, shifting in his seat as he watched Louis climb the steps up to where he was sitting and make his way to the empty chair next to Harry. He rubbed his eye and braced himself for the tornado of Louis’ personality.

“Hi, Louis,” he said once Louis was settled. “How are you?”

“I’m brilliant. My day’s always off to such a good start when I get to see you first thing in the morning.” He patted Harry’s knee, a smirk on his lips. Harry swallowed around his dry throat. “You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“Insomnia,” Harry replied with a shrug, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Nothing new.”

“Yeah, I see that, the bags under your eyes are terrifying.” 

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then forgot to close it as Louis reached up and stroked a thumb under Harry’s eye, lightly touching the paper thin skin. He could wax lyrical about how soft Louis’ skin turned out to be, or how unexpected the touch was, but neither of those things would be right. The fact of the matter was that being touched, stroked, petted or any other synonym describing fond, affectionate physical contact were common when Louis was concerned. That did not mean that Harry was used to it, and he found himself freezing under Louis’ careful finger, his words dying in his throat. 

“It looks like you’ve got shiners,” Louis said, voice quiet and soft. “You have to take better care of yourself, Haz, or else someone will have to do it for you.”

Louis’ fingers were still lightly brushing his cheek, close to his ear, as his thumb moved back and forth, barely touching his skin, and Harry absolutely could not let out any sound resembling modern languages. Instead, he nodded, remembered to close his mouth, and cleared his throat to try and speak. All of his efforts were ruined when Louis patted his cheek and moved back, slipping lower in his seat and winking at Harry when their knees bumped.

Harry blinked to realize that the hall had filled while Louis was busy making him forget English. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his glasses and slipped them on, not missing the pleased noise Louis let out next to him. He glanced at him, frowning.

“Love the glasses, Harold.”

“Me too. They help me see.”

Harry did not particularly consider himself a religious man. He went to church when it mattered and tried not to do unto others what he would not want done unto him, but for the most part, he never really had God at the back of his mind whenever he did something. And yet, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered what he had done to anger God. His eyes widened and he felt a blush blooming on his cheeks, his skin burning with the shame and embarrassment of his reply. They help me see, way to state the obvious, Styles. Louis was obviously flirting and the only thing he could come up with was bloody “they help me see.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter, pushing his knee against Harry’s. “Good for you, mate. You wouldn’t want to strain those pretty eyes of yours.”

The professor walking in and setting up his papers behind the lectern saved Harry from having to answer. Harry kept his eyes trained on the front of the class for the first hour of the lecture, pointedly ignoring Louis’ constant shifting and squirming around in his seat. Liam often asked if he had ants in his pants, which usually prompted Louis to let out a vulgar joke about what he did have in his pants. It was better if Harry ignored him, then. He was already struggling to keep up with the deadpan droning of their professor, he didn’t need to think about the way Louis’ thigh brushed against his every time he moved. 

The lightbulb closest to the door kept flickering, the rhythm varying from every other second to one every two or three minutes, and Harry found himself captivated by it. The ventilation buzzed in the background, a low metallic rumble pushing moist air into the suffocating hall. A strand of hair had escaped from his comb-over, falling into his eyes and curling from the humidity. He blew on it, watching it rise and fall and repeating the motion over and over again, until Louis elbowed him.

Harry turned to him, bracing himself for a witty remark that would turn him into a blubbering mess, but instead he was met with Louis’ profile, face set and serious as he had his hand raised in the air. Squinting, Harry turned to their professor in time to see him calling on Louis, who lifted his eyebrows, once, before an amused smile curled up his lips.

“Sir, there is something that has been bothering me since I read through the assigned pages last night. See, I can’t quite figure out what Shakespeare meant when he had Aufidius say: ‘Let me twine mine arms about that body, where against my grained ash an hundred times hath broke and scarr’d the moon with splinters,’ and then later when he adds: ‘but that I see thee here, thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw bestride my threshold.’”

Louis glanced up from the copy of Coriolanus opened in front of him, several lines underlined in blue ink, to give Harry a wink before looking back down and continuing.

“And when he writes: ‘thou hast beat me out twelve several times, and I have nightly since dreamt of encounters ‘twixt thyself and me; we have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, and waked half dead with nothing,’ what I don’t understand, sir, is that it sounds to me like Aufidius is courting Marcius, doesn’t it? All this talk of,” Louis glanced down again, “nightly dreams of what sounds to me like some sort of wrestling? All of this leads me to think that there is a certain passion to Marcius and Aufidius’ relationship that you haven’t talked about, yet.”

Louis sat back in his seat, the line of his shoulders disagreeing with the look of candid innocence he had schooled his face into. The entire hall seemed to be waiting with baited breath for their professor’s response, the poor man looking terrified and offended and minuscule in his bulky tweed jacket. His lip quivered, making his grey, toothbrush moustache dance, and he narrowed his eyes at Louis.

“Ignoring Mr Tomlinson’s depraved mind, let’s have a short break. Class will resume in ten minutes.”

Chatter rose around them and Louis shook his head, a look of annoyed resignation on his face.

“I knew he’d do that. I bloody knew it. They’re always too stuck up to address the blatant homoeroticism of the material they assign us.”

Homoeroticism. The word rang in Harry’s ears, filling up his skull and flushing out everything else, leaving him with images of--with images of things he’d rather not put a name on. Of Louis’ lips as they curled into his trademark smirk, of Louis’ spread thighs as he lay on one of their beds, reading out loud from whichever book he had found on the bedside table, of Louis’ eyes and the way they had to always seek Harry’s, but also of older memories. Memories of swimming in a lake with his older cousin as a child and watching the drops of water running down his chest and shimmer in the sun. Locker room memories, a seemingly endless number of them, all strung one after the other in his mind like a neverending series of discomfort and shame as he caught glimpses of changing bodies. Memories of feeling wrong and twisted, an abomination that would bring shame to his family if he said anything.

There was a word for all this, a simple word which Louis uttered like it didn’t carry the weight of the world with it. A word which didn’t sound as ominous as the others did. That word wouldn’t be in Liam’s textbook. That word evoked ideas of art in Harry’s mind, not of therapy.

“Harold? Are you all right? I’ve lost you, here, haven’t I? Wake up, Styles, you’re not in your bed. I understand that it can be confusing for you right now because we all know you see me in your dreams, but--”

“That word you used,” Harry said, cutting him. He cleared his throat and decided it was better to ignore how accurate Louis’ teasing was.

“Which one? You’ll notice I speak quite a lot, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that.”

Lowering his voice, Harry leaned in. “Homoeroticism.”

“What about it?”

“It was the first time I heard it. I didn’t know it existed.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about.” Louis patted his thigh with a pout. “But don’t worry, I can teach you. I owe you one, remember?”

Harry let out a strangled noise and looked away so he would not have to see Louis’ smirk.

Harry spent the rest of the lecture in a haze, his mind preoccupied with what he tried so hard to ignore during the first half: Louis’ elbow brushing against his on the armrest, their knees bumping when he moved, the sound of his breathing, regular and deep, the way he tapped his pen against his notebook, the muscles in his forearm shifting as he took notes. By the time his torture was over, he realized with horror that he had not listened to a single word of the entire second half of the lecture and he bit his lip. 

“And they say I’m the worst student this school has ever seen,” Louis commented after seeing the blank page that Harry failed to hide.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” Harry explained as he packed his bag hastily and followed Louis to leave the lecture hall.

“You can borrow my notes, don’t worry.” Once out of the hall, Louis turned to walk backwards, eyes on Harry. “Why, though? Why was Harold Styles, scholarship student, not paying attention in class? Thinking about boys, maybe?”

Without thinking about it, Harry lurched forward to put his hand over Louis’ mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed.

Unfazed, Louis lowered Harry’s hand with his, his expression softening. “So, you were? This is an interesting turn of events.” Looking up at Harry, he frowned. “Oh, you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” At the sight of Louis raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Harry licked his lips. “I’m terrified.” He glanced around, feeling like all eyes were on the pair of them as they stood in the middle of the hallway and blocked the traffic.

Louis nodded and took Harry’s elbow, dragging him along and out of the building. Outside, pale rays of sunlight were peeking through the clouds and the air felt light for the first time in days. Harry tried to avoid the puddles covering the cobblestones while Louis kept pulling him along, mindful of keeping his socks dry even as an outrageously flirtatious man he barely knew was taking him somewhere unknown.

“Do you have work today?” Louis asked over his shoulder as they crossed the campus towards their dormitory.

“No. Where are we going?”

“My dorm.”

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Louis to stumble forward before he caught himself and turned. “Why?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to molest you.” Letting go of Harry’s arm, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I just thought you’d prefer to talk about your innermost secrets in private. Assuming you want to talk about it?”

Harry looked down at Louis for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Louis held his gaze, eyes wide and earnest, almost begging for Harry’s trust. Gnawing at his lip, Harry breathed in sharply and nodded, making the jump, stepping off the edge of the metaphorical cliff and choosing to trust Louis.

A small smile appeared on Louis’ lips, more subdued than what Harry was used to see, and it warmed up the bottom of his stomach in a way that was not unpleasant.

“Very well. Let us be on our way, then.” 

A sense of dread descended upon Harry as they neared Louis’ room. His nerves were setting in, sparking up, exploding in bright flashes of what felt a lot like terror at the prospect of the conversation he was about to have and of its ramifications. Thinking it was one thing, admitting that he was thinking it was another, but voicing it was in the realm of impossibilities. The door shut behind them with a quiet click and then they were alone, shielded. Louis sat backwards on his desk chair and motioned for Harry to sit on his bed before he folded his arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Harry, tell me. How long have you known?” His voice was quiet and soft, so unlike Louis’ usual loud squawks that it eased Harry’s nervousness, if only partially. 

Harry found that he could not look at Louis’ face and he let his gaze drift to the wall behind him, hung with pennants in the colours of Liam’s favourite teams. He brought a hand up to scrape his teeth against the knuckle of a finger, a nervous habit he’d been trying to get rid off for years. He could feel Louis’ steady gaze on him and he swallowed thickly, breathing out.

“I don’t know.” He forced his eyes back on Louis, briefly, to see him frowning. “How long have you known?”

“That I’m gay?” Harry winced at the word and it made Louis smirk. “Summer 1943, there was this bloke billeted at a neighbour’s house. He’d pop by to play with my sisters and I some times and I’d seen him almost every day for months, but that one particular day, he helped my mother with gardening and took off his shirt because of the heat. It changed my life.” He chuckled and scratched his cheek. “I was twelve. I spent the entire day in my bedroom, watching him from the window, absolutely confused about what was happening. I thought I was ill.”

“What’d you do?”

Louis shrugged. “I masturbated, obviously. That was a first. What a day.”

Heat spread on Harry’s face, bright red spots blooming on his cheeks at the words, and he muttered a scandalized ‘oh, my god’ that made Louis laugh. 

“Have you never?” Louis asked, giving Harry a curious smile. “Have you really never touched yourself?”

Putting a hand over his eyes, Harry groaned. “Of course, I have, but I don’t talk about it with everyone,” he blurted out, ashamed.

“Why not? You have to stop listening to your minister, kid. It’s perfectly normal, everyone does it.”

Harry shook his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He could not remember having ever been as uncomfortable as he was in that instant. His nerves were raw and he felt too hot and too cold at the same time, safe and cloistered at once in the cramped dorm room. Looking at Louis, he found him observing him with a steady expression. Harry appreciated that he was not pushing for answers despite his obvious curiosity. He didn’t feel pressured to answer, but the possibility was there, hanging in the still, humid air between them. It was his choice to seize it and, with a shaky sigh, he did.

“I’ve always had, hum, suspicions that I wasn’t normal. I can’t--” he waved his hands around, “--put words on it, or tell you about specific incidents, but I’ve been having doubts since grammar school.”

“You’re normal.” There was an unexpected fire behind Louis’ words that made Harry frown.

“You can’t be serious. You heard Liam the other day, we’re sociopaths.”

Louis rolled his eyes, digging in his pockets for a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and cracked a match to light it, eyes on Harry through the rising smoke. “Do you feel like a sociopath?”

