#peter-hughes-harmonies

[patcaps]

Thinking about the Captain being in the scouts - I like to imagine him instructing the children on knots and things alongside Pat when he brought groups to Button House. (Similar to his go at directing)

YELLING god he would he WOULD

[heartslobbf]

I mean to go back and leave a proper comment when I have a moment but just want to say that your adamfergus fic was!!! So beautiful. Is the title partly a mountain goats lyric?

thank you so much!!!! and yes, it is!! glad you enjoyed :)

[myautisticpov]

peter-hughes-harmonies replied to your post “Anyone else notice how in a lot of the “self-care isn’t X, it’s Y”...”

Self care means different things to everyone, depending what their alternative would be. And what might be self care for someone for a few months, may later be a basic standard (in some cases).

Yeah, def. I think the biggest example of that is that some people tend towards spending money, and some towards saving.

For spenders, self-care probably does mean making sure they have a decent amount in their savings account to prevent them stress.

But for savers, self-care is often allowing themselves to spend money on things that will make a genuine improvement in their lives.

But when all advice is designed for one group (often spenders in this case) and operates in blanket rules, it hurts the other.

[hermannsthumb]

The prompt thing: Sailing and lemonade? :)

10. Sailing + 19. Lemonade

from (last year’s) summer prompts meme here

probably takes place in some line of continuity where they’re visiting newt’s childhood haunts or smthin post-movie

——————–

The worst part of it all is that Hermann wouldn’t have half as high expectations if Newton hadn’t spent all week talking the bloody thing up. Hermann’s not all that hard to please when it comes to being romanced, you know–a near complete lack of experience in the matter means his standards are not only low, but practically nonexistent. All Newton need do is brush his teeth and put on a shirt untainted by extraterrestrial gore and Hermann would go anywhere with him, frankly.

They landed in Boston a week ago, in the midst of a nasty thunderstorm that delayed them by at least two hours. Newton held Hermann’s arm and the umbrella while they waited for Newton’s father to pick them up. He was scowling at the sky. “I wanted to take you out on the boat tonight,” he said. “I had a whole thing planned.”

“Boat?” Hermann echoed curiously. He wasn’t aware Newton had a boat, nor that he even knew how to sail. Newton never struck him as much of an outdoorsy type. Or an athletic type. 

Newton grinned. “My dad and I used to go out on it all the time when I was a kid. It’s been tied up at the docks for years now, but it should still work.”

“Oh,” Hermann said. How perfectly New England of Newton. Barring a brief stint on the rowing team as an undergraduate, Hermann has been on precisely one boat in his life–a research rig in Hong Kong, on which he hitched a ride for a closer examination of the Breach. He imagined Newton’s ship to be of the more casual variety. “And you wanted to take me out on it?”

At this, Newton gave his arm a small squeeze. “Of course!”

The two of them, alone, on a sailboat together–or perhaps even a small yacht. Yes, a yacht, that was far more likely. How terribly romantic. Hermann squeezed his arm back. “I’d like that very much, Newton.”

The week leading up to their sailing excursion only cemented the romance of the idea for Hermann. Newton certainly provided enough hints between their guest lectures and Geiszler-led city tours: allusions to a romantic dinner by starlight, prepared by Newton himself; a gold foil-top bottle of what was clearly champagne tucked hastily out of sight when Hermann entered the room one night; references to how alone they’d be, how much privacy they’d have, how Newton couldn’t wait to spend that private, alone time with Hermann (and, here, Hermann could only assume Newton wanted to engage in the obvious with him–because they’ve been dancing around it since a rather heated night spent together following the collapse of the Breach–and on a sailboat-yacht at that, how romantic, how terrifically naughty).

Early this morning Newton roused him and told him, excitedly, they would be going out on the boat around noon, and Hermann put on his sailing best (white linen and an oversized sunhat) and sunblock and packed certain necessary supplies into a waist-bag and pretended not to notice Newton slip the champagne into his own bag, and they caught a train, and then a bus, and then walked out to the pier, where Hermann gazed from yacht to sailboat to yacht excitedly and tried to pinpoint the one he and Newton would take for a day of lounging, and sunning, and trysts at sea--

As it turns out, it’s none of them.

