#I work in Debenhams

[areyougonnabe]

I know nothing about polar exploration! Or Shackleton! But you seem excited about it!

Have a favourite fact you'd like to share?!?

well my two favorite facts have already been shared which are the cautionary tale of the toxic polar polycule and the story of the antarctic lovebirds !!!

but here is a contender for #3... the tale of jessamine.

let's start with our homies Deb (left) and Griff (right), aka Frank Debenham and T. Griffith Taylor, the geologists of terra nova's cape evans shore party:

they would both later go onto impressive careers in academia, start families, basically be well-liked hard-working guys (also participants in 20th century imperialism but let's take that as given based on our starting point of this expedition lol)

BUT we are meeting them here, in antarctica, aged 27 and 30, "Early Career Researchers" as we might call them now. trying to keep busy with SCIENCE during the long antarctic winter night of 1911!!!!!

these guys go way back btw. Deb was born and raised in Australia and and Griff moved to Australia when he was a kid, and they both attended the fancy-schmancy King's School near Sydney, the Australian equivalent of british public school (e.g. Eton). according to griff they were family friends at that time although they would have been a few years apart at school.

later around 1908 they both studied at the University of Sydney under leading geologist Sir Edgeworth David, who had been on Shackleton's Nimrod expedition and reached the South Magnetic Pole with Mawson. They both ended up being hired onto Scott's expedition through university connections, Deb via Professor David and Griff through a scholarship to Cambridge where he met Wilson.

okay. backstory established. now one thing you need to know about Griff is that he was a total freak. like Racovitza, he was a Poster before there were online platforms to Post on. if you had that kind of brain back then, and no access to adderall, you had to just sit around inventing new kinds of science instead of deep-frying spongebob screencaps. he was a consummate edwardian memelord who would read a novel per day and still have time to write 20 pages of diary in which he would floridly record the silliest things that happened since the morning, the various quirks and quotes of expedition members, and then complain about captain scott in shorthand.

to say nothing of his passion for CREATIVE WRITING! vitally, Griff was one of the main contributors to the Cape Evans hut magazine, the South Polar Times edited by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. there were 3 issues of this during the winter of 1911 and 1 issue during the winter of 1912, the latter of which included much material written/submitted during 1911 before the polar party met with tragedy.

Griff was a versatile writer, and his pieces (which would sometimes cumulatively make up nearly half an issue of the SPT by page count) ran the gamut from expository nonfiction to speculative poetry to comedic epistolary to magazine pastiche. he had certain motifs that he frequently returned to—none as compelling, in my opinion, as that of Jessamine. or Jasmine, or Jessie, or Jessica, as the case may be...

it all began, according to Griff's diary, early in the austral winter of 1911, when Deb was "christened Jasmine by Titus [Oates]."

where this nickname came from is unclear—many of the men had picked up female nicknames on the voyage down (see "Jane" Atkinson, "Marie" Nelson, "Penelope" Pennell) but Deb had not been on the voyage down because he had gotten picked up in Australia, so this may have been a belated attempt to correct that omission. Griff wrote in his book about the expedition, "We were short of female society—which lack also accounts for Jessie Debenham as an alternative to Deb."

in any case, the name clearly caught on: on midwinter day, a little under two months after the nickname's debut, Griff recorded that during the gift exchange after dinner "Every second present or so was a necklace or earrings for Miss Jessie Debenham."

(deb and titus at midwinter dinner)

THIS GOT REALLY LONG SO CLICK READ MORE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED!!

in the second SPT issue of 1911, Griff's 17-page narrative "The Bipes" describes the inhabitants of the Cape Evans hut from the perspective of a rabbit who lives in the stables. you can read the whole thing here and please do!!! (you'll need a VPN outside the US) BUT here is the relevant bit dealing with Deb:

U. PULCHERRIMA. This Bipe inhabits a strongly defended Bungkh in the Ubdug burrow. It is supported by mighty baulks of timber and can only be reached by means of a dangerous ladder. The Bungkh is supplied with heavy hammers, piles of stones and other offensive weapons. These precautions are, I believe, necessary in the Bipe courtship, for she is often called upon to repel members of other burrows who approach her balcony with blandishments. Her time is chiefly occupied with a primitive quern or handmill, and at this she grinds for long hours every day. I judge that this merely satisfies some primitive habit, for no flour seems to be produced. But it is pleasant to see how strong is the feminine instinct.

the species name "Pulcherrima" is also the species name of the pointsetta flower, and can be translated to "beautiful woman" (i think??)

here's the illustration produced by Bill Wilson (based on Griff's sketch) to accompany the above - yes that's a portrait of Griff in her bunk and Birdie below attempting to woo her:

it must be noted that Meares, nicknamed "Mother," also gets cast in a female role in the Bipes piece, but does not receive the privilege of being drawn in a skirt, rip.

anyway, the next issue of the SPT, vol 3 issue III, is the last one to be produced before the end of winter. Griff decided to one-up himself and write a piece in which Jessamine takes center stage. The Ladies Letter is a pitch-perfect parody of the "Ladies Column" sections that appeared in many periodicals of the era—full of french fashion terms and simpering style suggestions. Griff brilliantly adapts the format for a pastiche on the subject of Antarctic fashion; not free, naturally, from general whiffs of period-typical misogyny, but as those being mocked in specific are fellow expedition members and not any actual women i forgive him.

written in the form of a letter from Jessamine to her absent friend Cynthia (whose identity i'm unsure of BUT i'm tempted to say is supposed to be Priestley, away at Cape Adare), the piece again features multiple expedition members in female roles, including Silas as "American" Sally Wright, Cherry as "Madame Chérie - that dear delightful person - who builds her beautiful creations on strictly scientific principles of hygiene and aesthetics" and Birdie as Madame Berdé, who "finds that for well developed figures it is most distinctive to use a cross-gartering well above the ankle. She herself is naturally a consistent exponent of this latter fashion."

and then of course there is Jessamine's star turn. she is wearing the newest fashion, "a modification of last year's 'tube skirt' [which] even more closely swathes the lower limbs, and it is necessary that the wearer should be rolled along by her maid."

Jessamine reveals that she is planning to induce Titus Oates to bring her a proposal of marriage through the clever use of themed charms on her chatelaine.

All the smartest girls have wreathed chains of mascots around the skirt, and a pretty idea, which I commend to you, is to have silver model made of those articles which interest THE ONLY MAN WHO COUNTS. Breathe this to no one! But Mappin & Webb are making me such a choice set. The cutest little pony; a horse snowshoe (this is very lucky); a dead rabbit; a popgun; and a silver blazon PER MARE PER TERRAM PRO TITO; this will be attached to my 'tube', and then I really do expect to bring him to a proposal.

this scenario was illustrated hilariously by Bill, complete with Jessamine being rolled along, and Titus ignoring her as could be expected, in favor of a pony (Christopher?):

now, Deb is on record saying that Titus was his best friend on the expedition, but it may well be a classic case of "you are not your best friend's best friend," because per other accounts Oates was much closer to Meares and Atch than he was to Deb. that's just an observation to add a little flavor to Jessamine's desperate pursuit as portrayed here...

and not to look a gift horse (ha) in the mouth, but i do feel that Bill's illustrations don't quiiiiiite do the genderfuckery of Griff's text justice—Jessamine describes herself as wearing a frock inspired by the aurora, but Bill instead draws Deb in normal sledging gear plus some non-dress-shaped colorful streamers. a missed opportunity...

also, lest you think that Griff was the only one partaking in the Jessamine joke in the SPT, there is also a sneaky reference in the anonymous feature "My Favorite Book":

(J-SS-- [JESSIE]: "Not like other girls")

BUT WAIT. THERE'S EVEN MORE.

viewing the handwritten drafts of the SPT held at the SPRI (because all of this is going to be an actual academic paper someday hopefully lol), i learned that there were a fair handful of references omitted from the final version, presumably thanks to Cherry's editorial oversight.

one "answer to correspondents" written by "Marie" Nelson went as follows:

Jessica: A single lady cannot be too careful about the respectability of her lodgings or the character of her companions.

(referencing Deb bunking with Griff and Gran, two of the more annoying/messy people in the hut)

and an unused entry in "Songs And Their Singers" by Teddy Evans was:

Oh What’s Womans Duty - Jasmin

lastly, and most importantly, the drafts contained the one instance i could find of deb firing back about this whole thing.

vol IV of the SPT consisted of one issue released during winter 1912, when a lot of people had gone home (including Griff), and everyone left behind knew the polar party was dead and they'd have to go look for their bodies in the spring. it was not a fun time. vol IV contained a lot of material written the previous year but not included, since for obvious reasons folks weren't really up to being silly. one of those pieces was "A Day's Doings, Told By Our Diarist," written during winter 1911 by Deb as a parody of Griff. it's pretty funny in published form (p. 72 of this pdf)—Deb is on-point mocking Griff's dislike of eating ("Breakfast is an unintellectual meal, so gave it a miss. Better a bit more bunk than a bite more breakfast.") and his never-ending theorizing ("Thought out a new theory as to the origin of debris cones: yesterday’s wasn’t good enough").

however, the draft is exponentially more hilarious. Cherry, damn him, cut the absolute BEST BIT:

Made a genre sketch of Jasmine brushing her (his) hair – it’s a fool nickname anyways, mixes up the genders. 

knowing Deb—quiet, patient, chronically non-confrontational—that's about as explicit as he was willing to get, as far as revealing how he felt about the nickname. writing Griff realizing that it's a bit silly, he reveals to some degree his own discomfort. now, was it a "protest too much" situation or had he genuinely gotten fed up with being the Designated Girl Of The Hut? we shall never know!!!!!!!!

however the draft of the piece ends thusly: "[I] got paralysed at chess by the wily Jasmine, it’s a mud game, if ever there was one. Hinc illae lacrimae!"

so despite all the aspersions cast on her honor, and the failure of Titus Oates to accept her proposal, Jessie still triumphs in the end :)))

[turnupswritessometimes]

A Toast to the Roman - Last Binding Series - Oneshot

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56529883

Summary: “Mr Ross.” Shit, Robin’s Baronet tone was out – that was how Alan knew he was in trouble. “Did you sell pornography to my sister on an ocean liner?”

“In my defence—” He used his best, most clipped voice. “Your sister bullied me into selling her all the pornography I was carrying. And, if I didn’t sell it to her, I believe the fair lady would have stolen it.”

(In which, Robin discovers Alan sold Maud his porn stash, everyone discovers the identity of the Roman and Alan discovers he's responsible for helping start all of their relationships.)

Word Count: 3,473

A Toast to the Roman

It happened on a lazy Sunday afternoon. A lazy Sunday afternoon of a bank holiday weekend. Naturally, the bank holiday meant Maud had been invited back to the Blyth estate from University – and where Maud Blyth went, Violet Debenham followed. Then, because Robin was Robin, he extended the invitation to Lord Hawthorn, to, “make it something of a party.”

And, where Lord Hawthorn went, Alan Ross seemed to follow.

“That had been my idea – a friendly party,” Robin had said, when they’d arrived. He wore that bright, Baronet smile that was impossible to resist. “A reunion, of the Final Contract Crew.”

Alan smiled back, blankly. “The what?”

“Ignore him,” Edwin appeared from further down the hallway, his arms full of books. “I’ve told him, we’re not calling ourselves that.”

“We need a team name,” Robin said. “Don’t you think?”

Alan weighed that up – figuring out who else would be solidly against the idea of a team name, who would be for it, and which side would be for fun to be with – when Jack said, “This isn’t Oxford, Blyth.”

