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fanfictionaries · 4 years

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Oh So Many Years: Ch. 17 - Chasing Pirates

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary:

Fred receives another letter from Angelina and must face some tough questions from George.

Hermione struggles with her want to keep Harry informed, but is happy things are finally back to normal with Ron and Fred -- but are they really? And how will she cope with some unsettling news?

Warnings: Swearing, Death, Smut/18+ NSFW

Author’s Note:

We’ve got internet babies!!!

As always, please, please, please feel free to like, comment, and reblog. I LOVE interacting with you all!!

Masterlist

<<<Chapter 16

In your message you said, you were goin' to bed,

But I'm not done with the night. So I stayed up and read, but your words in my head, Got me mixed up so I turned out the light.

And I, don't know how, to slow it down. My mind's racing from chasing pirates.

Fred figured it was just his luck that in the confusion of everyone running from his mother, he ended up in his bedroom with George and Hermione. He also figured it was just his luck he was too angry with his twin brother to censor his words.

“Are you fucking kidding me George?” Fred seethed, trying to keep his voice down as they were in fact still hiding from their mother.

“Oh lighten—”

“No! No, I will not just lighten up! Why?! What was going on in that evil little skull of yours?” Fred’s hand tightened on the towel around his waist as he paced back and forth. He was angry. Angrier than he had ever been at his brother, which was saying something because he’d never actually been cross with George before. Sure, he’d been miffed and on the odd occasion annoyed by his twin brother, and vice versa of course, but never like this. No, he was well and truly pissed off. Which meant this was entirely new territory for the both of them as Fred tried to manage his emotional tirade and George tried to manage Fred.

“Well, I—”

“You know how things are with Angelina right now and you knew how I felt and then you had to go and do this? I mean, why would you—they—”

“Fred—”

“—especially after what I told you this morning. I mean, I know we’re in it for a laugh and all most of the time, and to be fair this was quite funny. If it were anyone else, it would’ve been a real gut buster. But come on. This was just cheap!”

“Fred—”

“And to include Ginny in it? What? Did you tell her?”

“FRED!” George whispered harshly, putting a stop to Fred’s pacing, and clamping his hand over his brother’s mouth. At first, Fred’s instinct was to rip George’s hand off of his mouth and continue his rant. He was upset. Therefore, he was entitled to as much whinging and scolding as he pleased.

But then he saw George’s eyes flicker to a very confused and sheepish looking Hermione sitting on the edge of George’s bed and that instinct vanished. His eyes grew wide, realizing only then that he’d been freely ranting about Hermione and himself with the girl in question sitting right there. Fucking arsing balls, Fred cursed in his head. How much had he said? Enough to give anything away or only enough to make himself seem like a raving lunatic? He thought about subtly asking George but didn’t get the chance.

Their mother’s angry footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs followed by her equally angry voice, “Someone had better come out here and face me or I’ll be knocking down every single door in this hallway.”

Fred’s head swung from his brother to the door and back. “You have to go out!” Fred whispered in a panic.

“Me? Why me?” asked George.

Fred looked down at his towel-clad body pointedly and then to Hermione who was still sans shirt. “First of all, you owe us. Second, I wonder how mum will feel when she finds Hermione in here with us like this,” said Fred.

George’s face contorted in conflict as the pros and cons of taking the blame for waking up Walburga once again, or having their mother find a half-naked girl in their room. Finally he gave a sort of whiny sigh.

He was just shy of opening their bedroom door when he turned and pointed a finger in Fred and Hermione’s direction. “I want you two to know that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart and that by going out here I’m fully proving my remorse for this afternoon’s prank.”

“Just go!” Hermione squeaked, shifting uncomfortably, and holding her arms tightly across her chest.

George took a deep breath and squared his shoulders before opening the heavy oak door with flourish and slamming it behind him quickly. “Mum! You’re looking lovely this afternoon,” said George, his voice muffled as he now stood in the hallway.

“I should have known—” she sounded aggravated and slightly defeated, thought Fred “—let’s go. You’re going to help me shut that old bag up and then I think the basement closet needs de-spidering, George Weasley.”

“Come now mum, surely by now you’d be able to tell that I’m Fred.”

Fred sighed, shaking his head, and smiling against his better judgement. Leave it to George to have the last laugh. “Wanker…” Fred mumbled as he crossed the room to his dresser. He dug into one of the drawers and pulled out an old shirt. Throwing it in Hermione’s direction, he politely averted his eyes and began to grab clothes for himself.

“I didn’t know you were a Puddlemere United fan.”

“What?” Fred turned, her comment catching him off guard. While it was a Puddlemere United shirt, you couldn’t know that unless you were familiar with the navy-blue colour and golden crossed bulrushes.

“Puddlemere United,” Hermione repeated, staring strangely at his hand, and then looking away with a slight blush. Fred look to his hand to find that he was still grasping a pair of striped, blue pants. He turned around again, grabbing a pair of trousers – a brand of muggle jeans Lee had turned him and George onto – before grabbing a clean white shirt.

“Yeah. George is a bit more of a Falmouth Falcons fan, but I’ve always preferred Puddlemere. I didn’t know you knew anything about quidditch.”

Hermione let out a snort that while rude, Fred found to be quite endearing. “Please, you can’t be friends with Ron and Harry and not know at least a little bit about quidditch. I’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages at least five times.”

“Never would have guessed it from the vacant expression you get on your face every time it’s brought up,” Fred laughed, pulling his shirt over his head. The cotton material felt nice and light in the warm room.

“That’s because it’s usually Ron going on and on about the Chudley Cannons or how much the Slytherin house team sucks. The same story gets a bit boring over time. Now, if he wanted to talk about the history of quidditch rules and legislature, or the statistical odds of certain teams winning or losing, I might chime in.

“Just when I thought I had you figured out, ‘Mione.” Fred turned but paused, looking between the clothes in his hand and Hermione staring at him once again. While he certainly wasn’t shy, he didn’t really fancy Hermione getting a full view of his…full frontal for a second time that day. Especially when she hadn’t seemed all too cheery about it the first time. “Do you mind?”

