#harly did the color

[askevilnug]

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- Mod Mug, Poni, and Harly

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[bluewinnerangel]

Louis and Harry looking obviously incompatible in 2016

A collection that got out of hand.

Inspired by this post, this is a collection of them honestly truthfully not matching whatsoever around the same times (the same day / very next time there was a pic of the other one, or no more than a couple of weeks apart) because they’re just sOoOooo different and obviously genuinely i JuSt DoNt SeE It.

Harry and Louis absolutely not being 2 peas in a pod in 2016:

Jan 6 - “let’s go watch football in winter and wear beanies that match each others clothes”

Jan 9(H)/10(L)

Jan 30 - the punk

Feb 2(H)/3(L)

Feb 14(H)/15(L) - they both look like they didn’t have time to get ready for the party and still they pulled it off and also nice matching shirts bros

Cut because of course it’s long:

(is bla feel free to skip) I feel that if people can’t imagine them together it’s because they have this image of Louis that is just one aspect to him and a whole other aspect of Harry in their heads, aspects that don’t really overlap, don’t “fit”, that is most often the uh main look that comes with their public images, but if you look a little deeper you see these 2 aren’t that onesided, that the range on these badboys is huge actually, and yet somehow all these many sides keep finding each other at the same times over and over again. And so here’s this post.

Also this is not to compare them or “prove” anything as we’re going by appearances here and that doesn’t mean anything. People don’t have to look the same or give off the same vibes at all to have mutual respect, but they do, and it makes me happy, so much I just couldn’t stop pairing these pics up and it’s gotten so big it’s gonna be divided in seperate posts for each year yeah oops. 

also I might be wrong on some of these dates but I did my best

Anyway:

March 2(L)/28(H) - that one colleague that comes to work on a motorcycle and that one other one that works on a different floor and you just know they got a thing for each other

I couldn’t pick a favorite of the following comfy in black matchymatch ones so have a bunch:

March 11

March 11/12(L)/13(H)

March 12(L)/13(H)

March 16(H)20(L) - seethrough white shirt rights hours apparently

I mean 

Bonus keys

March 11(L)/April 2(H) - More comfy black I’ll shake it soon but but just this thing of wearing all black/white with the exception of shoes in interesting compatible colors yk

April 1(H)/26(L) - This wasn’t meant as some spot-the-same-colored-style-clothes-post but when this is there I can’t not? Their faces also just look older/tired here it fits bye

April 23 - OHHHH COME OHHNN

March 25(H)/April 30(L) - A month apart but flannel rights.

May 10 - look at them LOOK AT THEEEHMM COME ONN

May 18(L)/19(H) - These were next to each other in someone’s archive and I thought they were both Louis at first and then both Harry and 

June 16(L)/17(H) - Now that’s what I mean by looking compatible 

June 6 - COMEOHHNN

June 21(H)/22(L) - judging you larry fav larry

July 18(H)/31(L) - I was gonna go for compatible. Compatible. Not IDENTICAL NONSENSE. But they’re like this so here we are again.

August 3(H)/6(L) - hey boys it’s not 2021 yet this is a post about 2016 ok could you not. 

August 5  - yesss ~compatible~

August 1(H)/8(L) - yeah more of the comfy sporty black yeah

August 24(L)/September 2(H) - Idk why they suddenly look like entirely different people but it happened at the same time Harly Stills and Lewis Tompson here are still matchily married

October 6(H)/25(L) - but yeah

Orrr maybe this is a better pair

October 25(L)/November 25(H)

And these

October 6(H)/31(L)

COME OHHHNNN  If I’d know the source of the manip I’d link it but it was just floating around on google sorrysorry

Nov 2

Nov 3(H)/8(L)

Nov 30(L)/Dec 2(H) tries to shut up about laurels

Dec 20 - they said today we go cuddly and soft and WE MEAN IT

Dec 29 - Cuddly and soft and smoll and 

Dec 24(H)/29(L) - AAAHH I LOVE THEM

NEXT UP 2017

[lurkinganon]

A while back i heard there was going be a Plastic Man live action movie but they were planning on changing Plas into a woman (I might be wrong on that)...and wanted other people opinions.

Though to me i wouldn't want that. Since there are plenty of powerful female dc super hero's like Vixen, Flame, Batgirl/women, Supergirl, Black Canary and such that there is really no need to change already existing characters to add more females. Give the already existing female characters chance to shine!!

Such as big Barda, Zantana, Dawnstar (who i did not know existed but would be a great chance bring her back and have some proper native American representation that not racist. By that i mean don't make her look like Pocahontas that racist to say all native american women look like that or want to dress that way. her more modern looks are better)

Also having ex con turn good been done with female characters such as black widow, wanda maximoff and harly queen. 

I don't see the reason to change plastic man into a women beside things like Sex appeal. Think like Mrs. Incredible being seen as a sex icon frist off gross. So dc is thinking Plas will be their stretchy sex icon for dc and that doesn't make me happy. I rather have a real plastic man movie then a money grab. And they have a female stretch hero name Elasta girl (does anyone else find all the girl super hero names kinda annoying when you notice how much it pop up) so there really no need change plastic man into a women. If dc wanted to have more females for the dc roster. They already have a wondeful colorful cast if character they can use and give time to shine on the big screen. And i want to see movies/tv shows for characters Like Zantana and vixen. They deserve to shine and be given the chance to be seen as the stronge female leads they are. And of course i want to see a proper plastic man movie.

Sorry for rant, just random things thay pop imto my brain when I'm falling asleep.

Even though I rant I'd probably watch female Plastic Man just to see Plas on the big screen.

[sasster]

Of Course we wanna see the watches you made mr saekul, :)

"Yes! I did make one for all three of them!!"

>His new friend was so formal, he thinks that his quadmates would quite like this new friend! They're all so proper, the three of them. They would be very happy to know that his new friend is being respectful like this.

>And he is so happy that they asked about the watches! He pops up out of his seat and bounces on his heels a bit, thumb tapping against his chin rhythmically. Now, where did those watches run off to again.

>Right!

>He drifts off toward a dresser and fishes around for a bit. When he returns to his sitting spot, he has three small organza bags in his possession. They're a nice, rich purple. There are tags tied to the draw string of each bag, each one bearing a different symbol for each of his quadmates.

"When all of your quads are the same color, you can just buy that color in bulk! Isn't that fun? I learned a lot about metal crafting for this, so I hope they all like it."

>He carefully sets the bags onto the table, selecting one to show off first. With great focus, he pulls the wrapped watch out of the bag.

"This one is for my Thanny. He's a simple man, he wouldn't want anything too outrageous."

>As he uncovers the watch, he shows off a brilliant piece. It is simple as he said, a simple gold watch with leaflets etched in the top right and bottom left corners. In the center, a lotus flower makes up the focal point of the piece. He opens it to show off your basic watch face, nothing fancy. Nothing extravagant. He knew his quads well enough.

"He's into all that spiritual stuff, right? The lotus flower represents enlightenment and rebirth. And in love it represents devotion, and hope, and strength."

>He closes the watch, touching his fingers to the etching of the lotus briefly before setting it back into it's appropriate pouch. He does the same with the next watch, he so carefully pulls it out and unwraps it. You guys think I'm going to describe it again, but I'm not. The Benevolent Narrator knows you know what it looks like.

>Have a reminder.

>It’s casing was a stunning silver, embossed roses followed each other in a ring around it, stem to petal, with a hectic spiral of vines traveling toward the center. When he opens it, he reveals a watch face which is a rich deep purple with silver plating for the numbers.

"For my Harly. He. Well, I won't say he has delusions of grandeur, because that would be crazy mean to say of him. But he definitely is a man who fancies himself worthy of something spectacular! I agree with him."

>Once again, he closes the watch and touches his fingers to the design. Trailing a his finger along one of the vines. Back into it's pouch it goes! He's smiling, he's so happy to share the love he has for his quadmates with someone new! He takes out the last watch.

"For Addy. I just had to show him that I was better at his craft than him. He's a metalsmith."

>He laughs as he says this, pulling out a watch that. Honestly truly, is just unnecessarily fancy. Through the gold casing, casing parts of the watch face can be seen. It's black, and the numbers are plated in gold. The case itself is ornate to a disgusting degree. The head of a serpentine dragons head starts just before the 12 on the watch, and coils down along the side where is coils under the 6, with a tail that ends pointing at the 9. Just beyond the tail is an etching of a small hyacinth.

>He doesn't bother opening the watch, but he does touch his fingers to the dragons tail and trails it back up to the head before putting it away.

"I put a lot of thought into these! I know what you're going to say, why did your kismesis get the most intricate one. And the answer is simple! It's going to piss him off!"

>He laughs again as he gathers the organza bags, bouncing up on his heels again on his way to put them back in their hiding spot.

[catracorner962]

The Joke’s On Us: A Glitra Halloween One Shot

One of my favorite Glitra writers @teaandsmut requested this prompt “how about Catra and Glimmer both turn up at a Hallowe'en party as Harley Quinn, with Catra as the classic version and Glimmer as the Birds of Prey version.”

I am happy to oblige! 

(Please bare with me I rarely write spicy fics!)

“You know Harley Quinn!” Glimmer pulled on her golden glimmering overalls. “We saw it at the Brightmoon Theatre a few weeks ago, remember?” She squinted at herself in the mirror, trying to redo her pig-tails for the third time that afternoon.

“Oh yeah! That was fun! I thought you meant the girl from Bow’s comics. She has a different outfit though,” Adora answered from across the room. 

“That’s the comic book version, the movie is a little different...can you help me with this? I can’t get them to be even,” Glimmer tugged her pig-tails free, scowling. She couldn’t really blame Adora. It’s not like the Horde had comic books or movies or anything.  She waited while her friend gently pulled her short hair into two equally short pig-tails and stepped back from the mirror. Admiring the overalls, boots, makeup and bright pink sports bra. 

“Not too bad!”

