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getoutofthewater · 5 years

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@dbhrarepairs Tuesday Day 2: Highschool AU / Unrequited

[Gavin/Leo]

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Words: 2,266 [AO3 Link]

Notes: Leo’s visit to Carl is based on Indig0’s beautiful short [Let Down]

He went over his calculus homework as he waited for the usual tap on his window, calculus was fucking useless but he needed a decent grade if he wanted to stay in the wrestling team, and Elijah had already told him he wasn’t going to help him cheat, the prick.

Gavin turned on his desk lamp, glanced at the window, it was getting dark and that idiot hadn’t arrived. Gavin frowned without meaning too, Leo was not a creature of habit, he’d start something and leave it half done because a moth or similar distracted him, but he always came on Thursdays after his ice skating lessons. He’d done so since they had met in 7th grade, and from then to now at 16 It had never failed, not even that time Leo had broken his wrist trying out a jump that was too hard for him yet, the idiot still climbed up to his window instead of knocking at the door like a sane person.

If Gavin wasn’t there when he arrived, he’d come in and just live it up in Gavin’s bedroom as if it were his own, Leo had no shame, Leo didn’t really think before he acted and maybe that was the only reason they were friends, anyone who actually spared a thought to their actions wouldn’t walk up to Gavin and just start making conversation. Gavin had a total of 3 close friends, Tina who was his friend because they had known each other since they ate crayons, Elijah because he was his cousin and Gavin was going to live with him and his Aunt and Uncle for the foreseeable future and Leo, because Leo was a fool.

“Mom says she’s leaving dinner for us in the fridge” Elijah knocked at his door “You and Leo can come get it whenever, I’ll be working on my robot”

His cousin looked like a sleep deprived, sickly raccoon, same creepy long-fingered, clammy human-like hands and nocturnal habits. Gavin had been living with him for years now and he still wondered if Elijah actually slept, or ate, or did anything else that normal people did. His cousin looked around the room “Where is he?”

Gavin shrugged “Who knows, I’m not that idiot’s keeper”

“Did you have fight?” Elijah asked, this was unusual, his cousin usually avoided conversation as much as he could (unless it was about code or robots or computers) Gavin could relate to that (not the robots part), maybe it was a family trait like the coffee addiction.

“What did you do?” Elijah asked

“Nothing” Gavin huffed, at least nothing he was conscious of

“You should ask Tina what was it that you did” Elijah said

“Why the hell are you fixating on this?” Gavin said irritably

“He’s always here on Thursdays” Elijah unlike Leo was very much a creature of habit “He’s often here, but he never fails on Thursdays, mom even counts him for dinner, he was here even when he broke his wrist or last year when he got mono”

Leo’s mom had come to retrieve him 3 times ‘I don’t even feel that bad,’ Leo had said before falling asleep immediately, drooling his mono infected spit right into Gavin’s pillow covers.

“He must have forgotten” Gavin said “He’s busy with school and shit,”

“I’d ask Tina to make sure if I were you” Elijah said before closing the door to Gavin’s room.

Gavin finished his homework, glancing at the empty window far too often for comfort, he had the dinner his aunt had left in the fridge while Leo’s share remained uneaten; he prepared to go to bed putting on the old hoodie and sweats he wore to sleep. Once there he checked his email, nothing new, checked the social media accounts that Leo and Tina had made him open. Leo had no new posts.

“Did I do anything?” he texted

“U r using your words!!! Must be important” Tina replied

He usually only communicated through emojis Tina and Leo could read like hieroglyphics

“Did I do anything?” Gavin texted again

“Did you?”

“Tina…”

“What u mean?”

“Did I do anything, as in worse than usual?”

“Well you DID punch Connor in the stomach for NO GOOD REASON, and you told Mr. Anderson he stank of booze to his face, and you did throw your coffee right to Richard’s head, everyone knows it was on purpose by the way, and you pushed Simon out of your way, you can be such an absolute bully sometimes, that kid looks like a dying victorian child”

… Tina is typing

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that, I mean to Leo and shit”

Tina stopped typing and restarted again

“Not that I know of, why? Did he say anything?”

“He didn’t come today”

“Oh shoot!” Tina texted back “It mustn’t have gone great with his dad then”

Phck, Gavin had forgotten that was today.

Leo had gone on and on about how his mom was going to take him to meet his dad for the very first time this week, he was some famous, rich art geezer or something. Gavin didn’t fucking understand why Leo was so eager to please someone who’d never showed one iota of interest in knowing him. Gavin and Leo had met at a time when Leo still talked and asked his mom about his dad often, he worried about his dad often, waited for any signal of his dad often, wondered why he wasn’t good enough for his dad often, and Gavin knew he still did all of that only he didn’t say it aloud. It wasn’t good that Leo wasn’t currently sitting at Gavin’s desk babbling away about how awesome and incredible his dad was, staying up until 1 am because he had to tell every single detail of the day to Gavin as soon as humanly possible.

Gavin got up not even bothering to change out of his pajamas “I’m going out, Elijah!” He shouted as he went down the stairs, he thought he heard a muted response from his cousin. His uncle was on a business trip, and his aunt wouldn’t return from her shift until late in the morning. He went to the garage for his bike.

He pedaled through the suburb streets, it was a cool, quiet night, and Leo’s house wasn’t far. When he got there Leo’s room was dark, there was a light on in the kitchen and another in his mom’s music room. Gavin circled the house trying to find a way to go up to Leo’s bedroom window, just like Leo always got to his. He tried to stand on the porch railing to get on the ceiling. The railing gave up under his weight, but no fucking problem he had enough upper body strength to get himself up, how mad would Leo’s mom be about him destroying her house was something he didn’t bother to think about.

“You better get the fuck out of my fucking property motherfucker!,” Lorelei Martinet came out of her house charging like a viking warrior, holding a baseball bat in one hand and her cellphone presumably with *91* dialed already, in the other “I have had a day, and I’m eager to hit something, I’ll fucking end you!” she wasn’t one to ask someone to do something for her if she could get it done herself

“Miss Martinet” Gavin said sounding a bit strangled, the rain gutter was starting to hurt his hands rather unpleasantly, but if he let go he’d probably impale his leg on the splintered wood of the broken railing and there would go the wrestling team for this semester.

“Holy Fuck, kiddo!” Lorelei huffed “What the hell are you doing, I could have beaten you to a pulp,”

“Is Leo home?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could, hanging from the ceiling like that corny ‘hang in there’ poster the school nurse had in her office, he’d never felt more fucking stupid

Lorelei huffed out a laugh “hang in there” She said and Gavin thought that the rumors of Leo’s mom probably being a witch were true, she must be reading his mind, just like her to make fun of him, like mother, like son “I’ll bring you a ladder” she added

Gavin waited for what seemed like hours but wasn’t even a minute, with his hands killing him until he felt the relief of his weight being taken by the metal ladder “It’s late, don’t even think you are going back,” Lorelei said firmly “I’ll text your aunt to tell her you are staying over” she said, in a tone that meant it wasn’t optional.

“Fine” he said getting onto the ceiling, you had to have common sense enough to know when your opponent was much more powerful than you, especially if they were a witch

He knocked on Leo’s window, noticing that his nightlight was on; he could be such a kid at times. There was no movement in the bedroom and Gavin thought he may be sleeping, or maybe wearing his headphones. He got his phone out

“I’m outside your window, dumbass”

Finally signs of life, the glow of Leo’s phone, and then the idiot himself moving under his weighted blanket, Gavin’s phone lit up with a notification

“It’s open”

For fucking real, Gavin thought, pushing up the window and walking to the pile of blankets he assumed to be Leo. He pushed them down putting all his weight on it

“What are you doing?!” Leo’s muted complaint came from under the covers

“Checking if you are alive, dumbass” Gavin replied

“Not for long if you keep crushing me!” Leo said finally coming out of his blanket, his hair was messed up, and his eyes were puffy and red

“You sick or what?” Gavin said, getting on the bed and scooting until he could sit with his back against the wall

“Are you in your pajamas?” Leo asked sleepily

“Are you?”

“Of course I am, I’m in my house trying to sleep” Leo said “Weirdo!” Leo curled under his blanket again

“Aren’t you going to tell me how it went with your old man and shit?” Gavin said, kicking gently at the blankets, feeling he was really bad at this

“There’s nothing to tell” Leo said

Leo having nothing to say was bad news. There was a sleepy silence in the room while Gavin sat on Leo’s bed watching the teal-green sparkles from his nightlight twirl on the walls.

“If you are like cold, I’ll share my blanket” Leo said eventually, holding the weighted blanket up for Gavin to get in.

Gavin lay on the bed next to Leo, it wasn’t awkward, they had been having sleepovers for what seemed like forever, only it was usually Leo in his room and very rarely the other way around. Gavin vaguely realized, as much as a 16 year old could, that he was selfish, careless, letting Leo do all the work.

“You okay?” Gavin forced himself to ask after a while

“I don’t think he liked me at all” Leo said, sounding defeated “I just felt so stupid all the time, he asked me about school and the things I wanted to do, and I told him about going exploring abandoned places and whatever, and he just– Everything I do and like felt so stupid and small and pointless“

“He sounds like a prick” Gavin said derisively “Don’t worry about that fucker, he gives you money, right? Who cares about anything else?”

“I just” Leo said “I just wanted him, I don’t know, I knew he wouldn’t like love me or anything but I thought he may like me a little”

“Fuck him, who gives a shit about that crusty prick” Gavin said “Your mom loves you”

“I know” Leo said sounding more like himself

“I love you,” Gavin said, “Not, not like your mom does, but I do” he said awkwardly because he meant it and he’d probably not be able to say it again in years, but even Gavin with his atrophied emotional intelligence knew Leo really needed to know people loved him today.

“What?!”

“You heard me, I’m not fucking saying it again” Gavin said daring to look at Leo’s face “Don’t fucking cry! I’m not telling you so you cry, dumbass!”

“I’m not fucking crying” Leo sniffed “You really mean it, is not like you are only saying it to make me feel better?”

“Have I ever said anything to make anyone feel better?” Gavin said drily

Leo hugged him then, cuddling up to his chest, Gavin felt his face grow hot and he was glad Leo couldn’t see him blushing

“I love you too, like a lot,” Leo said into his chest “a lot, a lot, do you wanna go on sort of like a date over the weekend?”

“sort of?”

“No,” Leo replied “a date, date”

“We can bike to that abandoned amusement park you talked about the other day,” Gavin suggested “the one with that old merry-go-round”

“Don’t you think that would be stupid?”

“Do you think it would be stupid?”

“No… I think it would be super neat” Leo said softly “We can see if we can make the merry-go-round work” Leo added sleepily

Gavin didn’t have to answer to that, Leo fell asleep just as he usually did, all of a sudden and without warning, not surprising when he was tired and spent up from crying. Gavin drifted off to sleep as well, thinking the merry-go-round would be a great place for their first kiss; Leo was the type of sappy idiot that’d love that type of thing.

#dbhrarepairsweek #leo manfred #gavin reed #gavin x leo #leovin #detroit become human

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imassivedreamcollection · 5 years

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Today is the one year anniversary of Once Upon a Time’s series finale. As a six year watcher, I greatly reveled in the show’s magic, storytelling and characters. I love Emma’s journey, Regina’s romance with Robin and Rumpel’s life as the deliciously naughty Dark One and his romance with Belle. I even found a crush in Zelena. I hope my fellow Oncers also loved the show’s run.

However, like some others, I thought the show could’ve been more than what it was.

Here’s some of my thoughts on what I’d do to make the show better, but first let’s start with some things that could stay:

Rumple and Belle’s romance.

Emma and Hook’s romance.

Regina and Robin’s romance.

Red and Dorothy’s romance.

Henry being Emma and Neal’s son.

The Neverland/Oz Arc.