Robin only laughed. He stepped aside, and welcomed them properly into his house. Alan was starting to feel more and more at ease on these estates, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. Certainly didn’t like becoming accustomed to houses with their own grounds; changing for dinner; days without any plans to do real work. At least he still felt the same zeal to radicalise the staff. At least he would never tire of the way Jack looked at him when Alan did have the clothes to change to dinner: as though he wanted to rip them straight back off and kiss him completely senseless. It was the company – not just Jack, but all of them – that made Alan begrudgingly alright with the whole business. Because they were closer to him than simply friends now. It was like having a second family.

And it was a nice weekend – a good weekend – until Robin leant forward to move a pile of books from the coffee table in the lounge to make room for the chess set, and a purple pamphlet fell out.

There seemed, to Alan, a moment where time stopped, as everyone recognised it. (Purple, Alan thought almost hysterically, was not a very discreet colour.) They’d all been half-asleep in the sunshine drifting through the windows, lounging around, totally full of roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. Now, though, they were all awake. He took stock. Adelaide was (mercifully) in the garden. Maud sat in front of the armchair, legs folded under her, with an expression so carefully clueless it looped right round to guilty. Violet actually sat in the armchair, playing with Maud’s hair, an eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on her face. Entertained.

Both Edwin and Robin were sat on the sofa opposite Alan. Well, Robin was leant over, looking at the pamphlet as though it was a dog who’d slipped the leash and he was trying to catch it solely with his mind. Whilst Edwin was reclining, an elbow on the sofa, his fingers against his temples. He looked faintly sick.

Alan and Jack were on the other sofa. Not close – not practically on top of each other, the way Edwin and Robin always sat. Jack was a respectable distance away, though his arm was over the back of the sofa. If he twitched his hand, he could just graze the back of Alan’s neck – which he deliberately did now. His bad leg was outstretched, his cane against the end of the sofa. He looked impressively uncaring, but there was just a – quirk – to his mouth that showed his amusement.

Alan himself sat on the edge of the sofa, primed like a terrier, and he was desperately trying to school his expression into normalcy. He suspected he was succeeding as well as Maud. He felt nauseous. It was one thing to know that a lot of men had read his pamphlets; it was another thing entirely to come face to face with them – especially when he was good friends with them. Especially when he’d fought alongside them to save England’s magicians – England – the world?

“Ah,” Robin said. “That’s Win’s.”

Edwin’s usually colourless face flushed with pink. “Robin!”

“What?” Robin smiled, easily, and picked up the pamphlet. He still twisted it, to hide the title. “No one knows what it is.”

“Okay,” Alan said. He couldn’t help it. “Even if we all didn’t know what it is, that would only make us more suspicious.”

Jack’s pointer finger traced his neck, and he determinedly did not look at him. No doubt the bastard was smug and smirking. He hated him when he was like that.

“It truly is the guiltiest thing you could’ve said, Robin,” Violet added.

“In that case—” Edwin cleared his throat. “For the record, it’s not just mine.”

“Wait, no.” Now Robin stood, the books discarded, holding Alan’s fucking pornography aloft in one hand. “I can understand Hawthorn and Alan knowing about the Roman. I can even understand Violet. But I would like Maud to explain how she knows.”

Maud ducked her chin, smiling. It was the kind of smile that Alan suspected got her out of a lot of trouble growing up, and he could already see Robin start to relent.

“I happened to stumble upon his works, aboard the Lyric,” she said.

“How?” Robin pressed.

Maud, bless her, probably tried not to. But she couldn’t stop those bright green eyes from flicking to Alan. She might as well have pointed her finger and shouted.

Alan, knowing it was a show of guilt, still looked down. The back of his neck prickled, expecting a nudge from Jack. He didn’t, this time, not with Robin staring him down. It was not so much that their relationship was a secret, but they both seemed repelled by physical affection when other people were in the room. (Apart, of course, from longing looks and ‘accidental touches.’ Perhaps that was part of it.)

“Mr Ross.” Shit, Robin’s Baronet tone was out – that was how Alan knew he was in trouble. “Did you sell pornography to my sister on an ocean liner?”

Violet burst out laughing; Maud giggled; even Edwin hid a smirk behind his hand. Jack though, Jack watched Alan with those piercing blue eyes. He had one eyebrow ever so slightly raised, like a challenge.

Alan, though, wondered if it was a good time to bring up the fact that he’d betrayed them all to Edwin’s evil older brother, and made the whole Last Contract business a hell of a lot harder. Surely that would be a good distraction from selling a Baronet’s sister porn.

“In my defence—” He used his best, most clipped voice. “Your sister bullied me into selling her all the pornography I was carrying. And, if I didn’t sell it to her, I believe the fair lady would have stolen it.”

Maud cried, “That’s slanderous, Mr Ross!”

Robin, though, rolled his eyes, as though he wasn’t truly angry. “Maudie. You can’t bully people into selling you things.”

“In my defence—” Maud sat up, even straighter, her dark hair falling out of Violet’s grasp. It fell around her shoulders in a soft wave. “It made for the most amusing evening we had on that ship.”

“Oh, that’s very true,” Violet added, nudging Maud’s shoulder with her knee. Her smile was dazzling. “Who knew Lord Hawthorn would make such a good character in a Roman pamphlet?”

Robin’s eyebrows rose in interest, looking over them all. Even Edwin looked intrigued. They were both, no doubt, using their imagination, given their familiarity with the Roman’s work. Alan was regretting eating so many roasted parsnips, because they were surely going to be making a second appearance.  Even that would be preferable to them guessing at the intricacies of their relationship.

It didn’t help, of course, that Jack looked so calm about it all – so uncaring – so fucking smug, when he said, “Indeed.”

Alan wanted to bite him, like a cobra. Unfortunately, thinking about biting Jack; about pouncing on his neck and sinking his teeth in; also sent a sting of pleasure through him. Because, hell, when they were alone these days, they alternated between playing out the Roman’s greatest hits and coming up with the inspiration for the next one. Because hadn’t Jack been folded into each of those stories anyway? What was the point of pretending otherwise?

Robin, at least, seemed at a loss. He nodded. Took a breath. Tried, Alan thought, to still be the indulgent, carefree older brother he always was. He twisted the pamphlet in his hand, hitting it in his other palm. Eventually, he sat back down on the sofa. Edwin’s knee nudged his own, in support.

“Alright,” he said. “I’m not happy about it, but alright. That does explain my question. Thank you.”

Edwin rested his cheek on his knuckles, looking Alan over as though he wanted to study him. He decidedly did not like being the centre of attention in this way – it was even worse than being dressed in fine clothes and trotted out to dinner.

“I’m sorry, Robin,” he murmured, and tried to look suitably embarrassed. Really, his mind was thinking back to that night on the ship. Was placing bull horns on the sides of Jack Alston’s head. Would there be any way to convince him to play that part properly, one day? To hear him rumble ‘Cesare,’ in his ear, when he caught hold of him? When he lifted him bodily, as though he weighed nothing and had Alan completely at his mercy.

He had to shift, on the sofa.

Jack. Whose eyebrow raised a step further. Alan narrowed his eyes in reply.

“Allow me,” Jack said, in that low murmur. It was as much of a ‘please,’ as he could ever give. It was the fact that he asked at all, which cut through Alan’s core. The asshole wouldn’t give Alan’s secret away without his permission. Now that he thought about it, he did want to see their reaction.

He nodded.

“What?” Edwin asked, his tongue sharp and his eyes sharper.

Jack, bastard that he was, drew the moment out. Settled himself even further into the sofa, adjusting his leg again, and tilting his chin ever so slightly up in that lordly fashion.

“Books are best read by their authors,” Jack said. He pinched the back of Alan’s neck. Just enough to sting. He had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing. His cheeks bloomed with heat.

There was another moment. A long moment. Edwin looked faintly sick again, his face colourless, his eyes flicking from Alan to Jack. Robin had stopped moving entirely, a half-smile frozen on his face, as though he was expecting them to say it was all a joke. Maud, though, had her hands pressed to her mouth, and looked ecstatic. Violet had hold of Maud’s tresses again, and looked suitably impressed. It was as though Alan writing pornography earnt him more respect, in her eyes, than saving them all from crazy magicians.

Jack, though, Jack looked smug. His hand had stayed just against the back of Alan’s neck. It felt like a claim. Like he’d decided to undress Alan in front of the whole room, and, just like when Jack actually undressed him, it filled him with equal parts embarrassment and excitement. Because everyone in this room was somewhat acquainted with the Roman, and they knew what that implied. Weren’t just placing them both in one of those pamphlets, but confirming it for a fact.  

It should bother him more, that he’d exposed not only his own writing, but his own tastes. But, Maud had let slip too many details about her own love life to Alan – and Jack commiserated his pain from Violet’s chats – and from Robin and Edwin determinedly not looking at each other, he guessed they all had their own tastes. That, at least, meant none of them were alone.

“You don’t mean—” Robin started.

“You?” Edwin asked.

Alan grinned. He couldn’t help it. He opened his hands, his fingers splayed. It was different to admit it when he wasn’t teasing Jack Alston. (When he wasn’t trying to fuck Jack Alston.) It gave him a slight thrill, though, to have this knowledge over everyone. To know that even men like Robin, magicians like Edwin, read his work. And liked it.

From behind Maud’s hands came a delighted giggle. Her eyes shone like jewels. Alan looked at her. He couldn’t help it. He flicked his eyelid in a wink. She giggled more, ducking her chin.

Robin rubbed a hand over his face, laughing soundlessly, still seeming dazed. “But you’re—”

“Older than I look.” Alan leant back, into Jack’s hand. Felt his finger press against the bone of his neck. It sent warmth rushing down his back.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” Jack said. Smug, and, if Alan wasn’t losing his mind, a little proud too. Jack Alston was proud of him. It shouldn’t make him feel like a dog with a bone.

Robin thumped back against the sofa. He still held the pamphlet, and he let it uncurl. Alan got a glimpse at the title; it was the latest. He was still a subscriber, then.

“Damn,” he said. His dark eyes roved over Alan again, and he felt his heart squirm. It was unfair how attractive Robin Blyth was. Doubly unfair that he was much too nice to be in any of Alan’s pamphlets. “You’re a skilled writer, Alan.”

Violet snorted. She finished tying off Maud’s plait. “Please – are you going to wax lyrical about his descriptive writing?”

“Well, it is descriptive.”

Edwin took a folded wooden chess set from the table, and tapped Robin’s leg with it in rebuke. Alan bit his tongue harder, a chill running down his spine by the fact that Jack’s hand was still on his collar.

“It might interest you to know, then,” Edwin said, casually, with just a single sly look at Alan. “That the Roman’s writings played somewhat of a role in Robin and I starting our relationship.”

He said it like a poker player placing a winning hand. It certainly felt like that. For a moment, Alan couldn’t breathe.

He supposed it made sense. After all, they’d all recognised the purple pamphlet here, didn’t they? It was a discreet way of asking if someone else was of a similar persuasion, and he was sure it happened a lot. But, still—

“Is there anyone here who is not in a relationship because of my bloody pornography?” he asked.

“That’s a fine discussion to be having.”

Saints alive, it was Adelaide. Back from the garden, and peering into the lounge. Alan wanted to shrivel up like a raisin on the spot, and never be heard from again, especially with the way she was looking at them all. Thank God for the Blyths, and their infectious laughter. It dissolved most of the awkwardness in the room.

Adelaide looked at them all. She shook her head, and said, deliberately, “I will be reading in my room, if anyone needs me.”

“I’m sorry you had to overhear that,” Robin spoke for the group.