“You look great!” Bow exclaimed, his own costume was that of Batman. Adora, having absolutely no knowledge of Halloween either tried to just go as She-Ra which Glimmer finally convinced her “didn’t count,” and wouldn’t be a real costume for a costume party. She had finally decided to simply wear the dress she wore to the princess prom but Bow had done her makeup to make her look like a zombie.

“You’re going to love it Adora, Halloween is my favorite holiday!”

A day where you can be someone other than yourself, where you can pretend to be anybody and anything you want. Not a princess, not a one day queen, not a commander….

Glimmer broke into a smile as Bow hugged them close, squealing in excitement. 

---

The annual halloween party, similar to Princess Prom, was hosted by a different kingdom each year and all princesses were invited. This year it was Plumaria’s turn to host. Perfuma had outdone herself, with orange and black lights strung from the tree branches, a table of themed snacks, and some weird herbal tea mixture Perfuma insisted tasted good-despite the sickly green color.

The band played music as people danced, whirled around and mingled. Over on the dance floor, Bow was trying to teach Adora how to dance. Somewhat unsuccessfully. Glimmer giggled, making her way over to them. It was easy to breeze through the party in her costume, nearly unrecognizable. Everything seemed easier, when no one could totally tell she was a princess at first glance. 

“Hey! Guys, wait..”

“Hey Sparkles, see you copied me.” Glimmer backpedaled away from the person she’d accidentally walked into. 

Catra 

Glimmer curled her fists, cheeks rising in an angry red hue. 

“What are you doing here?”

Catra smirked, raising her brow. A trademark expression that made Glimmer feel like the smallest thing in Etheria.  She scrutinized Catra, critically. Her costume was different...but different. Instead of overalls Catra wore a single tight-fitting, totally unflattering body suit. The right leg and arm colored in black, while the alternating sides were red. Diamonds of red and black flanked each side of the suit, contrasting with each color. Her large ears were tucked into a simple matching jokers hat. 

“...You’re...you’re Harley Quinn too?! You copied me!” Glimmer glanced around the dance floor, though no one else seemed to notice anything. Even Adora and Bow had gone off to sample the buffett. 

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery sparkles,” Catra grinned, small fangs gleaming in the low light. Glimmer groaned in irritation, rubbing her eyes. 

Of course, OF COURSE Catra would just show up here and copy my Harley Quinn idea. Of course she would come here just  to mock me! I can’t even have halloween for myself and my friends? Why does she have to ruin everything?

“But hey, you look cute,” Catra flicked the zipper of her overalls for emphasis, leaning closer than necessary, tail flicking like she was ready to pounce.

Irritation quickly turned to spite, which turned to anger. 

I can’t punch her out here, it would draw too much attention, Glimmer quelled the rising pink sparkles in her fist. Her magic practically bubbling to break free. Plus it will ruin Adora’s day...and this is her first halloween party. 

Glimmer grabbed Catra’s wrist tightly, dragging her from the dance floor off beyond the other party goers into the dark of the surrounding forest. Once the music was lost, Glimmer roughly shoved the Force Captain against one of the large trees, pinning her roughly and glaring up at her.

“You’re not  welcome here Catra!” Glimmer tightened her grip around Catra’s collar, the little white pom poms bouncing.  

“Awe,”  she pouted with dejected hurt. “Why not?” Glimmer only rolled her eyes. 

“You committed war crimes Catra!”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ 

Glimmer seethed, 

“And you copied me as Harly Quinn!”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Catra teased, “sparkle me to death?”

“Don’t tempt me!” Glimmer hissed through grit teeth. Catra’s insufferable smirk only grew, even as she was pinned to the tree. They glared at each other, each minute that ticked by rising heat in Glimmer’s cheeks. Their faces were close, Catra had tipped her chin downward against Glimmer’s elbow, her warm breath grazing across her arm. It made Glimmer’s skin riddle with goosebumps. Despite her obnoxiously calm facade Glimmer felt Catra’s chest rise and fall rapidly. 

Why does she have to look so good? Why does she have to show up here like she rules the place and...and ruin everything! I’ll show her! I’ll...I’ll…

“Sparkles?”

“What?!” 

“Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

“Ha! I’m surprised you even asked!” 

Glimmer stood on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and leaned in, kissing Catra full on the lips. Hungry and angry and oh so sweet. For her part Catra returned the gesture, biting at Glimmer’s lip with a needy noise, winding her arms around the shorter princess’s neck, pulling her deeper in. 

She’s...warm...smooth...how is she? Why am I doing this? I don’t even like her….do I?

“I hate you,” Glimmer breathed between incessant kisses. “You…-kiss- can’t even…-kiss-...come up with -kiss- an original costume!” Catra pulled back just for a moment, her warmth ebbing away as she leaned against the tree, but she did not unwind her arms from around Glimmer. 

“Oh sparkles, the more we meet the more I’m convinced we’re waaay more alike than either of us would like to admit. Costumes or not.” 

“I am nothing like you!” 

Before Glimmer could react Catra lunged forward, lithe arms going around Glimmer’s waist and instantly spinning her, pushing her against the rough bark of the tree.  The princess let out a startled scream only to be cut off by Catra’s lips once more. She wound her legs around the Horde Scum’s hips, bracing herself. Catra let out a deep throated growl and kissed her deeper, claws nearly sinking into her shoulder. It hurt...but...the pain was only slight and it was welcome. Glimmer reached up, yanking the silly joker cap off Catra’s head and fingering her hands through her wild hair. 

“You like that don’t you?” She breathed. Catra answered, pushing her hips flush against Glimmer’s pressing her harder against the tree. She arched in response, holding on to Catra’s shoulders as they continued to kiss. At some point Catra pushed off the straps of her golden overalls, fingers gliding over her bare shoulders. Claws, Glimmer realized...retracted. 

I didn’t  know she could do that…

Catra stole her from her thoughts once more, kissing her neck, nibbling at her collar bone. Glimmer leaned her head back, laughing with pleasure, holding on by Catra’s hair, tightening her fists and pulling. 

“Hmmmm,” Catra growled, one hand sliding up Glimmer’s waist and holding her tightly. She readjusted herself without coming up from the crook of Glimmer’s neck. Thrusting her hips against the princess in a not so subtle ask for more. Glimmer reached around, taking Catra’s chin in her hand and forcing her head back up to look her in the eyes. 

“Th...this doesn’t...c..change...anything...I...I...s...still hate you!” She panted. Catra only blinked innocently, taking her hand and licking sensually at her fingers and groaned much more lustful than necessary. 

I could stick my fingers down her throat and gag her right here. Leave and go back to the party and let Scorpia or someone find her. Yeah...that’ll show her…

But Catra was already kissing her lips again, ravenously, deliciously. Dominating her in some strange way that Glimmer could not bring herself to refuse. They weren’t themselves after all right? It was Halloween. 

She could enjoy this, enjoy Catra..only for the night. No one would have to know. With shining new confidence, Glimmer quickly teleported out of Catra’s hold, and reappeared right behind her. The Horde Scum reeled in surprise, eyes wide with a moment of fright. It sent a quickening through Glimmer, who seized Catra by the shoulders and shoved her down to the forest floor. This time the Horde Scum did not resist. Glimmer straddled her, leering downward into those heterochromatic eyes, glowing in the dark. Voice low and husky, she whispered, making sure to drag her tongue just a little teasingly across the tender pink of Catra’s  inner ear. 

“My turn, puddin.”

[foxgator113]

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[battlestar-royco]

Did you see the tweet where a black blogger said c/harlie b/owater has good art but the same faces? Like she's right and cb's stans got mad bc someone snitch tagged and she apparently quote-tagged. But honestly, she's right and cb has nice art but damn if the faces aren't so same-y

I did not see that tweet! My account has been inactive since like 2014 tbh. I feel bad for that blogger, especially considering someone tagged her anyway in an attempt to get her roasted. White stans can be ruthless sometimes. I definitely agree with @discountalien-pancake on this one. CB is very talented technique-wise but it’s literally just a fact that she has almost no range.

I feel like I haven’t mentioned this in a minute, so people might not know, but I’m actually a studio artist as well so I grew up with a lot of art friends who have loads of different styles. I’ve known teenagers who challenge themselves way more than she does with style, color, references etc. It makes complete sense that CB and SJ/M are so inspired by each other because the people they portray in their work fit a very narrow definition of beauty, and neither of them go outside of that parameter often.

[timeforelfnonsense]

Apprentice April

I’m a little late but I’m going to do Apprentice April!

(sprite by Jilljoycearts )

(banner by me)

1. The Basics.  What is your character’s name?  How old are they?  How tall are they?  Skin color?  Eye color?  Hair color?  Gender identification?

Captain Faunalyn Catrìona “Fable” Amastacia 

Half-elf || Bard || Pirate

Age:25 (ish timelines are wild)

Skin: Olive

Eyes: amber gold 

Hair: Cinnamon brown Wild curls 

Height: 5”0

Gender: Cis woman (she/her)

Fable started her life as my very first d&d oc. I love her so dearly and she was way to perfect for Julian for me not to use her as my arcana mc. That being said her backstory is the same up to the point she started questing in our campaign. In the Arcanaverse it is after her failed mutiny she ends up in Vesuvia rather than adventuring with the party. I.e the arcanaverse is AU for her and I try to tag it so it’s less messy. How did she get there? Dimension door? The lord of portals? Me pretending the places from our homebrew d&d campaign exist in the Arcana Universe? Who knows! (I sure don’t)

2.  Love Interest.  Who does your character love?  What attracted them to that particular LI?

Fable is a Julian girl through and through. They are both rowdy swashbucklers for a start. They are both very flirty and adventurous. She’s always been a sucker for the roguish sort and Julian was basically in love the first time he saw her. More than that, however, Fable is a bit of Gamophobia and has always felt like a temporary fixture in other people’s lives. Julian’s dedication to her, while sometimes overwhelming gives her some stability. Julian cares so deeply for others and Fable can be a little selfish. Fable is very assertive and quick to call Julian on his self-flagellation. Fable is fiercely independent and reminds him she’s his partner not a damsel in distress. For as much as they have in common, they also are opposites in a lot of ways and bring out the best in each other.