Harry shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Blowing smoke, Louis raised his eyebrows. “There you go. You’re not. Simple as that. Admitting a bloke needs to have his hands tied above his hands to be able to come, would you say he’s a sociopath?” When Harry shook his head, Louis continued. “But that’s still a paraphilia, ergo he’s mental. We’re not perverts, we just love differently. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Harry licked his lips and nodded, transfixed by Louis’ verve. “And they say you’re the worst student of your year.”

Louis laughed, sharp and clear, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I’ve had a bad freshman year and the reputation, sadly, stuck with me. Of course, I’m not a scholarship kid, so I don’t compare.” He winked a Harry.

“How do you know so many things about me? We’ve rarely spoken.”

Louis laughed again, but the sound was softer, more intimate, in an odd way. “Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck, discarding the butt of his cigarette in a dirty ashtray on his bedside table. “I asked around. You helped me a lot when you befriended Zayn.”

Harry shifted on the bed to rest his back against the wall, kicking his shoes off quickly to pull his knees up against his chest. “Why?”

Louis’ eyes widened, almost comically, before he shrugged. “Curiosity. You looked interesting.”

[fourdaysofrain]

So What?

Summary: Tony and Peter exchange Christmas gifts. 

(This is my Irondad Fic Exchange fic for @iron-spideyson! The original prompt was, "It’s the first time the Parker’s are coming over for Christmas and Tony is stressed over impressing May and picking the perfect gift for Peter. Little does he know that Peter feels the same." I strayed from it a bit, but I hope you enjoy!)

Read on AO3

“What do you get the man who has everything? Might I suggest a gravestone inscribed with the words: so what?”

The air in the cabin still hummed with the energy of the Christmas party. A few hours ago, all the rooms had been filled to the brim with as many superheroes and families of superheroes that could fit. The holiday season made Tony nostalgic for old friends, sue him. It had been hard to believe there was snow building up outside when everyone was surrounded by the heat of the party. 

Now, however, the cabin was empty save for a few of Tony’s closest friends. Most of which were either already sleeping or heading that way. Tony himself was dozing on the couch, a natural progression from when he sat down so Pepper could put Morgan to bed. 

His right arm was dangling from the armrest, the soft amber light from the lamp hitting it in a distinctly artificial way. It was a constant work in progress. Tony had just had another breakthrough with the skin color, but it still wasn’t right. It had too many yellow undertones on the inside of his wrist, and too many pink ones near his elbow. Recreating the texture of skin was a no-go as well: the wrinkling was too artificial. It was fine from a few yards away, sure, but it made people uncomfortable up close. The whirring was noticeable to anyone near when he moved it. Tony could pick it apart for hours. The whole project of making a hyper-realistic prosthesis was an entirely frustrating endeavor. Pepper had pulled him away from its blueprints in the early hours of the morning far too many times. 

Tony woke up from his half-asleep state when he heard the floorboards creak from behind him. He smiled to himself, glad he offered for the Parkers to stay the night. Peter shyly came into his field of vision and hovered by the other side of the couch. He was holding a manilla folder carefully close to his chest, as if he was afraid of crushing it.

Tony’s body creaked as he raised himself into a sitting position. “I was hoping I’d get some one on one time with my favorite intern sometime today. What’d you think of the party?” That was another reason he had invited Peter to stay the night: there had been too many people at the party to have a conversation with someone specific for a meaningful amount of time. Peter barely had enough time to say a jaunty season’s greetings to him before getting swept up into something with Rhodey and Carol. 

“It was really great, Mr. Stark. It was crazy to see everyone in one place that wasn’t a huge fight.” Tony huffed out a laugh at that.

“Times are a-changin,” he said as he looked out the window to watch the snow for a moment, stewing in his thoughts. 

He motioned for Peter to sit next to him. He grabbed a blanket from underneath the coffee table and joined Tony on the couch. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both of them basking in the comfortable warmth of the room contrasting against the cool chill from outside. Tony could tell there was something on Peter’s mind. He waited for him to gather his thoughts. 

“I uh… Got you something for Christmas,” he finally said.

Tony peered at him through the corner of his eye. “Is it to do with the folder you’re holding?”

“Ha ha,” Peter deadpanned. He adjusted his grip on the manilla folder. “Uh, yeah.”

Tony shifted his position so he was looking directly at Peter and nodded at him to continue. 

“It’s not like I could buy you anything, because you’re already a billionaire, so I figured I had to make you something. And it took me a long time to figure out what to make, ‘cause I’m too old to just make you a card.”

“There’s plenty of free space on the fridge if you ever change your mind,” Tony quipped. 

Peter just rolled his eyes and continued on. He was barely able to cover up a smile. “Thankfully I’m still young enough I don’t have to worry about getting a present for everyone I know. Trying to figure something out for everyone here would be crazy. I pretty much just got something for you, May, Ned, and MJ.”

“Well, I’m honored. Are you going to keep me in suspense?”

“It isn’t really… normal.” Peter rubbed the corner of the small manilla folder he was holding, on the verge of tearing it open before Tony could even get the chance. 

“Kid, I’m a freshly-retired superhero. I’ve learned to appreciate the unusual,” Tony said as he slowly leaned forward, escaping from the fluffed-up couch cushions he was laying in. His arm clicked and whirred and the artificial skin gathered on the inside of the elbow. Peter forced himself to look elsewhere. 

“Ok, well… here.” He stuck his arm that was holding the folder out towards Tony stiffly. 

Tony took it and slid his hand over the surface for a second before opening it and sliding out the few pieces of paper that are inside. 

“Kid…” His voice was thick, but Tony couldn’t decipher which emotion was at the forefront of his own mind. 

“I don’t want to offend you, but I had some ideas for your arm.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck as he talks. 

“You being smarter than me is never going to offend me.” Tony offered him a warm smile as he flipped through the papers in front of him. There were a few beats of silence as Peter let him look over the designs. 

“Hit me, kid. What’re you thinking?” He put the papers on his lap and looked to Peter. 

“I- uh, I wrote it all out in the papers.”

“Yeah, I prefer to hear it from the source.”

“Well… I think you want your arm to look like a normal arm, which is great!” He took a deep breath and looked at Tony. “But your main issue is always going to be the uncanny valley. It looks so much like a human arm, but there’s an artificial element to it that will make it seem… weird.” Peter’s voice fell flat when he reached the end of his train of thought. He looked over to see Tony scratching his jawline with his left hand, pointedly keeping his prosthesis still so it wouldn’t make noise. 

“Then let’s say I’m one of the most renowned tech geniuses in the world with any materials I need at my disposal, who’s to say I can’t get over the uncanny valley?” 

Tony’s tone was challenging without any heat behind it. He was just testing to see how much Peter thought about this. It was like before the Blip, hours spent in the lab going back and forth at a mile a minute trying to work out some bug in the suits. Back when all of their issues could be broken into two parts- finding out what the problem was and solving it. 

“I’m sure you could, but at some point…” Peter trailed off. 

Tony met Peter’s eyes. He still looked intimidated. If he had a hero complex before the Blip, Tony saving the entire universe only worsened it. He nodded at Peter, hoping his eyes looked kind enough. 

Peter cleared his throat. When he spoke again, it was more confident. “Is it worth it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… You can make the most human-like prosthetic, but at the end of the day, you just take it off and go to bed.” Peter’s eyes gained a competitive spark. “Why not lean into the skid?”

Tony looked back down at the blueprints. Maybe he was right. Besides, the kid had style. The arm he designed was clearly based on his suits. It had a red base with gold tracing the joints and a silver stripe from shoulder to wrist. Pretty good for a first draft. In fact, it was a bit too good for a first draft. 

“Kid, have you designed Iron Man suits before?” 

Tony was half joking, but the way Peter quickly looked away made him bark out a laugh. 

“Ned and I were really big fans--” Peter’s explanation was cut off by Tony’s laugh deteriorating into sounding like a tire losing air. 

“Lord, kid, that was better than any present you could’ve given me.”

Peter put his head in his hands and Tony leaned over and nudged him with his shoulder. His movement caused his arm to whir and both men flinched. Tony felt the mood shift. 

“Can I say something?” Peter asked. 

“What’ve we been doing so far?” Tony’s voice was still tinged with playfulness. 

“No, I mean…” Peter looked over, the soft light making his face seem even younger. “Can I say something real?”

“Of course, kid.”

“I think the realistic arm is something… normal. But you’re not normal, Mr. Stark.”

Tony laughed and rubbed the palm of his right hand with the thumb of his left. “Now I see why Rhodes likes you so much.”

“No I don’t mean--”

He waved Peter off. “I’m messing with you, kid. I know what you mean.”

“Like… You saved the whole universe, so it’s not like you can ever blend in, no matter how many hyper-realistic pores you put on a prosthetic.” Some idle part of Tony’s mind made a note of adding pores to the next design. “You need something new, something that shows how you’ve changed. Not just trying to stay the same as you were before the Blip.”

Tony huffed and stretched his prosthetic out in front of him. Kids Say the Darndest Things, eat your heart out. “Wow, and I thought Brucie was my therapist.”

“What can I say,” Peter said. He looked wryly at Tony. “Dying made me more introspective, I guess.”

Tony groaned. “Maybe wait another couple of years before making jokes, Pete.” He paused, then added, “I appreciate this, kid. Takes a lot of guts to call me out, but it should happen more often.”

Tony put the blueprints back in the folder and set them on the coffee table, mentally making a note to pick them up and move them to the lab in the morning. If he woke up early enough, he could probably get it fitted and put on before breakfast.

“Well, you’re not the only one with surprises tonight, kid,” he said as he grabbed a box from underneath the couch. “Had to keep it safe from prying eyes.”

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing big.” He waved a hand non-committedly. “I talked your aunt’s ear off trying to figure out what you wanted. She thought I was joking about getting you an Audi.”

“You didn’t--”

“I didn’t,” he assured. Then he tilted his head and said, “Though all you have to do is ask--”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Hey, I’m kidding.” He mentally switched gears and handed Peter the box. “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of all the superheroes, so here.”

Peter took his time with unwrapping the gift, making sure to untie the bow and not tear any of the paper. Tony briefly considered poking fun at him, but the moment was too fragile. 

Once he finished unwrapping the paper, there was a photo album left behind. It was bound in a black hardcover and didn’t have any defining characteristics besides a stylized spider design embossed in gold foil onto the lower right corner of the cover. For such an ostentatious guy, Tony was glad he reeled it in for this one.

Peter flipped through its pages and saw pictures of the Blip. Pictures of Tony and Pepper, of Morgan learning to walk, of everything. Eventually he landed on the first page, which was a large print of Tony’s favorite picture of the album. 

It was taken only a few months after Thanos snapped. There had been a memorial set up for Spider-Man in Queens. Tony had been walking numbly through old haunts when he saw it. He didn’t know how, but it had been only a few blocks from Peter’s apartment. 

The memorial was surrounded by flowers of all types and colors. Drawings of Spider-Man, from childhood scrawls to professional portraits, were taped on the wall surrounding it. Candles were set on every available surface. Where there was no space for more, nightstands had been brought out. There were Sharpies of all colors strewn on the ground around it. 

The focal point of the memorial, though, was the wall itself. Someone had written over the white paint of the building in large block letters, “Spider-Man saved me.” Surrounding that, were hundreds of other messages. All from people Spider-Man had affected, describing how he saved them. Tony may have been one of the few left to grieve for Peter Parker, but he was far from the only one grieving for Spider-Man. 

“They uh--” Tony tapped the picture of the colorful wall. “They painted over this after a year or so. Figured you should see it.”

Peter traced his finger over some of the writing. “Wow, this is…”

He looked over to Tony. Neither man was crying, but they were both getting dangerously close to being emotional. Thankfully, it was late enough in the night they could blame it on being tired. 

“I figured you probably felt a little behind,” Tony started. “Five years behind, really. So I enlisted FRIDAY, along with everyone who wasn’t dusted’s phones, and raided their pictures. There aren’t many good ones early on, but y’know. They get better. We never forgot about you. Any of you, really, but you were… the kid.”