The Underworld Arc.

The trio of Aurora, Phillip and Mulan.

The Frozen Arc.

The Camelot Arc.

Henry and Violet’s romance.

Henry becoming Rumple’s apprentice.

Jacqueline and James’ journey up the Beanstalk and their raid of the Giants’ treasure.

Some of the realms untouched by the Curse like Dun Broch.

Jasmine’s story in Agrabah.

Ariel and Eric eventually leaving the Land without Magic and having adventures in Fairy Tale Land.

Mulan helping Phillip save Aurora.

Merida.

The Author subplot.

Hook’s animosity for Rumple.

Grumpy romance with a fairy.

Okay on to my ideas. Hope you don’t mind I have a lot:

One

As much as I liked the Blue Fairy as the go to fairy for help, I think they should’ve had Flora, Fauna and Merryweather instead. Think about it; in the “Sleeping Beauty” movie, they were pretty much the real heroines in the story while in Pinocchio the Blue fairy was only in two scenes. I even thought of Storybrooke names for them:

Flora: Sarah Felton

Fauna: Josephine Allen

Merryweather: Barbara Johnston

I even thought of occupations for them: Sarah would be a dressmaker, Josephine a baker and Barbara a cleaning lady. (These are references to the scene where they use magic in the cottage)

I also thought for them to somehow get their memories back before Emma broke the curse and for them to help Henry make Emma believe.

I also they should powers connected to nature like in the early story of the movie while it was in development. Flora has the power of plants and flowers, Fauna can talk to animals and Merryweather can use Atmokinesis (weather magic)

Let’s also have Grumpy have a romance with Merryweather.

Here’s who I thought should play them: Helena Bonham Carter as Flora, Tina Fey and Debi Mazar as Merryweather.

Two

Maleficent and Ursula should have been Regina’s allies in Season One. Maleficent being Regina’s deputy mayor and Diablo the crow being her partner and human while Ursula owning a beauty parlor and bringing the latest gossip to Regina. Flotsam and Jetsam being human form too and working in her business.

Three

Pinocchio/ August Booth should’ve also been part of the main cast. He also should’ve stayed by Emma side at least until their teens when she became a criminal. They also should’ve been shown more of his life in the Land without Magic without his father, Jiminy or the Blue Fairy to guide him.

Four

Let’s make David’s backstory more simple and make him and James the legitimate sons of King George with David being the nice one due being closer to his mother and James being more like his father. On that note, let’s toss in the tragedy of David’s mother getting killed by thieves when he was little in a raid, leading him to have a further distrust of Hook in Season 3.

Five

Let’s give the reason for David and Abigail’s marriage alliance be due to Robin Hood and the Merry Men raiding King George’s royal treasury and a failed attempt to steal the Giants’ treasure up the Beanstalk.

Six

Let’s start Snow White life as an outlaw begin with her helping Bluebeard’s wife get away from him.

Seven

Let’s change how Rumple become the Dark One by somehow having him kill Zoso to end the Ogre Wars and prove he wasn’t a coward.

Eight

Let’s make Red’s boyfriend Peter the wolf terrorizing the village all along and her having to kill Peter. Later, Peter’s pack learn of his death and want to take their revenge of Red and her Granny. Let’s also not make Red a werewolf.

Nine

Let’s make Maleficent the daughter of Chernabog and Vidia, the Black Fairy. Let’s also have Clarion, the Queen of the Fairies send Terrance to destroy their union, but Chernabog kills him. Let’s show Maleficent’s childhood and how she became the Mistress of all Evil too.

Ten

Let’s set Tiana’s story in the “original” Enchanted Forest and make Mama Odie her godmother. Let’s have Angela Bassett play her.

Let’s make Dr. Facilier’s dept be with Hades and the Underworld. When the gang to the Underworld, he should have a role in the story arc.

Let’s make Tiana in Storybrooke a worker at Sarah’s bakery.

Eleven

Let’s give Regina a better reason to hate Snow than what happened in the show. Let’s also make her the girl Queen Eva abused when she was younger a la what happened to Cora in “The Miller’s Daughter”. And give us a love triangle between Regina, Eva and Leopold.

Twelve

Let’s make Robin Hood at first what like he was in the Wish Realm (stealing so he could be rich) and somehow Snow and Charming change him for the better before or after the Curse was broken.

Thirteen

Let’s make Flynn Rider a former member of the Merry Men who betrays them, stealing some of their loot and running off to eventually meet Rapunzel.

Fourteen

As I’ve said let’s keep Jasmine’s story in Agrabah, but lets have her never leave Agrabah for the Land of Untold Stories and married Aladdin by the time the Curse is cast; in short let’s keep the Aladdin story from the movie in the show, genie included. Let’s also have the genie protect Agrabah from the curse. Let’s also maybe have Ali Baba put the Genie’s lamp in the Cave of Wonders. I see Aladdin’s genie as not the one who meets Leopold on the show.

Fifteen

Let’s keep the number of realms to a minimum: Fairy Tale Land (The Enchanted Forest, Arendelle, Dun Broch, Camelot, Agrabah) Neverland, Oz, Wonderland, The Underworld ... Okay that may not be a minimum. Sorry. Anyway let’s lose, 1920s England, Victorian England, The Land of Untold Stories, New Enchanted Forest.. Too many realms in the original show, don’t you think?

Sixteen

Let’s fully tell characters stories and make them count to the overall plot and stick primarily to fairy tales and no classic literature works like Jekyll and Hyde and 2000 leagues under the Sea or movies like 101 Dalmatians.

Seventeen

Let’s have Rumple hear of how Geppetto can build a magic wardrobe and have him kidnap Geppetto and force him to make it like how Ratigan kidnapped Olivia’s father in “The Great Mouse Detective”.

Since I said that, here’s how I see Pinocchio’s story:

Pinocchio’s adventure begins when he’s sent on an errand. After escaping Stromboli, he discovers Geppetto’s been kidnapped. He and Jiminy sent sail to find him and on the way stumple upon Pleasure Island. After escaping there, he finally finds Geppetto and they escape, but Rumple sends Monstro after them. They survive and the Blue Fairy turns him into a real boy and for Geppetto and Pinocchio to seek asylum in Snow White’s kingdom. The End.

Eighteen

Let’s name the Blue Fairy Evangeline (guess why I named her that. Think of a firefly character you may know) and sadly have her killed by Rumple before or after the curse.

Nineteen

Let’s give Rumple this reason for asking for the first born babies of Cora and Cinderella: to use the Time Traveling Spell to make sure his son was never lost to him.

Twenty

Let’s make The Dragon Mushu from “Mulan” and the mentor of Mulan and give him a role in Storybrooke.

Twenty One

Let’s give Mulan and Phillip Storybrooke counterparts. Let’s make Mulan a self’defense teacher at a dojo and bisexual and in a relationship with Phillip.

Twenty Two

Let’s make Aurora the only “Sleeping Beauty” that Maleficent cursed and have her also curse Phillip as an Yaoguai for him to be saved by Belle and Mulan. In Storybrooke let’s have Maleficent keep cursed Aurora, still asleep, in the basement of her house.

Twenty Three

Let’s show more characters from Disney and fairy tales like Mad Madame Mim and Goldilocks.

Let’s make Madame Mim a rival to Maleficent and Goldilocks a stooge for Rumple.

Twenty Four

Let’s make cursed Eric the boyfriend of Ursula and have cursed Ariel mute with Ursula keeping her voice somewhere at her home or beauty parlor.

Twenty Four

Let’s have more commotion in Storybrooke after the curse is broken: the Giant trying kill David, Gaston rising a mob to kill Rumple, etc.

Twenty Five

Let’s have Archie Granny, Ashley, Ariel, Red, The Seven Dwarves in the supporting cast with the Mad Hatter and Flynn Rider and Rapunzel

Twenty Six

Let’s see more of the Home Office (Greg and Tamara’s group).

Twenty Seven

Let’s include more fairy tales like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Emperor’s New Clothes and Thumbelina.

Twenty Eight

Let’s make Mother Goose the author of Henry’s book.

Okay’s that’s all I’ve got.

Thank you to any one who stayed so long to read my thoughts. What do you think? Let me know in the notes section at the bottom of this post.

Thank you for your time and have a good day.

#mine

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agentmarymargaretskitz · 5 years

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i’m on your magical mystery ride

Happy belated birthday @plinys! Sorry I’m on the late side with this, but I hope you don’t mind my attempt at some role swap Darhkatom.

AO3

The first time he shows up is when Nora Darhk and the other Legends find themselves in Victorian London. While they don’t know his purpose at first, it becomes clear once he helps resurrect Sandy Palmer, a former member of the League of Assassins who nearly destroyed the East Coast in the eighties. When they cross paths again in 1920’s Chicago, they discover that his name is Raymond Palmer, that he’s Sandy’s son, a warlock, and working for Mallus with his mother. Ray also proves to be dangerous when he nearly drains Zoe Ramirez’s life force. The action, along with his affiliation with Mallus, makes him an enemy of the time travelers immediately.

Then a trip to 1991 takes them to a hospital to help an exorcist with a case of supposed demonic possession in a child. Said child turns out to be Ray Palmer, age ten and orphaned in the wake of his mother’s actions. Martina, Zoe, and the exorcist get sent back in time, but Nora and Zari decide to look into young Ray more. They take him out of the hospital to a coffee house (all while marveling to themselves at the peace in the time period compared to the militaristic time they come from) and Nora teaches him how to play rummy. It’s a nice experience until Mallus possesses Ray again, his resurrected mother returns to inform him that it’s his destiny to save her, and Nora and Zari watch as Ray goes back with the head nurse/cultist to the hospital to follow a dark path.

She can’t help but feel awful that she couldn’t save him. She can shrink and shoot lasers and has saved history a few times. Yet Nora can’t save little Ray from his destiny.

~~~

She and the other Legends continue to correct anachronisms and figure out the importance of Zari and Mari McCabe’s totems. Nora keeps up to distract her thoughts from Ray and how the sweet boy grew up into a cold warlock. Ronnie Stein works with her to develop a nanite gun that can stop Ray or Zoe if Mallus tries to take over either of them. It’s untested when she finally ends up using it on Ray to stop him from using the Earth Totem and save Mari and Joey. However, it also starts killing him, which burdens Nora with enough guilt to develop a cure.

Martina Jackson is the first and only one to hear her plan and shakes her head at it.

“You remember what he tried to do to Zoe, Nora,” she tells her as the cure is loaded into a syringe. “Why would you try to save him?”

“Because I think there’s still good in him that survived past 1991,” is her answer before leaving. “Mallus didn’t destroy all of it, Tina. At least I can’t believe he did.”

Miraculously, Martina lets her go back to the island where Sandy is still trying to heal her son. She is immediately suspicious of Nora’s claim that Ray can be saved, but the desperation of a mother to save her child wins out. Nora injects it into his arm and breathes a sigh of relief when Ray stops seizing. The relief is short-lived when Ray cuts off her oxygen and she finds herself kidnapped by the Palmers.

~~~

When Nora wakes again, she’s tied to a chair in a dark room. Ray has Mari’s totem that he took from her in the search for the Earth Totem. Apparently it’s not working for him or something. Amaya McCabe, Mari’s future daughter who lives in the same unfriendly era she and the other Legends hail from, wants it for herself, despite possessing the water totem. However, Sandy cuts the squabble to remind them they need to find a way to restore the Fire Totem they’ve stolen. Despite the pounding headache she has, Nora now realizes why she’s still alive in their custody. They want her to figure out how to fix it.

A visit to a company in Silicon Valley with a side of murder later, Nora is in a makeshift lab to try and repair the broken totem. It isn’t easy trying to figure out how to fix it, but she does get an idea about cold fusion doing the trick. Sandy explains that she did know the scientist who invented cold fusion, except by know, she means assassinated him in 1962. So she knows where to look and is ready to travel back with a time stone.