“A paddle boat,” Hermann says. “You–you have a paddle boat.”

It’s not a question. He already knows the answer: yes, Newton has a paddle boat. A small paddle boat, in fact. A small, rusted paddle boat, with a sun-faded awning, and barely enough space to fit the large cooler Newton’s brought along with them. Newton hefts it on anyway. “A paddle boat!” he exclaims happily. There’s a sea monster painted on the side.

“Newton,” Hermann says. He raps his cane on the dock. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly–”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Newton cuts in smoothly. “I’m doing all the work! You just need to sit back and relax.”

Hermann gives a loud, skeptical hum.

They get in the boat, Hermann with some assistance. It sways dangerously beneath them. “How long has it been since you’ve, ah, taken this out?” Hermann says. Both sets of pedals are also rusted. To avoid tangling himself up in the ones on his side, Hermann’s had to resort to sitting in a rather awkward splay of limbs, his cane tucked behind them with the cooler.

“I told you,” Newton says. “Years and years! Okay, hold on.”

He begins to pedal them out. The uneven bob of the boat on the waves, along with Newton’s grunts of effort, the squeaking of the gears, and the hot sun beating down on Hermann even through his sunhat and the awning, is not exactly what Hermann would call relaxing. The opposite, in fact. Closing his eyes just makes it worse. “Where are we going?” Hermann finally says.

“There’s a good fishing spot a little bit ahead,” Newton says.

A chill runs down Hermann’s spine. “We’re fishing?”

“There are some old rods stashed in the back compartment,” Newton says, grinning broadly. “Man, I can’t wait. This is going to be so great.”

The first warning sign–Hermann thinks–should’ve been that Newton wore a fishing vest over his Hawaiian shirt. The second should’ve been his ridiculous fish-patterned hat. Hermann debates diving overboard and paddling back to shore, but it’s a long bit away, and he ultimately decides the risk of drowning isn’t worth it. He’s never been the strongest swimmer.

They reach Newton’s quote-unquote good spot. Newton stops pedaling. “Okay, one second,” he says, and begins twisting and turning in his seat. Hermann gets a multicolored elbow to the face twice before Newton finally re-emerges with two fishing rods. He thrusts one at Hermann. “That’s for you. Lemme get the bait.”

Three elbow jabs to the face. “Newton,” Hermann snaps, finally shoving the man off of him. “Mind your bloody step.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t reach!” Newton says.

He drops the cooler between his legs, and, to Hermann’s distress, opens it to reveal not a lovely homemade dinner, but a very large container of worms. Live worms. “Marvelous,” Hermann sighs, as Newton pops the lid and tugs one out.

“Alright, dude,” Newton says, pulling up the end of his fishing line, “so it’s really easy, you just–”

Newton makes to jam the worm down onto his fishing hook. He stops. He tries again. He stops again. He does this two more times, then turns big, sad eyes on Hermann. The worm wriggles between his fingertips. “I can’t do it,” he says.

Hermann takes the worm from him and puts it back in the container. Newton has always had a soft spot for even the most insignificant of creatures, often to his own detriment: he kept a pet snake in the laboratory for a bit (before pawning it off on a somewhat unenthusiastic Mako Mori), and teared up every single time he fed it a mouse, and once cried for ten minutes when a rather pretty-looking moth fried itself to death on his desk lamp. “It’s alright, Newton,” he says. He pats Newton’s hand. “We can try another day, with lures instead. Yes?”

“Yeah,” Newton says, and nods. 

The dinner Hermann expected may be nonexistent, but he knows he wasn’t imagining the champagne, and–frankly–he thinks he could use some right about now. Even if it’s that horrid pink kind Newton is obsessed with. “You know,” he says, airily, “I’m a bit thirsty. I don’t suppose you, ah, brought anything I could have? Some water, or…?”

Newton’s face splits into a grin. “I did! I was going to save it for dinner, but we can have both now!”

He reaches into a pocket of his fishing vest and pulls out a plastic bag. Upon closer inspection, Hermann discovers it contains two badly-squished sandwiches leaking…something. “One has Nutella and the other has Fluff,” Newton says. “Take your pick. I forgot where I put–oh!”