He cleared his throat and pointed at the rest of the photo album. “If you look in the back, there’s a little flash drive that has a rundown of all the tech changes in the past five years, if you’re interested. Knowing you, I’m sure you’ll be all caught up by morning.”

Peter flipped through a few more pages and then leaned back into the couch, staring upwards. 

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I can’t look at it for too long. I will cry,” he said to the ceiling. 

“Glad you like it.” Tony sighed and leaned back next to Peter. “I was the brains, Pep and Morgan helped me out with the actual ‘asking other people for pictures’ part. You’ll have to include them in any thank you card correspondence.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever written a thank you card in my life.” Peter twisted to his side to look at Tony. “Is that bad?”

“Well, it’s not kill half the universe bad,” Tony admitted. 

“I thought no jokes?”

“Eh.” Tony turned his head to meet Peter’s eyes with a smirk. “They’re funnier when I do them.”

“A man who has everything has nothing if he doesn’t have love.”

Tag List:  @ironfamjam @addi-is-amazing @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @wellplacedbanana @night0seven @unfathomable-universe​ @bibbidi-bobbity-booyah @spideynamu

[inkforhumanhands]

1, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 13, 14, 20, 24, 29?

1. Describe your comfort zone—a typical you-fic.

Good questionnnn. I guess slightly ridiculous? But also slightly angsty? Also gay lol i can’t write het stuff ‘cause i ain’t one, RIP straight people (lol)

5. Share one of your strengths.

I don’t know if this is actually a strength since I’m sure like nobody else notices it but I have a weird habit of (maybe coincidentally) choosing words near each other with either nice alliteration or assonance lmao

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

Okay this whole one-shot was really fun and chaotic, and part of the premise is that the two main characters meet for the first time at a punk show and one of them has his hair dyed red and the other his hair green and the colors clash. Anyway I Iike how I treated the colors as representing each character as he was unknown to the other one, yet they were both attracted to the other for some reason. These paragraphs don’t run together but I like them both as parallels:

A moment before he shrugs away from the action, that bit of green catches his eye again from somewhere in the thick of all the movement. He stalls. The color was on the kid’s hair, or it was the kid’s hair, or the kid’s hair is the color. Green, green, sour but not too sour, like the lovechild of a lime and a kiwi. Billie Joe kind of wants to taste that color, kind of wouldn’t mind tasting that kid’s lips, either.

and

He sees the back of his head first. The color irritates him before he can come up with a reason, but then he remembers that his own hair is green. There’s a bad joke to be made here somewhere, yadda yadda Christmas.

And then the asshole with the bright red, the Atomic Fireball candy red fucking red hair turns around and Tré maybe rethinks his position. The guy has a nice face. Tré digs the nose ring, digs the bold eyebrows framing soft, yet potentially devious eyes. Heck, he digs it so much he’s having trouble looking at him straight on, like the guy is some sort of eclipse. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be caught with his mouth open. He averts his eyes and brushes past him like he fucking hates baby Jesus. Time to seek out another joint.

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

lol okay I like this dialogue that my Magnus Archives ficlet ‘Poptimism’ is based around. this like 80% of the fic because it’s short so sorry but:

“Sorry to interrupt, but Tim asked me to hand you the copy of the police report for State—hang on, is that Billie Eilish?”

Jon did a grumpy thing with his mouth. He had been hoping Martin would stick to business. This was one of the things he liked least about his assistant: too friendly.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Martin said, and blinked in a way that affected surprise.

“Is there a problem?” Jon’s scowl deepened.

“No, no. It’s just—”

“Just what?”

“Just you don’t…seem like the type to listen to popular music is all.”

Jon moved out from behind his desk and snatched the folder from Martin’s hands. “It’s called poptimism, Martin.”

“Popti-what?” Martin laughed, and Jon found his irritation deflating somewhat. Clearly he was too tired to waste emotions on this idiot any longer.

“What kind of music did you think I listen to, then?”

“Hmm, something a bit more indie maybe? Old-school emo?”

Jon snorted. “You would have me be some hipster, then.”

“Yeah, basically,” Martin agreed like it was nothing. “But now I know not to be surprised if next time I walk into the archive you have Lil Nas X blaring.”

11. Is writing your passion or just a fun hobby?

Somewhere in between? I used to want to be a writer of some sort and now I just do academic writing which is.....not fun. Maybe someday I will actually like write a book or something though. I would like to take it more seriously again.

12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?

This isn’t direct inspiration but just like The Vibes from the scene where Matt loses his hearing for a bit in season 2 and then season 3 depression Matt are where it’s at.

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across? 

I’m biased because this is a huge pet peeve of mine when reading fic, but “don’t use epithets unless it’s called for” is great advice. It’s okay to repeat names and pronouns, it’s not repetitive, I promise. “The man” though, when you and the narrator both know who “the man” is? That’s awful.

14. What’s the worst writing advice you’ve ever come across?

This one isn’t the worst, in fact it’s Good advice, but a lot of people don’t seem to actually understand it: “Don’t use purple prose.” Purple prose is by its nature unnecessary and clogs up a story, especially one that might have an otherwise faster pace. Purple prose is NOT, however, the same as just having a writing style that’s on the descriptive or metaphorical side. You wouldn’t say Virginia Woolfe’s entire body of work was purple prose; that’s just her writing style.

20. Describe your perfect writing conditions.

Writing on a better laptop than this piece of shit, that’s for sure. I would say maybe with a cup of tea beside me but then I’d have to keep getting up to empty my bladder, so... I don’t know, I guess just being comfortable (like a good chair that doesn’t kill my back) + being able to get down ideas fast before I forget them and/or being able to change/edit sentences easily so good technology are musts. Also like air temperature should not be too hot or too cold.

24. Have you ever deleted one of your published fics?

Nope, HOWEVER I did get banned from a website when I was 15 (LOL) and I recently did a web search to make sure the fic I had on it doesn’t exist online still because it was really bad (unrelated to the reason I was banned). Anyway it’s gone now and will never see the light of day again so if that counts as fic deletion then yes. Otherwise no, I would be too sad if someone liked one of my fics and I accidentally took that away from them.

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Okay not technically a sequel or prequel but I think it would be very fun to poke around in a_silver_sun’s Time Traveler’s Wife AU “Always Crashing in the Same Car”

[wistfulcynic]

To Keep It All The Year (2 /4)

The second chapter of my Christmas gift for the brilliant @katie-dub​​ who noticed straight away, because she IS so brilliant, that the title is a quote from A Christmas Carol. This is deliberate, and not just because A Christmas Carol is one of my favourite books and one that my family used to (and still does, via Skype) read out loud together on the days leading up to every Christmas since I was about 9 or 10. It’s because this story is Killian’s Christmas carol, without the ghosts of past, present, or future, but certainly with some other forms of supernatural interference and intervention for good in his life. As you will soon see. 

SUMMARY: Killian Jones is a broken man, betrayed by everyone and everything he thought he could believe in. He’s all but given up on life until a fateful meeting with bartender Emma Swan and her son Henry gives him a reason to live again, and a chance to redeem his past.

All it takes is a little Christmas magic.

On AO3 | Tumblr: Part One

Tremendous and effusive love and gratitude as always to @thisonesatellite​ who, despite her insanely (and I do mean INSANELY) busy schedule still finds the time to read and encourage not just me but many other people, AND write her own brilliant fic ❤️❤️❤️

Tagging all the folks from the last tag list, PLEASE do let me know if you want to be added or removed. @kmomof4​​​​​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​​​​​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​​​​ @stahlop​​​​​​​​ @mariakov81​​​​​​​​ @courtorderedcake​​​​​​ @jonirobinson64​​​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​​​​​ @shardminds​​​​​ @jennjenn615​​​​​ @superchocovian​​​​​

-

PART TWO: THE PRESENT

Killian awakes to the sound of shrieks, and it takes a minute of confusion and breathless panic for him to realise they are shrieks of laughter. 

He is alone in Henry’s bed, bright, early-morning sunlight slanting across him from the room’s lone window. The door is open a crack and he can hear Henry and Emma in the living room laughing and chattering, their voices light and happy.

Closing his eyes and forcing his muscles to relax, he breathes deliberately, evenly, until his heart rate slows and the tightness in his chest eases. He rises carefully from the bed, rolling his shoulders and rubbing his sore neck, arching his back and wincing at the way his joints audibly creak before slipping silently through the door. 

Henry and Emma are sitting together on the living room floor, bits of wrapping paper and ribbon strewn around them. They are playing with a new toy train, rolling it back and forth between them, laughing uproariously. They have the same laugh, Killian thinks, loud and boisterous and full of joy. He knows he should go, leave them to their Christmas revels, but instead he hovers in the bedroom doorway, arrested by the sight and sound of them. They are sweet and pure and beautiful, and he never expected to find any of those things in this place. 

He swallows over the lump that’s back in his throat and forces himself to move, tiptoeing forward and picking up his coat from where it is draped over a kitchen chair then heading towards the door. 

“You leaving so soon?” 

“Ah.” He turns a bit sheepishly to find Emma regarding him with raised eyebrows, one hand on her hip. “I shouldn’t have stayed this long. I apologise for trespassing on your hospitality.” 

“You didn’t. I could have woken you but you looked like you could use the rest.” 

“Indeed.” He rolls his shoulders again. “Aside from a crick in my neck I feel better rested than I have in some time. Thank you, love.” 

“No problem. Do you, um,” she shifts her weight, stuffs her hand into her back pocket “do you want some coffee before you go?” 

“Oh, I couldn’t trouble you.” 

“Please.” She shoots a glance at his face and then away. “I—I made extra for you.” 

The lump in his throat threatens to choke him. “All right, then,” he says hoarsely. “Thank you.” 

She smiles. “How do you take it?” 

“Black.” 

He returns his coat to the back of the chair and hovers awkwardly for a moment until Emma hands him a steaming mug and motions for him to sit down. He does and she takes the other chair, settling into it with a sigh and picking up her mug. Killian cradles his in both hands, inhales deeply then takes a long sip. The coffee is rich and smooth and he hums, savouring the flavour. “This is excellent,” he says with a smile. 

The smile comes much more easily this morning. 

Emma doesn’t reply and he looks over to find her watching him with a small smile of her own, just teasing the corners of her mouth. 

“What?” he asks her. “Have I got something on my nose?” 

“No.” She laughs. “I was just looking at you.” An enchanting rose-coloured flush creeps across her cheekbones. “I guess you’re used to that.” 

“Not at all.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Aye. I often feel quite invisible in this city. Why does that surprise you?”

“Well, because you’re— I mean, you’re so— you know.” She waves her hand in a vague gesture. The look on her face suggests she’s on to his game, but he is genuinely baffled. 

“On the contrary love, I’ve no idea what you mean,” he says. “I’m so what?” 

She gives a small and surprisingly elegant snort. “Come on, you must know how good looking you are.” She throws the statement down like a challenge, daring him to deny it. 

He feels a hot flush bloom on his own face. “Maybe once, perhaps, before I started to go grey.” He gestures at his temples. “But now…” 

“Now you’d just be called a silver fox,” she retorts. “And your face is still, you know, fine.” 

He laughs, a short, sharp sound that falls oddly on his ears, unexpected but but far from unwelcome. “I’m not too proud to admit that there was once a time when I used that face to my advantage,” he says. “But that was long ago.” He pauses, struggles against the familiar bile rising in his chest. “I look at myself now and all I see are the ravages of guilt and the wear of the life I’ve lived,” he says, staring into the black depths of the coffee. Bitterness drips from these words, this confession, and he hates it. It has no business being here, with Emma, on this day. His darkness has no right to touch her. 

Firmly he forces it down and drags back the smile, as near as he can feign it. “I’ve been through rather a lot these past few years,” he murmurs, risking a glance at her, dreading what he might see on her face. Her expression is soft, eyes brimming with empathy and not a drop of judgement, and he suddenly fears he might cry. 

A crash sounds from the living room and they both turn to see Henry, collapsed in a fit of giggles, his new train capsized from what was apparently a collision with the sofa leg. 