Then Ray grabs her hand. “Mom, are you sure traveling back into your own timeline is the best idea?”

That stops Sandy. Ray volunteers to go instead, but Sandy shows concern about her son’s safety.

“So I’ll take Darhk with me,” Ray suggests. “She can help me get the formula for it before past you kills the guy.”

Sandy considers this. “Fair enough. But you be careful, Ray. And use protection.”

Nora’s face flushes for a reason she’s not quite sure of until she sees Sandy pass her son a gun.

~~~

Things go to downhill quickly once they get to East Berlin. Once they find the scientist, Ray abandons the plan of getting him to safety first and wants the formula. Nora argues with him about getting the scientist out of danger first. When the man wants to bring a doll to his daughter, it takes up even more time arguing over whether his life is really worth a child’s plaything. By the time they actually are ready to leave, past Sandy arrives and is prepared to murder all of them, including the son she doesn’t know she’ll have later on. Nora manages to knock her out, but it’s not before Sandy breaks Ray’s time stone.

“Now we’re stuck here,” Ray grumbles as they make an escape with the scientist to a safehouse. “We better at least get the formula.”

Nora looks over at him. “You know I have people looking for me, right? We won’t be stuck in this time.”

“And what are they going to do when they see me?” Ray demands. “I guarantee I won’t get the same treatment from them as you.”

He’s right about that.

Nora sighs and runs her hands through her hair. “Look, the least we can do is help this guy get back to his family and get the formula to cold fusion. It’s the right thing to do.”

“Maybe, but I prefer the fast way,” Ray demands, grabbing a hammer and making his way over to the scientist. “Listen up, time to start talking. We need the formula and I’m pretty sure you’d rather have hands than none at all.”

The scientist looks at him, unfazed. “Do what you want. It won’t be the worst thing I’ve been through.”

Nora shudders a little. “What happened to you?”

“I lost my family. They’re all gone. The doll wasn’t for my daughter. It was hers.”

“You lied to us,” Ray snarls.

The scientist levels him with a glare. “I made a decision to try and buy some time. This formula isn’t something I can let fall into the wrong hands.”

Nora watches Ray raise the hammer, but his hand is wavering. She darts out and grabs his wrist, unsure whether he really will let it drop.

“Give us a minute,” she asks before dragging Ray off to the side.

“What was that?” he hisses once they’re out of earshot.

“We can’t torture him,” Nora snaps, her mind all to full of memories of Argus holding cells. “It’s not going to get anything out of him. There has to be another way we can do this.”

Ray folds his arms over his chest. “So what do you suggest we do?”

“For starters, maybe not trying to break his hand,” she mutters, sitting down on a crate. “Um….”

“You don’t have anything, do you?”

“I can’t spit out a solution on the spot, especially for something like this!”

Ray groans. Sitting down makes Nora realize how tall he really is. She knows she’s a good deal shorter than him, but now it’s hard to ignore.

“This was supposed to go without a hitch,” he grumbles. “And here I am, screwing it up. My mom’s gonna be disappointed.”

Nora raises an eyebrow. “It’s not like you didn’t try.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s still going to see it as a failure. I was eight when she died, and she still sees me as this kid she has to protect. This was my chance to show her that I can handle myself.”

“We still have time, even with your past mom after us,” Nora murmurs, rising to her feet. “We’ll figure this out and get home. Right now, we need to get the formula, but we need to give something to the scientist that he wants.”

“The man lost his family and is living in East Berlin. What can we even do for him?”

The lightbulb goes off in her head. It’s complicated, but better than nothing. “We get him out of here.”

Ray’s eyes widen. “Oh! If we get him out of here, then he’ll talk and give us the formula. It can’t be that hard, right?”

Nora resists the urge to roll her eyes. In her time, travel between states and countries is heavily regulated by Argus. People aren’t sure whether it’s to keep them from getting out or getting in. A divided Berlin will prove to be just as much of a challenge.

“We just have to get him across the border and he’ll talk, right?” Ray grins. She knows he’s her enemy and that he’s nearly killed Zoe once, but that smile is genuine.

“Sure, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” she smirks, laying the sarcasm on thick. “We’ll just skip across one of the most heavily guarded borders in all of history. How hard can it be?”

Ray’s smile falters. “That’s sarcasm, isn’t it?”

She’s pretty sure the look she gives him substitutes for a verbal response.

~~~

The longer she spends with Ray, the more Nora starts to get a better idea of who he is now. There is darkness in him, no question about it. Then again, getting possessed by a demon will do that to a person. But she sees a lot more optimism than she expected. He’s certain that their plan will succeed to smuggle themselves over the border. Nora, on the other hand, is chewing the inside of her cheek and wondering where the Legends are.

“I need to ask you a question,” he says as they get in the car.

Nora tugs her coat a little tighter around herself. “What?”

“You’re a time traveler,” Ray shuts the door behind them. “Amaya’s told me all about the time you come from. I know how different it is from mine, how downhill things go.”

Oh, she knows where this is going.

“If the Legends can time travel, why don’t you fix your time? How come none of you are bothering to change your circumstances?”

Nora looks over at him. When Jonas Hunter first recruited her and the others, they had wanted to do that. After she’d nearly erased herself from the timeline, he took the time to explain to them why they couldn’t do that.

“You think we don’t want to?” Nora finally asks. “You think we’re content that there are people back in my time who are living under constant Argus monitoring? I’ll tell you right now that we aren’t. Every Legend on the Waverider has gone through hell because of something we can’t control. Whether it’s having a metagene, the color of their skin, their religion, or their family history, Argus has targeted all of us because we were those things and then tried to defy the system.”

“Then what’s stopping you from changing the system?” Ray challenges.

“Because it’s not that easy,” she sighs. “You know that old movie, Back to the Future?”

He nods. “It’s not that old.”

“Well, it is for me, and it’s banned in the future,” Nora explains. “Zoe’s the one who got us to watch it on the Waverider. When Marty goes to the past and messes with things, he changes his future. At the end of the movie, he wakes up and is trying to figure out what his life is now. That’s sort of what it would be like if we drastically altered the past. Our memories and lives would start changing into something we didn’t recognize. Eventually we’d adapt to it, but we wouldn’t be the same people. And meddling with our own timelines can have dangerous repercussions.”

“So you wouldn’t take the risk?”

“I did,” Nora tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “And if it wasn’t for the others, I would have been erased from the timeline. We can’t fix things for our present, but we don’t do nothing. When we can, we weaken Argus’s control in the 40’s. It’s not much, but eventually a revolution could happen if we keep it up.”

Ray shrugs at this. “Fair enough.”

“My turn now,” Nora turns towards Ray. “Why are you so desperate to make your mother proud?”

“Because I need her to see that I’m not that same lonely kid she left behind when she died.”

Nora pressed her lips together. “And having Mallus possess you makes it worth it?”

“My brother was too weak of a vessel and died when Mallus took control of him. When he possessed me, I didn’t. He saw that I was strong and worthy to be his vessel. Now my mom just needs to see that.”

~~~

They run into problems at the border with the guards and past Sandy before present Sandy makes an entrance and gets them to safety. Ray is furious, gets into an argument with her, and leaves in a huff. Nora takes the time to tell Sandy about what her son had been telling her. It’s just enough to push Sandy to give Nora back her suit and to go after Ray, who managed to get kidnapped by her past self. Nora watches the fight from the top of the roof while trying to help the scientist after past Sandy has shot him. When she looks around to see how things were going, she can’t contain the scream that rips out of her when Ray topples over the edge of the roof.

Then he floats back up, the spirit of an eagle surrounding him signifying the totem is now working for him. Nora watches as Ray attacks and defeats the past version of his mother before her attention is drawn back to the scientist. In his dying breathes, he entrusts her with the cold fusion formula, hidden in the doll the entire time. Ray hears the whole exchange and demands the doll from her.

“Sorry, Ray,” she apologizes before firing her blaster at the Berlin Wall.

Just a big enough event to draw the attention of the Legends and for Joey West-Allen to speed in and rescue her.

Even though Joey gets her out in seconds, Ray’s angry puppy dog look stays with her.

~~~

It’s hard to forget about Ray Palmer. She sees him in her dreams almost every time she sleeps. All this time they thought he was a big bad warlock who was just like his mother. Now she knows he still has the good in him she saw when he was a kid, but the desire to prove himself outweighs it. But maybe she can help bring that good back to the surface. After all, that’s what the Legends did for her. Had Jonas not pulled her out of her Argus cell and brought her on a mission to save time a few years ago, she’d be more cold and bitter.

Eventually, after another dream of Ray, she finds herself in the library. “Gideon?”

“Is there something I can help you with, Ms. Darhk?”

“I need information on Ray Palmer.”

“How much?”

“As much as you can find.”

~~~

The next few days, and a few nights, are spent learning about Ray Palmer. She was a child when he vanished from history. However, she’s betting the date of his disappearance was when he was plucked out of the timeline to resurrect his mother. But Nora finds out about his short-lived business, Palmer Technologies. When she built the ATOM suit, she consulted some old Palmer Tech research documents on power source research from Argus courtesy of a hacker. The small connection makes her smile.

“I hope this research is going to have a good purpose,” a voice calls behind her on the fourth night.

Nora turns to see Zari Tomaz standing in the entryway of the library. “How did you know I was here? I thought you were asleep.”

“Joey saw you sneaking in here the other night and asked me if I knew why.”

Nora presses her lips together. “I’m just trying to find out more about Ray Palmer.”

The other woman’s eyes move towards the screens with information on their adversary and the papers around Nora. “Yeah, but this seems like a lot. It’s excessive, honestly.”

“I got to know him in Berlin. Even with the whole Mallus thing, he’s good deep down. I think he just needs someone to bring it out of him. After all, that’s what you guys did for me.”

Zari shakes her head. “You are very different than Ray, Nora.”

“You didn’t get to stay with him in Berlin for hours.”

That gets an eyebrow raise. “You aren’t falling for him, are you?”

“No,” Nora shakes her head. “I’m not.”

But it’s a lie. She’s not certain how much, but Nora Darhk knows she likes Ray Palmer.

~~~

When she sees Ray again, Mallus’s control over him has grown. Black veins crawl across his skin when they lure him to Detroit 2023 to defeat him with the totems they’ve acquired. Things almost work out, but then Sandy double-crosses them to try and stop Mallus from totally consuming her son. Unfortunately, the act sets off a chain reaction to finally set Mallus free. Nora watches with the rest of the Legends as Ray falls to the ground, his body transforming into that of a demon’s.

She hopes he didn’t suffer too long at least.

~~~

Her regret over not saving Ray eats her up, especially when Jonas nearly dies temporarily scattering Mallus. While Joey hauls him off to the med bay, Nora slips off to where they have Sandy imprisoned to propose an idea of rescuing Ray. Sandy is immediately on board if it means saving her son. With that back-up, Nora prepares the jumpship and they almost sneak out unnoticed.

She does feel a little bad about punching Ronnie. But he’s always been pretty forgiving, so he probably won’t hold it against her very long.

When they make it to 2023, Nora and Sandy have to wait for a little while before they can go after Ray. A shot from the anti-magic gun does the trick, but Mallus still needs a host vessel. Sandy sacrifices herself for her son and tells Nora to get Ray to safety. Ray’s barely conscious as she helps him back to the jumpship. It’s probably for the best so he doesn’t see his mother turn into a demon.

She manages to pilot both of them back to where the Waverider is in the Old West and gets Ray to the med bay in the nick of time. Her hands can’t help but shake as she loads the cure for her weapon into the syringe, hoping she isn’t too late. Thank goodness she isn’t, although it does take a moment for Ray to wake up. As soon as she does, he starts panicking at the change in surroundings.

“Ray, look at me,” she orders. “You’re okay. I’ve got you on the Waverider, and you’re safe.”

“Mom…where is she?”

Nora swallows. “She traded places with you, Ray. She took on the role as the vessel. It was to save you.”

“Is she…”

“She’s gone,” Nora nods. “I’m sorry, Ray.”

“No,” Ray shakes his head. “How could you let that happen to her? Why would you do that?”

He tries to get out of the chair, but Nora wraps her arms around him to push him back down. It’s a struggle, but he’s still weak from what he just went though and stops fighting as grief sets in. In that moment, Nora flashes back to when she found out from a social worker that her parents had been killed and that they were doing something terrible. She knows how it feels to love someone that the rest of the world saw as evil.

When she lets go of him, he’s shaking a little. Nora cups the sides of his face and presses her forehead against his. She feels his hands cover hers and they stay like that for a while. The whole world falls away for just a few minutes.

Then she remembers why they’re in the old West.