3. Familiar.  Does your character have a familiar?  How did they meet?

Fable has a fae songbird named Bonnie. She was a gift from Fable’s father when she was young.  

4. Hobbies.  What kinds of things does your character like to do for fun?

She’s a bard so music is the obvious one! She sings, plays herdy gerdy, lute, and pan flute. She loves to drink and party. She loves sailing and finds a lot of comfort in being on the water.

5. Hidden talents.  Is there something neat that your character can do?  Tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue?  Say any word backward perfectly?

She can Knit really well

She can hold her breath longer than most people

6. Magical talents.  Is there a specific type of magic that your character excels at?  Any magic they aren’t so great at?  Or do they actually shy away from magic altogether?

Strengths: 

Bardic Magic

Nature Magic/Wood elf magic 

Divination

Dimension Door Conjuration  

Polymorphing & Illusion magic

She is VERY superstitious and she’s terrified of necromancy and the undead (Ironic for her Arcanaverse cannon) 

7. Interaction.  How does your character typically interact with people?

By charming the pants off them, sometimes literally! She’s quick to make allies and friends. She knows just how to butter someone up.

8. Romance.  What is something that your character and their LI love to do together?  How do they show affection?

Fable’s love languages are quality time, physical touch and gifts.

I HC Julian’s as quality time, physical touch and words of affirmation. 

They love to sail together. The sea was such a fundamental part of both their lives. They go dancing at the Raven and get sloshed. They are almost always touching when they are together, holding hands, brushing against each other.

9. Travel.  Does your character like to travel outside of Vesuvia?  How often?  For how long?  What kinds of things do they do away from home?

Fable can not be suck in one place for too long. It makes her restless and she craves adventure and a change of scenery. I’d like to think she and Julian take piracy back up for a while post-game.

10. WTF.  Has anything just…weird ever happened to your character?  Something that made them stop and go “What just happened?!”

Find out she died from the plague was a pretty major one.

11. Crime.  Has your character ever been arrested?  If so, what did they do?  Have they ever helped stop a crime?

Oh boy, yes she has. She was raised in a city run by pirates and thieves, known as the “city of freedom.” She definitely doesn’t respect authority and has been known to have a few too many.

12. Secrets.  What is a secret that your character has?  Are they in line for the throne in a far off land?  Was there this one time at band camp…?  Are they secretly involved in an assassin’s guild?

I would say she has secrets per say, just that she’s a bit evasive about her feelings and past.

“None of us really know Fable. Anyway… Fable is so weird. I’d love to meet her someday.”

On a darker note, I suppose the fact a lot of her bravado is performative and she’s got a lot of stuff she just doesn’t want to deal with. 

13. Overcompensation.  Is there something that your character just HAS to do better than anyone else?  Or are they just that dang good without trying?  If they see someone else showing off, what is their knee-jerk reaction?

She is an awful showoff and definitely feels like she has to prove herself to others for approval but she’d never admitted that.

14. Fight Club.  Is your character a good fighter?  What kind of skills do they have?

She is! Her fighting style is a mix between huntress and harly quinn! She’s not super strong but she’s fast and scrappy. She’s skilled with rapiers and crossbows.

15. The Arts.  Is your character a creative type?  What kinds of things can they create?  Can they act?  Street perform?

BBE (big bard energy). She’s always performing. 

16. Goofy.  Is your character a clown?  Do they like to make people laugh?

She can be funny! She’s got a sharp but cheap wit.

17. Language.  Is your character multilingual?  How many languages do they speak?  Do they have an accent?  Is it sexy?  Is it silly?  Do they have a multilingual lisp?

She has a Scottish accent. She speaks common, Òran*,  elvish, & orcish 

Common is a given, she is, however, bearly literate in common. Her mother’s culture doesn’t have a written language and it’s not their mother tongue so they really only learn enough written common for trade and dealings with other people.

Òran*: it’s just Gaelic but for the human culture I made up for her mother’s side of the family in d&d. I will link the whole post about that here. It’s an oral-only language and Fable’s first language.

Elvish: She’s a half-elf and spent a lot of time with the elves when she was younger. As much as she hates being connected to the elves, it’s her strongest written language. She’s the knows wood-elf dialect best..

Orcish:  Her long time on again off again ex-partner was a half-orc. 

18. Embarrassment.  What is something really embarrassing that your character has done/said?

Indecent exposure.

19. Memory.  Has your character gotten any of their memory back?  If so, what?  Did it change them?

She has. It’s hard because she got a lot of good memories back but also a lot of trauma. I think she had started to lean into some of her bad habits at first but tries to work through them. She definitely went home to her mom with Julian. Their relationship is very important to her and she would want to see her as soon as she could! 

20. Family.  Talk about your character’s family.  Who were they

I’m just going to link this here lmao.

[femmedplume]

Bastille @ the Wiltern (aka How Dan Smith Kissed Me)

Okay friends, strap in, this is gonna be a ride -- partially because I’s super excited, and partially because this is my ONE CHANCE to get revenge for the millions of SPN Con breakdowns I’ve had to read over the years, lol. ((BUT, because I am a nice nice Stitch, I shall put a read more break and you can scroll to the bottom if all you want to read is the kiss part lol.))

To start off, dis me and mah buddy Mikey ( @gnaist​) 

We have known each other since fucking JUNIOR HIGH, and (as I told him last night,) there are v v few people I enjoy enough to tolerate them for over twenty years, let alone still actively want to see them. Dis guy? He dat guy. :) And he also puts up with me with minimal complaining. 

Mikey and I share a birthday week, and we usually do something together (just us) during September to celebrate. This year, he was sweet enough to agree that our Birthday Shenanigans™ should take place at the ONE gig Bastille’s playing in LA -- not because he's a fan, but because I am. #FriendshipGoals

So first, I got all dolled up, with fancy pink and purple hair and Bastille-themed nails:

(That’s 00:15 for their song Quarter Past Midnight, a ∆ , and a letter for each member of the band: Charlie (guitar), Woody (drums), Will (bass), Kyle (keyboards), and Dan (lead singer))

Then, I drove to Mikey’s and gave him his half of our newest tradition: Birthday Socks!! One for me and one for him. 

We had dinner at this awesome patisserie close to Mikey’s awesome new place (shoutout to him for Adulting and buying his first condo!) We also got cake because Birthday Shenanigans™.

The food was super tasty, and the cakes were CHOCOLATE AF (don’t talk to me about my allergies, okay? Is mah BIRTHDAY)

We were running late, so we actually ate in the Lyft (the driver was nice enough to let us, and we were careful not to spill.) We got to the Wiltern at 7pm, JUST as they started letting people in.

Once we got in, we got overpriced (but very tasty) drinkies (Birthday Shenanigans™)

And then Mikey informed me that if we were going to a concert, we were getting merch. (Mikey is v v wise and a literal doctor, so I 100% believe anything he tells me.) We got shirts!

He got a cute Quarter Past Midnight shirt (that was also unusually soft and high quality,) and I got the tie-dye one that’s based off Dan Smith’s actual shirt. I’mma cut up the collar like I do with all my shirts because I hate t-shirt collars.

Then we went inside the actual theatre, which is an Art Deco beauty. They’d taken out all the seats, but the orchestra section has many shallow levels/risers, and people could basically choose which section they wanted to stand in. There was a bar INSIDE the theatre. The lighting was too low for good pics, but you can sorta see in this:

The very front pit and center section were filled with people who hadn’t sauntered in four hours late with chocolate mousse cake -- but there was space off to the right where we could stand and only two people were in front of us. YAY!

Then we waited. And waited. AND WAITED LIKE WTF PEOPLE?? I figure the Wiltern wants to give people time to buy drinks and stuff, but two HOURS???

Finally, about 9pm, the support act came on: a female singer named Fletcher? Anyone heard of her? Anyway, she was really good, had a gorgeous voice -- although we couldn’t understand what she was singing, but that was more because of the mic set up. 

(Das her. V petite and blonde and has a looooot of songs about breakups, lol.)

Once Fletcher finished her set, there was another break while the road crew set up Bastille’s equipment. It was sort of fun to watch, because they’re all English blokes so they’re chatting away in cute accents while they’re doing the setup.

And then, FINALLY, Bastille came on stage. 

And it. 

Was.

WORTH IT.

They went hard from the moment they stepped on stage, and kept the energy up the entire time. 

I cannot fully express to you how electric they are live -- but let’s just say that all the good pictures are Mikey’s because  a) he is the bestest of friends and played cameraman for the evening -- but also b) I was too busy jumping around with Dan to get any actual images of Dan jumping around

He even raced up to the balcony during Flaws, WHILE SINGING and dancing. (I was a bit disappointed he didn’t come by where we were standing, but I was also happy for the balcony peoples because you don’t normally get to interact much in the balcony. Also: ART DECO!!!)

Dan Smith’s voice was PEAK HONEY, and he did all the songs I hoped he would: The Draw, Blame, Quarter Past Midnight...hell, I’ll just show you the set-list, which I got to see after the show:

(The girl holding it was the one who got to keep it -- she was super sweet and a HUGE fan who’d been to tons of concerts but had never gotten a hold of a set-list, so we were all happy she finally got one! :D) 

SIDENOTE: 

During the show, there was this moment in the song Bad Blood where Dan came over to the side of the stage where we were standing. Now, the camera lens makes it seem like we were farther away than we were, like this:

When in reality we could see more like this:

So the band could see our faces, too. So during Bad Blood, Dan’s singing, and I’m singing along with him (like a goober) and I raised my hand like you do when you’re feeling a song...

and he RAISED HIS HAND BACK AND SANG TO ME!

For like, two seconds, but still. It was a MOMENT.