“Oh! Um, of course—” Hermione turned, covering her eyes with her hands “—sorry.”

“S’alright,” Fred laughed. Something about Hermione’s embarrassment made him feel a whole lot better about the situation. “You know, I guess I was right.”

“About what?” asked Hermione, still facing the other way as Fred zipped up his trousers.

“Last summer when I guessed you were trying to see me and George naked.”

“Oh piss off!” Hermione cried, the tremor of a laugh in the back of her throat.

If Fred weren’t trying to tease her to make himself feel more comfortable, he probably would have gaped in pure delight that Hermione Granger had just told him to piss off. But, he was, so instead he continued, “You know if you really wanted to get a look, you just had to ask. I’m taken, but George would probably say yes…and Ron,” Fred hesitated to say the last part. The words had come to the tip of his tongue without him even trying, giving him pause to wonder why his brain was at all interested in what Hermione thought of seeing Ron naked. Because you fancy her, you daft git, scoffed the little voice in his head. Ah yes, there was that he supposed.

Hermione made a disgruntled sound, “Yes, I suppose that’s why Ginny was involved. She probably told George all about how she thinks Ron has a crush on me.”

“You can uncover your eyes now. I’m all decent.” Fred crossed the room and settled himself onto his bed, crossing his arms behind his head.

“Are you sure?” asked Hermione in a teasing manner. “I’ve been burned twice already today. I’m not quite sure I’m ready for a third time.”

“Shut up. You’re fine,” Fred laughed, throwing a pillow at the bookish girl.

“Oof,” Hermione grunted, the pillow knocking her to the side but making her laugh all the same. She brought her hands down, hugging the pillow to her chest.

“And how do you feel about that?” Fred asked Hermione, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible.

“About what?” she questioned, running her hands over her mussed hair.

“You know, about Ron liking you or whatever.”

“Honestly?” Hermione asked, sounding like it was a topic she was entirely tired of talking about.

Fred perked up at this, watching Hermione crawl up George’s bed until she was parallel with him.

“I’d rather he didn’t,” sighed Hermione, tucking her legs underneath her and scrunching her nose in the way that made Fred’s stomach flip. He watched as his shirt hung on her frame, engulfing her upper half and the top part of her legs. If he didn’t know already that she was wearing shorts, he could have easily assumed she was in nothing but her knickers and his shirt. Merlin, he really needed to stop giving her his clothes if this was the direction his brain was going to go every time. He looked away, down at his hands that he’d moved to his lap, now laced together by the fingers.

“Why? Holding out for someone else?” It was more of a joke than a serious question really – a call back to her hesitancy to accept Viktor Krum’s invitation to the Yule ball. In fact when Fred said it, it was in such a sardonic tone that he never even considered that he might be hitting the nail directly on the head. Fred’s heart gave a sort of leap in his chest when she didn’t answer right away. He expected her to tell him off, or throw a pillow at his head, but instead there was silence.

Looking up he was surprised to see Hermione had gone slightly pale, mouth open and eyes wide in panic. “I—”

Before the girl could answer a tap at the window pulled their attention. Fred hopped off his bed and walked to the window where the same stately owl he’d seen a few days prior sat on the ledge. His stomach gave a strange pull as he realized who the owl was most likely for and from. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh wave of heat that washed over him when he opened the window. It felt like it had gotten at least five degrees hotter outside. How could it possibly be any hotter? Fred wondered, taking the letter from the owl, and closing the old window tightly as it flew off into the sun-hazed sky.

He held the letter addressed to himself in sweat-slicked hands. Glancing at Hermione who now looked curiously in his direction, Fred thought for a moment that he should perhaps open it later. That way he wouldn’t have any questioning looks, or expectant faces. On the other hand though, the curiosity was killing him. He had not written Angelina back since the last time she wrote. Truthfully, the letter didn’t feel like it warranted a response and of course he’d been quite busy with the troublesome distraction that currently sat in the room with him. He’d picked up a quill a few times since but staring at the blank page he felt at a loss for words. What should he write? All things currently of interest in his life felt quite shady and untoward and everything else felt inconsequential. Finally, he decided to just get it over with quickly.

The envelope only tore a little as he opened it carefully before sliding out a letter that was pleasantly longer than the last one he’d received from his girlfriend.

Dear Fred,

I finally got to reading the rest of your letters. I’m sorry to hear that your summer isn’t going as fun as you’d hoped. Where exactly are you anyways? From your letters it sounds like you’re in London. Why didn’t you tell me you had family there, you wanker? I would have made you visit them one of these past summers and we could have hung out. London has a lot of cool spots – wish I were there to show you around, but camp lasts all summer long. I guess the only upside to that, is I don’t have to listen to my mother whing on and on about my chores or my clothes or whatever else she’s decided to have a go at for the week.

Fred laughed lightly at the mention of Mrs. Johnson. Angelina had been in a tense war with her mother for the past two years. She swore up and down that her mother was unhappy with anything she did, no matter what. Fred could relate to that. The two of them often swapped stories about their mothers’ disapproval and the wild things they’d done to stir up trouble in their families. He remembered the amount of begging Angelina had had to do that past spring in order to convince her mother to let her go to the summer-long camp. Mrs. Johnson wasn’t too pleased with how athletically inclined Angelina was – convinced that her daughter should be a bit more proper. Secretly, Fred figured Mrs. Johnson finally relented to Angelina’s request just to have an end to the constant badgering.

Have you thought about taking the day off? You’re 17 now and you’ve got all those galleons from Harry (lucky bastard). Surely you and George could sneak off to Diagon Alley for the day or even muggle London! I can give you a list of places if you’d like.

Things are still busy here.

A large drop of smeared ink painted the parchment after the last sentence, as if she’d spent a long time contemplating on what to say next, allowing the ink to drop from her quill before messily attempting to clean it up.

Oliver’s been helping me a lot these past few weeks and it’s actually been pretty great! I know what you’re thinking, how can I possibly be surviving? Don’t get me wrong, he’s still obsessed with the game in that overly intense way, but he’s not nearly as bad as he was in school. Turns out when he’s not consumed by winning the house cup, he’s quite a cool bloke.