~~~

In the end, Mallus is defeated. Joey, Zari, Ronnie, Martina, Zoe, and Mari come together to form a giant Beebo that destroys the demon. Nora watches the spectacle with Ray, Jonas, and Amaya McCabe with amazement. She’s long accepted that time travel can and will get weird. The look on Ray’s face says that he hasn’t gotten to that point yet.

The defeat of the released demon has the Time Bureau coming in to round up the pirates, Romans, and Vikings Mallus brought as his army. It also means that Ray Palmer gets arrested for his crimes in aiding the rise of Mallus. He doesn’t put up a fight when they slap the cuffs on him. The grief of losing his father and knowing he’s going to be imprisoned for a long time have sucked the resistance out of him.

Before she can be brought back to the Bureau’s headquarters, she decides that if she’s going to do something, now is the time.

“Hang on!” she calls, running up to the agents escorting Ray off. “I need to talk to him.”

Ray looks surprised as he turns around. The agents with him share the expression.

“Give me a minute with him alone,” she asks. “It’s not like he’s going anywhere in those handcuffs.”

With that logic, the agents nod and take a few steps back.

“Come to say goodbye?” Ray asks.

“Sort of, but I also have something for you. It was on the jumpship. I know it was your mom’s. After losing her, I thought you want might something to hold onto that you can remember her by.”

“I’m going to be spending a long time in a cell in the Time Bureau. I think I’m going to be remembering her a lot since she’s the reason I’m still alive.”

Nora smiles. “Maybe this will help too.”

She draws a few steps closer to him and passes him Sandy’s time stone.

Ray’s eyes widen. “My mom’s time stone?”

“She died so you could have a second chance, Ray,” Nora tells him. “Second chances are pretty rare, so don’t waste it.”

His eyes meet hers as the agents step forward to take him away. “Thank you, Nora.”

Then a smile comes to his face. It makes hers spread a little bigger.

With Mallus gone from his life, perhaps this second chance will let Ray Palmer show time that he has good inside him. No one needs to find out that she’s the one who gave him that opportunity though.

If he takes it, she hopes she’ll see him again.

#legends of tomorrow #darhkatom #nora darhk #ray palmer #zari tomaz #ronnie stein #martina jackson #jonas hunter #zoe ramirez #mari mccabe #sandy palmer #fanfiction #plinys #kate does shit

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pixiealtaira · 6 years

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Angel Baby

Drabbles and Drawbles for Advent 2016 prompt 10: Christmas Angel

Kurt-centric more slice of life type tale. not terribly sweet to many glee characters, but not really hostile

The Angel’s head was porcelain, with rusty colored haired that curled around her shoulders. She was an honest to goodness doll, with a body and legs, not just a tree topper, and the wire form that topped her onto the tree worked exactly like the doll stand she also came with and could be removed. She wore a long white dress that was covered in silver and gold stars, embroidered on it in metallic threads, but instead of being a Victorian type dress it was more of a regency era style dress with an empire waist with long straight sleeves with a small puff at the top of them. Her wings were large and white, covered in soft feathers and silver and gold glitter.

Kurt’s mom told him that originally she held a harp, but when Kurt was born, his mother removed the harp and had a baby porcelain doll created. It had a halo of light brown curls and wasn’t a tiny baby, but more of one about 7 or 8 months of age. His head rested on the angel’s shoulder and the angel held him close. He was dressed in a white satin suit that looked like something the blue boy in the one painting his mom showed him wore. It too had silver and gold trim and the baby wore tiny little white leather shoes with silver buckles.

Kurt told his mom that according to his books even boy babies wore dresses back then, but his mom just laughed and told him she wanted the fact that the baby was a boy to be noticeable. The Christmas before his mom got ill, Kurt told her that he thought the Angel looked like her. His mom just smiled and laughed and kissed him on the head.

It was the last thing they placed on the tree and when they removed it after Christmas the angel went back onto her doll stand and into the china cabinet.

The morning after his mom died, the angel was gone, as was half the other contents of the china cabinet…like the violin and the wire Easter basket and the heart crystal and the little wooden nativity and the glass rose that sat on top of a set of concert tickets. His dad bought them a star for the top of the tree the year after she died. Kurt nicked an angel from a nativity at school and tied a string to her halo and hung her in his closet that year so his dad wouldn’t know or see, but it was no where like his Angel.

The second Christmas after his dad married Carole, Kurt came home from school to find a box on his bed.

It had been…a day. That was about all Kurt could say about it. Artie had written the show…or rather taken credit for it after making Kurt tell him all about the old classic TV shows he’d watched when little, since Artie had never seen one, actually. He wasn’t fond of the character he’d had to play, but Artie insisted that one of them had to be ‘flighty and shallow’ and that Blaine would be a better option for the manly partner who indulged his flighty partner. Kurt argued that they didn’t need that type of character but Artie insisted they had to play to what the audience would like and Artie was sure his vision was it. And since Artie was given the charge of it all, Artie’s way would be what was seen. Then there was the conversations he heard about Christmas gifts. The box with the gum wrapper ring was sitting on Kurt’s bedside. That was all Blaine had given him. He’d given Rachel a new animal sweater he saw while out shopping and Brittany, Quinn, Tina and Santana glove, hat, and scarf sets. He got all the girls gift certificates for a spa day. He got all the guys in glee gloves and key chains and gift cards for the movie theater. He got Sam and Finn video games they had been wanting, to make up for his behavior earlier in the year.

And he gave Kurt a ring made out of gum wrappers. Kurt had given him bowties and socks to match, a sweater and a bunch of old records of bands Blaine had been trying to find that Kurt had finally located at the antique store in Findley. Blaine said that they had said they weren’t giving gifts, but he couldn’t not give Kurt something so he made Kurt the ring. The speech was sweet, but even during it Kurt wanted to laugh because he knew Blaine simply couldn’t meet those promises; he’d already shown that over and over and had just two minutes before canceled plans with Kurt to go hang with the Dalton boys. Then he couldn’t answer the question about when Kurt was supposedly to have said this when Kurt asked. (Because they never did say it, they never discussed it at all. It was never said when Blaine gave Kurt his wish list or asked what Kurt would like. It never happened.)

And Kurt shrugged it off. Maybe Blaine didn’t have much of his own money and didn’t want to ask his parents for some, or maybe he just got gift for family and not others. But then Kurt had heard the discussions about gifts and knew Blaine gave just fine…to everyone else.

So the mysterious box on his bed was a welcome distraction when Kurt got home.

Kurt opened it, lift the flaps to reveal the items tucked inside. On the top were several certificates and awards that Kurt had won when he was little. He removed them to find things from the china cabinet and other places around the house where things had disappeared from those first few days after his mom had died. He found several baby blankets and a baby coat with a Paddington bear in the exact matching coat resting on it. There were the Raggedy Ann and Raggedy Andy dolls and a real tambourine that had multi colored ribbons attached to it. He uncovered the wire Easter basket…and the violin in its case. The rose and the tickets were tucked in a tin with the crystal heart. At the bottom of the box were two smaller boxes. Both were white. The smaller of the two, when opened, revealed the wooden nativity. Kurt’s hands trembled as he pulled out the other box.

The angel rested in the box. The doll stand and tree attachment were wrapped and nestled in a portioned section to the side of the box, along with a pair of white silver buckled baby shoes. In a small open box was the harp that used to be in the angel’s hands and a tin pair of wings that seemed to be able to be placed upon the baby in the angel’s arms. The doll was resting on a bed of Satin. Kurt lifted the Angel out and realized the satin wasn’t just cloth. He lifted the satin out and discovered a tiny satin button-up shirt and tiny satin short pants. Long white stockings, well ones that would be long on a baby, since they were baby stockings, rested under the outfit. There was a small cap that looked like a newsboy cap, but made of white satin by the stocking.

Under it all was a photo.

His mother was dressed in a white dress with an empire waist holding Kurt, dressed in the satin outfit in the box. Written on the back of the photo was ‘modeling for Ember – Kurt 6 months’. Also was a signed certificate with information about the doll and the changes made after Kurt was born…including the fact his mom had been the model for the angel doll in the first place.

Kurt tucked everything back into the box and was nearly ready to tape it shut again. However Kurt couldn’t bring himself to do so. He unpacked it all again and removed the box with the nativity and the box that held the angel. He already knew that it could not be placed on their tree. Carole and Finn didn’t even have a star on top. They had one of those bulby glass spire things and when Kurt went to put up the star last year, he was informed that it wasn’t going up, their topper was. It was a nonnegotiable thing. His dad backed them…Kurt had got his garland across the fireplace mantle and the fireplace and chimney cleaned so they could use it and the ability to light a candle in HIS window for 20 minutes a night, even though he could not do so in any of the regular house windows.

But…That didn’t mean she had to be put far away. Kurt looked over to his bookshelf and smiled. On the top…there was room. And no one ever really looked up…no one ever really looked around. Kurt put the nativity out on the eye level shelf, setting it up like they did when he was small, with the wise men and the camels working their way towards the star stand (the nativity didn’t have a stable, it had a stand that was topped with a large shooting star) and Mary and Joseph and the baby under the star and the angels…because his had several…over by the shepherds and sheep and dogs. Then he took out the doll stand and unwrapped it. He took out the Angel and put the stand on her. He was about to put her up on top the shelf but stopped. He took out the wings for the baby and placed them onto the baby. He stroked the baby’s face and then the angel’s face. He set her on top of the shelf, settled so she watched over his bed. From the center of the room you could hardly see her, but from the bed Kurt could see her well.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to share his Angel. Not with Carole and Finn. Maybe Sam would appreciate her, but even with the shared experience of having a parent die, Finn still teased Kurt over the things he did to stay close to his mom (Kurt was not allowed to tease back…he never was). He knew Blaine wouldn’t get it either.

Someday, maybe, he’d have someone to share it with. Someone who would be able to appreciate it. Someone who would understand wanting to be watched over by pure love.

#glee fanfic #advent #Kurt Hummel

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70s-show-diary · 7 years

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Hey,

This is not an ask, but rather a comment discussing the factuality of plans you posted regarding the Forman house, and its association with the Pinciotti house, on January 12, 2016.

The Forman home in particular has always been interesting to me, and has served as much as an annoyance as it has an intrigue. I too have attempted to draft its floor plan, and find it does not work terribly well, which is frustrating.

The major anomaly is the Forman’s basement, in its alignment with the rest of the house, it should be located underneath the dining room, with the stairs in the main part, running directly parallel to the staircase above; architecturally, it just makes sense. But, in the episode ‘Won’t Get Fooled Again’ (Season 6, Episode 13), Red finds that Hyde has bored a hole through the floor down into the basement, so as to commandeer Red’s newly bought cable television, down to the basement. When Red confronts Hyde about it, in the basement, he looks up as though he were looking toward the hole, which of course can’t be if the house were perfect, because if that were true you would have to go down to the basement from the front door.