After that, I was floating on Cloud 9 -- so when the concert ended, I was ready to call it a perfect night. But when we went out (the back exit, as it was closer,) Mikey mentioned that because the line had stretched around the far corner of the Wiltern, we’d never gotten a chance to get a pic of the actual marquis. 

So we paused, and I looked back at the theater alley and thought -- huh, I wonder if they might...come out afterwards? Mebbe sign a few things? I has this nice shirt I spent too much money on...mebbe they sign my nice shirt, eh?

So Mikey went to get his pic of the marquis, which came out FABULOUSLY:

And then we settled in to wait at the end of the alley where we thought they might come out. Turns out, we were at the wrong end. So after like, 30 mins of waiting on one end, we (there were like, 20 of us) meandered over to the OTHER end of the alley, where the band’s cars were waiting and the crew was loading out the equipment. 

BTW, the Bastille crew? Super sweet, English and American, and those boys fucking HUSTLED. They were rolling 300-400lb equipment into this semi, basically doing the world’s largest game of Tetris, trying to fit everything in. We was all v v impressed. 

They also brought us water?? Because we’d been waiting for an hour and a half at this point and they felt bad, like...?? AND THEN, they gave us the balloons from the set!!

And all the fans were really nice, and started taking the bunches of balloons apart so that everyone who wanted a balloon could have one (I got a green one, mah favorite color!)

So we’re waiting. And waiting. And WAITING GODDAMN DON’T THEY HAVE CLOCKS IN ENGLAND??

The crew finishes loading, the semi backs out, still we wait. Their manager finally comes out and says that yes they’re coming out, but probably only going to take a couple of group shots with all of us/not sign anything or chat. Why? Because the boys are exhausted. He tells us they’ve flown from England to Sacramento to Vegas to LA in 3 days and played 4 shows, soo... understandable situation. 

EXCEPT for this one fan, who started whining at the manager. “I didn’t wait ALL THIS TIME for some fucking group shot, I want a SELFIE!” “I need Dan to take a pic of me with my SIGN!!” (She kept harping about her sign... is no even a good sign?) 

Then, when it looked for a second like maybe the boys weren’t coming out at all, she snaps “You PROMISED they were coming!!” >:( The tone of this person’s voice, man -- you know the one? Like she’s Sharon at the Walmart and they were out of stock of Pantene Pro-V or some shit and they OWED HER some gotdamn PANTENE and where is the manager?? Ugh.

Anywho, the boys come out. (Except Will. He might have already fallen asleep, IDK lol.) But there was a Dan and a Kyle and a Woody, and they all not ONLY took some group shots, but DID give hugs and stuffs. 

(Dan giving hugs. Woody, who was totally smiley and friendly and not a miserable git like this pic makes him look...right after this moment he ran over and gave the girl next to me a hug. Kyle was off to my right, giving many hugs and taking many pictures.)

(Dan in a taco hat a fan had given him. Woody heading back after giving many hugs.)

(Dan apologizing profusely because someone gave him a shirt for a present and he hadn’t realized that there was an image of a nekkid lady in the art collage on the front, and we were all ladies and he didn’t want us to feel uncomfortable or think he was a misogynist so he covered it up oh god he’s such a cinnamon roll I cannot!)

And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for: THE KISS.

So, during the interminable waiting, (literally, TWO HOURS PLUS, you guys!) several of us started chatting -- during the chat, it came up that I has made a Bastille art. I showed the ladies this pic:

because we were all talking about Dan shaving his head and I was trying to convince them it was actually kinda hot, lol. 

They really liked the art!! :D So much so that they convinced me (after many prods and encouragements) to show the art to Dan. And I was gonna do it, honest! I was super brave and not at all terrified.

But then came the whole they’re too tired thing and I was like, eh, mebbe no? 

And THEN, Superbitch Fan was standing right next to me DEMANDING that Dan take a selfie with her and her sign. (Which he did, like a sweetheart.) Then when he went to turn to me, Superbitch decided she didn’t like the first pic, and PUSHED IN FRONT OF ME AND PAST THE SECURITY BARRIER to demand he take another one.

Which he did, like a sweetheart -- but then turned past me, probably so she couldn’t grab him again. So I figured, lost cause, right?

Wrong. As he turned back, I was holding the phone out, but not quite up, kind of undecided -- and it caught his eye. 

Daniel Campbell Smith GASPED, CLUTCHED HIS HEART

and said “Wow.” Looked at the pic, then back to me, said, “Did you...”

And I held it up and said “Um, yes, I made you...an art?” (Because you know, what are words and why would I, a writer, know how to use them?)

And he just gaped, like HE had no words -- and then leaned in and KISSED ME ON THE CHEEK.

And not a peck, either?? Like a firm, full on “you are amazing and so is your art thing thank you so much” kiss for several seconds??

AND MIKEY GOT THE PIC!

TL;DR:

It may be blurry, but there it is! Immortalized for all time, the moment Daniel Cinnamon Roll Smith liked my artwork SO MUCH he had to kiss me to say thank you. 

And then, dear friends, I died. 

I have, in fact, been writing this diary from my condo on the edge of the Lake of Fire in Hades. Because I’m dead. 

BEST. NIGHT. EVER!!**

((Bonus: Mikey is now a Bastille fan! He really liked the concert, and is going to make his own playlist based on the concert’s set list. I’m so freaking happy we got to share that!! :DDDD)) 

((Super-bonus: Look in the right-hand corner of the kiss pic. See that woman looking like she’s having her night ruined? THAT was Superbitch. HA!))

**All credit to @gnaist for taking pictures of the entire night, even when I didn’t know he was shooting lol. 

[cowardlycowboys]

All the color asks, please? 💕

red - what are you most passionate about? how did this passion develop? I'm passionate about t*** c**** and it honestly happened on accident. I am also passionate about the arts because my dad is/was a musician and I just have a love for theater

orange - how many pieces of fruit do you aim to eat per day? what do you actually manage? I wish i could eat fruit everyday but alas i have no money and we have money for anything that can't be made into something that lasts a few days or a week :( i miss fruit

yellow - what’s your happy place? real or fictional? it WAS the elementry school hill but they closed that off, it caught on fire, it's just dead grass now, so I have no where to go now. fictional tho! boy howdy i have self interest ocs that i just act out those scenarios

green - do you prefer to be indoors or outdoors? which is your favourite flower to smell? both! and I love all flowers but i do own a lot of rose scented items

blue - which is your favourite mode of long distance transport? have you ever been on a plane? - if so, where? i haven't really been anywhere (besides California and I guess Reno) so i guess I have to say car?? And I have been on a plane as I rode it to the worst place in the world (I have issues with my mom's family) the day before my birthday. Plane? fun! Being in Colorado with just my brother and my mom's brother and wife? Disgusting.

indigo - what’re your top three favourite names? would you consider having children in the future? My first born will be named Dallas after my fav book character (cause I'm that bitch), Carina, and Harlie Rae after my precious girls at work (I have other boy names too but these are my tops)

violet - what’s your favourite cake flavour? are you any good at baking? I like chocolate with raspberry or cherry filling. I'm okay at it!

purple - do you support the royalty? who is your favourite historical figure & why. I don't think I do but I'm american I don't know much about em. Love the look tho. And i don't really have a historical figure :/

pink - which is your favourite animal? zoos or farms? I love all animals!!! But i have a cat (princess) and James has a dog (beckett)! I've only been to zoos but I think I like both i dunno!

turquoise - do you like being in the sea? which is your favourite sea side town to visit? I do! the ocean is like home. I loved Dana Point(?) since my cousin got married by there but also I love fisherman's wharf(?)

mint - do you like astrology? do you consider pluto a ‘real’ planet? I love it! but i just think it's fun! I am not as "invested" as my other friends. I do think Pluto is a planet i think Pluto is pretty nifty

crimson - have you ever broken bones? do you enjoy going to the dentist? I haven't surprisingly! and the dentist is okay I like the free toothbrush

amber - can you drive? if not, how do you get around? I don't drive I'm anxious. my dad drives us around to work and school.

lime - do you like monkeys? do you believe in evolution? I think they are cute! I do, I think there is enough evidence to think it's true but then again things can change, evidence can be disproved, only time can tell.

tangerine - how tall are you? do you ever wish you were any taller/shorter? I'm 5'2 and i do wish i was taller by a few inches!

azure - which gender & sexuality label do you most identify with? I'm non-binary (she/her and they/them please and thank you!) and I'm 95% sure I'm bisexual! so lets say I'm bi!

beige - which is your favourite type of soda? do you enjoy alcohol? I like coke™ and I think it's okay it's hard to obtain since I'm underage and we have state liquor stores only sooo

coral - which is your favourite disney movie? who makes the better movies, disney or pixar? the little mermaid and treasure planet plus like all the others. I think there isn't competition both are good both are great the end

sapphire - do you wear any jewellery? what do you think looks best on other people? I wear the gold dolphin necklace my mama gave me when i turned 13 and i occasionally swap it out for another necklace but not usually. I think people can wear what makes them happy! but I'm a fan of the elegant look

gold - what do you consider to be your biggest achievement? when was the last time you won something? I haven't achieved anything. Although i did get an award for most outstanding female vocalist in choir so I guess that. And I've never won anything in my life so nothing.

[the-firebird69]

We use this for a trail bike and we put a smaller motor in and we used as an Enduro with this motor and we use the color too and the trail bike is awesome people love it and it's lighter because the motor and tranny is smaller.