“Henry, please wait at least twenty-four hours before you destroy that thing,” says Emma, attempting and wholly failing to sound stern. 

Killian clears his throat. “What have you got there, lad?” he asks. 

“It’s a train!” cries Henry, holding up the toy for Killian to see. Killian downs the rest of his coffee in one burning, bracing gulp and goes to sit next to Henry on the living room floor. 

“Aye, and a splendid one it is too,” he says, taking it and subjecting it to solemn examination. “A steam train?” 

“Yeah! How did you know?” 

“When I was about your age, my father took me to see a real steam train,” says Killian. “It came through our village on a special run and I got to sit in the engineer’s seat and wear his striped cap.” 

“That’s what I’m gonna do!” Henry is all but vibrating with excitement. “For my other present! Mom says we can go to the museum and there’s a train there I can sit in!” 

Killian smiles at his enthusiasm. “It’s an experience you won’t forget,” he says. He puts the train on the floor and pushes it back towards Henry, then gets to his feet.  

“Well, lass,” he says, turning to Emma. “I’m grateful for the coffee but I should really—” 

“What are you doing later?” 

“Er—later?” 

“For Christmas dinner,” she clarifies. “Any plans?” 

“No.” Unless sitting at home with a bottle of rum counts as a plan, he thinks. 

“Would you like to have dinner with us?” she asks. “Me and Henry?”

“I—” Killian hesitates. He knows he should refuse. Already he’s overstayed his welcome to a shameful degree, but the prospect of spending more time in Emma and Henry’s company is painfully tempting. 

“Oh please, Killian!” says Henry. “We’re having ham and pie for dessert!” 

“Who can resist ham and pie?” teases Emma. 

Killian looks at their faces, both wearing the same hopeful, expectant look, and gives in to the yearning in his chest. “I’d love to,” he says. “Thank you.” 

A glorious smile spreads across Emma’s face. “Come back around two,” she says. 

—

Returning to his apartment Killian finds it far colder and darker than he recalls. Or perhaps he’s simply never noticed. He looks around with a small frown, thinking how very barren the place seems. There’s nothing of him in this space, no personal touches at all. He feels both glad and deeply saddened by this. He wants nothing of himself in this miserable hole, but also he wonders if enough of him remains to leave a mark on it. On anywhere. 

He takes a brief shower under the weak, lukewarm spray then quickly towels himself dry, in which process he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and pauses to examine it. He’d been rather vain about his appearance, once, taking the time each morning to style his hair into calculated dishevelment and keeping his body lean and firm. Now his stomach is soft and his arms undefined, the skin hanging loosely from his bones. The lines fanning out from his eyes have deepened, joined by new ones across his forehead and around his mouth. His hair has grey not just at the temples but scattered throughout, with a streak of silver rising up from his forehead that he supposes might be considered rather dashing. His complexion, always pale, has gone sallow, and there are dark smudges beneath his eyes. 

He cannot fathom how a woman like Emma could look at him and see an attractive man. He cannot fathom how it never occurred to him that she might find him attractive. It’s not so many years since he would have taken her interest very much for granted. How many years? Three? Four? 

He wonders how old Emma is. She can’t be much more than twenty-two or three. He’s more than ten years her senior. Far too old to be thinking of her as anything other than a lovely young woman who’s chosen to offer him kindness. 

With a start he realises he’s standing naked in his icy bathroom, goose pimples prickling his skin. He gives himself a final rubdown with the towel then hurries to dress, digging out a clean and ironed shirt from the back of his closet and a pair of jeans without holes. On a whim he pulls his suitcase down from the shelf and takes out one of his old waistcoats. It still fits, barely, and he feels a warm glow of pleasure as he runs his hands down the fine brocade. 

He scrubs a washcloth over his face and does his best to style his hair with his fingers and then he is, he supposes, as ready as he’ll ever be. 

It’s too early to go back to Emma’s but there’s nothing to do in his flat except drink so he decides to take a walk. The morning is bright and crisp, cold but in a cleaner way than the foggy damp of night before. It’s the cold of brittle icicles and sharp-edged snowflakes that collect into fluffy piles just right for forming into balls, the kind that nips at your nose and ears but leaves you warm within your coat. It’s bracing cold, and Killian finds himself walking at a brisk pace, enjoying the crunch of the frozen slush beneath his feet and the blinding blue of the sky. 

Another burst of whimsy—and if you can’t be whimsical on Christmas Day, when can you? he thinks, with a wry grin—has him turning a corner into a street he can’t recall ever noticing before. It’s a small street, narrow and lined with shops, each boasting brightly painted signs and engaging displays in their wide and frosty windows. The air seems different here, he thinks, and the light, and then his attention is caught by a magnificent train set in the window of one of the shops. 

He wishes he had something to bring today, some small token of his gratitude. A toy for Henry perhaps, and a trinket for Emma. Something to brighten up their little flat a bit more, something Henry can play with that will also help him learn. He’s such a bright lad, and Emma clearly has a taste for beautiful things. But it’s Christmas Day and all the lovely little stores are closed. 

All but one. One solitary pale blue door with a red-lettered sign hung upon it that reads “Come in we’re OPEN.” 

Tentatively he pushes open the door and slips through it. It’s a florist and gift shop, and he’s astonished by the variety of colours and scents that surround him. There must be every sort of flower here, plus shelf upon shelf of toys and knickknacks. It seems impossible that so much could fit into such a small space. 

“Hello?” he calls. 

A man appears from a door at the back of the shop. A tall man, lean but strong with broad shoulders and a friendly grin. He doesn’t strike Killian at all as the sort of man who would run a shop like this. 

“Can I help you?” says the man. 

“Erm, yes. I’m uh, looking for a gift. It’s rather last minute, but—” 

“Last minute is the reason we’re open on Christmas Day, mate,” says the man jovially. His blue eyes twinkle merrily as he regards Killian with a peculiar sort of fondness. “No need to explain. Who is it you’re buying for?” 

“Ah. It’s, well, not precisely a friend. A young woman and her son, the lad about four I imagine. I’m having dinner with them this afternoon and I feel rather a prat not bringing anything. Do you think… do you think she’d like some flowers?”

“Women always like flowers,” laughs the man. “You can’t go wrong.” He begins to move around the shop, selecting blossoms and buds and leaves and assembling them into a bouquet. “Tell me about this woman,” he says as he works.  

“Well, she’s… she’s rather remarkable. Warm and clever and tough and far too kind. I think perhaps she pities me a little.” Killian isn’t sure what’s loosened his tongue but the urge to unburden himself to this odd florist is one he finds he can’t resist. 

“What makes you say that? She’s invited you for dinner, hasn’t she?” 

“Out of pity.” 

“Surely not. Perhaps she simply likes you.” 

“She hardly knows me.” 

“Yet you like her.” 

“Aye. I suppose I do.” 

The florist shifts his flowers into the crook of one elbow and claps Killian on the shoulder in a way that makes his heart clench with the almost-memory of something, a feeling so achingly familiar and yet he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. “Mate, I will put together a bouquet for this remarkable woman that will dazzle her, and for her son perhaps he might enjoy a sailing ship?”

“A ship?” Killian blinks in surprise. A ship is in fact precisely what he had in mind for Henry, the perfect gift for a curious boy who loves both steam trains and sailor stories.

The florist reaches up to a high shelf and takes down a toy ship, handing it to Killian with a triumphant grin. It’s made of wood, in the full-rigged style of the old classic sailing vessels, minutely detailed and exquisitely rendered. “Can he… play with this?” asks Killian doubtfully.

“Of course! Fully functional in the bathtub, and more resilient than she looks. Now about that bouquet.” 

As the florist arranges his selections into an artful bouquet and secures them with tissue paper and ribbon, Killian wanders around the shop, browsing the flowers and gifts. There are soft toys and porcelain figurines, cards and puzzles and magnets, and in the corner a display of jolly little Christmas wreaths exactly like the one he saw on the door of Emma’s bar last night, with a small sign proclaiming them handmade with love. He smiles to himself. That wreath was what drew him to the bar, what led to his meeting Emma. And now the same person who made it was making a bouquet for him to give her. How peculiar life could be. 

He makes his way around to the back of the shop just as the florist is putting the finishing touches on the bouquet. It’s huge, and stunningly gorgeous, and as he hands it to Killian his cheery smile turns bittersweet. 

“You strike me as a man who’s seen some difficult times,” he says. “If you’ll forgive me for saying so. I hope you won’t allow the past to blind you to the possibilities of the present, or the future.” 

Killian feels as though he ought to object to this presumption and prying into his personal life. But the man’s smile is warm despite the ache behind it and so strangely caring, and there’s that familiarity that tickles again just at the corner of Killian’s consciousness and prompts him to return the smile along with thanks and a sincere promise that he’ll try. 

“Good,” says the florist, smiling even harder. “Good.” He swallows audibly and blinks misty eyes, and when he shakes Killian’s hand he grips it almost painfully, clasping it between both of his own. “Goodbye, br—mate,” he says. “Happy Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas,” Killian replies, then blinks in astonishment at finding himself quite suddenly back on the familiar city streets, not far from the bar. Emma’s house is easily visible from where he’s standing. He has no recollection of leaving the shop or even of paying for the bouquet and the ship, both now gorgeously wrapped and in his arms. But he must have done. Mustn’t he? 

He pulls out his phone to see what time it is. Three minutes to two, though he could have sworn that it was no later than ten thirty when he left his own place. How much time did he spend in the shop? And who was it that florist reminded him of? He shakes his head as he slips his phone back into his pocket. More things in heaven and earth, Horatio, he thinks, and starts walking towards Emma’s house, where the pleasure of seeing her again, and her blushing delight at the flowers, and Henry’s shrieks of joy at the ship, all contrive to wipe the odd little street and the odder florist wholly from his mind.  

It’s quite a long time before he remembers them again.  

—

There’s no tub in Emma’s bathroom but she produces a large, wide plastic container big enough for the toy ship to sail in, and Killian spends and enjoyable and quite splashy hour playing with Henry while she finishes preparing the meal. 

She calls them when it’s nearly ready and Henry runs to set the table, something Killian gathers is his regular mealtime chore. They have only the two chairs so Emma drags in the one from the bedroom for Henry, reminding him to be careful and not to rock in it, and soon they are seated and waiting as Emma takes the ham from the oven. 

It’s not a large ham, but the way Henry’s eyes widen when she sets it on the table anyone would think it was the whole pig. 

“Wow,” he says, clapping his hands. “How much are we saving for leftovers?” 

“None,” says Emma. 

“None?” 

“Nope. It’s Christmas. Today we eat as much as we like.” 

“Ohhh,” Henry breathes, his eyes like saucers as Emma piles his plate with ham and mashed potatoes and roasted carrots and some garlicky greens Killian doesn’t recognise. 

She places a similarly laden plate in front of him and he finds to his surprise that his stomach rumbles in anticipation. He can’t recall the last time he had a full meal, or indeed the desire to eat one. 

Henry waits, quivering with impatience, until Emma has served Killian and herself and then she sits and gives him a nod and he dives in. 

“Mmmm,” he says through a mouthful of ham and potato, “so good, Mom.” 

“Chew it first before you speak,” says Emma, in a tone that suggests this is something she’s said before. 

Henry chews and swallows hugely. “It’s good,” he repeats. 

“It is good,” Killian agrees, and Emma flushes with pleasure. 

“I’m not much of a cook,” she says with a shrug. “But I got the recipe off the internet and I guess it turned out okay.” 

“More than okay.” Killian has to force himself not to talk with his mouth full. “It’s delicious, Emma.” 

Emma bites her lip and ducks her head, focuses on her own plate. “Thank you,” she whispers.  

Henry and Killian each have seconds of ham and potatoes, though Killian observes, with an amused exchange of glances with Emma, that the boy has a valiant struggle to finish off his last few mouthfuls. When both their plates are clean and neither could manage another bite they retreat to the living room to play a game of Candy Land, at which Henry sails to a triumphant victory, Killian never having played the game before, while Emma clears the table and gets the pie ready. 

“Are you sure I can’t help you, love?” Killian calls, as Henry hops his little plastic gingerbread man along the rainbow path. 