I’m making a lot of new friends as well! There are some guys from Ilvermorny here, the American school. They’re quite loud and brash – it reminds me of you.

Anyway, I should probably wrap this up. Oliver’s promised to show me and a couple other people some defensive techniques he’s learned from Puddlemere.

Best,

Angelina

P.S. – There’s something I need to tell you once we’re back at Hogwarts.

Fred was left with a sour taste in his mouth. What could Angelina possibly have to tell him that she couldn’t have written in a letter? And what was this whole business with Oliver being a ‘cool bloke’? Up until that point he’d only ever heard Angelina talk about how much she hated him. He was a crazy, obsessive, misogynistic pig – she’d said it at least a thousand times over. Especially in the times that Oliver disregarded the women on the team and referred to them all as ‘men’ or ‘guys’. And what about those guys from Ilvermorny? What were a bunch of Americans doing in England anyways? Didn’t they have quidditch camps in the states? Lastly, there was the fact that she’d signed it ‘best’ and not ‘yours’. It was a small thing, but she always wrote ‘yours’, even when they weren’t dating.

“Who’s it from?”

Hermione’s voice startled Fred. So immersed in the letter and his thoughts of Angelina and Oliver and guys from Ilvermorny, he’d completely forgotten she was still there.

Fred cleared his throat, “Angelina.”

“Is everything alright?” asked Hermione, furrowing her brow, and staring hard at the letter in his hand.

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” Fred’s voice came out high and crackly, making him feel foolish and completely invalidating his statement that everything was alright.

“Well…it’s just that you’ve been frowning at that letter for about five minutes now and earlier—” she took a deep breath “—earlier you said something to George about Angelina. It sounded a bit like it was something unpleasant.”

“Oh…you caught that?” Hermione Granger had to be the most annoyingly astute witch he’d ever met.

Hermione nodded and stood from the bed, crossing the room to stand before him. She looked nervous, like she was using all her courage to say her next words, “Do you want to—”

“Hey!” The door to the room opened and Ginny and Ron came barrelling through. “The coast is clear. Mum’s got George cleaning out spiders in the basement,” said Ron, now fully clothed and looking a bit pink around the ears as he avoided looking directly at Hermione.

“I just know he’s going to lord that over my head,” sighed Ginny, leaning against the wall and crossing her legs at the ankle. “The whole thing was his idea anyways. Seems fair that he should take the brunt of the punishment.”

“You still haven’t dealt with the punishment you’ll be getting from me Ginevra,” bit Hermione, sending a disapproving look at the younger girl.

“Oh come on, Hermione. You know I only had the best intentions. S’not my fault George mucked it up and you had to see Fred’s bits as well,” said Ginny, pulling a face.

“I very much would have preferred to see no one’s bits.”

“Can you please stop calling them ‘bits’?” asked Ron, frowning. Fred had to agree with his little brother. There was something incredibly emasculating about the word.

“Men—” Ginny rolled her eyes “—such fragile egos. Come on, I think there’s some lemonade in the kitchen and I’m parched. It’s so bloody hot!”

Ginny pushed off the wall and sauntered out of the room followed closely by Ron. Hermione hesitated for a moment, looking up at Fred and then back down at the letter in his hand. Fred quickly folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket. It probably wasn’t the best moment to get into him and Angelina anyways.

“Come on, best not to keep them waiting,” he said and made his way out of the room and down towards the kitchen.

Fred didn’t see George again until dinner. His twin had emerged from the basement closet looking incredibly tired and slightly squeamish. This pleased Fred immensely as he still felt like George’s full punishment hadn’t been served. When everyone had sat themselves down at the long table for their meal, Fred made sure to put as much space between them and Hermione as possible. He needed to have a proper conversation with his brother about that afternoon. Thankfully, they had a few extra guests from the Order and so it was easy to do.

“So, you didn’t tell Ginny about me liking Hermione then?” Fred whispered as he piled potatoes onto his plate.

“Oh so now you’re ready to have a civil conversation?” asked George tiredly, taking the potatoes from him and serving himself as well.

“Oi, don’t get cheeky with me. You’re still the yob who started this.”

“You’re right, sorry—” George passed the bowl of potatoes to the wizard beside him who was currently in a deep conversation about transportation restrictions with their father “—no. I didn’t tell her. I thought she already knew but turns out she was talking about Ron. Classic case of miscommunication.”

Fred nodded. “Mmm, well that’s good at least. What were you thinking though mate? You couldn’t possibly think locking me in the bathroom with Hermione was a good idea.”

“I just thought it would be good to get you two alone together. You know, force you to actually have an open and honest conversation about how you feel,” mumbled George, cutting his ham into little pieces.

“And me being naked was supposed to aid in that?” Fred raised an eyebrow, reaching across the table and snagging a roll.

George looked down at his plate, suppressing a very pleased expression. “Thought it couldn’t hurt. You two looked very cosy this morning. Figured all you needed was a bit of provocation to get the subject flowing,” George admitted.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred whispered, laughing lightly, and shaking his head. While still quite displeased with his twin, he couldn’t dismiss the humour of the situation. “What makes you think Hermione and I don’t talk already?”

The question seemed to catch George off guard.

“What? You thought all those times we were working in our classroom and reading in the library, we were sitting there in silence?” Fred questioned hypothetically.

“Well, you certainly couldn’t have been saying anything of substance. Otherwise you’d both have finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Fred let out a long breath. “Georgie, you know you’re my favourite person in the whole world—” Fred started.

“I’m touched, Freddie.” George brought a hand up to his heart.

“—some would say I even love you like a brother,” Fred went on.

“Not sure I could say the same, sorry.”

“But, at the end of the day I am in a relationship with Angelina. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were to go behind her back with Hermione. And Hermione—”

“You can’t still tell me you think she likes Ron—”

“No. Actually she told me the exact opposite earlier this afternoon,” Fred confessed, trying not to focus on the way his heart lifted a little at the thought. “But it doesn’t mean she likes me either. Hermione is a nice girl. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me and even if she did like me, well like I said. That wouldn’t be fair to Angelina.”