Now we have sales that are up in the millions of nonillions of noniliens, and that's globally and that's per area so we need a lot of people really fast and we have purchased all of the bikes and we're taking over dealerships so we need dealers and we need people to ship them and we need people to house them in warehouses and we need people to handle them all of them the 2021-2022 fully assembled new ones we bought

With the old Harley label and we need Factory workers and factories built for the new one and the building is fast as we can and we're using every method we can think of and he says there must be a ton of people in construction new buildup tilt up is very fast and the way we do it would be like one day I agreed with him so I'm going to go in and put tons of slabs in and make these Harley-Davidson Factory complexes because we need different Harleys and we're going to make everything there and we're going to make them it's a little towns as well huge apartment complexes next door so I'm trying it up now I'm trying to figure out where to put it we'd have to hire both I'll send it this idea of hiring back the people that were the one with Texas and he says don't get mad at me if the metal is a little better they smile and said wow that's huge what a difference and more power it's ridiculous here have a okay.... She might be getting permits in green lights and Max is mad no I said back they're going to hire the people who are making them now you're sort of smiles and says well lots of her here I'll let you get your s*** together and ask her stuff to find people who would work there and then send you a list and see if he wants to build one these files that says she's kind of full of crap but this is fun

We're going to go ahead and do that that's the way to do it so if you want to work in the factory please put years of experience in what Factory and send it in we're putting it out there and QE found it she's sending it in

Thor Freya

Give me a call for one in Texas and we're checking it out and seems legitimate to close a few factories down there they want to know why it says I don't know if they're assholes it's harly they close the doors they're open the doors he says it happens in life kid retooling redesigning. We're laughing now cuz we sort of figured out what it could be

Max let's go ahead with it and start building them is approving them all

Thor Freya again

Wow this is exciting they're going ahead with our ideas terrific

Hera Zues

It would be number one shortly maybe but they did quality work everything was torqued right tried to learn correct was thrown out it's nothing like a Chinese bike tons of Harleys are already built or for sale they're going to the regular dealers and they're not locked down or anything just a whole bunch of them there and people see them they're overstocked it means it's time to buy cuz it could be set it down or something so we're going to keep that overstock and dealers are worried if there won't be Harley so we show them pictures of new factories and new bikes actually several models are new the choppers the Enduro the trail bike the kids bikes Fairfax sending kids bikes to Holly's will prove it this does a little 1903 in the decal also the spaz it out how the hell are we going to handle this these people want all these bikes now cuz these kids bikes it's making a lot of faces so we get something he said it before but that electric bike in and all sudden tons of bikes started selling. You do all my bike I don't have to take a small Enduro which is probably half because no and they do we see it we'll have to find a way. Ring the bell get a bike have Joe do it when they're not watching.

Seriously folks this is his idea you're sending the choppers and the kids toy even and the kids dirt bike and you will sell all of those bikes so sending those in and they're asking for the other models some places were sending their models so he does the Tommy favino if you know thumbs up cuz it mixes them in. But the factories in America and they know people who work there is clubs and their groups and they're in games and they know each other they don't care if we say we own it we're not even in corporate wondering how it's run

The cork is out and you can't explain to you that it's not him and what he was told

Thor Freya again

[vs-redemption]

Hi! Once you get this you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly, then send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable) SPREAD POSITIVITY 💌😘 -Harlie

🥺🥺🥺 thanks Harlie 💖💖💖

Omg I did one of these recently so I have to think of 5 new things?

1. My sense of humor

2. My freckles?

3. The color of my hair

4. My self discipline

5. My name!

[uss-edsall]

If anyone wants my favourite ‘Christmas’ story, here’s a reading of Frederick Forsyth’s The Shepherd, about an RAF Vampire pilot flying home for Christmas in 1957, suffering a total electrical failure, and being guided in by a Mosquito of WWII vintage... One that isn’t all that it appears, as he tries to figure out who it was to thank him. 

Transcript:

While waiting for control tower to clear me for takeoff, I glanced out through the cockpit canopy at the German countryside, white and crisp beneath the December moon. Behind me lay the boundary fence of the Royal Air Force Base. Far away to my right, the airfield tower stood up like a glowing candle. Inside the tower I knew all was warmth and merriment. The staff waiting only for my departure to close down and head back to the parties in the mess. Within minutes of my going, the lights would die out, leaving only the flickering red station light beating out in Morse code the name of the station: C.E.L.L.E to an unheeding sky. For tonight there would be no wandering aviators to look down and check their bearings. Tonight was Christmas Eve in 1957, and I was a pilot trying to get home for Christmas.

My watch read 10:15 by the dim, blue glow of the control panel where the rows of dials quivered and danced. It was warm and snug inside the cockpit. The heating turned up full to prevent the Perspex icing up. It was like a cocoon, small, and warm and safe, shielding me from the bitter cold outside. From the freezing night that can kill a man inside a minute of use exposed to it at 600 miles per hour.

“Charlie Delta, clear takeoff”. The controller's voice sounding in my headphones woke me. I eased the throttle forward slowly with the left hand, holding the vampire steady down the central line with the right hand. Behind me, the low whine of the goblin engine rose into a scream. The snub-nosed fighter rolled, the lights each side of the runway past till they were flashing and a continuous blur.

As the end of the runway whizzed beneath my feet, I pulled the vampire into a gently climbing turn. Down on my right thigh was strapped the map with my course charted on it in blue ink. But I did not need it. I knew the details by heart. Turn overhead CELLE airfield onto course 265 degrees. Continue climbing to 27,000 feet. On reaching height, maintain course and keep speed at 485 knots. Check in with channel D, the RAF’s North German air control frequency, to let them know you're in their airspace. Then a straight run over the Dutch coast and the North Sea. After 44 minutes flying time, change to channel F, and call Lakenheath control to give you a steer. 14 minutes later, you will be overhead Lakenheath. After that, follow instructions and they'll bring you down on a radio-controlled descent.

66 Minutes flying time with the descent and landing and the vampire had enough fuel for over 80 minutes in the air. From Lakenheath, I knew I could get a lift down to London after midnight. By breakfast time, I’d be in my parents’ home in Kent, celebrating with my own family. The altimeter read 27,000 feet. I eased the nose forward, reduced the throttle setting to give me an air speed of 485 knots, and held her steady on 265 degrees. Somewhere beneath me the Dutch border would be slipping away, and I had been airborne for 21 minutes all well.

The problem started ten minutes out over the North Sea. And it started so quietly that it was several minutes before I realized I had one at all. The first warning I had was when I flicked a glance downward to check my course on the compass, Instead of being rock steady on 265 degrees, the needle was drifting lazily round the clock. I swore a most unseasonal sentiment against the compass and the instrument fitter who should have checked it. Still, it was not too serious. There was a stand by compass; the alcohol kind. When I glanced at it, the needle was swinging wildly too. Apparently, something had jarred the case, which isn't uncommon. In any event, I could call up Lakenheath and a few minutes and they'd give me a G.C.A — a ground-control approach — the second-by-second instructions a well-equipped airfield can give a pilot to bring him home in the worst of weathers.

I glanced at my watch; 34 minutes airborne. Before trying Lakenheath, the correct procedure would be to inform channel D, to which I was tuned, of my little problem so they could advise Lakenheath that I was on my way without a compass. I pressed the transmit button, but instead of the lively crackle of static and the sharp sound of my own voice coming back into my own ears. There was a muffled murmur inside my oxygen mask: my own voice speaking, and going nowhere.

The radio was dead. Fighting down the rising sense of panic, I swallowed and slowly counted to ten. Then I switched the channel F, and tried to raise Lakenheath. But the steady whistle of my own jet engine behind me was my only answer. While I was vainly testing my radio channels, my eyes scanned the instrument panel in front of me. The instruments told their own message. It was no coincidence the compass and the radio had failed together. Both worked off the aircraft's electrical circuits. Somewhere beneath my feet, amid the miles of brightly colored wiring that make up the circuits, there had been a main fuel blowout. The first thing to do in such a case I remembered old Flight Sergeant Norris telling us is to reduce throttle setting to give maximum flight endurance.

We don't want to waste valuable fuel don't we, gentlemen? We might need it later. So we reduce the power settings from 10,000 revolutions per minute to 7,200. That way we will fly a little slower, but we will stay in the air rather longer won't we, gentlemen?

I ease the throttle back and watch the rev counter. It operates on its own generator and so I hadn't lost that at least. I waited until the goblin was turning over at about 7,200 RPM and felt the aircraft slow down. The main instruments in front of a pilot's eye as six including the compass, the five others are the airspeed indicator, the altimeter, the vertical speed indicator, the bank indicator, which tells him if he's turning to left or right, and the slip indicator, which tells him if he's skidding crab wise across the sky. Two of these are electrically operated, and they had gone the same way as my compass. That left me with a three pressure operated instruments: airspeed indicator, altimeter, and vertical speed indicator. I knew how fast I was going, how high I was, and if I were either diving or climbing.

It is perfectly possible to land that aircraft with only these three instruments, judging the rest by those old navigational aids the human eyes. Possible that is in conditions of brilliant weather by daylight and with no cloud in the sky. By night, it is not possible. The only things that show up at night, even on a bright moonlight night, are the lights. These have patterns when seen from the sky. I knew Norwich very well, and if I could identify the great curving bulge of the Norfolk coastline, I could find Norwich, the only major sprawl of lights set 20 miles inland from the coast. Five miles north of the city I knew was the fighter airfield of Mirriam St George, who’s red indicator beacon would be blipping out its Morse identification signal into the night.