“Nope, it’s all under control,” she replies. “You’re actually most helpful keeping Henry occupied so I can get everything done.” 

The pie is pumpkin, an American innovation at which Killian has always looked rather askance, and has only tried once during his years in this country. It’s not an experience he would have chosen to repeat but he’s determined to choke down the whole slice and a second one besides if it will make Emma smile. 

To his surprise the pie is not just palatable but actually good, creamy and delicately spiced, nothing like the limp and watery concoction he tried before. The first piece goes down easily accompanied by another cup of her excellent coffee, and when she offers him a second he accepts gladly despite the protests of his stomach. 

“You know, you say you’re not much of a cook, but this is delightful,” he tells her. “Everything has been.” 

“I guess I can follow a recipe,” she says in a dismissive tone. Killian frowns. This shrugging off of praise seems so ingrained she’s not even aware she does it. 

“Mom’s a great cook,” says Henry, confirming his suspicions. “She just thinks she’s not.” 

Emma opens her mouth to argue but Killian beats her to it. “From the mouths of babes, love,” he says.

“I guess,” replies Emma, avoiding his eyes. She seems so embarrassed he lets the subject drop, polishing off his pie and coffee in silence. Emma moves to take his plate but he snatches it away and insists on clearing the table and washing the plates and cups while Emma and Henry play another round of Candy Land—a far more hotly contested one—and then it’s time for Henry to get ready for bed. He washes his face and hands and brushes his teeth and puts on his pyjamas, then returns to the living room to fling his arms around Killian and squeeze him tightly. 

“I’m glad you came today,” he says. “Thank you for the ship, I love it so much.”

“You’re welcome, Henry.” The lump is back in Killian’s throat and he has to force the words around it. “I had a wonderful time.”  

—

When Emma returns from putting Henry to bed Killian is standing in the living room with his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. He turns when he hears her approach, with a smile that almost feels natural now, when she inspires it. 

“Do you want some more coffee?” she asks with a smile of her own and a nervous quaver in her voice. 

He doesn’t really, but he does want to sit with her for a while before he has to go back out into the cold of his flat and his life and so he accepts. They sit on the sofa with their knees inches apart and sip in silence for a moment. 

“You must be wondering what kind of horrible mother leaves her kid with a total stranger she found in a bar,” says Emma, startling him.  

“Of course not,” he replies.   

She gives him a skeptical look. 

“Well, speaking as the total stranger in question, I was just glad I could help,” he says. “I figured you must have had your reasons for needing me.” 

She nods. “I’ve had so many problems with childcare lately. They just never seem to end, no matter what I do. August is just about fed up with it, and I need this job, for a while longer at least. I—”

“Emma, you don’t have to explain. It’s plain to see what a happy and healthy lad Henry is, and how much he loves you. You’re a wonderful mother, and I’m sure you only do what’s best for him.” 

“I try,” she says. “I try so hard but it never seems like enough, and I can’t help worrying about him. He has has these nightmares...” 

“Surely all children do?” 

“His seem so bad though. I just—I want him out of this place,” she bursts out, suddenly angry. “If he has to grow up here I just don’t know what it’ll do to him. The schools in this district are terrible, there’s drugs everywhere and the kids are so rough. And when I think of sending him out into that, my sweet little boy...” She trails off, brushing tears angrily from her cheeks as Killian grips his coffee in a white-knuckled fist and feels thoroughly useless. Emma takes a deep breath and he swears he can see her pulling herself together. “Henry can’t stay here,” she continues, a hard edge of determination now in her voice. “But the only way I can get him out is to finish college and the only way I can do that is by keeping this job. If I have to find another one farther away it will just make things harder, and—”

“Love, you really don’t need to explain,” says Killian gently. “You’re doing the best you can and that’s all that can be asked of anyone.”

It occurs to him that he’s being kinder to Emma than he’s ever been to himself. She deserves it, though, whereas he has fully earned his tribulations. Emma has done nothing but fight to give her son the best life she can manage, holding down a job and apparently studying as well, raising Henry to be sweet and respectful and curious and happy. She doesn’t deserve to be trapped in this place, neither of them do. They don’t deserve to have their futures stolen from them by their circumstances or the harsh cruelties of the economic and societal structures they are forced to live in. They deserve far, far more than what they’ve got and it strikes Killian like the proverbial thunderbolt that it is within his power to change their lives greatly for the better. 

He sets his coffee cup down on the floor with a hand that has begun to tremble and looks at Emma.    

“Can I tell you a story, love?” he asks. 

“A sailor story?” she asks with small smile. 

“In a manner of speaking.” Something in his tone seems to catch her attention and she sets her own cup down and turns to look at him with solemn attention. 

He takes a deep breath. “Not long ago, though it seems a lifetime now, I was an officer in the British Royal Navy,” he begins. 

“Wow.” 

“Aye.” He can’t help smiling at her expression. “I was the commander of a destroyer, effectively the first mate under my brother Liam, who was the captain. We worked well together, he was an outstanding leader and I would have followed him anywhere. We were on that ship for about three years, side by side through quite a few adventures, and then—” he swallows hard, squeezes his eyes shut, “one night there was a storm… not an unusual thing on the sea, of course, and though this was a bad one it wasn’t so bad we couldn’t have managed to weather it.”

He pauses as the memories surge up and over him just as the waves did on that horrible night and he’s drowning in them again, fighting for air as the water flings him across the deck and fills his lungs and crushes him mercilessly beneath its weight, and he feels again the stark terror and helplessness in the face of forces he cannot hope to control. The terror presses down on him and all he can think of is getting out, getting away—and then Emma takes his hand. 

“Hey,” she says softly, lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Killian grips her hand, far too tightly he’s sure, but she feels like a lifeline. He focuses on breathing, in and out, slowly, letting the air fill his lungs and then expelling it until his heart rate slows and the panic ebbs away. 

He doesn’t release her hand, and she makes no attempt to extract it. 

Instead they sit, fingers entwined, as he haltingly tells her of the glitch in the steering controls he noticed and reported through the proper channels when their ship was in dock for routine maintenance. How investigation into his report revealed a serious fault that would be time consuming and expensive to repair, and how the Naval Command, wanting the ship back in service as soon as possible, dismissed it and instructed Liam to take her out again regardless. How Liam knew corners had been cut but believed his commanders when they claimed everything that was necessary to keep the ship and crew safe had been done. 

“He didn’t tell me,” Killian chokes. “Not until it was too late. When we were caught in the storm and the ship wouldn’t steer and we were at the mercy of the waves… Liam was killed. I couldn’t stop it, I tried but I couldn’t… the wave came… and I nearly went overboard… the ship was wrecked with only a handful of survivors… and then… the navy put the blame on Liam.” His lip curls as the old, bitter fury rises up in him. “They said he was negligent, putting the ship back in service without carrying out the proper maintenance. And they knew that was a lie, and what’s more they knew that I knew it. I wanted to take it to a court martial to clear Liam’s name but every attempt I made was blocked by some higher-up. I was informed that if I continued to press the issue I could face a court martial of my own for insubordination, and then they offered me a deal. An honourable discharge and a financial settlement. For my silence.” He spits the word. “And I took it.” 

“Oh, Killian.” 

“I thought, if I can’t exonerate Liam I can at least gouge the bloody navy for an obscene amount of money, enough to make them feel it. I thought it might be cathartic.” He snorts. “It wasn’t. That damned money has been a weight around my neck ever since. I haven’t touched a penny of it and I never will. I can’t bear to. It’s blood money, my brother’s blood, and as far as I’m concerned it can rot in the bank forever.” He pauses, draws a steadying breath. “As far as I was concerned.” 

He looks up at her, holding her gaze as his thumb moves gently across her knuckles. “I want to give it to you, Emma. You and Henry.” 

She gasps. “Oh, I couldn’t—” 

“Yes you could. I’m serious when I say I’ll never spend it. There’s nothing I could buy that would bring my brother back, and nothing I could use it for that wouldn’t remind me of him. Except this.” 

“But I—”

“I know it’s a huge thing to ask of you, but please, love. Please take it. I don’t deserve to have it and you don’t deserve the life you’re living. Let me make this right. Let me do something good, just one good thing in Liam’s memory.”

He has a thought, and smiles at his own whimsy. “Think of it as a Christmas miracle.”  

Emma shakes her head, looking shell-shocked. “It certainly is a Christmas something,” she replies. “I—I don’t really know what to think.” 

“That’s more than understandable.” 

“Killian when I—when I told you about myself and our situation I wasn’t—I didn’t expect—” 

“Of course you didn’t. How could you possibly have known that the strange man you invited to Christmas dinner was sitting on a pile of cash?” He attempts to tease her to lighten the mood and is gratified when she laughs, albeit with an edge of hysteria. 

“True,” she says. She looks down at their hands, palms pressed together and fingers tangled, and slowly brings her other one up to curl around the back of his. Her hands are soft and he tries not to notice the way their touch makes his skin tingle. 

“Please let me do this, Emma,” he pleads, adding his other hand to the pile to stop himself reaching up to caress her cheek. “For Henry, and for yourself. And for me. You’d be doing me a great favour.” She looks up, into his eyes and beyond them, into the very depths of him. He holds his breath for what feels like eternity and then she nods. 

“Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

—

They meet at the bank the following morning. The procedure is quick and surprisingly painless—papers signed and wire transfers made, business cards exchanged and financial management advice offered—and it’s not yet eleven o’clock when they find themselves back out on the snowy street staring awkwardly at each other. 

Killian almost offers her his number, almost begs her to stay in touch. But she’s a wealthy woman now, with a degree to finish and a child to care for. She has a whole new life before her, one with no place in it for a broken-down sailor with a drinking problem.  

The money is hers, completely. No strings are attached to it and he doesn’t want her feeling in any way obligated to him, or like she has to make any justifications for the way she spends it. He doesn’t want her wasting thoughts on him when she’ll have far better and happier things to think about. And despite the painful knot that tightens in his chest at the thought of never seeing her again he feels lighter than he has in years. He feels free, and he wants that same freedom for her. 

He doesn’t need to see her, he tells himself. Not so long as he knows she’s taken care of. That she’s happy.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “That’s that then.” 

“Yeah I guess it is. Killian, I—” 

“Please.” He cuts her off. “Please don’t say anything.” He lets his eyes caress her face, fixes it for forever in his memory. “Goodbye, Emma,” he says. “Have a wonderful life.” 

He turns and walks away, losing himself in the shifting crowd of people, never once looking back. 

-

[optimusphillip]

OptimusPhillip Reviews 27: Studio Series 52 Chromia, Arcee, and Elita-1

Christmas is coming soon, and while I can’t be sure of what I’m getting, I’d like to review a recent acquisition beforehand just in case I end up getting more this year. This is the Studio Series 52 three-pack of Chromia, Arcee, and Elita-1 from Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen.

Motorcycle Modes

According to TFWiki, all three of these figures turn into their bike modes from the movie; Chromia is a Suzuki B-King, Arcee is a Ducati 848, and Elita-1 is an EV Agusta F4. However, I can’t say I agree with that statement. There’s no licensing information on the box, and there are some visible discrepancies between the toys and the real bikes. Chromia’s headlight is split up and her side lamps are the wrong shape, Arcee is missing her front fender and most of her side panels, and Elita-1 is missing her rearview mirrors and has two headlights instead of just one. Some of these changes could be sacrifices for the sake of making bikes this small transform, but most of them just feel like working around licensing.

Paint deco is kind off here, too. While the base colors are right, all three bikes in the movie had a lot of black accents along with Cybertronian writing on their bodywork. In addition, all three had rims color-coded to their main body colors. None of these details carry over, likely due to size and budget issues. Instead, all we have is some black on the seats, and some silver for the windshields, headlights, gas caps, rims, and tail pipes. However, I think they still look nice, even if they aren’t 1:1 movie accurate.

Now, I mentioned the size earlier, and I should probably address that more properly now. These girls are tiny, only about 2 3/4″ tip to tail in bike mode. They are the smallest figures in the Studio Series line, which is probably for scaling reasons. While I don’t presently have any of the vehicles these bikes were seen alongside in the movie, putting her next to Dropkick in car mode, the scale looks about right for a motorbike next to a car, which I very much approve of.