“Is it fair to Angelina though for you to keep going out with her when you fancy someone else?” challenged George, bringing his voice to barely a whisper as they both leaned in to make their conversation more private.

“I… —” Fred struggled with the words “—it’s complicated. I still fancy Angelina too. It’s not like I’m dating her for nothing. She’s great. She’s one of my best friends, she’s tough, she’s fit, she loves quidditch, and we’ve known each other forever. I can’t just…I can’t just give that up because I also fancy someone else.”

“Do you fancy Angelina though?”

“What?”

“Do you actually fancy Angelina.”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?” Fred felt lost. What was George getting at?

“Yes, but you just listed things you like about her. Things most blokes like about her. Bloody hell, things I like about her – no offence. But, and correct me if I’m wrong, aren’t relationships supposed to be a bit deeper or some emotional crap like that? You know, something a bit more than just ‘we’re mates, and she lets me shag her’?”

“I…well on that logic then how do you know it’s not just the same thing with Hermione?”

“Are you shagging Hermione?” George asked, eyebrows raising high.

“No, but the idea doesn’t sound half bad. What if it’s more of a ‘we’re mates, and I want to shag her’ situation?” Fred took a large bite of his dinner roll and reached forward to grab his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Honestly, Freddie? That’s a bit out of my wheelhouse. But you should probably figure that out. Sooner rather than later,” said George lightly before taking a mouthful of stewed carrots.

Fred swallowed the bite of roll and scoffed into his glass. “Thanks for that. Great advice,” he said sarcastically before drinking deeply from his cup.

George grabbed his own glass and raised it lightly before answering, “Better advice than you get anywhere else. Cheers, mate.”

Dear Harry,

How’s your summer going? I hope your aunt and uncle aren’t being too horrible.

I really wish you were here. Maybe then Ron would have someone else to play chess with. You know how horrible I am at it…

I’m sure you’ve been reading the Daily Prophet and by now you’re aware of what they’re saying about you. I’m not really supposed to say anything but, I feel like you should

Dear Harry,

I hope your summer’s going better than mine. I know I haven’t said much in my last couple of letters but it’s only because I’m not allowed.

I really wish that I

Harry,

I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but I think that’s rubbish. I think you deserve to know that you’re not alone. Despite the lack of action from the ministry, I want you to know that there are people out there taking this seriously.

When you get here, you’ll understand.

Hermione crossed out her third attempt at writing Harry before crumpling the parchment and throwing it angrily in the bin beside her. This is impossible, she thought forlornly. She’d been having an internal battle for the past two weeks on whether she should follow Dumbledore’s instructions or go with her gut. Every fibre of her being wanted to tell Harry what was going on, to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this fight. But her foolish and incessant need to follow directions and stay out of trouble stopped her every time. Professor Dumbledore was a wise man. He was smart. Most importantly, he knew a lot more about what was going on than she did. So, it would make sense for her to keep her nose out of all of this and simply follow his lead. But despite her headmaster’s in-depth knowledge on most things, Hermione knew one thing to be true. He didn’t know Harry Potter nearly as well as she did.

Professor Dumbledore had insisted that they needn’t worry Harry on the comings and going of the Order and the efforts being put in place against a now fully risen dark lord. He needed time to heal from what happened the previous year with Cedric Diggory. That was all well and nice except that if you knew Harry at all, then you knew that he never stopped worrying. He was definitely the suffer in silence, woe is me, martyr type and usually the only thing that did stop him from worrying and obsessing was action. Harry Potter needed control, or he’d go insane. Usually this control came in two different forms. The first was distraction. If he couldn’t have direct control of a situation he’d resort to quidditch or flying or something else physical to take his mind off whatever it was. The second was involvement. Harry wouldn’t stop until he’d solved the mystery, and everything was put right in his mind. That’s why they hadn’t ceased their research first year until they figured out the secret to the philosopher’s stone. Or why their second year had ended in Harry fighting a basilisk underneath the school. Or why he’d declared to kill Sirius Black himself when he’d found out what he thought to be the truth of his parent’s deaths.

But Hermione knew that Harry, currently locked in the confines of his aunt and uncle’s muggle neighbourhood, was unable to do either and so she was certain the only thing he’d been doing the past month was stewing in internal misery. The fact that he’d neglected to respond to her and Ron’s letters thus far, not even their birthday wishes, only proved her theory right.

Dumbledore may be an expert on the innerworkings of the ministry, but Hermione was an expert on the innerworkings of Harry Potter. So, surely it would be best if she told him something. She had to be able to get some sort of message to him that wouldn’t reveal too much if intercepted by the ministry or Voldemort’s people. Just something that would quell the frustration that was surely rising in her best friend.

However, the right words simply were not coming to her yet, so she rested her quill back down on the table and corked her ink bottle firmly, before moving to her bed and sitting down huffily. She needed to focus on something else or before she knew it she’d turn into Harry.

Picking up the small ball of yarn and worn wooden knitting needles on her bed, Hermione started in on her practice. Recently she’d taken up knitting as both a hobby and a way to further her work with the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. This came entirely from an event that took place a week prior when she’d simultaneously met Kreacher and seen the horror that was the Black family’s legacy of house elves.

“What ARE those?!” Hermione screamed, jumping back, and toppling into Ron who had been following her into the fourth-floor study.

They had been tasked with cleaning out the old Black patriarch’s study.

“Bloody hell, Hermione. What?!” yelled Ron, catching her in his arms and putting her right on her feet.

But Hermione ignored his question, too overwhelmed by the sickening sight before her. On the wall, sitting above the bookshelves opposite the stately mahogany desk were the heads of house elves mounted to the wall. They hung stuffed, pale, and lifeless like common animals on display. It made her sick.

“Oh that is twisted,” said Ron, having now entered the room and seen what had made Hermione scream.

“I—why—who would do something like this?” Hermione asked, torn between her inability to stomach the sight of the house elves’ severed heads, and the sheer shock of it keeping her eyes glued to them.