The bottle with gold foil is produced from his tote bag beneath his seat. In the daylight, in proper view, it looks markedly less like champagne, and far more like the sparkling lemonade it is. “Lovely,” Hermann sighs, and selects the less squished sandwich of the two.

The lemonade is actually quite good, and the sandwich edible enough, and Hermann finds that if he closes his eyes just right, it sort of feels like they’re on a better boat. Not a yacht by any means, but–perhaps a sailboat. And he really is pleased to have alone time with Newton. Newton, who was so excited about taking Hermann out–who packed them sandwiches, and lemonade, and tried to teach Hermann how to fish–who’s been nothing but sweet and kind to Hermann all day.

“Are you having fun?” Newton says. He sounds anxious. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you it was a paddle boat, I just thought you–”

Hermann cups his jaw and kisses him gently. The tension sags from Newton’s shoulders. “It’s all perfect, Newton,” Hermann tells him, and he finds he actually means it. “Really, perfect.”

“That’s good,” Newton says. “That’s awesome. Ha!” 

They smile at each other.

“What did you bring a fanny pack for?” Newton says.

Hermann’s smile falters, only slightly. “Er. I’ll show you tonight.”

[immortalsins]

May we see Tommy?

hes having a very relaxing time

[dont-offend-the-bees]

The Amazing Devil, yes! Do you have a favourite on the Horror and the Wild? Also, after you reblogged the lost about finding out a fic writer has written lots of others -I meant to say that that was definitely me when I read through your THB work! (I've really enjoyed your other stuff that was just what came to mind:) )

Oh now THAT’S a tough one- I’d say my gut instinct is to say Fair because it’s soft and tender and also the only one I’ve made the effort to learn to play on uke yet (although that’s partly because it’s one of the easier ones to do solo without another singer), but I’m absolutely weak for the howling, haunting vibes of The Rockrose and the Thistle and the way it legit makes you feel like you’re clinging to life alone and hollowed out on a snowy mountainside, the way Wild Blue Yonder makes you feel like running barefoot and playful through the woods on a rambunctious adventure with your sweetheart, that bittersweet intimacy of Marbles and the general resigned but hopeful/triumphant feeling of Battle Cries that just heckin fuels me (but that creaking you hear in my bones is not pain, it’s applause i scream at 3am, off-my-tits feral) so.... one of those????

and thank you!!!! <333 that’s so nice of you to say! man i need to dabble in the scosner lads again sometime, i have a wip or two buried somewhere for sure! thank you so much for reading and dropping me this lovely message it’s really made my evening <3333333

[timespace]

Thinking about what you said on your last post and I agree! Like, I've read a few of the TW books online but would much rather wait until I could afford to but the audios. I think a lot of people in this fandom are good at recognising that we waited for content and tbh are lucky big finish have done so much for us that it's important to support them. (Sorry if you didn't really want thoughts on it)

no no ur alright!

yeah!! big finish honest to god keeps torchwood (and the classic doctors) going and they def deserve to be supported. the tw books can be iffy from what ive heard (ive only read one) but bf is consistently really good and if we want more of it then we have to buy them!! plus bf isnt a massive corporation or anything so pirating them literally does nothing but harm

[littlecello]

peter-hughes-harmonies

  So here’s a little something about fandom and...

A lot of Life On Mars is about how Gene shouldn’t act how he does. My opinion (although I am white) is it’s done through comedy - it’s okay to find it amusing:) Gene is never glorified for his policing, even if his actual character is supposed to be likeable

That is very true! And I think a large chunk of the fandom - especially the part that actively engages with fan works - gets it. There is also the part that totally glorifies his behaviour though (back when the show was airing, the tabloids/right-wing media put him on a pedestal and people unironically made him into a kind of icon for the “good old times”, and iirc the Tories even used some of his one-liners as slogans for elections?? yikes), and I think that was what I was grappling with when I wrote this post. Since then I’ve thought about this more and talked about it in therapy, which helped a lot. So yes, I agree with you. <3