I began to let the vampire down slowly toward the oncoming coast. As the fighters slipped toward Norfolk, the sense of loneliness gripped to me tighter and tighter. The night sky, it stratospheric temperature were fixed night and day like at an unchanging minus 56 became in my mind a timeless prison creaking with the cold. Below me lay the worst of them all: the heavy brutality of the North Sea, waiting to swallow me and my plane and bury us in a liquid, black crypt. at 15,000 feet and still diving, I began to realize that a fresh enemy had entered the field far away, to right and left, ahead, and no doubt behind me, the light of the moon reflected on a flat an endless sea of white. The East Anglian fog moved in. There was no question of trying to overfly the fog to westward. Without navigational aids or radio, I'd be lost over a strange, unfamiliar country. Also out of the question was to try to fly back to Holland, I had not the fuel. Relying only on my eyes to guide me, it was a question of landing at Merriam's St. George or dying amid the wreckage of the vampire somewhere in the fog fens. At 10,000 feet, I pulled out of my dive, increasing power slightly to keep airborne, using up more of my precious fuel. Still a creature of my training, I recalled again the instructions of Flight Sergeant Norris: when we are totally lost above unbroken cloud, gentlemen. We must consider the necessity of bailing out of our aircraft must we not? Of course, Sergeant. Unfortunately, the single seat Vampire is notoriously difficult to bail out of. What else, Sergeant? Our first move therefore is to turn our aircraft towards the open sea, away from all areas of intense human habitation. The procedures were well worked out. They did not mention that the chances of a pilot bobbing about on a winter's night in the North Sea were one and a hundred of living more than half an hour. One last procedure, gentlemen, to be used in extreme emergency. That's better, Sergeant Norris. That's what I'm in now.

All aircraft approaching Britain's coast are visible on the radar scanners of early warning system. If therefore we have lost our radio and cannot transmit our emergency, we try to attract the attention of our radar scanners by adopting an odd form of behaviour. We do this by moving out to sea, then flying in small triangles turning left, left, left again. Each leg of the triangle being of a duration of 2 minutes flying time. In this way, we hope to attract attention. When we have been spotted, the air traffic control is informed and he diverts another aircraft to find us. When discovered by the rescue aircraft, we format on him, and he brings us down to the cloud or fog to a safe landing.

Yes, it was the last attempt to save one's life. I recall the details better now. The rescue aircraft which would lead you back to a safe landing, flying wingtip to wingtip was called The Shepherd. I glanced at my watch; 51 minutes airborne. About 30 minutes left of fuel. I pulled the vampire into a left hand turn and began my first leg of the first triangle. Below me, the fog reached back as far as I could see. And ahead toward Norfolk, it was the same. Ten minutes went by; nearly two complete triangles. I had not prayed — not really prayed — for many years. And the habit came hard. Lord, please get me out of this bloody mess.

When I had been airborne for 72 minutes, I knew no one would come. I felt the rage of despair welling up. I began screaming into the dead microphone you bastards. Why don't you look at your radar screens? Why can't somebody see me? So damn drunk you can't do your job properly. The anger subsides. Five minutes later, I knew that I was going to die that night. Strangely, I wasn't even afraid anymore — just enormously sad. It's a bad thing to die at 20 years of age with your life unlived. And the worst thing is not the fact of dying, but the fact of all the things never done. I dropped the left wing of the vampire toward the moon to bring the aircraft onto the final leg of the last triangle. Down below the wing tip, against the sheen of the fog bank, a black shadow crossed the whiteness. It was another aircraft, low against the fog bank, keeping station with me through my turn a mile down with the sky toward the fog.

Being below me, I kept turning wing down to keep it in sight. The other aircraft also kept turning until the two of us had done one complete circle. Only then did I realize why he did not climb to my height and take up station on my wingtip. I eased the throttle back and began to slip down toward him. He kept turning, so did I. At 5,000 feet, I knew I was still going too fast for him. To reduce speed even more, I put out the air brakes, slowing down to 280 knots. Then he was with me, 100 feet off my wing tip. And we straightened out together, rocking as we tried to keep formation. The moon was to my right, and my own shadow masked his shape and form. Even so, I could make out the shimmer of two propellers whirling through the sky ahead of him. Of course, he could not fly at my speed.

I was in a jet fighter; he in a piston-engined aircraft of an earlier generation. He held station alongside me for a few seconds then banked gently to the left. I followed, keeping formation with him for he was, obviously, the shepherd sent up to bring me down. And he had the compass and the radio, not I. For the first time I could see him well. To my surprise, my shepherd was a de Havilland Mosquito, fighter-bomber of World War II vintage. And then I remembered that the meteorological squadron at Gloucester used mosquitoes to help in the preparation of weather forecasts. Inside the cockpit of the mosquito, I could make out against the light of the moon a muffled head of its pilot, and the twin circles of his goggles as he looked out the side window toward me. Carefully, he raised his right hand till I could see it in the window, fingers straight, palm downwards. He jabbed the fingers forward, and down, meaning we are going to descend, format on me. I nodded, and quickly brought up my own left hand so he could see it. Pointing forward to my own control panel with one forefinger, then holding up five splayed fingers. Finally. I drew my hand across my throat. By common agreement, this sign means I have only five minutes fuel left. Then my engine cuts out. I saw the muffled, goggled, oxygen masked head nod in understanding. Then we were heading downward toward the sheet of fog. He pulled out at three hundred feet. The fog was still below us. I could imagine the stream of GCA instructions coming from the radar hut into the earphones of the man flying beside me.

I kept my eyes on him, afraid of losing sight, watching for his every hand signal. Two minutes later, he held up his clenched left fist in the window. Then opened the fist to splay all five fingers against the glass. Please lower your undercarriage. I moved the lever downward and felt the dull thunk as all three wheels went down. In the moonlight, I caught sight of the nose of the mosquito. It had the letters “JK” painted on it, large and black. Probably for call sign “Jig King”. He leveled out just above the fog layers, so low the tendrils of candyfloss were lashing at our fuselages. And we went into a steady circular turn. I glanced at my fuel gauge, it was on zero, flickering feebly. For god’s sake! Hurry up I prayed. I saw his left hand flash that dive signal to me. Then he dipped toward the fog bank. I followed and we were in it. The visibility was down to near zero. No shape, no size, no form, no substance, except that off my left wing tip — now only 40 feet away — was the form of a mosquito flying with absolute certainty towards something I could not see. Only then did I realize he was flying without lights. For a second I was amazed, horrified by my discovery. Then I realized the wisdom of the man. Lights in fog are treacherous, hallucinatory, mesmeric, you can be attracted to them not knowing whether they are 40 or 100 feet away from you. The tendency is to move toward them; for two aircraft in the fog, flying formation that could easily spell disaster. Without warning, the shepherd pointed to a single forefinger at me. Then forward through the windscreen. it meant there you are, fly on, and land. I stared forward through the now streaming windshield, nothing, blackness. Then a streak of paint running underneath my feet; the centerline. Frantically, I closed down the power and held her steady, praying for the vampire to settle. Bang, we touched. Bang, bang, another touch. She was drifting again, inches above the wet, black runway. Bam, bam, bam didy bam, rumble, rumble. She was down, the main wheels had stuck and held.

Slowly the vampire came to a stop. I found both of my hands clenched around the control column, squeezing the brake lever inward. I forget now how many seconds I held them there before I would believe we were stopped. There was no need to turn off the engine. It had finally run out of fuel as the vampire careered down the runway. I shut off the remaining systems, and slowly began to unstrap myself from the seat. As I did so, to my left, through the fog, no more than 50 feet away, the mosquito roared past me. I caught the flash of the pilot's hand in the side window, and then he was gone up into the fog before he could see my answering wave of acknowledgment. But I had already decided to call up Gloucester and thank him personally. I expected the control tower truck to be alongside in seconds, for with an emergency landing — even on Christmas Eve — the fire truck, ambulance, and half a dozen other vehicles were always standing by. Eventually, two headlights came dropping out of the mist and stopped 20 feet away. A voice called hello there.

I stepped out of the cockpit, jumped from the wing to the tarmac, and ran toward the lights. At the wheel of the car was a puffed, bearded face and a handlebar mustache. 

Is that yours? He nodded toward the dim shape of the vampire. 

Yes, I said. Yes, I just landed it. 

Extraordinary! Quite extraordinary! You'd better jump in, I’ll run back. As we moved away from the vampire, I saw that I had stopped 20 feet short of a plowed field at the very end of the runway. You’re damn lucky he shouted. And he seemed to be having trouble with the foot controls. Judging by the smell of whiskey on his breath, that wasn't surprising. Damn lucky I agreed. I ran out of fuel just as I was landing. My radio and all the electrical systems failed nearly 50 minutes to go over the North Sea. He digested the information carefully. No radio? No radio I said; a dead box and all channels. Then how did you find this place? He said. I was guided in I explained patiently. They sent up a shepherd aircraft to bring me down. It was one of the weather aircraft from R.A.F. Gloster. Obviously, he had radio. So we came in here in formation on GCA. Then when I saw the lights of the threshold of the runway I landed myself. 

The man was obviously dense as well as drunk. Extraordinary he said. We don’t have a GCA. We don’t have any navigation equipment at all, not even a beacon. 

Now it's my turn to let the information sink in. This isn't the RAF Merriam St. George? 

No he said. This is RAF Minton. 

I've never heard of it. 

I'm not surprised; we’re not an operational station. Haven't been for years. Minton's a storage depot. He stopped the car and got out. I saw we were standing a few feet from the dim ship of a control tower adjoining a long row of huts, evidently once flight rooms, navigational, and briefing huts. the man returned and climbed shakily back behind the wheel. Just turning the runway lights off he said, and he belched. My mind was whirling. 

Why did you switch them on? I asked. Well, it was the sound of your engine he said. I was in the officers’ mess having a nog, and Old Joe suggested I listen out the window for a second. You sounded damn low, almost as if you're going to come down in a hurry. Thought I might be of some use. Remember they never disconnected the old runway lights when they dismantled the station. So I ran down the control tower and switched them on.

I see I said. But I didn't. Where is RAF Minton exactly? I asked him. 

Five miles in from the coast he said. 

And where's the nearest operational RAF station with all the radio aids, including GCA? He thought for a moment. Must be Merriam St George he said. Mind you I am just as stores Johnny. That was the explanation. My unknown friend in the weather plane had been leading me straight in from the coast of Merriam St. George. By chance, abandoned old storage depot Minton lay right along the in flight path of Merriam’s runway. And this old fool had switched on his lights as well. Result coming in on the last ten mile stretch, I had plucked to my vampire down into the wrong airfield. I was about to tell him not to interfere with modern procedures that he couldn't understand when I choked the words back my fuel had run out halfway down the runway. I'd never have made Merriam ten miles away. I'd have crashed in the field short of the touchdown.