“That would be my dear mother again, I’m afraid,” came Sirius’ voice. Hermione imagined he must have been nearby, most likely visiting Buckbeak in the attic, heard her scream, and came to investigate.

“This is disgusting…this is barbaric. How could anyone do something like this?” she asked, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes.

“You’d be surprised. It’s an old practice in pureblood families, not really done anymore, but at one time house elves saw it as a badge of honour to have themselves commemorated like this after they died—” Sirius strolled into the room, looking up at the mounted heads, hands casually in his pockets “—I never cared for it though. Absolutely refuse to do it for Kreacher when he finally croaks.”

“Kreacher?—” Hermione was finally able to pull her gaze away from the elves to look at Sirius “—you mean there’s a house elf here?”

“Course there is!” cried Sirius in surprise, tone laced with a bitter edge.

“Don’t worry Hermione. He doesn’t do any of the cooking or cleaning or anything like that,” interjected Ron in a reassuring manner that did very little to actually reassure her.

“How did I not know about this?” she asked, feeling overwhelmed and dazed.

“Well, my mum always said a good house elf was one that got the job done but was rarely seen. Can’t say that’s very true of Kreacher though. He clearly only holds up half of that statement. In fact—” Sirius, turned looking about the empty study around him “—Kreacher!”

With a pop, a small little house elf popped into existence before him. He was different than the house elves Hermione had seen before. He seemed older, more haggard, and dirty. His nose was long and droopy, and the cloth he wore for clothes was so dirty, it looked to be more filth than it was material. Kreacher sneered nastily up at his master and then around the room, spotting Ron and Hermione. Hermione didn’t think it was possible, but his expression turned even nastier once he saw them.

“Filthy mudblood, blood-traitors alike. Tarnishing my mistress’s house like this,” mumbled the little house elf and catching Hermione completely off guard. You’d think the words would hurt less after hearing them so much in the last four years, but they held a fresh sting every time. The only thing that had changed was her ability to better mask the hurt she felt.

“Give it a rest you vile little thing,” grimaced Sirius, surprising Hermione even more than Kreacher’s words.

Ever since she’d arrived at Grimmauld Place, she’d acknowledged that Sirius held a certain disdain to his childhood home. However, she had yet to experience the level of contempt the older wizard held for the house elf before him.

“Of course Master Black. Kreacher is sorry. What can Kreacher do for you?” responded Kreacher in a mocking tone. The words, while objectively respectful, held no trace of true respect whatsoever.

“Yes, I’m sure you are,” said Sirius sarcastically. “I need you to dispose of these disgusting relics immediately.” Sirius pointed up at the row of heads, looking as disgusted as Hermione still felt about both them, and the behaviour of the two individuals before her.

“No! Those are mistress’s! Kreacher refuses,” cried the old house elf in outrage.

“It was not a request, you disgusting beast. I am your master, and I am ordering you to take those vile things down and throw them away. Do you understand me?” spat Sirius, crossing his arms, and glaring down at Kreacher.

“Yes master Black. Of course.”

Hermione had been in such a shock after that that she had left the room and retreated to the kitchen. While she truly needed a cup of tea to calm her nerves, it was still too hot and so she’d allowed Ron to pour her a glass of pumpkin juice as she processed the event. Sure, the things Kreacher said were horrible and hurtful, but look at the way Sirius treated him! Maybe if Kreacher was met with a little kindness, he wouldn’t feel the need to be so mean. And the heads…she didn’t even know where to begin with the heads…

It was at that moment, that Hermione formulated a plan. The house elves clearly needed a way out, whether they knew it or not. So, that afternoon she’d gone to Mrs. Weasley to borrow knitting supplies and get a few lessons.

“Hey Hermione, have you seen Fred and George?” Ron’s voice from the doorway, brought Hermione’s attention away from the complicated mess of yarn in her hands. She’d gotten her knit and purl stitches confused and was currently trying to figure out which direction her yarn was supposed to be facing. Looks like she needed more practice.

“Why would I know where they are?” she asked, frowning back down at her work, and cursing under her breath. A few of her stitches had slipped off her needles.

Ron gave a short laugh, snorting through his nose. “Come on Hermione. You spend more time with them these days than anyone else.”

“I’m—”

“Don’t give me that ‘I’m helping them with their schoolwork’ excuse, Hermione. I’m not thick. You’re helping them with their inventions aren’t you,” said Ron, crossing the room and leaning against one of the posts of Ginny’s bed.

“Just a little,” Hermione admitted sheepishly. There was no point in lying to Ron about it now.

“I knew it!” Ron cried enthusiastically. “Are you also helping fund them? They seem to have a lot more money these days than not.”

“No, I’m not, but I’ve actually been wondering the same thing!” said Hermione with equal fervour. The last she’d heard, the two of them were still trying to get their money back from Ludo Bagman. Perhaps her suggestion of blackmail the previous year had finally worked. Though if it did, she didn’t want to know anything about it.

“Hmm, strange,” Ron commented, staring down at the heap of yarn in her hands in confusion. He was probably wondering what she could possibly be making, but thankfully he was kind enough to not make any comments. “You know helping those two is going to become a conflict of interest when you become a Prefect, right?”

“What makes you think I’m going to make Prefect?”

Ron snorted once again. “Come on Hermione, are you telling me you’ve thought there was any other alternative.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment. As much as she tried to keep a level of humility to her, she had to admit that the notion that any other Gryffindor girl in their year would be chosen for Prefect felt preposterous. This was something she’d been working towards since first year.

“I don’t help them that much. Mostly it’s just a bunch of reading their notes and telling them where their magic is wrong. Nothing wrong with that – it’s educational really,” she half lied.

“Oh yeah. Educational,” Ron snickered, pushing off from the bedpost and walking towards the door. “Well if you do see them, tell them mum’s looking for them.”

“Will do—” Hermione went to return to her knitting but stopped, looking up at his retreating figure “—wait, where are you off to then?”

Ron turned, leaning in the doorframe now. “Professor Lupin’s downstairs. I convinced him to teach me how to play chess.”