Conversions

Being as small as they are, these three figures have very simplistic conversions. This is especially true of Chromia, whose transformation consists of folding out the rear seat to form her arm, bringing out the other arm, flipping the front and rear wheels and bringing up the head. Probably the hardest part is trying to tab the rear wheel into place when going back to bike mode, since it doesn’t really fit into the specified slot.

Arcee and Elita are a little more involved. For Arcee, you need to unhinge the lower and upper halves of the bike. From here, the upper half transforms easily enough (just remember to flip up her shoulder spike). The lower half, however, does a double-twist to put the body stem the proper position, then folds in half to create Arcee’s double wheel-foot.

Elita-1′s transformation is slightly different from Arcee and Chromia, in that her front wheel forms one of her arms instead of the rear seat. Once her arms are out of the way, along with her rear wheel-spike, the side panels of the bike rotate down, exposing a similar body stem to Arcee’s. From here, disconnect the front and rear of the bike by un-tabbing the gas tank, do a similar double-twist to Arcee, and then straighten out the rear wheel to form her wheel-foot. Fold the handlebars up, and you’re done.

All three sisters get detachable bases to keep them standing in robot mode. They don’t mount super-securely, nor do they store anywhere in vehicle mode, but they do their job well enough.

Robot Modes

While limited by their small size, these three figures are very faithful renditions of their CGI models from the movie. Some of the finer details are missing, again likely owing to their small size, but the general body shapes are there, and even subtle details like Elita’s folded up handlebars are included.

Upon close inspection, it appears that these three share a surprising number of parts. Arcee shares Chromia’s left shoulder and right forearm, Elita-1′s right shoulder, chest, and head, and all three share the same waist tooling and... hip piece, I guess.

For articulation, all three sisters have ball-joints in their necks, shoulders, elbows, and waists, plus a mushroom peg swivel leftover from transformation, which allows you to tilt their upper bodies if that’s a thing you want to do. I will warn you, however, that some of their arm joints can be loose. In my case, both Arcee and Elita have loose left elbows, and Arcee’s bike front shoulder is loose as well. Also, I’ve occasionally popped parts off during transformation, though it’s not often enough to feel like anything besides a problem with my end.

Aside from their robot mode stands, this set includes three additional accessories: a large pink gun, a large blue blade, and a small blue piece with silver piping. According to the instructions, the gun goes over Arcee’s right forearm, the blade goes on Chromia’s left forearm, and the small blue piece goes on... Arcee’s left shoulder. Yeah, this feels odd to me. It’s obviously colored to go with Chromia, and seems to only work with Arcee due to them sharing a left shoulder part, but the instructions give it to Arcee. That said, all three of these accessories are interchangeable across the two, since not only do they share right forearms to fit the gun, but Arcee also has pegs for the blade on her left forearm. Unfortunately, Elita kind of gets left out of the accessory swapping, though she does have her character model’s arm-blade sculpted into her left arm. Also, the shoulder piece isn’t super secure, especially on Chromia, who has some clearance issues with her large elbow and blade.

Now, normally, that would be it for the figures themselves... but there’s one more undocumented feature to discuss.

Combined Mode

I’m going to say this right now: as of me writing this review, there are no official instructions for this combined mode. A combined mode is clearly intentional judging by the engineering involved, but there is no confirmed official configuration. As a result, I will be following the method used by SparkSide - YRQRM0 on YouTube, which has made the best use I’ve seen of all the unique engineering.

In essence, this is just Arcee with Elita-1 forming a rear wheel, and Chromia forming a large backpack. The idea of the three combining is based on a deleted scene from Revenge of the Fallen that only exists as concept art, but this configuration has very little in common with that concept art. SparkSide’s original combination idea, while using less of the dedicated engineering, did more closely resemble that concept design. Still, this isn’t really bad in comparison. I like the centaur shape she has going on, and I still enjoy how Chromia’s arm parts fuse onto Arcee’s. While Chromia herself kind of just forms a backpack, it is a nice way of integrating her design. That said, Arcee loses all torso articulation, and her arms are a little clunky in this configuration. Still, it’s a fun little bonus feature that I’m glad they included.

Backdrop

The backdrop included with this set is branded “Shanghai Pursuit”, and is based on the opening sequence from Revenge of the Fallen, where the three pursue Sideways through the streets of Shanghai. Specifically, it shows the building that they burst through after narrowly avoiding killing an old Chinese man eating noodles. While the shot from the movie is very busy, all of the details I saw in the movie are present here, and there’s nothing here that seems out of place. So I’ll say it’s a successful recreation.

But now the million dollar question: do the figures fit on the base? Yes. The figures are so small in robot mode and have such narrow footprints that all three of them can stand side by side without crowding the base. They even fit on it in combined mode... but only sideways. The combined robot is just too long front to back to fit on the stand facing forward, but the base is wide enough and the robot thin enough too fit when looking off to the side. So it’s possible, but it doesn’t look very good. They all still fit in motorcycle mode as well. It’s a little crowded, but you can get them to all fit on the stand side-by-side at an angle, showroom style.

Final Thoughts

Studio Series is not for everyone, and the Revenge of the Fallen designs are definitely not for everyone. That said, I think the motorcycle sisters are some of the better designs to come out of that movie, and I think they are captured very well in this three-pack. While small, they are fun to play around with, going from one mode to another and playing around with the combinations. Some of the connections are kind of loose, but not to the extent of being a dealbreaker. So if you’re into these designs, or are just looking for some fun desk toys, these are hard to go wrong with. Just make sure you play with them in an area where you won’t lose any dropped parts.

[mimzy-writing-online]

More Things I’m Doing to Relax During Social Distancing

My original post can be found here. Yeah, I mention some things from there here again, but mostly because they really are helping

-I am working with my mum to sew masks for our family, but I’m making mine with pretty fabric- usually left overs from one of my other sewing projects. (Yes, that relaxes me, it’s a small thing I can control during this time of things I cannot control, as well as taking up time and giving me bonding time with my mum.)

-Working on my main sewing project. It’s a long skirt that’s mid-shin with a floral fabric that has a black background but flowers of different shades of purple and blue. It’s very me, dark but bright and soft. It’s cotton fabric, so it’ll be cool and light weight for summer, unlike half of my other skirts those lengths

-Warm showers before bed, with lavender scented body wash. Lavender is a scent that naturally relaxes you and makes it easier to sleep.

-A few yoga stretches before bed. Mostly because I’m dealing with a lot of joint and muscle pain from chronic illness, and I’ve realized it helps with pain, making it so I don’t wake up in pain

-Recently read a post that said something along the lines of “for people who follow specific aesthetics, what draws you to it is how it’s romanticized. You need to also romanticize your own life, even the smallest things.” 

-My thing has been, 1. a little dark academia 2. a little cottage core 3. a lot of studio ghibli

-Going back to those videos I mentioned in my last post, the ones that are very aesthetic, watching someone do something they enjoy with soft music in the background, I’m doing a little of that in my regular life. This includes drawing and sewing especially, because I’m trying to learn those skills

-So I’m playing a lot of lo-fi and studio ghibli and other piano music

-Enjoying other sounds, like my long nails clicking on my favorite ceramic mugs, or anything my nails touch. The sound of my keyboard keys clicking quickly because I’m a fast typer. Pencil scratching on paper when I draw, or my pen on paper when I journal. Yeah, just straight up ASMR but in real life

-A little romanticizing for my clean room, like my reading chair my neighbor gave me with the afghan my mum made hanging over the back. I’ve wanted a wing back chair for ten years and I finally have one! Also it looks like that wing back chair from Sims 4 Cats and Dogs, which I almost cried over when I saw it in the trailer a few years ago and promised my Sim self would have one in their home. Or how nice my desk looks, or the colors of my Christmas lights. Or how soft and comfy my bed is.

-I have a bunch of crystals I got from Amazon a year and a half ago hanging in my front of my window. I have a north facing window, but in mid April through late August I get light at the “golden hour” in my window. It shines on the crystals and casts rainbows on my walls and furniture. I call it the rainbow hour. I improved my depression last year, and it brings me peace this year too. The rainbows started appearing this past week. I put on my favorite over-sized sweater and stood in the middle of my room so I could see the rainbows on my body

-I’ve been opening my curtains every day for this, which is also helping. The indirect sunlight helps with any depression and lightens my room without hurting my eyes

-Certain smells. I put my favorite scrunchies in a box I sprayed a little perfume in. I don’t wear perfume, but my mum and sister do and the smell of it soothes me and has for a few years now. The smell of freshly clean sheets and clothes

-Romanticizing things is making it a lot easier to work on self care and doing it more.

-Treating myself to “special things”. There’s a problem with this whole “use nice things only on special occasions” that I only recently realizes is just plain dumb.

-So I pull out my nice tea pot and make some tea. Or use some of my nice loose leaf tea. Wearing a nice dress or skirt. Doing something special with my hair and trying a new style even though no one will see it. My hair’s finally getting long enough to do some interesting stuff.

-putting lotion on my hands before bed. I usually can’t stand the feeling of lotion on my hands because of how sensitive to texture and how disturbed by greasy things I am. But frequent hand washing can dry out your hands and cracked hands are more likely to pick up infection. I recently found a lotion I like that works really well, so I put it on before bed.

This list is getting long and I’m getting a little tired, so I’ll end this here. There’s a little next bit, but I wrote it earlier in the post. It’s things I’m struggling with but I’ll leave it under the read more line.

Things I am Struggling With

Like with my last post, it wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t share what’s bothering me

-I haven’t used my cane in a month. (if you’re seeing one of my posts for the first time, hi, I’m blind, I have a white cane with a red tip for when I leave my house). The realization that I’ve had zero reason to take it with me is upsetting. It’s a part of me, but when I moved it and felt how dusty it was I got a little sad and frustrated.

-Low spoon days. With executive functioning working again, thanks to ADHD meds, I’m doing a lot more during the day and my body and chronic fatigue is feeling it. I wake up tired and achy after spending the previous day doing things. It’s been a roller coaster of high and low energy and the constant urge to do things.

-Yeah, a few issues spending so much time with a specific family member. The other two are okay. 

-Sleeping. This is called The Late Night Writing Advice Blog for a reason. I work on it at night when my brain is most active

-I’m getting a little better about the eating. It comes down to ADHD, executive function, and that I don’t receive hunger signals normally until I feel bad. Also my dad makes dinner out of meats I can’t eat without stomach pain, especially steak. 

[loulougoingsolo]

Touching balls is not allowed

I’m always in awe of just how talented the Mythical crew are, and I don’t just mean as writers, producers, and comedians. This time on GMM, they had the opportunity to show us their skills in the area of exercising, and once again, they did it with skill.

I like these “Year eye with two straight guys” episodes. I love games and trivia, and whenever Rhett and Link compete at something, it’s an added bonus to GMM. This time, they are supposed to guess the decade in which the exercise styles were first introduced. As someone who was really bad in P.E. class, always failed to follow the routine when doing aerobics or any other rhythmic exercises, and since high school mostly been not exercising, I can say I know nothing about these. But here’s my chance to learn!

I bought my mom a thing a bit like the balance board for christmas a few years back (it’s a less dangerous variate) in hopes of helping her to improve her back muscles and posture, but she has not used it once. I tried it, and I’m happy to be alive to tell about it. I lack balance (both metaphorically and physically), but clearly, Teresa doesn’t have that problem. Did she once say she used to do ballet, or is it just something I think every time I see her? Either way, she must have tried to balance on that thing before to be that good at it.

Link is wearing the kind of Vans shoes today that I considered to buy at one point, but didn’t. And he looks very balanced in his black-and-white outfit - not on the board however. I was so afraid he’d fall. Phew!

Seeing Emily do the jazzercise routine for some reason I can’t quite explain, reminds me of the SNL skit where Kristen Wiig is Ann Margaret. This is exactly the kind of exercise that I am miserable at. I’d be half a beat late from every move, I’d accidentaly raise the wrong hand or leg, and I would so not be smiling while doing this. But Emily makes it look like fun. She is very bouncy.