So, in this situation, we must consider that Hyde has bored a hole in the living room floor, has trailed a wire from under the living room floor under the entire width of the house, down from the ceiling in the basement, and that is what Red is seeing when he confronts Hyde about his hijacked cable; the wire being all the while pinned to the underneath of the floor. In the sets from the show, the basement set seems to display something similar to the outside door, at the top level, but this may be for use in other shots.

The door to the basement is obvious to see, it is just off the kitchen to the right, in the passage between the kitchen and the dining room. Interestingly, there is also a door opposite this, which technically would lead into the enclosed yard behind the house, between the garage, and the dining room side of the house. If the exit to the basement is followed (where the friends usually come in), it must exit somewhere immediately to the right of where this door by the dining room exits outside. This would mean that there are hedged shrubs immediately to the right of this door; as in early seasons, when the stairs up to the surface were shown, there was always shown to be the edges of shrubs, or hedges, on either side of the opening (which is obviously meant to be a double door hatch.)

The windows in the basement are confusing as the one by the basement stairs (from inside the house), could not be a window, so it might be a laundry chute, or some sort of dumb-waiter perhaps. Interestingly, I have seen the Victorian house in the background setting of the Pinciotti’s backyard in another television show, namely, outside the internal scenes of Jessica Fletcher’s home at the fictional village of Cabot Cove, Maine, in 'Murder She Wrote.’

The Forman house is interesting too, from a narrative related perspective, as it displays a home which has technically been modified at some point in its history, as the 'real’ kitchen wall in the 'original’ house, would technically have been the wall removed immediately behind Kitty’s kitchen sink. The extended wall often seen behind Red’s head at breakfast, is hard to pin down, but it seems that it diverges at a 45 degree angle behind Red, where the cabinet is, then sures up for little more than a foot, where it takes a right angle back down the entire length of the house (as the fourth wall was shown in the kitchen, in one episode distinctly.) The top of the extension roof is seen in one or more episodes, displaying distinctly that it is not built upon, but the fabric of the original house is.

And, Red and Kitty’s bedroom is often heard to be above the living room, as in episodes when they have been overheard upstairs, references are often made to the part of the house above the living room lounge.

I also believe that the Forman’s have two bathrooms. There is one bathroom between, or near both bedrooms of Eric and Laurie (which are acorss from one another), this is the main bathroom, and another 'en-suite’, off Red and Kitty’s bedroom; if I remember correctly.

Eric’s room has to be above the original kitchen, as Donna climbs up the trellis by the kitchen extension to get into Eric’s bedroom.

There is also the Pinciotti/Forman survey error, where Bob and Midge attack Red and Kitty over a survey error which they claim means Bob owns half of Red’s garage (side to middle). It is only late in this episode that Red shows Bob, in the Pinciotti’s kitchen, that he has the survey plan upside down. Red is then told to get out of their house, which he does with a big smile. He stops standing at the back door of the Pinciotti’s kitchen, where he proclaims that he is out. Unfortunately, the name and number of this exact episode eludes me at the moment. But, this might help you ascertain the supposed relationship between the two houses.

And to clarify, whenever a car leaves the drive-way, from the Forman garage, it goes directly onto the street, as noticed by the people watching the car leave. So no, the driveway does not curve around the house. Also the front porch of the house, if I remember well enough, has its stairs to the side of the house (as in, the stairs to the porch descend by the living room side of the house; they do not just jut straight out from the front door.) I have often wondered whether the house was on a street corner, but the house across from that vantage seems too close to allow for a street; but then it could be just a small street.

Finally, the Pinciotti house technically has to have a minimum of three or four bedrooms, because Donna had a younger sister Tina who also lived there, as well as her older sister, Valerie. And, by the way it is spoken about by Bob, the Pinciotti house sounds more 'split-level’ than 'upstairs and downstairs.’

I hope this helps with certain aspects of the Foreman house, as well as those of the Pinciotti residence.

Regards, Braston.

Thank you for submitting this! I actually have no idea how long this has been sitting in my ask box, so I apologize if you sent this a while ago. As soon as I noticed it just now I decided to post it.

Briefly, I just want to say that I do not think that it can be said there is “factuality” to my house plans. There is plenty of evidence that supports and negates my house plans for the show, however, as the homes do not actually exist, there are no facts; no right or wrong answers. I discussed here how the TV set homes are ‘mosaic models’ as they are constantly changing to accommodate the needs of the show, so there can be no facts when the ‘facts’ are always changing.

A lot of the factors you mention are ones that I considered when I drew my versions of their houses. But really, I know there is absolutely no way to meet all the requirements to make every scene from every episode of the show make sense, so I took the scenes/episodes that I found to be most significant in playing a role in these homes when I made my drawings. That combined with the fact that my dad’s actual job is to design and build homes, I grew up surrounded by a lot of blueprints and used what knowledge I had from that when I made my designs.

That being said, I find it fascinating how everyone who has commented on my post (if anyone hasn’t seen it and is curious, you can find them here and here) has seen the houses differently. But I do not think that anyone’s version, including my own, is necessarily more accurate than the others. After all, it is a television set that is designed for the convenience of the camera, not being accurate in the details of the house. So by taking a factor from one scene in one episode into consideration (for instance, you mentioned the TV cable Hyde ran through the basement ceiling), can throw off the details supported by a different scene from a different episode.

So there are things we have to overlook. Like I chose to overlook the fact that people back straight out of the driveway, because to me it makes more sense for a driveway to start in the front of the house. Maybe the curve around the house is wide which is why they can back up straight for a while? Or, after all, Eric and his friends are teenagers, so I wouldn’t put it past them to just ride over the curb instead of going all the way down the drive. Or maybe there is no curve, like the way you see it. We don’t actually know, but I think that’s the beauty of it – it becomes up to us, the fans, what we individually want to think.

Thank you for sharing how you interpret the houses, Braston! And if anyone else wants to share their views, I’d love to hear them. The reason I made such a lengthy reply to this though is because even though I posted my houses over a year ago, to this day I still get hate/ridicule (that is so counterproductive that I delete those anonymous messages) telling me that I am flat out wrong (which is why I made the comment about ‘factuality’). There is no right or wrong answer guys, so while I’d love to hear your interpretations, please refrain from this narrow-minded attitude of haughtiness. Part of the reason I did post Braston’s version is because s/he did not do this. I stand by my version, as should s/he, but I respect everyone else’s as well. Blogging about T7S should be fun and friendly!!!

#That '70s Show #homes #Forman #Pinciotti #submission

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davidastbury · 6 years

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Think of the one who looked after your every need - who taught you to walk and picked you up when you fell. Who took away your hurt and showed you the right way and loved you and bought you shoes.

Miss Nabb Miss Nabb taught us to use the dip pen. It wasn’t easy for any of us but before long her class of nine-year-olds were producing agonised, blotted versions of copperplate script, laying the foundations of adult handwriting. She then - (perhaps as a compensation to the painful slowness and constrictions of this type of writing) - gave us large exercise books which we were to use for ‘rough work’. The idea being that we had total freedom with our rough books; we could use pencil or crayon or whatever we liked. We could write or draw; there would be no rules and no inspections - we could choose any subject and if nothing occurred to us we could write about our home, our family, our hobbies, or what we thought of her - Miss Nabb. We all became writers; we all found our voices and spent our spare moments scribbling about our lives, our pleasures, our displeasures. Miss Nabb never intruded into our privacy by reading our rough books and she would smile when told that a book was full and another one requested. Of course I wrote a lot about Stella - probably saying more than could ever be spoken - and maybe she wrote about me too. As for Miss Nabb - well, she was a genius.

On The Train Mother and daughter - definitely. Daughter, fourteen or so, has her left wrist in some sort of surgical support. Probably broken, or at least seriously sprained; she keeps looking at the plastic clamp with an expression of thoughtful curiosity, as if thinking of improvements in the design. Her mother is watching her - watching her and saying nothing!

Miss Caultart She lived in a beautiful house in the most beautiful street in Warwick - and Warwick has many beautiful streets. Near to the river and the castle. Canaletto, leaving behind his beloved Venice, was a regular visitor to Warwick and he painted many scenes of the town - he said that the river and the castle, from a certain angle, were the most perfect view in England. So Miss Caultart - she was the old lady who spotted me helping an injured sparrow in an earlier story - lived alone in her lovely house. It was unchanged from the Victorian period. I remember it had a tiny room off the hall for visitors to sit and wait to be received. It was a house that was designed to be run by servants, but there hadn’t been servants for seventy years or so, not since Miss Caultart’s girlhood. But she managed. The house had been bought by her father - a Birmingham industrialist, who had sold his factory at the end of WW1 and invested massively in land development. His children did all the right things - the boys went into the military and the civil service and the dim one ‘took the cloth’ i.e. became a minister. Miss Caultart excelled in watercolours and pianoforte. She never married, remaining in the family house as one by one her siblings moved on, and one by one, her parents died. Eventually her brothers and sisters died and she was the only one left. Her father’s trust-fund fell entirely into her lap. As her brother - the clergyman - said to her from his sick bed - ‘It’s all yours now, my girl!’ Each Friday she had her friends in for tea. This was a group of women her own age, who had buried their husbands decades ago. They were all bright-eyed old birds worth zillions. As far as I know she had only one other social activity and that is where I come into the story. She said that she was fond of cricket and one lovely summer we went together to matches at the local club. This wasn’t county standard, it was village cricket, which is England at its most picturesque. Sunny afternoons, smell of mowed grass, men in white, ladies in summer dresses, shouts from the players and a thin applause - perhaps five people clapping. They made a fuss of her at the club - she had her own ‘special’ part of the bench, covered with a nice cloth. I would pass her my field glasses from a leather case worn over my shoulder, and she would follow the action, although mostly vague about the score and certain obscure technical terms. She would raise a hand - a steward would rush over and she would indicate another beer for me and another glass of stout for herself.

From 2016 He came in on Interstate 26, through Jamison and Sangaree - Goose Creek off on the left, and finally Charleston. He had a beer overlooking the Wando River; the waters sparkling in the afternoon sunshine, reminding him of his girlfriend's eyes - the girl he loved - the girl back in Volunteers Ridge, Daufuskie Island, just east of Savannah.

Dr. Stephen Ward’s appointment book would have made interesting reading - many of his patients were public figures, politicians, show-biz, film stars like Sophia Loren. He was the best osteopath in London, certainly the most celebrated. There is a story of how he achieved his top position, how he attracted this illustrious clientele. In the early days, newly qualified and often facing resistance from orthodox medical practitioners, he was struggling to make a living. One afternoon he visited a doctor friend - I think he was a rheumatologist - at a London hospital. His friend was called away and Ward found himself alone in the small office. The telephone rang; he ignored it at first but it continued and eventually he picked it up. The hospital receptionist thought she was speaking to the rheumatologist and asked if she could put the call through. It was someone representing Winston Churchill, asking if he could recommend someone who would examine the great man who was troubled with back pain. Ward replied that the best man in London for back pain was a brilliant young chap called Stephen Ward - ‘and if you can hold on a moment I think I have his phone-number somewhere.’

Pimlico Daydream ......(1968) Afternoon sun shining through dirty windows. A scratched record plays Schubert’s ‘Rosamunde’. Danny appears to be finishing a drawing; not much bigger than a cigarette packet and he’s spent days on it. From the kitchen Big Pete can be heard singing as he overcooks something. And me? I am trying on a new shirt; taking time off work - let them wait - they are lucky to have me.