“But you already know how to play chess…” Hermione gave him a wry smile.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I’ve bet Sirius ten sickles I can go at least four games before he realizes I’m hustling him,” said Ron, a large grin spreading across his freckled face.

Hermione let out a small laugh and shook her head before saying, “I swear, you get more and more like Fred and George every day.”

“Those wankers? Absolutely not.”

And with that, Ron disappeared into the hallway, a little more pep in his step than usual. A smile remained plastered on Hermione’s face for long after Ron had left. She felt warm and content in the way only a cheerful and easy encounter with a friend could leave you feeling. Her and Ron had settled into an unspoken understanding after the mortifying bathroom encounter. Of course neither of them spoke of it, both choosing to act as though it had never happened. In a strange way, it was almost as if they needed the uncomfortable situation to become comfortable with each other again. Ron seemed less dopey and more relaxed around her, and as a result Ginny stopped talking about Ron’s feelings for her.

The same sentiment went for twins. It was as if the little bit of chaos was all the group needed to fall back once again into the comfortable friendships that had existed before. Hermione still felt her stomach flip and heartrate increase every time Fred entered a room or brushed past her too closely in the hallway, but she tried to ignore that as much as possible. That was her problem after all, not anyone else’s. And most of all she didn’t want to ruin her friendship with Fred over her stupid crush.

They had grown closer than ever over the past two weeks. Most likely due to their new tradition of late nights in the library of Grimmauld Place. When everyone had retired for the night, tucked in snuggly in their beds, Hermione and Fred would slip from their sheets and reconvene on the old couch of the library, till late in the night. They discussed Fred’s inventions, their interests, and their lives. It usually ended in some kind of debate, but Hermione always found herself laughing in the end. She’d never been able to talk so freely with anyone. It was both a blessing and a curse.

When her yarn had tangled for the fifth time, Hermione sighed and gave up. Instead, she opted to make her way down to the kitchen for a snack. Dinner was soon, but she’d missed tea that afternoon and was feeling too peckish to wait.

“Checkmate,” said Ron proudly as he stared smugly at the rumpled wizard sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

“Hi Professor,” Hermione greeted, eyeing a plate of Chelsea buns on the kitchen counter.

“Hello Hermione,” said Professor Lupin tiredly, his head balanced in his hands as he stared in bewilderment at the chess board in front of him. Sirius sat beside his old friend, snickering silently into his hand.

Hermione suppressed her negative emotions towards the suave, long-haired wizard. Seeing the way he treated Kreacher had left her less than pleased with him.

“You swear you’ve never played before?” Professor Lupin questioned Ron suspiciously.

Ron shook his head in mock innocence and Hermione had to turn away in hide her smile.

She grabbed a bun, taking a large bite out of it and sitting down at the table beside Ron to watch him square off with their old teacher again. The pair had gotten through exactly five and a half games before Professor Lupin had declared in frustration that there was no way Ron had never played wizard’s chess before.

Everyone in the room burst into laughter at that point, the twins and Ginny having wandered into the kitchen and joined in on the fun knowing full well that Ron was better at wizard’s chess than anyone they’d ever met. After that Professor Lupin refused to play anymore games, but Sirius and George stepped up to try and beat Ron in a combined effort.

Ron had just managed to corner their queen when Mr. Weasley came striding into the room with purpose.

“Hey dad!” Ginny greeted cheerfully. But her good humour melted away when her father ignored her greeting.

Arthur Weasley looked worried. Worried and frantic. Hermione had only ever seen that expression on his face once before – at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Remus, Sirius, emergency Order meeting now. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s upstairs I think, shall I go get her?” asked Sirius.

“No, I’ll go. Other members should be arriving soon, have them meet in the dining room.”

Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George were all ushered out of the kitchen shortly after that. None of their pleas to stay or questions were acquiesced or answered of course. So instead, they opted to sit at the top of the stairs and gleam as much information as they could from the members that entered headquarters. Hermione assumed it must be serious. Ron told her that they had never had an emergency meeting like this before. This fact was only solidified in her mind when Dumbledore arrived looking quite grave, his long robes billowing behind him as he stormed down the entry hall and disappeared through the doorway to the dining room. Professor Snape was with him, a fact that caught Hermione by surprise.

“Professor Snape is in the Order?” she asked George sitting next to her.

He nodded and whispered back, “Unfortunately. The slimy git only comes around every once in a while. Always thought he’d be on the other side, but if Dumbledore trusts him, then he must know something we don’t.”

“It’s clear he knows a lot of things we don’t,” said Hermione, beginning to worry the inside of her bottom lip. It had to be Harry. Something this serious and this panicked always had to do with Harry.

That suspicion was confirmed a few hours later at dinner when Mr. Weasley told them that Harry had been accused of underage magic by the ministry earlier that night. Apparently, the ministry had tried to expel him outright, but Professor Dumbledore had insisted on a trial before they went to such extreme punishment. Hermione was more concerned as to why Harry needed to use magic at all than the thought of him being expelled. Apparently he had produced a patronus in front of a muggle. There was only one reason Harry would produce a patronus – dementors. Dementors in a muggle suburb? Now that was cause for concern on many levels.

Hermione ate very little at dinner, too consumed by the problem at hand. The ministry had complete control of the dementors. Only they could dispatch dementors away from Azkaban. Was this the Minister’s way of getting rid of Harry? To easily solve their problem of him? If this didn’t work, what else would they do? What lengths would they go to silence Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter?

A little voice in the back of her head proposed that perhaps Harry had gone looking for trouble that night. Or worked himself up so much that he imagined the dementors and tried to play the hero. Guiltily she thought of the half-finished unsent letters in the garbage bin in her room and wondered if this would have happened if she hadn’t been too meek to break the rules and give her best friend a glimmer of hope.

All these thoughts and questions stuck with her well into the night. Lying in bed, staring up at the darkness of the ceiling above, sleep evaded her worse than ever before. Sitting up, Hermione peaked over at Ginny’s snoring form in the bed beside hers and slipped from the covers. She padded silently out of the room, down the hall, and down the stairs to the library. While the days events had been out of the ordinary, Hermione hoped that her and Fred’s tradition would remain, and she would find him in the library. The urge to talk to him itched at the back of her head fervently.