She shook her head again, and disappeared. It left them all looking at each other like guilty children. At least Adelaide’s appearance had knocked some of the smug from Jack’s expression. Alan sat back a little, on the sofa, and felt another possessive graze of touch on the back of his neck. It had answered his question. At least Robin finally had the sense to put the pamphlet back between the books, and pile them up underneath the table, and Edwin had busied himself in setting up the chess board. As Alan watched him, he couldn’t help but wonder – just which of Edwin’s copies of his work were the most well-thumbed? Did he and Robin play them out, too?

Edwin glanced up at him. Alan looked away. He definitely shouldn’t let his mind wander there.

Evidently, it was playing on Violet’s mind too, because she said, “I, for one, am very glad we can all share these details about our sex lives.”

Alan winced; he saw Edwin shake his head, determinedly, where Robin outright groaned.

“No, thank you,” he said.

“Oh, don’t be such a bore,” Maud said, tugging her new plait over her shoulder.

“Maudie.” Robin looked at her.

Maud got his meaning. She wrinkled her noise. “Oh no, you’re right. Let’s not.”

“That’s hardly fair, when I have to listen to Miss Debenham regale me with her stories,” Jack said. He had that fake disgruntled tone, which showed he wasn’t actually cross.

“That’s what friends do, Lord Hawthorn.” Violet ruined her air of manners and dignity by sticking her tongue out.

Alan laughed. He couldn’t help it. The sick feeling had given way to heady one; he’d been met with acceptance; with almost too much eagerness. But it was a secret they were all in together – just like magic, Alan supposed. That was why he felt so giddy. It was so ridiculous. It was ridiculous that he was able to have this conversation at all.

Ridiculous, and yet – it was a secret he could never share with his family. A secret that he was oddly glad to share with this family. His other family. It made him feel confident – powerful – like he’d earnt his place here.

He didn’t want to read too much into what that meant.

“I certainly will be reading the Roman in a new light.” Edwin finished setting up the board. He made the first move, with white, and rested his elbows on his knees as he waited for an opponent.

It definitely wasn’t going to be Alan. The more he played of chess, the less he liked it. He resolutely sat back, trying not to look too much like a cat with the cream. He was giddy, now; giddier from Jack’s proud look and smug smirk. Jack was proud that he’d landed the Roman.

It was Jack who made the move against Edwin. They looked at each other, and Alan suspected it would be a tense match. He nudged Jack’s elbow with his own, when he moved forward. He got a glimmer of those blue eyes on him.

“I know I certainly will be.” That was Maud, also looking far too smug – far too happy about who she could imagine in those pamphlets, now.

“You shouldn’t be reading them at all,” Robin replied – as though he was the epitome of innocence.

“I’m a grown woman, Robin.”

The two glared at each other. Silently, Edwin leant forward to move another chess piece. Jack followed suit. They’d exchanged three moves each by the time Robin stood, clapping his hands on his knees as though that concluded the conversation. (Which meant he’d lost the argument to his sister, Alan noticed.)

“I do have questions, though,” Robin continued. He was heading to the cabinet, and thank fuck for that, because that was where the liquor was kept. Alan felt like a drink. He eyed the sparkling glasses, because it was the only safe thing to keep his eyes on.

“I will not be answering any questions about practicality,” Alan said.

Violet laughed again. Jack made a move that clearly lost him his bishop.

Robin was pouring drinks on the sideboard. His cheeks were actually a faint pink, as though he was embarrassed.

“That wasn’t…” He seemed to be pretending to be more occupied in getting each shot of brandy even. “I rather meant about – where your ideas originate.”

“No,” Alan said. “Not today. Certainly not whilst I’m sober enough to remember. Tihank you.”

Which, at least, got a chuckle out of Jack. Alan kicked his good ankle, and was pleased to see that he left a shoe mark on his Lordship’s trousers. He would not even look at Edwin – still soundly winning against Jack – because he was sure there would be some knowing there.

Robin looked suitably cowed and apologetic (for the time being), as he handed out the glasses. They really were fine things; crystal-clear glass with patterns cuts into them; the likes of which the Rossi family would likely never own.

He really did live in two worlds.

“Can we have a toast though?” Robin asked. Asked Alan, and actually waited for him to nod, cheeks still hot. He was rewarded with another of those bright, Blyth smiles. “Well then, a toast to the Roman – for how his…descriptive literature brought us all together.”

Brought them all together, indeed, Alan thought, as they raised their glasses in unison. The brandy glowed golden in the sunlight coming through the windows. It was warm, kicking Alan’s throat on the way down.

But he was smiling.

And that, he thought, was pretty fantastic.

[duchessofostergotlands]

You’re absolutely right that Jenny Packham is overrated! Especially for eveningwear! I love some of Kate’s JP gowns but they tend to blur together because she’s worn so many similar styles. Custom day dresses are better (the blue dress she wore when arriving in Canada in 2016 is an all-time favorite of mine) but I am begging Kate to experiment with another go-to designer.

Yes! You're on the Christmas card list haha. I really liked JP at first. Her creations for Kate in the early years of the marriage weren't the most groundbreaking things ever but they were really beautiful, amongst my favourite things Kate has ever worn. The teal at the Olympic gala. And then this one as well:

This is probably a good example to focus on because it's sequins. It's the JP playbook. But I love it. I think the fabric looks incredibly expensive. The way the sequins are laid down it almost creates a new textile. It feels like animal skin. The way it gathers at the waist gives the outfit a really beautiful kind of hourglass silhouette. And then the puff of tulle at the sleeve softens the metallic of the gown.

Compare that to this:

To me this feels like Jenny Packham's student collection. It's the same idea - sequins, mesh, very feminine - but the sequins look cheaper to me. The mesh looks really thin. And I don't know what the sequins are trying to do. It's like she takes a basic Debenhams gown, covers it in glue, rolls it around in a pile of sequins and sells it for more than I earn in a month.

There genuinely are a lot of Jenny pieces I absolutely love. Even in the modern era. But I personally think that for the prices she sells her pieces at and the love they get, she's overrated. Her earlier work felt considered, like she had a vision and a purpose, and her textiles felt more expensive. Now I just feel like so much of it looks shoddy and slapdash. And if Kate insists on wearing sequins and mesh she could go to Needle and Thread and get something that in my opinion looks just as high quality and is a fraction of the price:

[magicalrocketships]

not me discovering this fine evening that you wrote other parts of Won’t Get To Space here on tumblr 0.o that fic is like *my fic*: i read it probably once a month, i like it that much (plus - me and liam may have something in common and this fic doesn't make me feel pathetic like i sometimes feel - even if i'm in my 30s) .. so, thanks to that anon for talking about this fic and for you to link the other snippets: you just made the (what was supposed to be an early) evening for an European <3 if you ever want to share anything else in that universe, please do <3 i wish you an amazing day / night and thank you *very much* for creating this AU

oh, thank you! I'm so glad <3 It's so lovely to hear that it resonated with you.

I went looking for the sequel file in the depths of my dropbox, it has a last modified date of 2015, it was created in 2013, I don't have the original program I wrote it in anymore so I don't know if any of the formatting is messed up as I really haven't looked it in years, but here's the contents of the file. There's no ending and it's just bits and pieces, but please know that of course they end up happily, and I don't think I ever posted it in its entirety here.

I hope you see this, anon!

won't get to space because I haven't got a rocket part 2 (harry/liam/louis)

(first part here)

Like the sky is blue (all the things that stop you dreaming)

Come to London this weekend, we miss you xx

Liam grins down at his phone. He's on his break, eating two ham salad sandwiches and a bag of cheese and onion crisps in the back of the garage, flicking through The Mirror.

Your both in the paperrrrrrrrr, he texts, once he hits the 3am pages. Did u rlly fall out of a clubbb??????

Shameless lies !!! Louis texts back. we stumbled gracefully !!!!

His phone beeps with a message from Harry. I fell out of the cab not the club. lou just fell over me.

Liam laughs at that. What u uptooo?

Hanging around the record company !! Meetings . Boring !! Louis this time. They must be together, and reading each other's texts. Liam sort of likes the idea of them both peering down at the same phone, together.

Maybe touching all the way down one side.

He really likes thinking about them touching.

Gud luck xxxxx Liam hasn't got long left of his lunch. Mums berthdaaay this fri so cant come down :( sozzzzzzz :(

He has to get back to work anyway, so he stuffs his phone into his pocket before the reply arrives, and heads back across the garage to get on with Mrs Holloway's oil change.

~*~

Liam spends Friday night in Garfunkel's with his mum and his dad and his sisters, eating dinner in honour of his mum's birthday. He orders the chicken even though he normally gets the scampi, just like his dad, but it's nice to spend time with his parents and his sisters and just eat together.

Nicola tries not to talk about her wedding, but it's hard, since there's such a lot to organise, and everyone wants it to be great. His mum has been fretting about what to wear since Nicola first came home with her engagement ring, and she's pushing Nicola to try and find out what Graham's mum's wearing so that they don't clash.

Liam's dad makes the same grimace of 'these Payne women, what are we supposed to do with them' that he's been making at Liam since he realised they could have a secret club of two, and Liam makes the same face of agreement he's been making since he realised he could join in.

"Stop it, you two," his mum says, flicking Liam in the arm with her serviette. "It might not matter to you if we both show up in salmon pink from Debenhams, but it'll be embarrassing for our Nicola. And me."

"I know," Liam says. "What if I showed up in salmon pink from Debenhams too, it'd be terrible. I might cry."

"Liam," his mum says reprovingly, but Nicola smacks him in the arm.

"You'll be dressed like all the other ushers," she says, and Liam is very quickly reminded that Nicola is fast losing her sense of humour when it comes to her big day.

"I was only joking."

Nicola rolls her eyes at him. "I'm turning into a proper little madam," she says. "I know, you'll be all calling me Bridezilla the moment my back's turned."

"Of course we won't," his mum says. She leans over and pats her on the hand as the waiter comes over with their food. "It'll be perfect."

It takes a couple of minutes for everything to get sorted, and his dad's already tucking into his scampi and chips before Nicola turns her attention to Liam, and his Peri Peri chicken. "Have you got your eye on anyone, our kid? Anyone you might want to bring to the wedding?"

Liam immediately thinks about Louis and Harry, Louis sprawled out naked on his bed, laughing, and Harry bringing them both cups of tea. He wants to bring them, but firstly, there's no point banking on a future where they're concerned, and secondly, how could he ever explain that he's bringing two boys to his big sister's wedding? He's not even sure he could tell them he was bringing one boy to the wedding, let alone two.

"Ooh," Nicola says. "There is someone, isn't there? I can see it on your face."

"Is there?" Ruth asks.

Liam tries to school his face into something that won't give anything away. He rather suspects he fails. "Nah," he says. "Nothing that'll come to anything. Single pringle, that's me."

Ruth makes a sad face at him. "You'll find someone. You're brilliant, Liam."

Those people on OK Cupid who ever bothered messaging him back didn't think he was brilliant, and neither did all of Andy's friends. Nobody had, really, until Louis and Harry, and Liam was half convinced that they'd be off again given the slightest chance. Why would boys like that settle for a trainee mechanic from the midlands when they could have anyone in London town? It just didn't make sense. He fakes a smile for Ruth, and one for Nicola and his parents, and tries to turn their attention back to his mum and her birthday.

He's not sure it works.

~*~

His mum does a roast chicken on Sunday, and Liam rocks up at half eleven with a bunch of flowers for her, because it's her birthday weekend and she deserves flowers. He's in a good mood; Louis had rung him up at half past one in the morning to tell him that they missed him and trying to have sex without him there was rubbish and boring.

Liam hadn't believed that for a second, but he likes to be remembered, and Harry and Louis just keep on remembering him, like he isn't invisible, or see-through at the edges, but like he's real.

(talking about Nicola's wedding and asking Liam if he's bringing anyone, and Liam wanting to say yes but not being able to. Texting Louis and Harry from in front of the telly and his family thinking there's a girlfriend) Birthday weekend.