I don’t particularly enjoy the feeling of ground moving beneath me in any form (like in escalators), so guess who’s never tried a treadmill? Yup, me. Also, I’ve seen too many of those fail compilations where someone ends up in the back wall or flat on their face over the treadmill. Nick doesn’t even seem to be sweating. That is impressive. Now, since they now have a treadmill in the Mythical castle, does that mean we’re going to see that two-men-on-one-treadmill thing soon, which Rhett and Link talked about? Don’t try to convince me that they haven’t tried it already, it’s only a question of whether the cameras were on or not.

Is it just me, or do you think the chair used for the chair exercise is a tad low for both David and Rhett? At least, with Rhett, that looks more like something out of the ministry of silly walks, only sitting down. But I’m sure this is a great exercise for anyone with joint pains or such problems.

Ah, pole exercise. I’m pretty sure the ability to spin on a pole is not a requirement for applying a job at Mythical, but Davin looked pretty good at it. My favourite thing about this round is that Link was only totally amazed by Davin’s skills, and watched him with a huge grin on his face, while Rhett asked Davin not to look him in the eyes (what does he really think would happen?). I’m willing to bet that after the cameras stopped rolling, Link definately tried the pole. He wants to spin on it. I hope they catch him trying on a security camera or something.

You know, when Rhett and Link talked about touching each others balls, and changing the rules so that balls wouldn’t touch in the last round, no one was thinking about the balls on the board. No one. But balls were touched, and that was kind of cheating, which is a no-no.

Is Link thinking about the pole, or touching balls, here. What do you think? He is definately not listening to Rhett explaining the rules.

Dang it, I have two minutes to finish this post before today’s GMM gets posted. I loved the More, and the fact that Link just needed to sniff Rhett’s sweaty headband. I was so hoping for an unexpected twist with the flirting with a guy on a treadmill story, and that it was actually Chase’s story, but nah. It would have been so cool though.

I was more than mildly amused by how they talked about being naked in a sauna with other people. As a Finn, I’ve been in a sauna with naked strangers numerous times, and it didn’t traumatize me. Sauna is so much nicer when you’re naked, and it isn’t the least bit weird. But an eggsalad in a sauna, that is so not what you’re supposed to do, and really weird.

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. Have you ever had someone pick you up off the ground & carried you? Yeah, many times. 2. Are you a flirty person? I’m not a flirtatious person who is just flirty and overly friendly with everyone. I’m flirty if I’m interested in you and we actually talk and know each other.  3. Do you like coffee? How about tea? I love coffee, I drink it everyday. Tea is okay, but I don’t drink it regularly. I have it every now and then. 4. Where exactly was your first kiss? At my high school behind the drama department. 5. The last store you went to was…? Walmart.

6. A name you hate with a passion? There isn’t a name I hate with a passion.  7. Do you have a friend named Alex? No. 8. The last person you held hands with? It was my doggo, Princess Leia. (: She loves to hold hands. She’ll put her paw up for you to grab it. And when you do, you can actually feel her paw tighten like she’s really holding your hand. If you stop and try to leave, she’ll put her paw up or on your arm. 9. How about the last movie you saw? My mom and I watched A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, the Mister Rogers movie, the other day and it was cute but I wish it had been a movie about his life and the show. 10. Did you like it? ^^^ 11. What is your favorite type of water (ex. arrowhead)? I’m really not picky about it. 12. Have you ever been to Warped Tour? No. 13. Do you know anyone who wears fur? No. 14. When was the last time you were on myspace.com? Uhhh. Over 10 years ago. 15. How often do you cuss? Not very often. 16. Have you ever cussed out a teacher? Nooo. 17. Do you know how many kids are at your school? I’m done with school. 18. What did you think of the movie Juno? I like it. 19. When was the last time you had butterflies? I have the nervous, anxious kind a lot. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the good kind. 20. How often do you eat meat? Everyday. Either in the form of a bologna or turkey and salami sandwich, boneless wings, or pizza that has crumbled meatballs. Somedays I have 2 of the 3.  21. What grade did you meet your best friend in? We didn’t meet at school, we met in the womb ha. 22. Would rather be loved or love someone? Being loved and loving. 23. Last time you cleaned your room? I straightened up not too long ago. I still need to go through things and get rid of some stuff. I also still need to put my Christmas decorations away... 24. Have you ever gotten clothes from the kids section of Target when you were over the age of 10? Not Target specifically, but from other places like JCP lol. I don’t do that now, but I did when I was younger. I still could fit the shirts, but that’d just be weird as a soon to be 31 year old. 25. Are you more of a science/math person or english/history person? Or how about science/history or something like that? English and history person. Mainly just english. I do think history is interesting and I like learning about certain things at my own pace. I didn’t enjoy it much in school, though. The pressure of having to memorize dates, names, and events was stressful. 26. What is your biggest fear? Losing my loved ones and dying, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life and just wasting away. 27. Have you ever been cheated om in a relationship? No. 28. Your favorite children’s book you ever read? I had a lot of favorites. I’ve loved books from a very young age. 29. When you were little, would you have rather watched Cartoon Network or Disney Channel? Disney Channel. 30. Do you shave your arms? No. 31. Since using the internet regularly, have you started to read less than you used to? No. I haven’t read much this past year, but that had nothing to do with my internet use. I’ve started back up again, though. 32. Are you a big fan of the Harry Potter series? I enjoyed the movies, but I never read the books. 33. How often would say you pulled all-nighters, if you ever do? I’ve been going to bed around 5AM everyday for the past year. My last full all nighter was last month on the day we left for the airport at 430AM to travel to Disneyland. I didn’t sleep until that night. That was after a day of travel and hours spent at Disneyland. I don’t know how the hell I did it. I don’t have the energy like I did when I was a kid/teenager. 34. Do you wear make-up on a daily basis? No. I haven’t worn any makeup in over a year. 35. Has a friend’s boyfriend/girlfriend ever had a problem with you for any reason? No. I had an issue with some friends’ significant others, though. For good reason. 36. How old were you when you learned to drive? I still haven’t. 37. How many times a day do you find yourself cracking your joints, if at all? I stretch out my arms a lot. I also feel the need to crack my neck a lot, too. My posture is shit. 38. Do you find yourself feeling lazier when the weather is warm? I already have low energy, but yeah it’s in the negative during the summer. Summer just makes me miserable. 39. Is there a particular sport you follow on a regular basis? Nope. I don’t like sports. 40. Are you a fan of the TV show Friends? I never got into it, actually. Seems like everyone else has in recent years. 41. How old do you think is too old to sleep with a stuffed animal? I don’t care what you do. I have 3 that sit on my bed. I don’t cuddle with them, but if I did so what. 42. If AC wasn’t an option, would you rather sleep with a fan on or with the windows open? We very rarely use the AC because it’s expensive and our AC sucks anyway. Poor ventilation. Our summers are absolutely miserable. D: It’ll be just as hot in my house, if not hotter. I have to use 3 fans in my room alone. Four fans actually because I have a window fan. During the day it doesn’t help much, but it’s really nice at night. Ughhh, I swear it gets worse every year. I don’t how I’ll get through it. 43. Do you find it hard to fall asleep when you know you have to be up earlier than normal? Yes. 44. Do you style your hair in the same way every day, or do you prefer to switch it up? It’s mostly just up in a pony tail, but sometimes a braid or a bun.  45. Are you 100% over the last person you kissed? Yes. 46. Are you currently looking forward to anything? When we finally start to see the coronavirus calm down. When it’s contained and there’s a vaccine. When the panic and hysteria goes away. When we’re not bombarded with it everyday. 47. Ever receive a really long apology? Yes. 48. What were you doing at 7:45AM this morning? I plan to be asleep. 49. Do you put ketchup on top of your french fries or on the side? Ew, neither. It’s all about ranch. 50. Who was the last person you talked to in person? My brother. 51. How many tattoos would you like to have? I’d like to get one at least, but I don’t see it happening. 52. Have you ever hung out with someone just to hang out? ...Yes? I’m not getting the question.  53. Would you be mad if your best friend dated your crush? My mom would never do that. 54. Do you wish you were somewhere else right now? No.  55. What was the last thing you drank? Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink. 56. Do you laugh a lot? Uhhh. I wouldn’t say a lot. 57. Do you have a dog? Yesss, my little Princess Leia<3 58. Do you like orange juice? Ew, no. 59. Would you rather have big or small dogs? Medium size dogs. 60. Have you ever slept in someone else’s bed? Yes. 61. When was the last time you cried? Recently. 62.Are you over the age of 25? Yeah. I’m going to be 31 soon. :/ 63. Do you like your first name? It's fine. I can't really picture me having any other name. <<< Yeah, I’ve had it for almost 31 years now so hey. I’ll keep it. 64. Do you wear glasses? Yes. 65. Do you think you’re wasting your time on the person you like? I don’t like anyone in that way currently. 66. Do you/have you ever liked/been in love with someone older than you? Yes. 67. Did you enjoy your summer? It’s not summer yet, thank goodness. I’m dreading it. 68. How’s your heart lately? It’s beating.  68. Do you want your life to stay the way it is right now forever? Noooooo. 69. Are you a jealous person? I can be. I haven’t felt that in a long time. I feel envy more often. 70. Are you ready to get out of this town? I’ve been ready for years. 71. Have you had alcohol in the last 48 hours? No. I don’t drink anymore. 72. Do you currently have a hickey? No. 73. Would you rather live without music or without the t.v? Without TV. I could still watch stuff online. ha. 74. Are you one of those people who obsesses over Hollister? I had a brief period in my early 20s where I was into it, but I got over it. It was way overpriced. I do love the signature cologne, though.

[sternerstufftoys]

Scoopy-doopy-doo

It is the year 1988... ...the rock juggernaut that is Cliff Richard beats upstarts Kylie Minogue and Jason Donavon into submission for a Christmas no. 1... ...The Mega Drive is released in Japan, with just three short years to go until anything truly worthwhile is released to play on it... ...And in the Transformers, er, something something double targetmasters.

Meanwhile in the far off future year of 2014, the Thrilling 30 line of Generations toys was doing a victory lap of all sorts of past incarnations of the brand, and poor old IDW were told in no uncertain terms that they needed to start pulling their weight shilling these little plastic people in the pages themselves. So you end up with Armada Starscream, RID Sky-Byte, Beast Wars Rattrap and G1 Scoop all having to rub shoulders together. Yeah, it was more than a little distracting, and not everyone slid comfortably into their new roles. Sky-Byte loves poetry, you say? Well, stick him in the pub doing recitals and hope nobody notices. Rattrap is a conniving bastard? Put him alongside Starscream. It'll be fine. And Scoop? What even is Scoop? His bio just says he's brave, his original function is just 'field infantry'. He is about as plain as they come.

Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with plain. In fact, it's great having a few more rank-and-file Autobots, the soldiers who actually get things done rather than the high-ranking heroes that take all the glory. But while that might have been fine and dandy in the midst of all-out war, civilian Scoop has absolutely nothing, and ended up as something of an evangelical nut. A little awkward, considering he spent most of his time being manipulated and pushed around by Starscream, both before and after realising what a prick he was. Plenty of time on the page, and never any satisfying conclusion to his arc, not exactly unfamiliar in Robots in Disguise, sadly.

So how does he fare in plastic? A bit plain too, and all the better for it. It's impossible not to want to compare this 2014 interpretation of a Double Targetmaster with yesterday's review of Spinister, a 2019 go at the same concept. Of the two, Scoop is far more conservative in his sculpting, with nowhere near the level of detail, articulation or even plastic. Of course, unlike Spinister Scoop actually came with his two nebulon partners, which would account for some of the plastic and tooling budget that leaves Scoop a little on the simpler side. Still, aside from a slightly awkward transformation joint getting in the way of his shoulder articulation, Scoop stands pretty tall and proud as a well-designed robo-man. There's nothing altogether wrong with him, he's just not that exciting.