Stella and the Normans The class was divided down the middle - boys one side, girls the other. Miss Kaye seated her favourites towards the front, presumably it gave her pleasure to see them when talking to the sea of faces. I remember them as very pretty, incredibly neat little girls (we were eight-year-olds) with their pig-tails and pencil boxes. Stella was towards the back. I liked to keep an eye on her. Miss Kaye was an expert in the use of sarcasm. She never needed to raise her voice - that might have caused the head-teacher to look in - instead she would incite ridicule at her victim. We had been studying Norman castles. Our history books showed with words and illustrations what life had been like following 1066 and all that. Miss Kaye told us to close our books and pay attention. She stood at the blackboard and asked the class to describe a Norman castle. A boy put his hand up and called out - ‘It was surrounded by a moat!’ Miss Kaye replied - ‘Yes, very good, a moat.’ She wrote the word ‘moat’ on the blackboard. ‘What else?’ Another boy put up his hand and said - ‘It had slit windows so that you could shoot arrows out!’ Miss Kaye smiled and replied - ‘Yes, they had special windows. What else?’ A girl called out - ‘It had a keep in the middle, and there were kitchens.’ Miss Kaye replied - ‘Very true Tina, they had to have kitchens, didn’t they? Now - let’s hear from someone who never contributes - Stella - tell us what else it had!’ I saw Stella shrivel with terror. She hardly ever spoke, except to one person. She couldn’t get the words out. ‘It...it...it had a well as well.’ Miss Kaye looked at the ceiling. And then she started to laugh. The entire class instantly aligned to her mood - eager to enjoy seeing a victim get it. ‘“It had a well as well!” We must rewrite the history books! It had a well as well!’ All the class was laughing. Miss Kaye set up a chant, conducting, waving her arms. ‘It had a well as well!’ ‘It had a well as well!’ ‘It had a well as well!’ Stella was looking at her hands. And I couldn’t do anything to help her.

As a child Elvis decided that as soon as he left school he would find a way of lifting his parents out of poverty. The fame arrived and the money poured in. He bought his mother a mansion and a pink Cadillac and she watched in dismay at the frenzy of his new world - the management, the boys, the press, the nonstop noise. He loaded her with jewels and fashion but she didn’t want to go out, wouldn’t wear make-up. Her pleasure was feeding her son and her husband; cooking the simple meals - black-eyed peas and cornbread - she had learned as a girl. She remembered how Elvis used to sit in the kitchen with her - but he was no longer around - he was too busy. She used to call her friends in Mississippi and tell them all about her new life - saying that she wished - ‘the family could go back to being poor again.’

Jean......(1966) She worked at the bookshop for about three months. Each morning she would quietly turn up and sit at her table (in the office) very nervous and only speaking about matters relating to work, nothing else. Most of us tried to strike up conversations but she would smile and look down. I began to think she was ill or had been ill. At the start we were curious - only one thing was evident; Ben the manager was respectful and gentle with her - and this promoted the idea that she was the daughter of one of his friends - but no one was sure. She never gave anything away that might have revealed her personality; just a blank mask, a distant hard-to-hear voice, no opinions. She alone is a vivid memory.

Summer ....(the first part got in the newspapers) The school was on fire and we had to get out of the building as quickly as possible. The electric bell was ringing continuously- it was the same bell as the lesson change, but it sounded much louder, so loud that we couldn’t tell what the teachers were shouting. Everyone was running about and the main exit corridor was blocked so children were climbing out of the windows. Once outside we were herded into the playground and sorted into our classes. All the teachers were doing head—counts. It was a lovely sunny day and we were beginning to enjoy ourselves - after all this was better than being indoors. Then word got through that it was a ‘false alarm’ and again we were herded into groups to wait our turns at going back to our lessons. The first batch were marched inside - and then - they came running out, screaming. Apparently there was a fire. Again we stood in our groups and the firefighters arrived. They connected their hose-pipes to the terminals and rushed through the doorway. I had to laugh because over the door was a Latin inscription advocating calmness in all matters. The headteacher started shouting again. There would be a calling of the class registers and then would be free to go home! It was early afternoon and in all the drama and confusion, it hadn’t crossed anyone’s mind to get the school buses sorted out. Rather than wait, and face the possibility of having to stay at the school until normal finishing time, most of us set off walking. But all this about the fire (which turned out to have caused minor damage in the physics lab) is insignificant. The real excitement was the walk home. Russell was with me, along with our friends; we were all in the same class, all fourteen-years-old. We made our noisy way along the country lanes, and the sky was cloudless and farmers were in their fields. And directly in front, always keeping the same distance, was a group of girls - with one of whom - and unknown to my friends - I had sparked off a closeness! She was with her friends and they were laughing about something or other, but the magic was there for me alone. She was communicating with me in her exaggerated gestures and the way she was shaking her head and then turning round and walking backwards. I knew that she liked me because of the way she swung round - no one had ever done that for me before - no one had ever walked backwards.

Russell’s Mother And The Piano Occasionally, when Russell was out, but due home at any moment, his mother - his elegant, charming, distant mother - would come into the room and talk to me. Perhaps she thought that by getting to know her son’s friends she would get closer to her son - to better understand the way his mind worked. Or she would just talk to me, not expecting much in the way of reply. I remember her saying that she was sorry that Russell had given up his pianolessons. She put her hand flat onto the polished top of the piano, as if consoling a dear friend. He was good on the brass, but to her the piano was supreme and she started to explain why. ‘There is no other instrument that can match the piano for range of dynamics and range of expression. A simple phrase by Chopin can be as rich and emotional as anything played on a violin. Listen to this chord - now listen to this one - and this one! I am playing the same chord, just giving extra percussion to a different finger each time. I can change the whole meaning by stressing a different finger! Or if I repeatedly play this same chord with the same pressure - like this - each chord is slightly different - I could play it a thousand times and each would be different.’ And I sat and listened. My head was full of a wider wisdom - I knew - at the age of thirteen - an even greater truth than this. That the arrangement of the furniture would never be repeated - that nothing would be repeated - she would never again stand that way in front of the piano - nor look or sound the same - nor have that vague amusement in her eyes - nor would the afternoon sunlight shine the same way on the glass-fronted cabinets - nor my slight hunger - nor the sinking excitement, the tingling, the banked-down exhilaration at the thought that Caroline was in the house - and might walk in at any moment.

Russell’s Mother Buys a Car Russell’s dad used to be away on business a lot. He wasn’t around all the time, he wasn’t there to do the sort of things husbands and fathers are expected to do – and Russell’s mother made known her complaints. They decided that it would help if she had her own car – she would buy a car and learn to drive – and then she would feel less restricted. I first saw the car when Russell asked me back to his house near the end of the school summer term. It was a fabulous Armstrong-Siddley Sapphire, cream and gold, brown trim, bright chromium grills and a rather grand badge bolted to the front bumper. I stood, lost for words – and Russell laughed and said - ‘My dad will go mad when he sees it.’ - dad was away on business. I don’t think Russell’s mother ever learned to drive, or if they kept the Armstrong-Siddley for long. But one day, during the school holidays, I was invited to join the family on a ‘run to the seaside’. Russell’s dad was wearing tortoise shell sunglasses and his mother looked like a fashion model in cropped slacks, sleeveless top and a wide-brimmed hat. Russell jumped onto the back seat behind his dad, his mother sat at the front and then – joy of all joys – Russell’s older sister Caroline (with whom I had been painfully in love for a long time) came running from the house, followed by two school friends. Russell groaned. Caroline, dressed in sandals, shorts and baggy gingham shirt, loaded stuff into the boot – picnic baskets, beach balls, collapsible chairs and such like. The girls then piled in - squealing and giggling - not a word to me, not even a glance. Five of us on the long leather seat, and by divine permission Caroline was next to me. The car-door was still open and Russell’s dog leapt in and landed heavily on my lap. He was barking with delirious happiness and everyone shouted at him to shut up – he then bunched up and gave ‘half barks’. The sun was shining and Russell’s dad drove fast and the windows were down. I was lost in the chime of the girls voices – the smell of new car and cigar smoke – and the hot pressure of Caroline’s bare thigh against mine. At some point Russell’s mother turned to face me and asked – ‘Are you comfortable, David?’ – and I adopted my ‘Double-lesson of Geography’ face - my ‘Our team lost, but we played well’ face. I replied I was ‘fine, thank you’ and the dog slobbered over my neck and the girls rearranged their tangled legs and Russell muttered about being sick and tired of being squashed and I wanted the ride to last forever – or to crash and die there and then - smiling and choking with happiness.

Very impressed with a young person! Mid to late twenties, astute social observer, cool dresser, humorous and affable; born in Trinidad - a Trinidadian - a complicated upbringing, partly in USA, partly in London - some sort of big deal job in the city - married to an English girl and buying a house ‘by the river’ (it actually has a boat mooring). We chatted non stop for quite a while. He is one of those rare people with whom you can talk forever - endlessly engaging. He was curious about the attitudes of the English during the periods of black immigration; how the public responded etc. He has researched the subject but wanted a ‘live’ view from people who saw it happening. He also wanted to know how we (the public) felt about Malcolm X and James Baldwin and figures such as Lenny Bruce. I came away hoping that I might see him again. But as I was driving home, a thought crept into my mind - ‘Was he taking the piss?’

The Artist.....part 2 Very rarely have I tried to intervene (help) friends with their relationship difficulties but, being young and foolish, I tried to get The Artist back with his adored girlfriend. It was a strange meeting, sitting under the foliage in a Baker Street coffee bar, clutching a shallow glass cup and trying to look wise and conciliatory. It was strange because I was so familiar with her sculpted head - a sublime lump of shiny clay on a rotating platform in the studio. It was as if she had found herself a body, dressed in an abbreviated mini-skirt, tight jumper and wide-brimmed hat. She listened, took in what I said, and replied - ‘Do you want to know why I ended it?’ I didn’t answer. ‘It was all those milk-bottles full of his piss. I told him I couldn’t stand it, but he kept pissing in them and leaving them all over the floor.’

The Artist It was good fun while it lasted but eventually, wearied by his chaotic way of living, she had to finish it. Behind the anarchistic humour and deadly serious creativity, lay a world of despair so powerful that it would engulf and destroy her. So, as gently as she could, she ended their relationship. At first he was extravagantly upset - he moped about, muttering his misery. He had recently completed a sculpture of her head; and I must say, it was brilliant. It had been done in clay and then cast in plaster, impaled on a sturdy iron and mounted upon a stone block. With the head wrapped in a dirty bath towel, he set off in a taxi and gave it to the girl’s mother. From that moment things changed. He said that she hadn’t ‘gone’ - she was still here and always would be. He would never stop painting her.

The Gulf.......1999 The café was crowded so I shared a table with someone who turned out to be a US Marine. This was in Bahrain, in the Persian Gulf, and it wasn’t unusual to see US servicemen, as there is a huge military base on the island. So we got talking about this and that as I looked at his incredible physical presence. He had the body of a wrestler and the face of a twelve-year-old boy - thick neck, thick eyebrows, thick forearms and a watch as big as a tin of shoe polish, fastened with a khaki webbing strap. He started to tell me about his hometown, a small place with a French name, I think it was in Arkansas. He talked about how he missed his family and his mother’s cooking. He missed the friendly waves in the streets - everyone knew everyone else, and how they looked out for each other. The people were decent and honest - they didn’t cheat anyone - children were safe - doors weren’t locked - they lived plain lives - they married girls who would be good mothers - they respected the old people. I listened to all this - aware that he was asking me a question - in fact he was pleading with me. It was in his eyes, his cornflower-blue eyes. His question was:- ’Tell me…what is wrong with this?’

She has a way of sitting - of crossing legs, of tilting her head, of palm-cupping her elbow - and I surprised her (she certainly sat up!), when I gently told her that the way she sits is identical to the way her mother sits, and the same way that her grandmother sits and the same way as her grandmother’ mother used to sit My words had the effect of an unknown, yellowed photograph, a love letter on paper so old that it crumbles, a lost song that was once sung for you.