However, when she got to library, she found the door cracked and the whispered voices of Professor Lupin and Sirius drifted out. Hermione held her breath, turning away from the door and tiptoeing back towards the stairs. She didn’t need to listen in on their conversation to know they were most like talking about Harry. Once back on the third floor, Hermione found herself at a standstill. She should go back to bed. It was no use wandering the dark and grim house at night when she was already out of sorts. However, instead of making her way to her own bed, Hermione found herself walking not to her door, but Fred and George’s. Like an invisible pull at her centre, she gravitated towards it like a planet in orbit.

Not bothering to knock considering the late hour, Hermione quietly opened the door and slipped inside. She walked silently to Fred’s bed and found him sound asleep. She’d never seen him asleep before – up until that point she didn’t think she could be any more handsome than he already was, but up until that point she’d never seen him blissfully gone to the world.

As if sensing her presence, his eyes opened, blinking slowly as he took in her presence.

“’Mione? I thought you’d gone to bed. Went looking for you earlier but Black and Lupin were in the library,” he whispered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I can’t sleep…”

They stared at each other in the dark for what felt like ages. It was as if they were experiencing group thought, both of them teetering on the edge of a decision they were both unsure of. Hermione should go back to her own room. She shouldn’t be sneaking into the room of a boy who had a girlfriend. She should be—

“Get in,” Fred whispered, lifting the covers, and pushing them both of the edge.

Hermione didn’t need to be told twice. She slipped into the covers, burying herself deeply into their warmth. It had been a heatwave for the past two weeks, but the house felt colder that night than it ever had.

“Merlin, your feet are freezing,” Fred whispered when Hermione’s feet accidentally brushed his own.

Hermione moved them away quickly. “Sorry,” she whispered back in embarrassment.

Fred surprised her by reaching down and hook his hand around the back of her leg and pulling her feet flush with his own. “Give ‘em here,” he grumbled before releasing her leg and settling back into the mattress with a deep sigh.

Hermione smiled into the darkness and rolled over onto her side. She kept a safe distance of propriety between them, making sure the only thing touching was their feet. Her head fell heavy on the pillow and for the first time that night she was able to relax.

“Fred?” she whispered tentatively.

“What?” came the soft sound of Fred’s voice back.

“Thank you.”

Fred didn’t answer, instead he shifted, and Hermione felt his hand fall atop hers, gripping it tightly. It took barely minutes for Hermione to fall asleep to the firm and grounding feel of Fred’s thumb rubbing the delicate skin on the back of her hand.

Chapter 18>>>

Taglist:

@theworldisugly-22

@aoonai

@sjh-07-10

@is-it-madness

@i-d-e-g-a-f

#fremione #fred x hermione #harry potter #fanfic #fanfiction #slow burn #fred weasley #hermione granger

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missholland · 4 years

Text

Lan Wangji (mostly, his love)

LAN ZHAN! I read somewhere that this was said 102 times by Wei Wuxian in The Untamed. It feels like an understatement, cause I’ve watched the show so many times now I could hear ‘Lan Zhan’ being called in my sleep...

My first time watching the drama, I was full on Team Xianxian. I mean, who would not be? He’s the central character of the story, he’s the first thing you see within the first few seconds of episode 1, and who could resist his sunflower aura? I was not into Lan Wangji at all. I remember this clearly because I just found an old Instagram story in my Archive on the day I first watched this show: a screenshot of Wangji’s face in episode 3 and my caption was: ‘OMG how could Wei sunshine fall in love with this dry and boring man?’. And just like how Wangji eventually swallowed all of the statements he had made about the young Wei Wuxian (’I don’t touch other people’, ‘We’re not close’, etc.), I am not the same person on that fateful day tuning in the first episode on Netflix. I am now Team Hanguang-Jun through and through!

What I’ve been enjoying so much these days is watching random earlier/later episodes just to compare how Wangji’s attitude changed toward Wei Wuxian over 16 years-ish. It’s probably so obvious for everyone that he definitely falls in love first, even when the drama purposely made their early relationship a lot more intense comparing to the novel i.e. showing Wei Wuxian somewhat feeling the same way about Wangji in his first life, with the constant flirting and mutual pining (don’t even get me started...). Now that I kinda understand what the character is like, it makes a lot of sense the way he processed his feelings for Wuxian in his youth. I wonder how different he would have reacted without the push from the best brother/wingman in the cultivation world - Lan Xichen. Sure, Jiang Cheng had a lot to say about this too, but mostly out of a slight envy (I reckon) over Wuxian’s new subject of desire. But Lan Xichen sees through his brother, and has been pretty much WangXian fanclub admin since day 1. I don’t have a brother, but man, I wish Lan Xichen could be mine.

In my humble opinion, the fact that we were given 3 versions of Wei Wuxian throughout the series kinda gifts us 3 versions of Lan Wangji too in a way - the straight face, the confused heart, and the national boyfriend/husband. Considering the number of times I rewatched the latter half of the series i.e. episode 33 onward, I just want to write down all of my thoughts about the national boyfriend/husband Lan Wangji, and not just because that version seems to have the most lines comparing to the other two.

There are several details that were not explained much in the series (although shown on screen) so I have to read from the novel later on. But oh my god, the stuff I found... I never realized that the scene before Lan Wangji went to Mo’s manor where his guqin was playing behind him standing on the balcony referred to how he used Inquiry to find Wuxian. What Jiang Cheng said to him about having gone to a lot of places for 16 years and searching for someone completely went over my head in the first watch, and imagine how I scratched my brain revisiting that part. That plus ‘oh I’ve never seen you at a cultivation conference before’ in episode 41 - my goodness, because he was spending ALL of his time LOOKING FOR Wei Wuxian.

Another thing I hope would have been addressed in the series was the hot iron mark on his chest. I thought the story of him drinking wine and giving himself a mark identical to Wuxian’s was the prime work of a broken heart. He must have thought about their conversation in Xuanwu cave, about the mark staying on his skin forever and how Wuxian was convinced Mianmian would never forget him. Was that how Wangji was making a point of never forgetting Wei Wuxian? If that scene made into the drama, I would have thought Wangji’s character song Buwang to be play in the background. The lyrics fit the situation so much.