We stopped at the officers’ mess and went in. The place had seen better days. My host the Flight Lieutenant Marx shrugged off a sheepskin coat and threw it over a chair. I'm sorry it's not very hospitable, old boy said Marx, going to the door and shouting for someone called Joe. Not to worry I said, though I could do with a bath and a meal. 

I think me can manage that he said, trying hard to play the genial host. I’ll get Joe to fix up a spare room. God knows we have enough of them. He’ll also rough up a meal. Bacon and eggs do? 

That'll do fine. While I'm waiting, do you mind if I use your phone. He ushered me into the mess secretary's office, and then went off to supervise the steward. My watch told me it was close to midnight. Hell of a way to spend Christmas I thought. Then I recalled how 30 minutes earlier, I had been crying to god for help, and I felt ashamed. After a few minutes the phone was ringing.

RAF Merriam St George. Duty controller air traffic control please I said. 

There was a pause. I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid there's no flying tonight sir. No one on duty in air traffic control. 

Then give me the station duty officer please. When I got through to him, I explained about the emergency and that his station had been alerted to receive a vampire fighter coming in on emergency landing without radio. 

He listened attentively. I don’t know about that. I don't think we've been operational since we closed down at 5:00 this afternoon, but I'm not on air traffic. I'll get the wing commander. An older voice came on the line. Where are you speaking from? 

RAF Minton, sir. I've just made an emergency landing here. I thought I was heading for your airfield on a ground-controlled approach. 

Well, make up your mind. Were you or weren’t you? You ought to know. I took a deep breath and started at the beginning. You see sir, I was intercepted by the weather plane from Gloucester, and he brought me. But in this fog it must have been on a GCA. No other way to get down. Yet, when I saw the lights of Minton, I landed assuming it to be Merriam St. George. I’m ringing to alert you to stand on your radar and air traffic control crews, sir. They must be waiting for a vampire that's never going to arrive. It's already arrived here at Minton. 

But we shut all the systems down at 5 o'clock. There has been no call for us to turn up. 

But Merriam St. George has a GCA. 

I know we have, but it's been shut down since 5 o'clock.

I asked the next and last question slowly and carefully. Do you know sir, where is the nearest RAF station that maintains 24 hour emergency listening? 

Yes, to the west. To the south. Good night to you. Happy Christmas. I put the phone down. On the fuel I was carrying, not only could I not have made Merriam St. George. It wasn't even open. It began to dawn on me that I didn't really owe my life to the weather pilot from Gloucester, but the bearded, bumbling old, passed over, Flight Lieutenant Marx, who couldn't tell one end of an aircraft from another. Still, the mosquito must be back at Gloucester by now. And he ought to know that despite everything, I was alive.

Gloucester! Said the operator. At this time of night! 

Yes, I replied firmly. Gloucester, even at this time of night. 

The duty meteorologist took the call and I explained the position to him. I am afraid there must be some mistake flying officer he said. It could not have been one of our mosquitoes went out of service three months ago. We now use Canberras. I stared at the telephone in disbelief. Then an idea came to me. 

What happened to them? 

They were scrapped I think or sent off to a museum is more likely. 

Could one of them been sold privately? I asked. 

I suppose it's possible. 

Thank you. Thank you very much, and happy Christmas. I put the phone down and shook my head in bewilderment. What an incredible night. First, I lose my radio and all my instruments. Then I get lost and short of fuel. Then I'm taken in by some moonlighting hair-brain with a passion for veteran aircraft, flying his own mosquito through the night, who happens to spot me, comes within an inch of killing me, and finally a half drunk ground duty officer has the sense to put his runaway lights on in time to save me.

Luck doesn't come in much bigger slices. Flight Lieutenant Marx put his head through the doorway. You're room is ready he said. Number 17 just down the corridor. Joe’s making up a fire, and bath water is heating. If you don't mind I think I'll turn in. Be all right on your own? 

Yes, sure I'll be fine. Many thanks for all your help. I took my helmet and wandered down the corridor. From the doorway of 17 a bar of light shone into the passage. As I entered the room an, elderly man began to rise from his knees in front of the fireplace.

Good evening sir, he said. I'm Joe, sir, the mess steward. Yes Joe, Mr. Marx told me about you. Sorry to cause you so much trouble at this hour of the night. I just dropped in as you might say. 

Yes, Mr. Marx told me. I'll have your room ready directly, soon as this fire burns up it’ll get quite cozy. I ate the plate of sizzling bacon and eggs. The old steward stayed to talk. You been here long, Joe? I asked him. More out of politeness than genuine curiosity. Oh yes sir, nigh on twenty years now. Since just before the war, when the station opened.

He told me of the days where the rooms were crammed with eager young pilots. The dining room noisy, the bar roaring with songs of months and years when the sky above the airfields snarled to the sound of piston engines driving planes the war and bringing them back again. I rose from the table, fished a cigarette from the pocket of my flying suit, lit it, and sauntered around the room. The steward began to tidy up the plates. I halted before an old photograph in a frame standing on a mantel above the crackling fire. I stopped with my cigarette half raised my lips, feeling the room go suddenly cold. 

The photo was old but it was still clear enough. It showed a young man in his early 20s, dressed in flying gear, but not the gray suits and plastic crash helmets of today. He wore thick sheepskin-lined boots, rough Serge trousers and a heavy sheepskin zip up jacket. From his left hand dangled one of the soft leather flying helmets they used to wear with goggles attached instead of the modern pilots’ tinted visor. He stood with legs apart, right hand on hip, a defiant stance. But he was not smiling. It was something sad about his eyes. Behind him stood his aircraft, there was no mistaking the lean, sleek silhouette of the mosquito fighter-bomber. 

I was about to say something to Joe and I felt the gust of cold air in my back. One of the windows had blown open. It took me two strides to cross to where the window swung on its steel frame. To get a better hold I stepped inside the curtain and stared out. Somewhere far away in the fog I thought I heard the snarl of engines. But it was probably just a motorcycle of some farm boy. I closed the window, made sure it was secure, and turned back into the room. 

Who's the pilot, Joe? I nodded toward the lonely photograph on the mantel. 

That's a photo of Mr. John Kavanagh, sir. He was here during the war, sir. An Irish gentleman. Very fine man if I may say so. As a matter of fact, sir, this was his room. 

What squadron was that, Joe? I was still peering at the aircraft in the background. 

Pathfinder's, sir. mosquito's the flew. Very fine pilots all of them, sir. But I believe Mr. Johnny was the best of them all. But then I’m biased, sir. I was his batman you see. 

There was no doubting it. The faint letters on the nose of the mosquito behind the figure in the photo read “JK’. Not “Jig King”, but “Johnny Kavanagh”. The whole thing was clear as day.

Kavanagh had been a fine pilot flying with one of the crack squadrons during the war. After the war, he'd made a pile of money, bought an old mosquito in one of the periodic auctions of obsolescent aircraft, refitted it, and flew it privately whenever he wished. Not a bad way to spend your spare time if you had the money. So he'd been flying back from some trip to Europe, but spotted me turning in triangles above the cloud bank, realized I was stuck, and taken me in tow. Pinpointing his position precisely by crossed radio beacons. Knowing this stretch of the coast by heart, he'd taken a chance on finding his old airfield at Minton, even in the thick fog. It was a hell of a risk. But then I had no fuel left. So it was that or bust. I had no doubt I could trace the man, probably through the Royal Aero Club. 

He was certainly a good pilot I said reflectively, thinking of this evening's performance. 

Oh, the best, sir said Old Joe. They reckon he had eyes like a cat did Mr. Johnny. I recall many's a time the squadron returned. He’d have his mosquito re-fuled and take off again alone, going back over the channel or the North Sea to see if he could find some crippled bomber making for the coast and guide it home. 

I've seen pictures of them I said. And he used to guide them back? I could imagine them in my mind's eye, gaping holes in the body, the wings and the tail creaking and swaying as the pilot sought to hold them steady for home, a wounded or dying crew, and the radio shot to bits.

I turned from the photograph and stubbed my cigarette butt into the ashtray by the bed. 

Quite a man I said, and I meant it. 

Even today, middle-aged, he was a superb flyer. 

Oh yes, sir, quite a man Mr. Johnny. I nodded gravely. 

The old man so obviously worshiped his wartime officer. Well, I said. By the look of it, he's still doing it. 

Now Joe smiled oh, I hardly think so, sir. 

My Johnny went out on his last patrol Christmas Eve 1943, just over 14 years ago tonight. He never come back, sir. 

Went down with his plane somewhere in the North Sea he did. 

Good night, sir. 

Happy Christmas.

[jenniferfaye34]

#Giveaway + Excerpt ~ Christmas In Bayberry by Jennifer Faye... #books @HallmarkPublishing #Hallmarkies #ChristmasInJuly #readers #amreading #Booklovers #CBPrism

On Tour with Prism Book Tours

Note from the Author

Thank you for joining me for the Christmas in Bayberry blog tour! 

I know it’s hot here in the northern hemisphere and not exactly Christmastime but… maybe that’s the best time to visit a small town in snowy Vermont. So grab a nice cold drink and curl up to take an armchair vacation in a warm, cozy town. 

Bayberry, Vermont is one of those places where everyone knows your name and everyone helps each other out. And the heroine, Kate Taylor, can’t imagine living anywhere else. However, trouble looms for the biggest employer in the town and Kate’s family legacy, the Bayberry Candle Company. 

Enter Wesley Adams, who is a business advisor. He’s sent to Bayberry to analyze the future of the candle company. And he’s anxious to finish his task as quickly as possible as he is in line for a big promotion back in New York City. But this isn’t his first visit to Bayberry and he fondly remembers Kate. But that had been back when they were kids. Everything has changed since then. Hasn’t it? 