Actually, speaking of the nebulons, let's be honest here: they're crap. All the effort has gone into making them look vaguely convincing as great big fellas in Centurion-style power armour, but when the time comes for them to turn into guns, they mostly just look like great big fellas in Centurion-style power armour flat on their faces. As overused as the battle master moulds are, they're still a step up from this.

In alt mode Scoop makes for a big chunky digger. Okay, it's not exciting, but if you remember a few weeks ago from how unreasonably excited I got for Grapple's big chunky crane mode, well, Scoop isn't all that different. The two pair well together, and you can definitely picture them as distant mates, pissed-off rivals or glowering ex-lovers who secretly still share the odd secret snog behind the spoil heap. And again, it's nice having an alt mode that isn't trying to be flash, just a regular workin' Joe, pulling his weight and being a mate. And probably leaving a few religious pamphlets in your lunchbox when you're not looking. The only thing is... see that cab? See the great big head poking up in there? Yeah, it's a little hard to un-see now, isn't it? You're welcome.

So yeah, I really like Scoop, precisely because he's not special. You don't need one in your collection. He's not the hero that'll save the day, the commander that'll rally the troops or the sinister one who may or may not betray his comrades. He's just one of the guys. Sure, he's a bit of a zealot, yeah, he'll probably talk your ear off on Monday about just how good church was the day before, but it's all worthwhile. At least you know he's on the level.

[btsybrkr]

2020 Vision: What To Expect From The Next Decade (By Someone Who Has No Idea, Obviously.)

Happy New Year, all!! I had planned to do a little run-down last week of everything that happened in the 2010s, but instead succumbed to the existential struggle that comes with the week that follows Christmas Day, in which your time becomes largely swallowed up by asking yourself ‘what day is it?’ and ‘at what point am I supposed to stop living on a diet of alcohol and Quality Street?’. It’s festive purgatory, and you’re literally powerless to do anything other than sleep, eat, and moan that the shops are still playing Christmas music. That’s my excuse, anyway.

So, instead, I thought we’d say a collective “cinnabit, lad” to 2019 and a collective “what is UP, dude?” to the Roaring 20s 2.0, the only sequel that humanity has waited a whole 100 years for. Apart from Avatar 2, which I imagine will come out at some point in the 3020s.  What do we know so far about what the 2020s have in store for us? Obviously, not a lot, but as someone who successfully predicted the outcome of the last election, and the UK’s last four Eurovision losses - two things which I’m sure absolutely nobody ever saw coming - I thought I’d give out my own valuable speculation. Here’s what the 2020s might look like, according to me.

Politics

Let’s get it out of the way - we’re in a terrible state. At this point, every important issue is so divisive, that the nation is divided over everything, including whether we’re actually divided or not. Do I think we’ll become any less divided in the coming years, in a United Kingdom where the conversation is so often dominated by things we can absolutely never seem to agree on? Yes. We will have no choice. Why? 

All-out war.

Yes, I said it. In 2021, there will be all-out war. With America, probably. I don’t know why. Maybe Trump will get into an argument with Boris Johnson over who can manage to effortlessly look the most like a Viz caricature of themselves - they both already do somehow, I’m just saying they might disagree on which one of them is the best at it. Could be that, or possibly a more serious cause, to do with nuclear weapons or something, but I’d rather not think about that, because it’s not as funny as the Viz thing. And it’s more likely. So, we’ll pretend for now that we’re on the verge of the first pantomime, slapstick war the world has ever seen.

Anyway, while Trump and Johnson are beefing up a storm - picture Punch and Judy, except the puppets are in suits and have thinning, bright yellow hair - previously all-encompassing issues like Brexit will fall by the wayside, until Boris Johnson eventually decides to hand his notice in to focus on more important things, like beating Trump with a wooden spoon and chasing after the dog that stole all his sausages. After this, we’ll all come together to realise that if actual elected officials can’t do the job, then maybe we, the people, deserve our chance to test our political metal. Obviously, we can’t let just anybody have a go, but at the end of the year, Cosmopolitan magazine puts the traditional democratic process at number one on its ‘Leave It In 2021’ list, so we have absolutely no choice but to come up with something else, which brings me to...

Television And Film

2022 will start with a bang, with the debut of Simon Cowell’s new talent show format, So You Think You Can Be The Prime Minister?, hosted of course by Ant and Dec, with the aftershow on ITV2 being hosted by Jeremy Paxman. Contestants will line up in huge crowds to give judges Russell Brand, Susanna Reid, and, of course, Jesus S. Cowell himself (forgot to mention, Simon Cowell has been elected as the new Christ in this completely non-hypothetical universe, alright?) their opinions on hot political topics such as Brexit, the NHS, and, of course, whether a Jaffa Cake can really be classed as a biscuit or not. Each episode, contestants will take part in a live debate, themed around a different issue with every passing week. The two least popular contestants after the weekly phone vote will go head-to-head giving their own rendition of Running The World by Jarvis Cocker, with the worst performer being eliminated. I know a sing-off isn’t exactly relevant in a politics programme, but it’s Saturday night primetime so it’s still got to be at least somewhat entertaining, yeah?

Love Island will be back, of course - and not just with a Summer and Winter edition, but with an additional Spring and Autumn one for the 2024 schedule! This will be a win-win situation for the series producers, and for its viewers, as by 2027, ITV will run out of attractive under-35s to appear on the show, and members of the public will begin getting called up to appear - like with jury duty, except that ITV pay for you to have extensive cosmetic surgery first, so that you’re aesthetically pleasing enough for people to want to tune in, and so that you can maintain a successful career selling Bootea on Instagram afterwards. 

Films will also go through a renaissance in the 2020s, as the Hollywood big boys come to a conclusion that everything has just become a little too… blockbuster. To remedy this, they make the joint decision that, 100 years on, we should take ourselves back to the silent film era, which will surely create hundreds of jobs for mute people, therefore solving Hollywood’s problems with a lack of diversity in film. It’ll also give well-known TikTok creators a chance to make the leap into mainstream entertainment, as they’ll have spent so long lip-synching over the years that they’ll now be more qualified to star in these new golden age pictures than actual trained actors. Obviously, that sounds absolutely beyond comprehension, but look at Count Orlok in 1922’s Nosferatu. See his slender limbs, blank stare, gothic dress sense - in a way, he’s the original e-boy, and there’s plenty of them out there on TikTok now that could play the titular vampire just as well in a 100th anniversary remake, just with less neck-biting and more lip-biting. Trust me, it’ll be a hit.

Technology

Throughout the 2010s, there’s been a lot of talk about everyone spending too much time on their bloody phones, so, in 2024, Apple will try to combat this issue when they unveil perhaps their most innovative product to date - the iPhone XZ+, a phone which exists solely in the mind of its users. Not in a Black Mirror, chip-inside-your-brain sort of way, either. It is literally imaginary. It’s a phone that, instead of being a phone, is actually just the concept of a phone. Yes, for the small cost of £1,500 and six units of your own soul, you, too, can block the rest of the world out. How amazing is that? No more wasting hours of your day keeping in touch with friends and family. No more accessing a wealth of information, wherever you are, with a quick Google. No more blocking out the sound of cackling pre-teens on the bus by putting in your earphones and listening to music. These things are bad and must be stopped, before we become an entire species of communicating, bopping, learning zombies.

I think those must be bad things anyway, since you can rarely go a few seconds scrolling through social media without stumbling across a ‘woke’ meme about how the use of smartphones is destroying us, one notification at a time - memes which I’m absolutely sure were created and posted from a book or a potato or something. Otherwise they’d just be hypocritical, wouldn’t they?

Anyway, the iPhone XZ+. It’s the only thing you need inside your head this decade. Apart from a very real ever-growing sense of fear and doom, which you can get for free.

Sport

The next decade will see the Olympics and Paralympics take place in 2020, 2024 and 2028, as well as the Winter equivalents to both in 2022 and 2026. You’d think we’d be all Olympic-ed out with that, but in the absence of anything else that gets people feeling remotely patriotic in a purely nice way, the world will decide to come together to throw scaled-down, low-budget Olympic games in all the off-years this decade. 

Summer 2021 will see the start of the first ever Not-The-Actual-Olympics. Marked by a glamourous opening ceremony in a field in Loughborough, the opening will feature a series of performances from stars such as H from Steps, and will be attended by some people who aren’t the royal family, but really do look like them. Taking place over the 10-week long games will be thumb wars, arm wrestling, staring contests, and an exciting event in which competitors try to eat the most HobNobs they possibly can without the help of a glass of water to combat the extreme dry-mouth they end up with. It might sound underwhelming now, but if there turns out to be any truth in the other predictions I’ve made here, it might be just what you need to restore your faith in the everyday.

Happy New Year, Everyone

In all seriousness - not that the rest of this isn’t serious, because it is, and is definitely all going to happen - whatever the coming years bring, it’s important to remember that we have to take the good with the bad, to look after ourselves and each other, and to enjoy each day as much as we possibly can, even during the bits of life that leave us feeling a little less Gangnam Style than we did way back in 2012. Thanks, everyone, for reading my blog. I’ll be back again in a week or so to talk absolute arse about something else. Until then, I hope you all had a great 2019, and have an even better start to 2020. Cheers!

[pan-era-musings]

Teenagers!!!!!!

Happy early morning from Panera... the gym is getting new gear so i'm having coffee...

Ian is my barista. He's a rookie – it says so on his name tag...

let's see what happens today

Neil Young and Norah Jones are overhead...

there is a discussion on the benefits of Waze. One likes MapQuest better. Apparently WAZE lets you know about speed traps and DUI pullovers – which I think is illegal. If you're not breaking a traffic law, there is no reason for a cop to pull you over “just to check”

behind me there are three girls and one boy talking about high school and the problems of not being an “in” kid.

Some school problems never go away...

they are talking about the popular girls... skank and slut are the two most used descriptors

Now we're on to Taylor Swift. Lots of noise on that one. They hope she comes to Raleigh

lots of chitter chatter

there are a husband and wife in booth in front of me.

They are having breakfast. I can see wife. In the middle of eating she says “so, you enjoyed last nigh?”

He says 'oh my God. That was amazing. Blew me away.”

She laughs and says “I thought it would.”

she now bats her eyes in an obviously coquette-ish way and smiles

the teen girls talking about sisters and brothers. One's brother takes showers too long. He’s lazy and farts all the time

One is nervous about an upcoming doctor's appointment her mom made for her. She wished her mother would have asked her first. It's so embarassing and rude.

She had her first period just before Christmas.

A table cheer rings out

they are now talking about a class on learning about learning style and personality to help them be better students

that would have helped me in high school..

the consensus is they'd all rather be followers than leader. Too much pressure

It’s all about school.

The boy in the group is paranoid about his garage door opener.

He's terrified someone will break into the house via garage door opener he locks all the doors and windows when home alone

they now shift to college plans . One girl is going to the family college - NC State, “someday” she wants to think about it first... and has no clue what to study if she even went to college. But she says, it sounds like fun.

Now the pros and cons of flannel lined jeans and the pros of wearing flip flops all the time.. even in the snow..

These kids change direction at the speed of light

one went to summer camp and lost their wallet

RA was a pain... he was caught making out with a girl. They told his parents.

Girls are asking what constitutes making out. Kissing or feeling her up.... or getting felt up

the most talkative girl says once you let him grab your boobs, it’s making out.

The table goes quiet. Apparently they are contemplating making out.....crickets...

one of the teachers wants one girl to get more exercise. She says it won’t change her bone structure.

That’s a new reason not to exercise

the girl says people aren’t in your body so they can’t tell you what to do

now we rank bullies. Austin and “that bitch” Madison lead the list.

One's mother is looking for help with school yard sale. Each vol gets to take one sale item free for helping

one wants a tattoo.

Another wants a kitten

her mom is against it

another tired of mom and dad barging into her room. It's embarrassing and an invasion of privacy.

Now they are debating the pros and cons of smoking pot. Is a vape pen better or worse than smoking a joint?

As they chatter back and forth it's obvious to me none of them have tried pot. They are in the thinking about it stage.

The boy says his father's favorite hero is Han Solo.

The table laughs hysterically...

it's my time to leave. I think Solo is kinda cool