~*~

"What time do you finish work?" Louis asks, as soon as Liam picks up, and Liam’s so used to Louis and Harry constantly using each other’s phones that it doesn’t bother him that it’s Harry’s name that flashed up on his screen. It’s a picture of all three of them that comes with it, anyway, Harry in the middle with Louis on his back with his arm in the air, Liam holding the camera out and pressing in so that he’s in shot. It’s one of Liam’s favourite pictures. 

"Half five, why?" Liam asks. He’s supposed to be seeing them at the weekend, but it’s only Thursday. They have half-arsed plans to go and see the new Captain America film, and Liam’s desperately trying to cover up his desire to see it sooner rather than later. 

"We’re coming to pick you up," Louis says. "We’ve got plans for you."

"It’s Thursday, though," Liam says, puzzled. He has plans for tonight that involve putting a load of washing on and eating beans on toast in front of the telly. It’s the part of his life he tries to hide from Louis and Harry, who are surely only here for the exciting bits. 

"We know," Louis says. "You’re not busy, are you?"

"Nope," Liam says, although he’ll have to figure out when to do the washing now, so he’ll have clean pants for work on Monday. He’s very much in love with Louis and Harry, but he does have a Monday to Friday job he has to work the two of them around, which they don’t. 

"Brilliant," Louis says. "We’ll see you at half five. Love you."

"Right," Liam says, still puzzled, but Louis has already hung up. 

Half five shows up, but Louis and Harry don’t. Liam sits outside the garage with his jacket zipped up, and passes his phone from hand to hand, waiting for them. He doesn’t want to ring in case they’re driving, so he sits outside and hopes that he hasn’t got the day wrong. 

They don’t show up until ten to six, by which point Liam is already about ready to leave to go home. Harry pulls his Range Rover up in front of the garage though, parking it totally skewiff, and Louis is already tumbling out of the passenger door even as Liam is standing up to meet them. 

"Hello," Louis says, bounding over and pushing Liam up against the wall. "Happy Captain America Day, Steve."

"What?" Liam says, but Louis is kissing him hello. Liam can’t quite bring himself to be bothered about who might see. 

"Captain America Day," Harry says, carefully pushing Louis out of the way and kissing Liam gently. "Here, we got you a t-shirt in honour of the occasion."

Louis pulls open his denim jacket to display a t-shirt with Captain America’s shield right there in the centre. Harry is wearing one with a giant Avengers A in the middle. The one they’re holding out for Liam is royal blue, with a white star in the middle and red and white stripes at the bottom. 

"What—"

"Suit up," Louis says. "Here, preferably. Where we can stare at how hot you are."

Liam swallows, and looks down at his t-shirt. “Why are you here?” he asks, because ninety-five per cent of the time, he has no idea why Louis and Harry even bother with him. 

"Because Steve’s your favourite, and because you’re our favourite, and because we wanted to take our boyfriend out," Harry says. "We’ve got tickets for the eight o’clock showing, we’ve got a table at that burger place near that bowling alley that we went to first, and then we’re all going to go back to yours afterwards and let you talk about how hot Captain America is whilst we fuck you."

"That last part’s my favourite," Louis says, leaning in. "That was my idea, that bit. You can talk about how you’d like Steve to fuck you, if you like. Whilst we jerk you off. Make you come all over yourself."

"Oh," Liam says. Luckily he works on a nice, quiet road. It’s good, that, because he’s sporting a semi. "Right. That’s good, then."

"Brilliant," Harry says. "Now, are you going to change your top, or what? It’s been a whole week since we’ve seen you topless, and we’re getting withdrawal symptoms."

"All right," Liam says softly, and pulls open his jacket. 

(weekend at Liam's)

~*~

MINI BREAK

Plan to go away for a mini break, rent a house for the bank holiday weekend – Frisbee and piggy in the middle on the beach, bacon sandwiches, watching dvds and fucking, joking about singing together, Liam thinks it's a silly joke, they're not joking.

"We should go away," Liam says, without really thinking about it. It's either late one night or early one morning, but his watch is too far away for him to check, and anyway, he doesn't care enough to move. It's dark outside and he's naked. Anything else is just details.

"We're away now," Harry points out, from where he's lying, cheek pressed to Liam's chest. He's playing with Liam's nipple, grazing his fingertips over Liam's skin, thumbnail catching. Liam slides his hand down Harry's side, down towards his hip. He's too sleepy to initiate sex again, but he's not tired enough to fall asleep right this instant. "Well, me and Louis are."

"Don't suppose many people actually holiday in Wolvo, Haz." Louis, for reasons known only to him and at best impenetrable to Liam, is standing by the side of Liam's bed, wearing one sock and steadily eating his way through a packet of chocolate HobNobs. "You are talking about a holiday, right?"

Liam shrugs. He hadn't exactly thought about options. He'd barely got as far as thinking through what he'd actually said. "It might be nice," he says, as carefully as he can. Holidays and mini-breaks are what couples do. People in relationships. He's still not entirely sure that this counts. He's half-convinced that every time he sees Harry and Louis, it's going to be the last.

~*~

LIAM WANTS TO TELL HIS PARENTS, he just wants people to be happy for him like he's happy with them. Is convinced they're going to take it well because they've always loved him and supported him and wanted him to be happy.

I told my mum and dad about the 3 of us, Liam texts, on Thursday night. He's careful with his spelling, for once. It takes him about three goes to get it right, and at least two and a half of those he can put down to his hands shaking.

It's about thirteen seconds until his phone rings.

"You all right?" Louis demands, as soon as Liam answers.

Liam lets out a ragged breath. "No?"

"God," Louis says. "You idiot. Why didn't you tell us? We could have, I don’t know, been there. We're like, two and a half hours away. Harry's gone to the shop for a Cornetto and a banana."

Liam tries, desperately, to get a handle on his breathing. "You don't have to—" he says, but then everything he's been trying to keep inside just comes rushing out, and he doesn't mean it to, he really doesn't, but he's crying. He's crying down the phone because his mum and dad don't want him. They don't want him, and they're everything to him, and he really, really thought they'd understand. "They don't want me," he manages, after a while. "Lou, they don't want me."

Louis' breath catches. "Oh, baby," he says. "Sweetheart."

"What am I going to do?" Liam can't think. He can't do anything. He's already been sitting here for the best part of an hour.

"Wait for us to get there," Louis tells him. Liam can hear him moving around. "We'll drive up as soon as Harry gets back from the shop. I'm so sorry. Liam, I'm so sorry."

Liam hates crying. He knows it's weak, and he should be past this, but he can't. It's so hard. "Haven't you got stuff tonight? You're going out. You said."

"Fuck that," Louis tells him. "I'm putting stuff in a bag. You're more important than any stupid party."

"I'm not."

"Oh god," Louis sounds like he's going to cry himself. "Liam, sweetheart. Please. Don't say that. We're two and a half hours away."

"Sorry," Liam says, automatically.

"No—" Louis lets out a breath. "Look, are you going to be okay for two minutes? I'm going to phone Harry, get him to get his arse back here. I'll call you straight back, I promise. Please don't cry, baby. It's going to be okay. I promise. It's going to be fine. Your parents are going to come round, I swear."

His parents had asked him to leave the house so that they could 'think about what he'd told them'. They'd used words like weird and disgusting and ashamed.

Liam's always had a lot of feelings, but right this second, he wishes he could tear his heart right out of his chest, just so that it would stop hurting, if only for a minute. "All right," he says, softly, and when Louis hangs up, he buries his face in his sleeve and lets himself cry.

Andy's there when Louis and Harry pull up outside in the car, looking awkward and a bit useless in Liam's kitchen. Liam has to send him to answer the door because he's on the phone when they bell goes; his mum is crying down the phone at him, and Liam's having enough trouble trying to figure out what she's saying in amongst the tears without having to worry about whether Louis' going to lamp Andy when he's not looking.

Liam can't think about that. He squeezes his eyes shut. "Mum—" he says. "Mum."

"I don't understand," his mum's saying. "We don't understand, me and your dad. How can there be three of you?"

"There just is," Liam says, over the sob in his throat. He hates crying in front of Andy. He knows what Andy thinks about lads crying, but Andy's been good enough not to say any of that in the hour he's been here. He'd given in and texted him whilst he was waiting for Louis to phone him back, a garbled evryyhgings gon 2 shit can u cumm overrrr plese.

This is why Andy's his best mate; he'd turned up forty minutes later with two portions of chips from the chippy and a four pack of Heineken.

Once he'd seen Liam's face, he'd dumped them all on the counter by the Baby Belling and punched Liam in the arm, before pulling him into a one-armed hug.

Andy still looks shell-shocked, and it's an hour later. He might not understand Liam and Louis and Harry either—and he doesn't, because Liam's had the questions to prove it—but at least he's still here. He's grown up with Liam, and he's grown up with Liam's family, and he doesn't know what to make of it either.

He's still here, though. His best mate.

He feels Louis and Harry

~*~

wakes up to find Ruth in the kitchen talking to Louis

When Liam wakes up, he can hear the soft burr of voices coming from the kitchen. He doesn't open his eyes, staying curled up on the couch instead, Harry's hand in his hair. It's Ruth's voice, and Louis', and Liam can feel himself freezing up all over.

"—I just don't get why," Ruth's saying, over the rumble of the kettle boiling. "You're both—you're in the newspapers. What are you doing here?"

"Because we both love Liam," Louis tells her. "Because it might be weird, and no one might get it but us, but he makes us happy and I think we make him happy too."

"But what are you doing here? You must have a proper posh place in London. What are you doing in my brother's shit flat?"

It's a question Liam asks himself a million times a day.

"Because this is Liam's life, and we love him, and we want to be a part of it. And his life is here, and in this flat, so yeah, we're going to be here. With him."

Ruth's quiet at that, and Liam stays where he is on the couch, his heart thumping. Harry's hand in his hair has stilled.

~*~

Liam is sad and alone; his parents want to try, and they all go for a barbecue at Liam's parents.

Louis comes to find Liam in his mum and dad's kitchen after a while, coming right on in and wrapping his arms around Liam's shoulders, pressing a kiss to Liam's neck. "You've been gone a while," he says, not loosening his hold.

"I'm making more salad," Liam tells him, chopping a tomato into eighths. "You lot have eaten all the rest."

"More salad's always good," Louis agrees, but he doesn't let go of Liam, and Liam's grateful because he feels like he's about to explode.

"Where's Harry?"

"Turning on the charm," Louis says.

"It won't work," Liam says, and he doesn't want his voice to catch, but it does nevertheless. His knife skitters over the tomato and down onto the chopping board. "They won't ever understand."

"It'll take time. To everyone who isn't us, this is probably really weird."

Liam shakes his head. "It's not weird," he says stubbornly. "I love you and I love Harry. I don't understand why that's not easy."

Louis lets out a breath, and drops another kiss to Liam's shoulder. "I think you're probably the most honest person I've ever met," he says, which is a lie. Liam lies to people all the time. Louis and Harry don't even know that Liam failed at the X Factor. One day they'll find out that he's lied to them all this time and that will be the end. He lies about how much he needs them and how much this means to him and how much he's desperate for them to love him like he loves them. He lies all of the time, every day, and one day it'll catch up with him and it'll all be over.

"I'm not."

Louis ignores him. "I see you, and you're always just—whatever you feel, you just—you're the most brilliant person I've ever met. You and Harry, but you differently. God, I'm crap at this. I'm trying to tell you that you're so open, and so honest, and that means you get hurt sometimes. If I could, I'd make sure you never got hurt again."

Liam's chest aches. "Louis—"

"People disappoint us," Louis goes on. "Sometimes people we love, they disappoint us. But that doesn't mean they don't love us."