This is the blessing you can say when you see someone of unusual appearance. Of course you don't need to say it in Hebrew - English is fine but I offer transliteration for the really keen. And you only say it once - the first time you see them! בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְיָ אֱלהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֺלָם מְשַׁנֶּה הַבְּרִיּוֺת. Baruch Atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech Haolam, m’shaneh habriyot. Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Ruler of the Universe, who makes people different.

Stella’s House I think I only went into her house once - at least I can only remember the one occasion; not that I remember this one occasion because something memorable happened, because nothing did. We were simply in her house together; two seven year olds. Stella was a solemn little girl who hardly ever spoke but there was absolutely no tension. In the same way, everything she did had a mature purposefulness. Her family were very poor, you could see that, everything looked worn-out, but they did their best to make it look nice. She asked me if I wanted a drink of tea. I asked her if she had anything else, and she replied - ‘No’. She made the tea and filled a teacup - I remember it was chipped and had flowers, and she spooned in a lot of sugar because she wanted to make it nice for me.

This is the Blessing you should say when you see an elephant, an ape, or a long-tailed monkey: ‘Blessed is He who makes strange creatures.’ If you see beautiful creatures and beautiful trees, the Blessing is: ‘Blessed is He who has such in His world.’ (Talmud, Tractate Berakoth 58b)

Development They have built houses - 3,4 even 5 bedroom houses - on the fields of a small farm I knew as a child. Impressive large houses with tiny gardens all huddled together; family homes for happy children. There used to be only one house; black stone and a leaning slate roof; occupied by a mysterious man who, according to my parents did ‘dreadful things to children.’ So I was told that I must never go near. The words ‘to children’ got me - it inflamed an indignation at what was right, and what was wrong. Why was I being warned? It was apparently okay for the man who did dreadful things to children to live in his horrid house and keep sheep and cows and have his beer delivered in a lorry. Would it not have been okay for him to live there if he did dreadful things to grown-ups? I tried to express this line of thinking but was told to shut up and keep away. So I avoided it. Thinking of the man was frightening and I gave him a position of prominence in my Parthenon of Terror - he was up there with my dread of being kidnapped by cannibals or seized by an octopus, or sinking into quicksand, or being squashed and swallowed by a huge snake.

This is the Blessings to be said when you see the first blossom on trees:- 'Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who did not leave a single thing lacking in His world, Filling it with the finest creatures and trees, So as to give pleasure to all of mankind.' (Talmud, Berakhot, 33.2)

The Watchmaker In his tiny shop, he spends most of the day fitting batteries into customer’s watches. Not very skilled work – for someone who trained at Omega and once repaired high quality timepieces – but he makes steady money. I once asked him how he got started – did he want to be a watchmaker from an early age? He answered me - ‘I never planned being a watchmaker – I didn’t know what I wanted to do. At the last year in school we used to get employers coming round and giving talks. Once a silversmith came and I thought it was interesting – I asked if I could be a goldsmith, but they didn’t do that – I am glad now because gold isn’t easy, it is very soft. So I became a silversmith; mostly doing repairs or commissioned pieces; I also learned engraving. Later, I applied to go over to watches and my firm paid for me to live in Switzerland and I learnt French and German. Years later, I set up my shop and worked on watches, but then quartz came and people stopped using mechanical watches. I do fairly well out of battery replacements – people cannot open their watches themselves. And I deal in scrap gold and when there’s a decent amount in the safe I go to Birmingham and sell it on.’ I think he will retire soon. He’s not that age yet but he looks tired. Not long ago, as he was locking up for the night, he was jumped by thieves. He refused to open the safe and they knocked him unconscious. The shop was closed for three weeks. I have known him for many years and he looks ill – the jewellers glass slips down his face and his hands shake. I have noticed the tricks he uses to steady his hands, pressing his forearms against the counter-top cabinets, but his hands still shake.

I was at an event once - the sort where you sit down at a table for eight and they feed you. On my right a twinkle eyed oldster in a Daks blazer who started to tell me about the business he had founded in textiles. In his wheezy, heavy-smoker - (‘but-given-up-now’) voice he croaked out the words ‘couture’, and ‘fashion‘ and ‘Paris’ and ’bespoke’. I naturally made the appropriate ooo’s and aaah’s and smiled when needed. On my left, an octogenarian woman - sun tanned nut brown - tried to whisper to me. Her eyes narrowed conspiratorially! I put my head to hers - and caught the hot thunder of her voice in my shell-like. ‘Don’t believe a word he tells you - his stuff was market stall schmatter!’

Something Wrong I once saw a rabbit hit by a speeding car - it was thrown up in the air; then rolled; then settled roadside. One second later I saw his/her mate - ears raised, looking back, confused, aware something was wrong. All the laws of day and night broken - as broken as that scrap of warm fur lying roadside.

Love At The Ritz He was in love with her! Right from the time when he was a boy and had kept photograph cuttings of her from magazines tucked inside his bedroom books. Pictures of her concerts pressed between the pages of ‘European Birds - An Essential Guide’. And then he met her; face to face. He interviewed her for his university newspaper. Gushing and nervous, choked by her perfection, he told her that this was a dream and that he had followed her career all his life (he was nineteen). They got along very well. A few months later he received two tickets for a London concert, plus a little note inviting him to tea at her hotel. And so they sat together in a cushioned corner, under chandeliers, glass and gold and glitter, a buzz of conversation, clicking china, a waiter’s squeaky shoes on the marble, a pianist in a bow tie which made her smile. In fact a lot made her smile - she was smiling all the time. He was happy beyond words, happy beyond his dreams, happy to be so close to her, happy to be sharing the same air!

Presence I stamped the snow off my shoes and climbed the eight steps up to the row of doors. The doors were unchanged - still the same heavy mahogany frames and brass push rails; the same polished glass. I thought of my friend Geoff Marshall who, long ago, used to work in this building. Some intuition made me stop and stand still - holding onto the handrail as if time itself was standing still - and all I had to do was breathe very slowly and close my eyes. It is as simple as that...you just have to breathe slowly and close your eyes.

Only Once Countless others will look at this same beautiful coastline and say, in many languages, roughly the same things. As will countless others - millions of them along the chain of the centuries. But we both know, even as we say these same things, that we have had our share and are grateful and accept the sound of the waves saying - ‘For you, never again.’

Man On The Bus I’ll limit myself just to his appearance - just to his hair! Hair that has gone thin and bears no trace at all of its original colour; developing, in advanced maturity, into a yellowish grey, tinged with ginger. Everything will be this colour one day - following an (accidental) nuclear war. His hair is the non-colour of our nuclear winter. The hair, thin and unruly, has been greased into submission and forcefully combed in directions which it would not have voluntarily chosen. The man retains his loyalty to a style that was adopted by the late film-star Tony Curtis - in fact the style was named after him and was hugely popular in the 1950s. Unfortunately, the style requires a fullness in order for the bouffant to be successful and while this may have been the effect enjoyed by the man over many decades, it is no longer achievable. Instead of the luxuriant ripple of hair from each side of his head, meeting and merging at the back like two rivers, or a bird’s wings - instead the strands stand off as if resisting. The strands look like a mesh of metallic wires surrounding the man’s head, rather like some sort of protective helmet.

A Little Boy With A Wise Face! Every afternoon he is with his parents on the terrace. They have their drinks and cakes and ice-creams. The little boy sits and watches - everything! His mother and father aren’t all that young so the little boy must have been a lovely surprise for them. His parents are at the age of seeing the end of their own youthfulness - and because of this they actually understand what being young means. Of course when people are young they have no idea of the meaning of the word. And so his parents are recreating their interpretation of youth - lots of laughter, ‘knowing’ looks, knee-nudging intimacy, secret jokes and oblique references. The little boy is pleased and watches them like a parent.

Balcony Thoughts The balconies have a partition wall on each side to give you privacy. Next door cannot see into your balcony and you cannot see into theirs - unless you lean out, perilously, which isn’t easy because the walls project slightly. The partition walls are about five inches thick; no doubt cheap cinder-bricks skimmed over with cement and then painted. The other purpose of the partitions is to stop a burglar from accessing your room; or making his way along all the rooms in the row. And yet he could still do it - in fact you or I could do it. You would have to stand on the low balcony wall and grip the partition firmly between your palms - and then swing your leg across onto the wall on the other side. Hugging the partition wall tightly you can then manoeuvre your body outwards and across; and then your other leg. Gymnastically this is not too taxing - at ground level! It would feel different on my own third floor, with a leg-breaking thirty feet drop onto grass - and more different still on the ninth floor. Why not try it? Of course there is no need - so why even think of it? But you do think of it, and being a male an odd sort of machismo can start to creep into the mind. - ‘You don’t want to do it because you are afraid - admit it! If you don’t do it you will feel bad about yourself, because it will bring back memories of that work you once did on a roof and everything started to bend and the sky wasn’t straight and they couldn’t get you down. You’ve got to do the things you are afraid of - all the self help books tell you that.’ Anyway...I’m going down for a drink.

Afternoon Adventures Being stalked by the hotel bore - he’s after me because I wouldn’t be drawn into conversation with him last night. He’s English (of course) newly retired, red-eyed, bay-window belly, braying voice deceptively reasonable but ready to pour out the hard opinions. I am sitting in my balcony, at tree top level, watching birds choosing partners - it’s that time of year and they are making odd movements. Every so often he appears - looking for a victim - and I duck behind the balustrades. French children are playing a chasing game on the lawn - I peer over the potted plants and I can hear them chanting - ‘Vite, Vite, Vite!’

Tunisia 2018.......#7 Odysseus docked near here - he dropped anchor and tried to work out where he was. He must have looked at these same rocks and bays, and the same blue/green sea. The sea that had taken so many of his friends - all lost forever - nudged by sea creatures, nibbled by fish, pushed and pulled, helpless and eyeless, losing their weapons and their beads - never again will they kill those they do not hate - never again see those they love.

Love. .....(1962) She was the boss’s daughter; he was the lowest of clerks. She would call at the factory most afternoons, straight from school, and would do her homework or read magazines in a small office near to a loading-bay. And then go home with her father. The boy worked in the loading bay and he fell in love with her instantly - devising pretexts for going through the small office. Sometimes he would linger, pretending to be searching for delivery notes and the like, but secretly eating her with his eyes. And then they started to speak; at first shallow comments but she understood the depth of his compulsion, the force of his need which wiped away caution. He interpreted her stillness as an indication of acquiescence - and would stand beside her and they would talk (one eye looking out for the boss!) and not knowing what to say he would whisper how beautiful she was and how much he loved her. When the big school holidays came round he was very unhappy. She feigned unconcern. Having shared her secret with a friend, this was viewed as the best tactic. The boy explained his plan - every night at 11.00 they would go somewhere to be alone and think of each other. So that is what she did. Bedroom door firmly shut - lying on her bed - just the sound of her breath as the excitement increased - imagining him - not letting him speak - blinking - shocked and delighted.

Visits A very early memory! I was about four or five and I would go with my mother to visit Helen, her eldest sister. On one occasion she asked me what I was doing and I replied that I was... ‘playing with glass.’ Being partly deaf she had misheard me - what I had actually said was...’playing with grass’. There was a minor panic and then everything was sorted out. Thirty years later I was again visiting her - this time she was in a nursing home. She had survived several strokes and could no longer speak and her hearing had gone long ago. The secretary at the home needed to fill in certain details on their paperwork - they wanted to know her date of birth. I told them - 4th April 1888. And then I sat beside her and I remembered that early incident. I wrote down on my pad - ‘I’ve been playing with glass’. She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, and started to nod her head and there was a smile - an unmistakable smile - in her 19th century eyes.