Join Kate and Wes as they partake in holiday traditions and take a stroll down memory lane. But will it be enough to overcome the problems in the present? 

Happy reading, 

— Jennifer 

Christmas in Bayberry:

A Small-Town Christmas Romance from Hallmark Publishing

By Jennifer Faye

Contemporary Romance

Paperback & ebook, 238 Pages

July 7th 2020 by Hallmark Publishing

She’s trying to save the family candle company. He’s trying not to fall for Bayberry—and her—again. Kate Taylor knows what she wants in life: to one day run her family’s candle business, which is at the heart of the close-knit community of Bayberry, Vermont. But the company isn’t doing well. Wesley Adams is on the fast track to be an assistant vice president at his financial firm in Manhattan. Before the promotion is announced, he’s sent to this small town from his past to do an analysis of the candle company. He doesn’t expect to bump into his childhood crush, Kate, and when he does, sparks fly. As he spends time in Bayberry, he falls for the town’s Christmas traditions—and for her. But he has a responsibility to submit an honest report. Will it extinguish Kate’s dreams…along with any chance they have for a future together? This heart-warming romance contains a free Hallmark original recipe for Cast Iron Beef Stew.

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EXCERPT: Wes cleared his throat. “So you came to Bayberry the same year I did.” “Really?” She looked at him as though trying to picture him as a kid. He nodded. “I remember you. Ninth grade, right?” She stared at him. Her fine brows drew together as she pursed her lips. “You look familiar, but I can’t place you. I’m sorry. I wish I could.” “It’s no big deal.” So then why did it feel important to him? “We were just kids.” She gave him a funny look. “I can’t believe I would forget you.” “I didn’t forget you.” Now why had he gone and said that? Color filled her cheeks. “I don’t even want to know what you thought of me back then. I was shy and scared of life without my parents.” “I thought you were wonderful.” He smiled shyly. “In fact, to be totally honest, I had a crush on you.” Her mouth gaped. “You did?” The room grew uncomfortably warm. Why did he keep admitting these things to her? She didn’t even remember him, and yet he remembered everything about her, including the small, unsteady smile she’d given him when they bumped into each other, quite literally, after math class. Her pen had fallen to the floor and he’d picked it up for her. It had happened right before his father uprooted them once again and moved them to Atlanta. His gaze met and held hers. His heart was pounding. “I did.” “I feel really bad I can’t remember you. There was just so much going on back then.” “I understand.” He really did, now that he knew her past. “It’s no big deal.” The next thing he knew, she was reaching out to him. He froze, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to do anything to scare her off. It took all his self-restraint not to pull her into his arms. But then she was there, next to him. Her arms reaching out and wrapping around him. That contact knocked down his wall of restraint. He couldn’t resist her any more than he could resist drawing in his next breath. He opened his arms to her, drawing her close. She fit into them as if she was always meant to be there. His heart pounded against his ribs. He inhaled the delicate lavender scent of her perfume. He’d never smelled anything quite so enticing. He could stay like this forever— She pulled back. The hug was much too brief, but it was a hug all the same. He swallowed hard, hoping his voice sounded normal. “What was that for?” “Just because.” And then she turned back to unpacking her Christmas ornaments as though nothing had happened. Tour Schedule

July 13th:

Launch

Rockin' Book Reviews

Pause for Tales

Books with Bethany

Remembrancy

July 14th:

Angel's Guilty Pleasures

Splashes of Joy

I'm Into Books

Jorie Loves A Story

July 15th:

Cover Lover Book Review

Peaceful Pastime

Reviewingbooksplusmore

E-Romance News

Reading Is My SuperPower

July 16th:

Reading Excursions

Ponderings from the Inglenook

Harlie's Books

Katherinelovesbooks

July 17th:

Musings of a Sassy Bookish Mama

Hallie Reads

Locks, Hooks and Books

Christy's Cozy Corners

July 18th:

Grand Finale

About the Author

Award-winning author, Jennifer Faye pens fun, heartwarming contemporary romances with rugged cowboys, sexy billionaires and enchanting royalty. Internationally published with books translated into nine languages. She is a two-time winner of the RT Book Reviews Reviewers' Choice Award, the CataRomance Reviewers' Choice Award, named a TOP PICK author, and been nominated for numerous other awards.

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Tour Giveaway

One winner will receive a $25 Amazon gift card plus…

an autographed copy of CHRISTMAS IN BAYBERRY, Yankee Candle Bayberry, Wilton cookie cutter, Hallmark ornament, Hallmark Light-up earrings, Hallmark glass and more…

US only

Ends July 22, 2020

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[carly-weiss]

UR HOT, I'M HOT, LET’S DO PROM || Harly

Tagged: @carly-weiss & @lookma-nohans

Date: Thursdayish.  Or so.  Before prom and before Friday, I know that much.

Notes:  Love in the cafeteria.  Or something like that. Completed in RPNow with the ugliest colors we could make up.

HANS:

 It wasn't like it was a competition. He wasn't gonna admit to  jealousy, either. While shoving an ice pick into his eye sounded like  a lot more appealing than a prom, there was also something about not  at least showing up and reestablishing that he did, in fact, exist  in some kind of friendly capacity that made the fact that he was now  scanning the hospital cafeteria somewhat justifiable. There were  better places, surely, to pick up dates, but he was running on very  high standards and very little time. And it took only a moment until  he'd spotted her and a grin spread across his face. They'd had a  conversation or two, nothing of substance. But he knew enough to know  that she was witty, charming, and sexy as hell. /Guaranteed/ to make  Anna squirm a little. She was perfect.

 He made his way over with his tray and considered his approach. His  smile was charming but not overtly so and as he reached the table, he  stopped in front of her and gestured to the empty seat across from  her. "May I join you?"

CARLY:

Carly traditionally liked having her lunch to herself. It wasn't often

 she got one and she could listen to music or read a book or something  and blank out for a bit.  But today she'd broken her headphones and  couldn't focus to read, so she was just sort of lost in her head.  She  didn't notice when the handsome somewhat-stranger slid into place  across from her.

   Hans

  "Yeah," she said, doing her best to catch up to his smile. "Of  course.  Do you need help with a breath check or making sure all parts  of your shirt are tucked in?"

HANS:  Hans grinned boyishly, even more confident in his choice than just  moments ago. She was fun. "If you're offering," he replied.

CARLY:  She leaned forward and took a deep breath, then leaned back to survey  his clothes as much as he could. "I think you're good," she said with  a smile. "Other than mediocre company at best, is there anything else  I can do for you?"

HANS:  He chuckled, and then after a beat, ducked his head in a small nod.  "Much appreciated." Her question settled over them and he folded his  hands together, his eyes on them for just a moment before he looked at  her again. "This might sound a little crazy, but hear me out. I think  you should go to this prom with me. I know we don't know each other  like, /at all/, but I think you're beautiful and I think you're the  kind of pain in the ass that could make an otherwise /terrible/ night  very interesting. So, what do you say?" He raised his eyebrows and  tilted his head and did his best to look adorable. "Oh, and here." He  took the apple from his tray and placed it in front of her. "That's if  you think I'm completely creepy and you need me to go away. Because  apparently that works on doctors." He shrugged. "I don't make the  rules."

CARLY:  Hey, I just met you and this is crazy..., she heard as he really  started speaking.  Her eyebrows went up, but she couldn't help the  slow smile that spread the more he talked and the annoying pop lyrics  faded.  It was probably crazy of her to accept based on two  conversations and knowing he had a love of self-helping himself  through things.  She absently wondered for a second how long he'd  spent practicing that approach and if there were index cards involved.   Once he was done talking, she laughed.  It was loud and instantaneous  and absolutely the result of trying to hold it in.  Though she had no  idea where the apple he offered, like a true dork, had been, she  picked it up and took a bite out of it.  Not one so big she couldn't  speak, but she had to try to talk around it.  "You're ridiculous, but  it isn't the worst offer I've ever had.  I'm in.  I assume they have  background checks here before you get hired, so you can't be /too/  creepy.  Besides, I know krav maga."

HANS:  Hans tried to keep his face neutral when she laughed but it sort of  tickled at a sore spot and he was sure she was going to say no. And  that was gonna be a punch to the gut he really didn't need. But she  was talking and she wasn't not agreeing and he found himself letting  out a breath he totally hadn't been holding. "I don't know what that  is but I assure you, you will not need to use it." He smiled and  nodded once. "It's a date then. Where shall I pick you up?"

CARLY:  "It's a hand to hand combat style," she explained.  Her smile faded a  little but her good humor did not. He was cute in a dorky way, hot,  and not nearly as charming as he thought.  He had a leg up on other  dates she'd had. "If it's a date, you'd better pick me up at my  apartment, right?"

HANS:  This had all been a lot easier than he'd thought it would be and he  found himself nodding, fishing into the top pocket of his scrubs and ��producing a phone. "Just go ahead and put your information in there  and I will see you on Friday. Date etiquette and all."

CARLY:  She accepted his phone and smiled again, shaking her head as she  started typing.  "You know the dance is on Saturday, though, right?"

HANS:  Hans smiled and dipped his head. "Right. Of course. Can you blame me  for getting a little ahead of myself?"

CARLY:  She chuckled at his blatant flattery.  The truth was that she could  and had done much worse in the past.  The least she could do was not  bust on him for having a decent coverup after he'd made a (small)  mistake.  No one was perfect and covering was half the battle.  "No, I  probably can't.  Do you drink wine?"

HANS:  He'd thought as much before but as she chuckled at him he knew he'd  made the right decision in asking her to accompany him. It had become  so much less about making Anna jealous than it had in enjoying his  time spent in the few minutes he'd been talking to her. "I do. How  does 6:30 sound?"

CARLY:  She handed his phone back, complete with her phone number and address,  not to mention a text sent to herself so she'd have his number as  well.  "It sounds great.  I'll be ready if you will."

HANS:  He smiled, pleased, and nodded firmly. "Then I will see you then."