Liam drops the knife. "I want them to love you like I love you," he says, and he sounds all choked up. He tries not to, but he can't help it. "It's not weird, and it's not wrong. We fit."

"I know," Louis says. He shifts, hooking his chin over Liam's shoulder, and wrapping his arms around Liam's waist. "You're fucking marvellous, Liam Payne. Like, fucking brilliant. Me and Harry are going to keep on telling you and telling you until you just know, okay?"

Liam nods, but he doesn't believe it.

When they get back to Liam's flat after the disastrous barbecue at his mum and dad's, Harry and Louis lead him wordlessly into the bedroom, and pull him into a hug. Harry presses his mouth to the corner of Liam's.

"You're brilliant," he says softly, sliding his hand into Liam's hair. "And when we met your mum and dad, we could see just where you get that from."

"They were rude," Liam stumbles over his words. "They barely spoke to you."

Louis slides his hands around Liam's waist, and under his t-shirt to rest his palms against Liam's stomach. "What do you say to the two guys who are having sex with your son, exactly? It's weird for them."

"I wanted them to love you," Liam admits. Louis keeps stroking his fingertips over Liam's tummy, and Liam wants to stay like this forever, in their arms.

"We'll make them love us," Harry says. "Just you wait. You've not seen our long term attack yet. We're excellent winners-over. We've got, like, plans and strategies."

"Just you wait," Louis agrees, mouthing at the sensitive skin beneath Liam's left ear.

Liam tells his parents that his relationship isn't going awawy and then Louis and Harry take him back home and look after him, but they have to leave to go back to London

Liam has to be by himself and Louis and harry are meeting together with Simon Cowell about singing in a group. Liam doesn't think they're serious.

~*~

Liam has never, ever been prouder of his sister than he is when he watches her say her vows at the front of the room. He stands there in his charcoal suit with his fuchsia buttonhole, being her usher, and he cries as she says I do. He can see Ruth doing the exact same thing from her pride of place as maid of honour, but he can't help but glance back over his shoulder, gaze going straight to Louis and Harry, half way back on the bride's side. They're probably holding hands, and Liam wants that so much it hurts, but he's promised Nicola and his mum and dad that he'll keep it quiet, this threesome he's in and trying to call a relationship.

It isn't like he doesn't know how weird it is, but he wishes the people he loved accepted him like Louis and Harry do.

Harry gives him a little half-wave, and that catches Louis' attention. He winks at Liam, bumping his shoulder into Harry's.

Liam turns back to the front. His heart is full.

Nicola comes over later. She's drunk and plump and beaming and beautiful. "I'm so proud of you, little brother," she says, leaning over to wrap her arm around his shoulders. Her wedding dress is the size of about three people. She looks gorgeous, and like she's had the best day ever. Liam only wanted that from today, so he can't help but consider it a job well done. "And I'm really pleased you're so happy."

Liam goes a bit red, but he risks a glance at Harry and Louis anyway. They're all sitting out of the way of the dancing, because if they can't be openly together then sitting in the corner together and tangling their feet under the table is enough of an alternative to capture their affection.

Louis winks at him, and Harry just grins. They've got matching button holes, the three of them, Louis biting his lip and swapping Liam's fuchsia one for a cream rose once the dinner and the speeches and the photographs were all done. Liam had wanted something that marked them out as a threesome, a trio, even if he couldn't offer them both more.

"Seriously," Nicola says, her arm still round Liam's shoulders. "I've never seen you so happy."

Liam knows he's blushing more. He wants to reach over and curl his fingers into Louis', and have Harry come over and wrap his arms around him. "Well," he says, only a little awkwardly. "I am."

"It's been a good day, hasn't it?" Nicola goes on. She waves her arm in the air. "Everything's gone right."

"It's been perfect," Harry says. "And you look beautiful. Thank you for inviting us."

Nicola leans over and takes Louis' hand. "You are being good to him, aren't you?"

"Nicola," Liam hisses, but he can't do anything; it's her wedding day, she can hold whoever's hand she wants to. "Stop that. Put him down."

"Shush," Nicola says. "I'm talking to your boyfriend. One of your boyfriends." She giggles. "I never thought you'd have more than one boyfriend, Lee. Never thought you'd have a boyfriend, come to that."

"Well, I do, and they're perfect," Liam tells her. "But will you put him down and stop embarrassing me for two seconds?"

"No, but seriously." Nicola lets go of Louis' hand and reaches for Harry's. Harry lets her take it, and flushes in what Liam can only think of as a ridiculously cute kind of a way. "This is my little brother," she says, not letting go of Harry's hand. "Like—me and Ruth are really protective of him. Cos he's our little brother. And it's like you are too. Not like Andy."

"Nicola," Liam warns.

"Seriously. I'm trying to tell you something, so shush, Liam." She shakes her head, and turns her attention back to Louis and Harry. "If you hurt him, either of you, then I will personally hunt you down and kill you, and Ruth will help me."

Liam isn't so sure of that, since Ruth is still not quite on board with the Liam-has-two-boyfriends part of proceedings. This is still the most embarrassing experience he can quite remember, so he leaves the Ruth part of things to one side for now.

"You don’t need to worry," Louis says, shooting a glance at Liam. "We're the last people you need to worry about when it comes to Liam. I'm pretty sure we're committed to making sure everybody in the world realises how great Liam is."

"Yeah," Harry echoes. "We think he's brilliant, and we love him."

Liam knows he's doing his best impression of a bright red, on fire tomato but he can't look up. If he looks up he'll do something stupid like kiss both of them, and he'd promised. He'd promised.

"Do you three want to dance?" Nicola says suddenly.

Liam looks up. "With you?"

"Well, I suppose. I just meant—I meant do you three want to dance, together."

Liam looks over at the dance floor. "But everybody will know," he says. "I promised you and Mum and Dad."

Nicola raises her shoulders in an inelegant shrug. "I haven't seen you this happy, like, ever. It's like—I don't think it's very nice of us to be like, come to my wedding, but pretend you're not totally in love for the sake of Auntie Dora and all the cousins and the neighbours or whatever. So I think maybe that you should dance. All three of you."

"But Mum and Dad—"

"Leave them to me," Nicola says. "Anyway, whose wedding is this? It's bloody mine, so you three, get up there and do something romantic for me, all right?" She kisses the top of Liam's head. "Go on, scram. I'm going to find Ed and get him to dance with me too. We'll make a right show of it, us Paynes on that dance floor. Where's Ruth?"

"You're not a Payne anymore, Nic."

"Once a Payne, always a Payne," Nicola tells him, winking at Louis and Harry. "Go on. Up you go." Liam watches as she threads her way through the tables and her wedding guests in pursuit of her new—and quite remarkably drunk—husband.

"Well," Louis says. He smiles at Liam. "What do you want to do?"

Liam smiles at that. "I want to do what I always want to do. Be with you guys."

Harry blinks at that, looking away. "God, " he says. "Fuck, stop making me cry."

"So," Simon Cowell says, when all five of them are in his office, sitting in deceptively low cushioned chairs in front of his desk, "What have you got to say for yourselves."

"This is Liam Payne," Louis says, pointing at Liam, "and he's fantastic. And we think we want to record as a band—"

"I know who Liam Payne is." Simon cuts him off, sitting back in his chair, tapping his pen against the arm. "Long time, no see, Liam."

Liam can't bear to look to either side of him. "I didn't think you'd remember me."

"I'm good with names and faces," Simon says. "It's part of what got me to where I am now. That, and I looked you up."

"What's he mean?" Louis hisses, kicking Liam in the ankle.

Liam shakes his head, and doesn't say anything. This is what the end feels like: this. So close to his dreams, and yet so endlessly far away.

"Didn't I tell you to come back when you'd grown up a bit? Done your GCSEs?"

Liam juts his chin out. "I couldn't afford to," he says. "I needed to work."

"I literally have no idea what's going on right now," Niall says, from Liam's other side.

"I auditioned for the X Factor," Liam sits on his hands. "Two years before you did, when I was fourteen. I went to Barbados with Simon. I didn't get through."

There is no silence like a horrified, wounded silence, and Liam can read this one like a book.

"God," Niall says.

"Shit," Louis breathes, next to him. When Liam looks, Harry just looks horrified. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Liam draws his shoulders up. "Dunno," he says. "Didn't want to tell you I'd failed where you'd all passed. Didn't make any difference anyway, not back then. Then it got too late to tell you. I didn't think Simon would remember me."

"I remembered you," Simon says. He's still tapping his pen against the arm of his chair.

AND THEN: happy ending of course.

[sastrugie]

so I started to read frank debenhams diaries of the Antarctic and he's literally such a an anxious boy, being worried that none likes him because he's so quiet, being afraid to call others by their nicknames, because he thinks "they are famous man and I am merely a no-one", bunking up with "unpopular" members because otherwise they'd get left out. He even hid his birthday from others because he didn't want attention. Also he was afraid people would dislike him because he dodged work while he was seasick so he tried to work 14h a day as soon as they landed to make it up :(

DEB SWEETHEART, you DESERVE ALL OF THE ATTENTION PLS LET ME HUG U

[nightbringer24]

Man, when was the last time I went bowling?

... when did I work at Debenham's? I think it was 2015 or so?

[betterbooksandthings]

A Power Unbound by Freya Marske

A Power Unbound by Freya Marske is the perfect book for a very specific person and that person is me. The third book in The Last Binding series follows the famously surly magicless rune expert, Jack Alston, Lord Hawthorn, and the equally sharp dogged reporter Alan Ross (a.k.a Alanso Rossi) as they find and protect the last item in the Last Contract. After getting pulled into protecting the Last Contract on a particularly deadly cruse, Jack now finds himself living with Maud Blyth and Violet Debenham in the magical puzzle box that holds the final piece. It has been years since his twin sister’s death and the subsequent loss of his magic, but he is willing to become a part of the magical world if it means stopping a dangerous ritual that threatens British magicians everywhere. Bad luck has it that Alan also finds himself involved in all this Last Contract business. As a low-class Italian-British man with an impressive mind and an even more impressive pen, Alan hasn’t known a day he wasn’t angrily fighting to keep his family warm and fed. He will write for conservative newspapers, publish gay erotic pamphlets, and do whatever else he has to to keep it that way. He will even use his skills at repelling magic for magical lords and ladies who are willing to pay him for his help. That means he has to be in close contact with Jack, a man he hates, on a near-daily basis. Their relationship becomes filled with questions of power and trust and attraction as they continue to work toward the shared goal of keeping the people they care about safe.

As a quick aside, unlike many fantasy romance series, this book simply cannot be read out of order. You could valiantly try but I would bet you would quickly be lost. The long plot building in the prior two books comes to a glorious clash in the third book. All the stakes, political conflicts, and interpersonal connections form a delicate but deadly web as Jack and Alan work with their allies to uncover the truth.

There is something cutting about Alan and Jack’s POV in this series. They are constantly arguing with each other as a way of interacting with the world and each other. Their class differences are at the crux of the tension in their relationship, but at the heart of it, Jack proves he will always be too kind to ever take advantage of that difference. Alan’s fears of persecution related to their class difference is well founded, and the fact that he trusts Jack at all is a real feat. Their on-page relationship is full of power scenes ripped right from the pages of one of Jack’s favorite erotic pamphlet authors. It’s perhaps unsurprising then that I adored their relationship development and all the traded insults that landed like love bites.

The worldbuilding around the government and the way magic works in this world continues to impress me. The reader discovers the secrets of the magical world alongside the other more mundane clues and mysteries that threaten them all. When the fight comes to an end, it’s one queer, magician-filled found family against a world that is often punishingly cruel. That is all to say, read this series and read this book. Thank you Tordotcom for providing me with an earc for an honest review. A Power Unbound by Freya Marske is set to release November 7, 2023.