Ablutions He enjoys his cold showers although to be honest he is a bit of a cheat. A real cold shower is when you step into jets of icy cold water and it is the shock that makes you feel good (afterwards). Instead he has a conventional hot shower and then, in bearable graduations, he adjusts the regulator until the water is chillingly cold. Stepping out, feeling pleased with himself, he’s ready to face the world - so to speak. It is so different to how he feels when getting out of a hot bath - emerging shivering - broiled and bleached - dull minded and despondent- staring at his grey/white skin and hearing the voracious gulp of the released plug sucking away his thoughts and energy, sending all his fond dreams down the drain.

Skill I like watching snooker, particularly the drama of the opening shots. This comes over on TV, but there is nothing like being in the atmosphere of a sports hall and seeing it live. I particularly like the opening shots when the strict formation of the balls is shattered and multiple patterns of possibilities flash across your eyes. And then you marvel at the mastery of the player’s plan - at his skill and intelligence. It was similar when Ian ended his relationship with Lorna. We didn’t understand what was happening. One eye closed to avert distraction, he sent off a perfect screw-ball curling around a delinquent red and knocked a pink on a straight run towards the cushion - where it wobbled deliciously and then plopped into the pocket.

Snow Two people walking in the snow – getting on in years - linking arms – unsteady. Freezing cold; a dusting of snow blowing across their legs. I can see them passing a picnic area and the man is pointing to something. Perhaps they once used it – perhaps a summer day long ago – and started a fire with snapped twigs and watched them crackle and hiss in the flames – yellow and red flames, hardly visible in the sunshine.

Тимошенко Степан Прокопович In the 1960s it was unusual for girls to study engineering - but I do remember one! She came into the bookshop quite regularly, lingering in the sections marked - ‘Engineering, Civil and Structural, Mechanical, Fluid Mechanics, Materials Management...’ and so on. My colleague Frank, gazing at her in wonderment, would sidle up and ask if she needed help. If thinking about someone continuously, and being disinterested in nearly everything else - and if the focus of each day is the possibility of seeing that person are to be taken as symptoms of being ‘in love’ - then Frank was truly in love. At the start of the new academic year I would set up tables and load them with titles on the student’s book-list - many published in the International Student Editions of John Wiley and McGraw-Hill. Frank’s dream-girl would leaf through certain ones, sometimes smiling to herself, sometimes frowning. Once she came to the desk and spoke to Frank - I moved away. After she had left the shop I went across to him. ‘If only you had heard her! He said. ‘Heard her - what do you mean?’ I asked. ‘If only you had heard the way she said “Timoshenko”’.

Cross Street, Manchester I sometimes pass a doorway and the memory comes back, bringing mystery and pleasure across a gap of over fifty years. In that doorway (I’d be happy to take you there!) I came face to face with Benjamin Mendelssohn; an important figure in my early days. He was coming out; I was going in. As usual he was resplendent in dark-blue pinstripe and polka dotted tie, looking every inch an ‘old-world man of letters’ and gentleman-publisher (which he was). There was a young woman with him - mid twenties, very thin and frail, as if recovering from a serious illness. She was so thin that her head appeared to be disproportionately large. She was holding onto Ben’s arm, as if her legs, wobbly as a newly born calf, couldn’t support her. I remember she wore a sheepskin coat with the collar up, and a bright tartan skirt fastened with a huge safety-pin. When Ben spoke to me she looked at me and smiled - but only her mouth smiled, her eyes were dull - smiling wasn’t something she found easy. And I felt that I knew her - she seemed vaguely familiar- but didn’t know how, or why, or when. Because of traffic noise, I couldn’t properly hear what Ben was saying, except it was something like ‘...and let me tell you Anne, David is one of the busiest young men in town. He is so busy that we must not detain him!’ I walked along the corridor struggling to recall how I might have known the young woman.....that tilt of her head...the dark hair that should have been thick and strong, but lay lank and flat....the intelligence in her gaze...the few accented words...the spindly fingers...a writer’s fingers! I didn’t dare seriously to let my mind enlarge any more on this - I felt my legs becoming as unsafe as hers. Was it possible that there had been a miracle - that she had survived - that Anne Frank was alive.

Pret a Manger She’s just finishing her second French Butter Croissant! Why don’t people eat breakfast at home? Anyway, she’s enjoyed it. Delicately dabbing at the corners of her mouth, checking her phone – her face resumes her normal expression. Young people are difficult to read, but she isn’t young – youngish, but not young. She has the face that she has worked for, the face she deserves – she settles, as she sips the last of the cafe au lait, into her true face – the one that the dormant artist in me would like to draw. Instead my heart goes out to her and I wonder if there is someone who can say to her – ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Who is Sylvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her?....’ (Two Gentlemen of Verona) Well, I could tell him! Sylvia Hulme was twelve and she always had a swarm of younger children around her. I was the same age and was part of a gang and we spent the long summer holidays playing in fields and woods near the lake. Somehow, one sunny day, our two groupings met up, and sat on the ground and talked. One of Sylvia’s friends organised the younger ones and although I couldn’t see them, I could hear them laughing and shouting – and then they started to sing nursery songs. Sylvia was very much the boss but she was also gentle and understanding; she spoke to everyone and used their names – she had a forceful personality. I don’t know how it happened – was there a pretext, had words been exchanged, had I given an audacious signal or had we mesmerised each other? Whatever it was, Sylvia and I got up and walked together into the half light of the trees - the mushroomy smell – the moss and dampness – the sky no longer above and earth no longer below - if you get my meaning. The next time I heard of Sylvia was through a friend who told me that she was having private lessons in book-keeping from the superbly named Mr Byron. Mr Byron was an early-retired teacher – a tormented Romantic figure, fulfilling the promise of his name – from whose house came an endless parade of seventeen-year-old girls, all paying their four shillings an hour to get good ‘O’ level results. I was eager to make contact with Sylvia so I waited across the road, facing the iron gates of maison Byron. She was very beautiful and was amused to see me waiting. Yes, she was having lessons in basic accountancy and no, she didn’t like it. She had other plans – she was joining the Navy, although her parents didn’t know that – yet. And that was it. I never saw her again, or heard about her. I went home, thinking about what she had said – she was going to sea – going to sea, sea, sea. And then THAT afternoon came back – full force. With the wet grass and the smells and Sylvia taking hold of me like someone who knew what she was doing. And beyond our own breathy noises, how we could hear the children singing a clapping song:- ‘A sailor went to sea, sea, sea To see what he could see, see, see But all that he could see, see, see Was the bottom of the deep blue sea, sea, sea !!!’

Sketch of Ricky He is trapped in his house - the centrepiece of complex family disputes - standing at the open fire, sucking on a cigar, discussing business. Talking of the future opportunities! Ignore the multiple bankruptcies, divorces, the ‘pending legal actions’, and the adult children who don’t speak to him. Seeing him like this - you cannot help but be won over. You are drawn into the mood of everything around you - the charming house - (despite the rotting window-frames) - the ticking clocks - the second large brandy - the music of his voice - his yawning cat called Vashti and the sly glances of his flighty young wife.

As Told to Me....#5 ‘When I was young I was ill. How ill? That is impossible to answer. I cannot talk about it because remembering how ill I was could make me ill again. I know some people say it helps to talk about it -‘share it’- and so on, but it doesn’t work for me; quite the opposite. ‘There’s something that really gets me - if I had known the right person at the right time I might not have become ill. I needed something but there wasn’t anything for me. It would have made such a difference - I would have not become ill. ‘But today, when I see someone suffering the way I had - and with all my direct personal experience, I’m sad to say that I am as remote and cautious and useless as everyone else.’

Alex and the Interview...........for Leyla Shortly before the summer of love Alex was shortlisted for a position with MICA (Manchester Institute of Contemporary Arts). They wanted a poet and Alex certainly ticked that particular box. He, and a short collection of other poets were invited to appear before a committee and explain, in twenty minutes, their case for being chosen. Alex was apprehensive about what might be expected of him if he landed the job and we all did our best to reassure him - everyone bought him drinks and said that it was purely topshow - at the very worst he might be summoned if the Queen was visiting the university, of if a janitor won a Nobel Prize. The selection panel was headed by a twinkly-eyed professor who wore corduroy and woolies. In my one and only conversation with him he actually said (I am not joking) that he found young people ‘stimulating’. There was also a female academic who frowned when speaking to a male, but her face illuminated into a ghastly tennis-club-dance smile when speaking to a girl or woman. I cannot remember the other team members. By the way...the good ship MICA sank with all hands in 1992 and a few survivors were washed up on beaches as far apart as Boston and Botany Bay. Some lived on to become visiting professors of this and emeritus professors of that. We all advised Alex to have an ‘early night’ before the morning of his interview. Alas he didn’t listen to our appeals - instead he drank his way down all the pubs as far as All Saints and at some point collapsed. He woke up in his bed-sit room with no memory of how he got there. During the previous evening he had been sick several times and had lost his false teeth. A club he used for after hours drinking, refused him entry and there had been some sort of fight - not serious, but there was an exchange of punches. He turned up, sans teeth and with a swelling on the side of his face darkening ominously - smiling through his hangover and ready to discuss poetry.

Ian again ! It’s a characteristic of young people to take things to extremes - friendships, loyalties, drinking and so on, including of course, romantic activities. Lorna shared a house with a varying number of friends, friends who hardly saw her at weekends because she stayed in her room with Ian, her tireless boyfriend. Occasionally she would emerge, disheveled and heavy-eyed, to load up a couple of plates, mumble a few words and then elbow the door closed. Then there would be a resumption of the various sounds of agony and ecstasy - the thudding of bare feet, of straining furniture, of objects being knocked over. Once, Ian talked about how he wanted to get to the very limit of intimacy; to get ‘beyond’ Lorna’s physical beauty and reach her very soul - her essence. He felt this might be possible by becoming satiated with her body, by reaching so far into his obsessions and compulsions he would find a liberation and cruise on the plateau of a sublime contentment. His efforts were doomed of course. I looked at his haggard face and wanted to tell him not to worry - that everything he searched for was conveyed to him each time Lorna squeezed in next to him, flicked back her hair and gently placed a hand on top of his.

London Night 1964....‘ The French Pub I was standing in the crush at the bar next to a group of ex-Legionnaires (Légion étrangère). Still bolt upright, still with shaved heads, still with fellow soldiers who would die for each other - all roaring with laughter at the mustachioed charm of Gaston Berlemont. Guttural French, harsh desert French - not the Cointreau warmth of Baisers Voles. And then I saw him coming through the door at the top end - the Poet! Blinking (although blind) - shocked by the noise and smell and smoke, hesitating, as if about to change his mind. His friends gathered in the corner, against the wall covered with photographs. They all claimed to be writers but to be accurate not one of them actually wrote anything - instead they got drunk every night and argued about what literature should be about. I saw the Poet shouldering his way through the crowd. Layer after layer of Soho regulars - the loved and the unloved - those who felt at home and those who had no home - the drunk and the diseased - the dough-faced prostitutes - the Cypriot pimps - the unfrocked priests - the newly discharged and recently released - the Trinidad newspaper vendors - the boxing referees - the club dancers clutching their bags of costumes - the fat and the thin - the women dressed as men - journalists - film stars - worldly Americans in tweeds and rimless glasses - a belligerent visitor demanding a pint glass - a wrestler with a young man who looks like a choirboy - a man with scars who (despite the danger!) you cannot help staring at - the loner who desperately want to talk to someone - the blazered bore telling war stories. I put hand on the Poet’s arm and say who I am; I guided him to the poet’s corner.

Learning Our Lesson Whatever she wanted we got her. Whatever she asked for we doubled it. Whatever one of us got for her the other one added to it. Whenever she wanted our time, time stood still for us. Whenever she needed specialist help we begged the services of friends, some of whom have dropped us. There was no end to what we would do for her, but there was an end - and it shocked all of us. People now say - ‘Well, I bet you’ve learned your lesson!’ And we have to agree, and we nod wisely - (knowing that we would do exactly the same again.

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