[nerdsandthelike]

@wipbigbang ANOTHER STORY COMPLETED!!

Story Title: The New Blyth Traditions

Fandom: Last Binding Series- Freya Marske 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49775521

Summary:  

Maud steeled herself and forced the words out of her mouth. “If you have a mistress-” Her words sounded slightly strangled, but she was saying them. “I should still like to know. And perhaps to meet her too. So I don’t worry about you. I would rather know, even if it is something you are not proud of.” Robin sank down into a chair without even bothering to remove the white cloth cover and ran a hand over his face. “I’m afraid it’s rather more complicated than that.”

Maud confronts Robin about what he has been hiding from her since Penhallick. Upon her return from America, she has her own secrets to share.

Warnings: None

Characters: Maud Blyth, Robin Blyth, Edwin Courcey, Violet Debenham 

Pairings: Robin Blyth/Edwin Courcey, Maud Blyth/Violet Debenham, but the real focus is Robin & Maud

When I Started: December 7, 2022 

How I Lost My Shit: Too many fics, too little time.

How I Finished My Shit: I started the next scene because I had a deadline for this very bang. And then I finished that scene because of one of those "write 3 sentences on your current WIP" post. My brain has been fighting me on this one!!

[shadypaperobservation]

Can we Guess which of your SO’s Qualities you Love the Most.

I love the beauty and sweetness of having fresh flowers in the house. Strangely enough, beauty experts have also recommended people to use other kinds of vegetables to become part of their beauty regimen, not just the typically common cucumber slice (put over one's closed eyelids to refresh it). נערות ליווי 10 sex.co.il “You’d be surprised how many people don’t give genuine compliments because they’re afraid of rejection,” Masini says. Well, whatever and however you enjoy nature's bounty, we're sure you can guess what each of these fruits and veggies are, even if we give you one single line as clue. Kale was even promoted as a "superfood," and it's now being converted to different kinds of food items as well, like kale chips. Not simply to do well in school, though that counted for something, but to design beautiful rockets, or to write well, or to understand how to program computers. Debenhams came out with a body type guide for their customers who are unsure of their body shapes, and the shapes are based on not just the typical fruits -- the apple and pear being the two most identified female body shapes -- but they also used other fruits and vegetables as well?

It is well worth persevering - just make the first move. The biggest dating rumour surrounding Jin was with comedienne Lee Gook Joo, especially after Jin thanked her in the first 3 BTS album notes. Then one day, I felt complete for the first time in my life. So it's not surprise so many people turn to online dating sites like OkCupid and Match or apps like Tinder and Bumble in their quest to find "the one", especially when there's a super specific quality or type they're looking for. 2017. The peach tree is also easy to grow for some people who have big yards, so those garden-picked fruits may not be contributing to this official statistic, but it could actually be pushed up if they consider fruit consumption that's not store-bought. While most people think that the phrase is "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," the actual line is just a little different. Simba takes the lessons a little lightly, and can't wait to rule and own everything.

2: Although it takes a little extra time to set up these themes due to so many available functions, it’s still faster and cheaper than hiring a developer. But those that never left the spotlight are still there, of course, enjoying their immense popularity without working up a sweat, so to speak. What are some books you'd recommend for the heartbroken? Just remember everything. What are the actual words? Writing a heartwarming concluding line or paragraph is all about filling it with affirmations and words of hope that can help fade the distance between you and your special someone. The most commonly used edible mushrooms are button mushrooms, but there's also oyster, shiitake, enoki, and of course the Portobello, which chefs love to prepare in special gourmet ways. These love quotes for her will look perfect in a card or as part of your home goods gift for any special holiday. You never know when they will come in handy.

Luckily, there will be plenty of other intriguing candidates to choose from. There are many kinds of vegetables that come in some form of a pod, but the most common and recognizable ones are the green peas, specifically the snap peas. Younger men looking to date older women are called cubs. Looking for a JW dating site? If you’re interested in singles outside your race, InterracialMatch is an interracial dating site that gives you excellent value for money. Specifically, it's full of betacarotene, which is what gives us great eyesight, and is found in tomatoes, too. Does a room full of succulents make you smile? Succulents! They're unique and beautiful, and they can add something special to a home. It lasted a few months. In a world where dating horror stories are almost a rite of passage, I can take consolation in a few things. Let’s take a deeper look into what makes up a professional relationship, why they’re important and how you can build and maintain a few of your own.

[daimonclub]

Christmas Jokes

Christmas amusing stories Christmas jokes, funny and amusing jokes and hilarious very short stories for everyone to tell to your family and friends during your Christmas holidays Nul mieux que Charlie ne sait que la joke n’est pas une plaisanterie. C’est un devoir et une obligation. C’est le plus délicat des artisanats. La joke est une dictature. Comme l’a dit Rousseau à propos d’autre chose, nous en sommes à la fois souverain et sujet. Nous devons servir la joke. Et ce doit être une servitude volontaire. Charlie Hebdo An Amusing Christmas Try-on Mary-Jo was going to the Christmas office party but needed a new dress. So she went out shopping and in the clothing store she asked the assistant, 'May I try on that dress in the window, please?' 'Certainly not, madam,' responded the salesgirl, 'You'll have to use the fitting room like everyone else.' Funny Religious Jokes from Christmas Crackers Who was the greatest comedian in the Bible? Samson because he brought the house down. Advent sermon: 'What is hell?' Come early and listen to our carol practice. Where is the first tennis match mentioned in the Bible? When Joseph served in Pharaoh's court. Solomom had three hundred wives and seven hundred porcupines. (School boy howler) Something really cheap On Christmas Eve, Mr. John Smith thought it would be nice to buy his wife a little gift for the next day. Always short of money, he thought long and hard about what that present might be' Unable to decide, our hero entered Debenhams and in the cosmetics section he asked the girl, 'How about some perfume?' She showed him a bottle costing £80. 'Too expensive,' muttered Mr. Smith. The young lady returned with a smaller bottle for £50. 'Oh dear,' John groused, 'still far too much.' Growing rather annoyed at Smith's meanness, the sales girl brought out a tiny £10 bottle and offered it to him. John became really agitated, 'What I mean', he whined, 'is I'd like to see something really cheap.' So the sales girl handed him a mirror. Christmas reality Just before Xmas, an honest politician, a generous lawyer and Santa Claus all got into the lift (elevator) at the Ritz Hotel in London. As the lift travelled from the 5th floor down to the ground level, one-by-one they noticed a £50 note lying on the lift's floor. Which one picked up the £50 note, and handed it in at reception? Santa of course, the other two don't actually exist! A Thoughtful Christmas Gift Jim asked his friend, Tony, whether he had bought his wife anything for Christmas. 'Yes,' came the answer from Tony who was a bit of a chauvinist, 'I've bought her a belt and a bag.' 'That was very kind of you,' Jim added, 'I hope she appreciated the thought.' Tony smiled as he replied, 'So do I, and hopefully the vacuum cleaner will work better now.' Funny Christmas Story about a Turkey Sarah new young bride calls her mother in tears. She sobs, 'Richard doesn't appreciate what I do for him.' 'Now, now,' her mother comforted, 'I am sure it was all just a misunderstanding.' 'No, mother, you don't understand. I bought a frozen turkey roll and he yelled and screamed at me about the price.' 'Well, the nerve of that lousy cheapskate,' says her mum. 'Those turkey rolls are only a few dollars.' 'No, mother it wasn't the price of the turkey. It was the aeroplane ticket.' "Aeroplane ticket..." What did you need an airplane ticket for?' 'Well mother, when I went to fix it, I looked at the directions on the package and it said: "Prepare from a frozen state," so I flew to Alaska.'

It's Christmas time. Smile! An Amusing and True Christmas Funny Story A seven-year-old boy was stopped by police in northern Germany while trying to plough snow with a front loader he borrowed from his parents' business, authorities have told Will and Guy. Officers on patrol found the boy atop the 3.5-meter-tall excavator after he had cleared the street in the town of Reinfeld and was driving back to the parking lot. The child noticed the police car behind him and stopped immediately. 'He opened the door, got out and admitted immediately that he did not have a driving licence,' the police report said. When asked why he had begun ploughing, he said his father had complained about the state of the roads. He saw the key in the ignition of the vehicle and set off. Police retrieved the key to the loader from the child and returned it, and the boy, to his mother. The Tale of the Traditional Christmas Pudding Martha decided to move with the times and try the delights of microwave cooking. Whereupon, her devoted husband Archie went out and bought her a brand new top-of-the range Sharp Microwave oven. Christmas approached and Martha got out her Christmas pudding recipe and assembled the ingredients. She proceeded along traditional lines and even got the each member of the family to stir the mixture 'for luck'. When Martha consulted the microwave's manual for the cooking time, she could not believe that ten minutes would be enough for a traditional Christmas pudding. Consequently she decided to substitute her normal cooking time of 50 minutes. As Martha was in the lounge watching her favourite T.V. programme she did not see the pudding spitting in the microwave oven, nor did she hear the mini-explosions. When she finally extracted the pudding from the microwave after nearly an hour of cooking on 'High', it smelt of burnt sugar and looked like a ball of tar. Naturally, the Christmas pudding was a disaster, so much so, that Martha could not even prod it with a fork. In fact the black ball stuck to the bottom of the bowl and Archie had to get a screwdriver to prize it from its base. In a fit of pique, Martha threw the shrivelled Christmas pudding to Togo her St Bernard puppy. After a few days she could see the funny side, and Togo loved his new indestructible toy, which amused him until the next Christmas. Santa Visits a Bar Santa Banta goes into a bar in New York. The man on his right orders a drink, 'Johnnie Walker, single.' The man on his left says, 'Jack Daniels, single.' Santa says. 'Santa Singh, married.' Before the Christmas Holiday 'Today we'll relax a little and play a spelling game before we break up for the Christmas holidays,' says Mrs Anand, the primary schoolteacher. Each of you will stand up, tell us your name, what your father does, spell what your father does, and then explain it to us. All right, Jack, you can go first.' Jack stands up and says, 'My name's Jack. My father is a builder, b-u-i-l-d-e-r, and he helps to put up homes.' Funny Christmas Snow Women Mrs Anand says, 'Very good. All right, Dominic, your turn.' Dominic stands says, 'My name's Dominic. My father's a pharmacist, f-a-m... f-a-r-n... f-n...' The teacher, Mrs Anand, says, 'Dominic, you go home tonight and learn how to spell pharmacist. All right, Bobby.' Bobby stands up and says, 'My name's Bobby. My old man is a bookie, b-o-o-k-i-e, and if he was here, he'd give you five to two odds Dominic won't spell pharmacist by tomorrow.' Kissing under the mistletoe Jennifer was a pretty 18 year old girl. In the week before Christmas she sauntered up to the curtain counter, and was trying to decide which of the many types of tinsel she would buy. Finally, she made her choice and asked the spotty youth who was manning the fabric section. 'How much is this gold tinsel garland'. The spotty youth pointed to the Christmas mistletoe above the counter and said, 'This week we have a special offer, just one kiss per metre'. 'Wow, that's great', said Jennifer, 'I'll take 12 metres'. With expectation and anticipation written all over his face, the boy measured out the tinsel, wrapped up the garland, and gave it to Jennifer. She then called to an old man who had been browsing through the Christmas trees and said, 'My Grandpa will settle the bill.' Growing too old Grandpa decided that shopping for Christmas presents had become too difficult. All his grandchildren had everything they needed, so he decided to send them each a cheque (check). On each card he wrote: 'Happy Christmas Grandpa' P.S. 'Buy your own present!' Conclusion: Now, while Grandpa enjoyed the family festivities, he thought that his grandchildren were just slightly distant. It preyed on his mind into the New Year. Then one day he was sorting out his study and under a pile of magazines, he found a little pile of cheques (checks) for his grandchildren. He had completely forgotten to put them in with the Christmas cards. Best Christmas Story It was the day after Christmas at St Peter and St Paul's church in Borden, Kent, England. Father John, the vicar, was looking at the nativity scene outside when he noticed the baby Jesus was missing from the figures. Immediately, Father John's thoughts turned to calling in the local policeman but as he was about to do so, he saw little Nathan with a red wagon, and in the wagon was the figure of the little infant, Jesus. Father John approached Nathan and asked him, 'Well, Nathan, where did you get the little infant?' Nathan looked up, smiled and replied, 'I took him from the church.' 'And why did you take him?' With a sheepish grin, Nathan said, 'Well, Father John, about a week before Christmas I prayed to Lord Jesus. I told him if he would bring me a red wagon for Christmas, I would give him a ride around the block in it.' 10 Reasons Why a Woman would like to Be Santa Claus There'd be no more early morning decisions about what to wear to the office. No one would bother to ask Santa Claus for a ride to work. Buy one big brown belt and you'd be accessorized for life. You'd always work in sensible footwear. You'd never be expected to make the coffee. There'd be no need to play office politics; a hearty ho-ho-ho would remind everyone who is the boss. Juggling work and family would be easy. All your children would adore you; even your teenagers would want to sit in your lap. You'd never take the wrong coat on your way home. You could grow a tummy the size of Texas and consider it a job requirement of a funny Santa Claus. No one would ask to see your job description. The Christmas Hold-up Tale It was Christmas Eve; the department store manager was in his office just paying off Father Christmas. All of a sudden a teenager and ordered the manager to hand-over the not inconsiderable takings. The manager was wondering what to do, so the teenager attempted to fire his gun in order to make the manager's mind, and open the till and hand over the money. Although the robber pulled the trigger, nothing happened, so unbelievably, he peered down the barrel and then fired again. This time it worked.

Christmas funny jokes This is Guy's favourite tale to tell at grown-up parties. You can tell it as it is, or else you could improvise and improve the yarn depending on the nationalities present at your Christmas gathering. 'Waiter - There's a Fly in My Champagne' A multi-national company held a reception to celebrate Christmas. The waiter gave each guest a glass of champagne, but on inspection, each guest noticed that their glass contained a fly. The Swede asked for new champagne in the same glass. The Englishman demanded to have new champagne in a new glass.Funniest Christmas Jokes The Finn picked out the fly out and drank the champagne. The Russian drank the champagne, fly and all. The Chinese ate the fly but left the champagne. The Israeli caught the fly and sold it to the Chinese. The Italian drank two thirds of the champagne and then demanded to have a new glass. The Norwegian took the fly and went off to fish. The Irishman ground the fly and mixed it in the champagne, which he then donated to the Englishman The American sued the restaurant and claimed $50 million in compensation. The Scotsman grabbed the fly by the throat and shouted, 'Now spit out all that you swallowed.' The Bible was written centuries ago by the Apostles. But what if it was written by college students? Most likely it would be a lot different. Here's what it might look like if College Students Wrote the Bible: The 'Blood of Christ' would be switched from red wine to beer in a keg. The Last Supper would have cold leftovers for the next morning. The Ten Commandments would be only five, double-spaced, and written in large font. A New edition would be written every two years in order to limit reselling. The Forbidden Fruit would have been eaten not because it was forbidden but because it wasn't dorm food. Paul's Letter to the Romans would be Paul's E-Mail addressed to pieceofshit@romans.gov The reason Cain killed Abel would be because they were roommates. The place where the end of the world occurs would be Finals, not Armageddon. Instead of mules, the preferred mode of transportation would be mountain bikes. The reason why Moses and his followers walked in the desert for 40 years would be because they didn't want to ask directions and look like Freshmen. The Tower of Babel would be blamed for the Foreign Language requirement. Instead of God creating the world in six days and resting on the seventh, He would have put it off until the night before it was due and then pulled an all-nighter. From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics. It has two levels of meaning: the surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church. Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember. The Meaning of '12 Days of Christmas' The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ. Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments. Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love. The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament. The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation. Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit: Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy. The eight maids a-milking were the eight beatitudes. Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control. The ten lords a-leaping were the ten commandments. The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples. The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed. A Nice Bus Driver Two days before Christmas Jimmy set-off in his minibus to collect a batch of open prison inmates. His mission, as usual, was to take them for their radiation treatment at a nearby hospital. Since it was Christmas, one of the 12 offered to buy Jimmy a drink. So they stopped off at the Rose and Crown pub, and all had a nice drink. On the way out Jimmy detoured to the gents, when he came out of the loo, all the prisoners had disappeared. He looked in all the pub's bars, drove around for half an hour, no sign of the inmates. They had all made their escape. What could Jimmy do? Thinking quickly, he braked at a particularly long bus queue, and told the waiting people that he was a relief bus. Where-upon he picked up the first 12 and drove them to the open prison. He then radioed ahead to the warders giving a 'Code Yellow' message. This was a pre-arranged signal that some of the prisoners were playing up. Jimmy unloaded his passengers, he then beat a hasty retreat. Amazingly, his trickery wasn't discovered until the New Year. Read also: Christmas quotes ; Best Christmas songs ; 60 great Christmas quotes ; Christmas tree origin and quotes ;  Christmas markets in England ; Christmas markets in America ; Christmas short stories ; Traditional Christmas Carols ; Ella Gray A Christmas short story ; Funny Christmas Stories ; Amusing Christmas stories ; Christmas jokes ; Christmas cracker jokes ; Christmas food ; Christmas thoughts ; Christmas story ; Christmas in Italy ; Christmas holidays ; Christmas songs ; Christmas poems ; An Essay on Christmas by Chesterton ; Read the full article

[kiraziwrites]

dear yuletide writer letter (2023)

These are a few of my favorite things: missing scenes, romantic interludes, reflective moments, epilogues and aftermaths, porn with feelings. I love thoughtful exploration of the power dynamics (smutty or otherwise) between characters, battle couple vibes, intrigue and adventure, extensions of canon worldbuilding, and stories that explore queerness and gender nonconformity. I strongly prefer canon-consistent settings, but canon-divergent plotlines are okay. Any rating from Gen to E is fine, and mild-to-moderate kink is welcome. Angst is great as long as it comes with a happy (or at least gentle) ending, and I love a bit of hurt/comfort as long as the hurt isn’t on the DNW list. 

The DNWs: dubcon/noncon; torture or violence beyond a canon-typical degree; A/B/O and alien or magical creature AUs; kink involving ageplay, blood/piss/scat, medical/school/prison settings, or non-standard anatomical features like tentacles and oviposition. I strongly prefer canon settings and canon-aged characters, so no high school/coffeeshop/other historical period AUs, please.

Fandom-specific preferences and prompts below, in no particular order of preference! If you got assigned one of these requests but we happen to share multiple fandoms, pick whichever sparks the most joy for you.

Fandom: The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, Characters: Keita Mori, Thaniel Steepleton, Six.

I enjoyed Keita and Thaniel in the first book, but it was The Lost Future of Pepperharrow that really made me ship it hard: all that delicious angst and pining and misunderstanding and devotion is extremely my jam. I’d really love a missing scene (or scenes) fic about Keita and Thaniel recovering and reconnecting in the immediate aftermath of their departure from Japan, or a post-canon fic where they reckon with the big revelations from the epilogue of Pepperharrow. And while I’m not usually a big fan of kidfic, I adore Six, so a glimpse at the three of them growing and changing as a family would also be lovely. If smut is your writing preference, I would certainly enjoy some character-centric Keita/Thaniel porn, with or without plot, from any stage of the relationship. I'd especially like to see their first time together after the reunion, either while they're still in Tokyo or once they are back on the boat home.

Fandom: Prophet, Characters: Sunil Rao, Adam Rubenstein.

Give me post-canon anything about these two! I just want more of whatever comes after the book’s ending. If you’re up for writing E-rated, I’d love to see what happens immediately after that fade-to-black in the last chapter, or a subsequent sex scene focused on kink exploration (particularly one that builds on the canon hints about Rao’s BDSM interests and experience). But if you’d prefer to avoid anything explicit, I’d be equally delighted to read post-coital cuddling or morning-after conversation, or a near-future fic about these two working out how to be together now that they’ve finally moved past the pining stage. I'm especially interested in seeing Adam coping with the aftermath of his grief and the uncanny nature of Rao's resurrection, and Rao reckoning with what he's come to understand about the depth and duration of Adam's feelings for him (that moment in when he realizes "he's done real damage there"—how does he make amends?) While I enjoyed the book's worldbuilding, the draw for me here is the dynamic between these characters, and I would prefer a strong focus on their relationship.

Fandom: The Last Binding Series, Characters: Violet Debenham, Maud Blyth.

I loved A Restless Truth and need more fic about the Boat Lesbians (even if only one is technically a lesbian and they are no longer on the boat). I will be reading A Power Unbound the day it drops, so feel free to involve its protagonists and plot developments! I’d like the focus to be on Maud and Violet, but Hawthorn and Ross are welcome to crash the party (and Robin and Edwin cameos are also fine, unless it’s a sex party, in which case they should probably keep their distance). Some ideas: if you want to write smut, I’d love to see Violet follow up on her promise to introduce Maud to the possibilities of strap-ons, or further exploration of those glimmers of interest in bondage and sensation play. I would also definitely enjoy a threesome/moresome involving Hawthorn and Ross (perhaps they decide to restage the encounter Maud interrupted? or some other voyeurism scenario?) If smut is not your jam, I'd love a fic of their next meeting(s) after the voyage, or missing scenes about what they're getting up to while offscreen during the events of the third book, or a post-canon fic about what happens afterwards. I'm particularly interested in seeing how they negotiate the leap from the hothouse intensity of their boat affair to something more long-term, especially given Violet's baggage and Maud's lack of relationship experience.

[areyougonnabe]

I'm nearly 150 pages into Worst Journey and Priestly keeps showing up and he is telling me so many interesting things but I'm still not sure what his Job is on this expedition all Cherry's told me is that he A) wrote a book and B) served with Shackleton and I have discerned that he Takes Photographs which is Important!!! But I am wondering if he is also perhaps. A geologist or something? PLEASE HELP.

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT SWEET BABY RAY

this stylish dude began his polar career when he was chosen to go on shackleton's nimrod expedition in 1907. he was a geology student at bristol university at the time, only two years into his degree at age 20 and without any qualifications to speak of. shackleton asked him two questions in the interview (“Would you know gold if you saw it?” “Can you play a musical instrument?”) and then he was hired!

he mainly was like... the Young Man of the expedition (alongside brocklehurst who was his age but brocklehurst's role was the Rich Kid) ... the most notable incident was when he slept outside a tent during a blizzard on mount erebus (bc there wasn't room for him inside 😭), got pushed down the hill by the wind in his sleeping bag and nearly died. but he was ok!!! didn't even lose any toes!!! unlike that loser PHIL

(bb priestley on nimrod. early in his baldness journey)

there were two other qualified geologists brought along on the expedition, Edgeworth David and Douglas Mawson, who he learned a lot from, and after the expedition he spent time in Sydney cataloguing and studying the Antarctic samples underneath Professor David. this led to him getting picked right back up by Scott again when one of the Terra Nova's geologists dropped out due to tuberculosis and he asked David who he should take instead.

he wasn't part of the main cape evans party on scott's expedition but was instead the geologist for the Eastern Party, which became the Northern Party and ended up having a ludicrously bad time, trapped in a tiny ice cave for six months. (for more about that check out The Longest Winter!!)

but they rescued their own asses and ended up all getting out OK. while waiting to get picked up by the ship, priestley and debenham hung out at shackleton's cape royds hut (where priestley had lived back in the day) and sketched out the plans for what would eventually become the SPRI!!!

after the expedition, all the scientists went home to england and hung out at priestley's family home in tewkesbury while working on their scientific results. this had the hilarious consequence of two of his sisters getting married to his expedition friends (Doris to Griffith Taylor and Edith to Charles Wright). and deb missed out somehow... tough luck bro.......

(baldness journey well advanced. he is transforming into mark gatiss)

aaaand after that a lot of stuff happened.. like the war.... he got a degree in agriculture (?) then helped deb and wordie found the SPRI, and eventually became a career university administrator. he was very active in lecturing about the antarctic throughout his whole life! and even went back as a tour guide for prince philip in the 50s lmao

in conclusion: priestley you have to stop. you smoke too tough. your swag too different. your bitch is too bad. they'll kill you

[renatedagmarmilada]

open letter....

Oppenheimer was in the lab St barths human Reseaerch last week, she has been in three times, i EXPECTED SYMPATHY AND HELP FROM HER--/ it is the same with her as my poem about the Dean of Westminster, I asked -is he a catholic first or English first--/--She took one of my stolen by lab paid thieves from my home, workbooks home..60 of them stolen besides files, and 2 half thous. paintings. Several Jews from the Lords have been in but do not object to my life prison, being tortured by remote constantly.. and robbed still - I stupidly hoped that Oppenheimer would want my release-- as the two jewesses married to our austrian family members were of her ilk.. but no... I had written to the jewish Lords tellling them what Human Research were doing to me and begging them to have me released..Schilling was one-- I don't know if the letter got to them, as the lab took all my post except bills..

When anyone comes into the lab they put the sleeper/inertia from machine on me.. At present Allan Lieberman Cross Finchley's 86 illeg children are on the machine, most sophisticated machinery ever created by mankind with uneducated, unskilled, clodhoppers, torturing by remote./ Allan was an Insurance Salesman till he went to lab st barths human Research for a job. what he has done there with little ones puts him with and way above Nazi murderers, friend of the Minsitry men!!

If I go to the law, they will find against me, they always do that, one of the things they do, and ONCE  YOU ARE CLEARED BY BRITISH LAW, RUBBISH AS IT IS THEY CANNOT TRY YOU AGAIN..

Jen Howden of Plaistow, mental care assistant, told Oppenheimer amazing lies about me, as they all do, to cover up what they have been doing and have been selling my work, robbed by lab paid local thieves, for endless years and years to M & S- and wants it all for her son and still has the original poetry book with my aunts and uncles birthdays in the back and one with african religions-- as all those in the lab illeg children and families and friends, have been doing, and grabbing my work for their families, to the point - a couple of months ago, I sent three designs to M & S at last, as these mental care assistants and their families had, handing them over myself at Sheffield M and S to pass onto their design shop, I thought they would be safe that way- Jen, mental care assistant, was in the London design shop with more of my copied work and took them /home/ from their design people!!!-- M and S has been selling all t he mental care assistants of lab st barths human research stolen work from me, for thirty years- as had BHS Rebecah Meyer niece of unqualified doctor Meyer's sex buddy from young..and Debenhams selling Alyson O'Connors and family copies of my stolen work.... Anyway to cut a long story short-- OPPENHEIMER GOES IN REGULARLY BUT DOESN'T CARE ABOUT INNOCENTS WHOSE FAMILY GAVE THEIR RATION CARDS TO THEIR JEWISH FRIENDS DURING THE WAR BACK THERE UNDER THE NOSES OF THE NAZIS, THE WHOLE FAMILY LITERALLY DOING WITHOUT - AND THE OTHER JEWISH LORDS, INCLUDING SIEF, WHOM I HAD SEEN AS A SORT OF HERO BEFORE.......

[wroteonedad]

Michael Simpson Paintings Review

I wish I lived in a town that had more art galleries or just more spaces where they display art that isn't live laugh love or graffiti. I don't get to see as much art as I would like to and it makes me feel uninspired after a while, and perhaps if I learnt to drive then I could go away on my days off and explore all the fun galleries out there waiting for me to find my new favourite artist, a new persons work to hyperfixate on. I need more of that. This gallery space I am writing about this week, I actually went to visit this as the World Cup started. It was wonderful. It was the first England game in the tournament. The entire town was dead, despite the Christmas tree festival having already started. Men were in the local pub or better yet, working and away so I could blissfully go out and enjoy myself. There was not a single other soul in the gallery space as I arrived, and it was wonderful. I really felt like I could immerse myself properly into the set of works that I was looking at in this wonderful large space.

I'll be honest, it has only taken me so long to finally talk about this set of works because I was working off of a backlog of exhibitions I had seen in mass over the month and I've only just gotten around to it. They always say to leave the best until last. This set of work is on display at GIANT in Bournemouth until the 29th January. Michael Simpson has displayed a large scale body of works to the audience, this including both classic well known works as well as some unseen pieces. The work has been curated to allow you as the audience to form a conversation on light, space, surface and colour. Many of his works feature one particular subject matter, the ladder. This is seen through different colours and sizes and is displayed through the gallery space in between works already created. I do think that having nobody else in the gallery made me appreciate and look at this work more than I would if there was a large group of people in front of me also looking at the same thing.

Confessional 16 (2022)

To begin to talk about the works of Simpson, I would need to speak about the specific colour palette he uses in his work. Shades of both light and dull greys, baby pinks, seafoam green and police station blue. The colours vary in pastel and his works feel quite vintage. The way they are created to be imperfect with its layering of colours around the corners of the canvases. They look like they are old images displayed in a magazine made during the Soviet years. Perhaps this makes sense considering that part of this collection of works is in homage to Simpson's mother, a Lithuanian woman named Ada Kulikovdkiy who worked in Bobby's department store in the 1930s. The department store came back after Debenhams went into liquidation in 2021 and now has a gallery above the shop floor. To my original point, adverts that were created during the age of the USSR were all choppy, followed a certain colour dynamic and were both to the point, but confusing all at the same time. Simpson's paintings also display the same sense of choppy with its colour dynamic. Its main difference being the scale of these works were both very literal in the way you look at it, but also inviting to question the idea of space used in the works.

Dead Cross 2 (2021) and Squint 63 (2019)

Blocky vintage looking pieces. That's what I see when I look at these works, and I also could be wrong with the way I am viewing these works. At the same time, I also deeply agree with the way Simpson regards space in the paintings. In these two above, I don't feel as if I am immediately drawn to the centre of the canvas, rather my eyes follow the lines, all of the shapes and allows me to take in all of the space on the canvas. I don't think in the deep sense of art and painting and the way it is portrayed,,, I don't think I get it, but I still really like it. Some of these paintings don't feel real, other paintings I look at, I want to walk up to it and try to jump into the alternate world that lies between the lines of the painting. Why are the spaces so empty and yet so full all at the same time?

~

The typical theme that Simpson follows in his work is the history and mechanics of painting. But along with that, he has also discussed minor aspects of religion or rather the 'infamy of religious history', and in many of his more recent works, he has decided to paint leper squints. These are small apertures that were physically built into the walls in many Medieval churches so that the 'undesirables' or the dammed would be able to climb these stairs and look into the small window, to watch the service. Simpson uses both religion and space especially in his more recent Squint series in which he paints what looks like a bench or some form of seating that also features a small rectangle towards the top of the canvas. This is to create mockery to the undesirable and how they use the rectangle as the window to the void. It is perhaps quite dystopian to paint such concepts in modern works that still stay persistent to the artists older pieces. I feel like every time I write about an artist and their paintings, I always manage to sneak in Black Mirror into this, but this is a prime example of a dystopian empty and eerie piece, which I mean in the best way possible.

Simpson uses the gallery space to display a large selection from his Squint series, all four of these paintings above being part of said collection. Another larger scale example below.

The difference is with this one in particular, I feel like this has been created to be the main piece. The main star of the show I suppose. At first glance I thought to myself, this is a wrestling arena, and then suddenly it was just a cage, and now the only cage is of those who are watching from their dainty little windows above, alone. Maybe they are far out into the real world, looking through this pane of glass trying to get themselves into the empty grey void where nobody is, except for the large scale space of nothingness. I think what really adds to this nothingness is the absolute nothingness that surrounds this one painting in the gallery space. There is a good 14 foot of space to walk up to this painting as you are walking through the gallery, and suddenly you're that person in the little rectangle from a different perspective. Perhaps we are left to become a part of the narrative of the painting. In the words of Michael Simpson,' 'We exist, all of us, in an infinite space and that for me is the bewilderment of being alive. The hole isn't just a squint, it's a great metaphor for my own bewilderment of the world around me. I see this aperture as a hole into infinity and it is very, very disturbing.'

Walking through this gallery space feels post industrial and so I think this collection of works is the perfect exhibition. It feels surreal and it is also the perfect example of work where I feel like I can interact with it in so many different ways, we are invited to interact. The alternate dimension, of its parodic nature is incredibly effective. I pick up new details from the sets of works every time I go into the gallery and I can see how every smaller painting or smaller sketch has then been used to create the large scale paintings, some of which have already been painted over once before and reused to create a new canvas of work.

[tonkihy]

Fashion designer jobs

AM/ M/ Fashion Designer/Product Developer - Urgent. JobsDB Hong Kong will help you search and apply for your job in Fashion. I want people to be able to keep going with whatever they're passionate about. Find Fashion jobs and career opportunities in Hong Kong. "Students who are a bit lost and don't have the opportunity to move to the big cities, I want to give them a chance to think there's creativity here on Teesside. I do jackets, they started with a punky vibe and I also have a range of set designs but mainly it's made to order."īeth is starting to focus on the bridal market, which she finds "a lot more personal", and hopes to take on staff in the future. "If other fashion brands and designers can't fulfil bespoke embroidery, they send bulk orders to me. Fashion Designer & Merchandiser Apparel Designer Garment Designer Fashion Designer responsibilities include traveling to various fashion events and. Jobs are ranked according to their ability to offer an elusive mix of factors. She's been featured in "numerous high profile magazines" and also works with business-to-business clients. Fashion Designers rank 10 in Best Business Jobs. Since then, her business has weathered a pandemic and she secured space in Stockton's Digital House. But the journey hasn't been easy - Beth says she initially "faced five rejections" from her university choices as a sixth former at King’s Academy.īeth runs her business from Stockton's Digital House (Image: Beth Wilson) A willingness and ability to travel to clients. Strong networking and social media skills. Good organizational and time management skills. Excellent communication, sales, and customer service skills. Strong working knowledge of fashion trends, designers, and brands. READ MORE: KFC and another major American chain planning two new drive thrus on same Teesside siteīeth has also worked with companies such as John Lewis, Selfridges, Dior, Debenhams, Gieves and Hawkes Saville Row and more. Minimum of 1 year’s experience in retail or a fashion-related position. Caroline Flack posted about her jacket, personalised by Beth: "The lovely Beth Wilson made this jacket and brought it to the show, thank you, feel like a T bird." Now 28, Beth's designs - mainly quirky and punk-inspired jackets - have been worn by a string of famous faces. "The only way I could do it was by creating my own business," Beth says, "as there was no suitable, existing opportunities for me here." She started Beth Wilson Embroidery in 2018, specialising in digital embroidery for fashion. Beth Wilson grew up in Easterside and despite beginning to sew up a successful career in the capital, she knew she wanted to move back to her beloved home town. A Middlesbrough fashion designer's creations have been worn by stars from Laura Whitmore to the late Caroline Flack.

[bananaislam]

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