Personally, everything from episode 33 onward was perfection for me, finally getting to see Wangji embrace his feelings and ACT ON THEM toward the romance-blind idiot Wei Wuxian (yes, he totally is). All the caring touches and details played out so astonishingly. One of my favourite (which doesn’t seem to be a popular one since I have not seen many gifs of it on Tumblr) was when, after interrogating Huaisang, Wangji comfortably moved over the other side of the table and picked up Wuxian’s left leg to CLEAN THE EVIL SPELL - think of the level of intimacy this act is! Although that came after the romantic piggyback under the moonlight, I thought that speaks volume for someone who doesn’t even physically interact with his family members, and serves as a great follow-up right after he, again comfortably, pulled up Wuxian’s trousers to check his leg.

What I thought was always presented so beautifully is every time Wangji serves Wuxian liquor. The way he carefully picks up his sleeve, prepares the cup (I know they’re probably not called ‘cups’ but I can’t find another word), pours the liquor and slides it over to his partner is so well demonstrated and shows how much he wants to properly take care of Wuxian. Would you put so much effort in such a tiny mundane act if you’re not doing it for the most important person in your life?

In a way, I feel like everything he does is making up for what he could not do the past 16 years, including remembering so many tiny details and keeping all sort of Wuxian-related things. My favourite Wangji keepsake moment, despite being a very short one, is the butterfly talisman at Yunping City which he gave to Wuxian to rescue Wen Ning. I don’t know why that moment makes me really really happy, probably because that was one of the earliest items Wangji could have kept hold of from Wuxian’s. That tells us how way long before he was developing feelings toward this little rebel. Not to mention, we did see Wangji even use this very talisman in episode 11 when he encountered Wen Chao on his way back to Cloud Recesses.

Yes, the ‘I knew he was Wei Ying all along’ while having all the swords pointed at you is highly pivotal as it’s basically the censored version of ‘I love you’. BUT, the moment all leading cultivators of all major and minor clans ran to Burial Mounds just to witness Lan Wangji standing proudly without flinch on the other side with Wei Wuxian makes me appreciate that whole arc a lot more than the big revelation in the last 3 episodes. Wangji ignoring his own Grand Master, Wuxian once again standing against every single person in the cultivation world but with so much confidence this time around - to me, is beyond satisfying. I love this arc so much so I wrote a separate piece about episode 44-45 - if you’re interested in more of my random thoughts, feel free to have a read here.

Thinking about all this, I’m absolutely in awe of how protective national boyfriend Wangji is to Wei Wuxian even before knowing he lost his golden core. They either have insanely accurate GPS, or just really good telepathy. Wangji’s constant attention to his partner (without having to verbally find out where he is) blows my mind every time. Remember how proud Wei Wuxian was having Lan Wangji come out just in time to fight Xue Yang at Coffin Town? That’s how much Wangji’s love and trust empowers Wuxian and makes him so so so secured, even when everyone was walking around in the fog hiding from the most notorious killer and his puppets.

The one detail that pushed me over the edge completely (thanks a lot Lan Xichen) was the story of Wangji’s mom. Oh my god, baby Wangji sitting in the snow really messes with my head. I cannot believe it took 40 something episodes for us to learn about Wangji’s emotionally damaged upbringing and what shapes him into a stubborn lovebird as we know today. It adds A LOT more context and sadness to his famous phrase ‘bring a man back to Cloud Recesses and hide him’, as well as Lan Qiren’s statement ‘have you not learned from your father’s lesson’. I revisit the ‘bring back and hide him’ scene with a completely new perspective and can sense Wangji’s pain and confusion that Xichen described. The desperation in that statement of Wangji was a lot heavier in my eyes now that I understand the back story. If I were Wei Wuxian listening to all of that from Lan Xichen, I would probably have a meltdown right there at the doorsteps of the Silence Room.

Now we all know the source of inspiration of the infamous ‘I want to bring a man to Cloud Recesses. Bring him back and hide him’ in episode 25:

So after all of Xichen’s effort in telling Wuxian how Wangji actually feels about him through the tear-jerker story about their parents, Wei Wuxian STILL asked Lan Wangji WHY he was willing to seal Bichen and his own spiritual power so that Jin Guangyao would not hurt him. This dense man, of course, brought up the guilt card i.e. ‘Oh you don’t owe me anything’. I mean COME ON NOW YILING PATRIARCH! CAN YOU ACTUALLY BE THAT OBLIVIOUS WHEN IT COMES TO THE MAN THAT TOOK 300 LASHES ON HIS BACK FOR PROTECTING YOUR LEGACY?

I know it went the other way in the novel, where the big confession happened. Maybe a bite from Fairy could do you some good, or just talk to Lan Xichen some more and then you can start appreciating your soulmate the way he deserves.

The silver lining after being deprived of an epic love confession is everything that happened in episode 50. It might have not been spelling-it-out clear as in ‘I love you’ ‘I love you too’ because of the government censorship, but it’s easily the most obvious yet emotional type of ending the production team has worked to hard to deliver. If you are still having trouble processing the allegedly ‘ambiguous’ finale, I can help with that - here. Just a heads up: it’s a happy ending.

Good to know Wei Wuxian has the rest of his life making up to Lan Wangji. Everyday means everyday, because Wangji deserves THAT much!

#wei wuxian #wei ying #lan zhan #lan wangji #hanguang jun #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #gusu lan #character analysis #thoughts #yiling patriarch #yiling laozu #xiao zhan #wang yibo #lan xichen

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a-yellow-book · 4 years

Text

A-Ying is A-Ying!

There's no logic to how Wei Ying is de-aged temporarily, and my one brain cell has taken leave today so here we are. I wanted to write some fluff to de-stress without any planning or thinking or editing for that matter. :P All mistakes - in logic and/or spelling, are truly done by my own hands. Welps. Please enjoy~

[read on AO3 instead]

Jiang Cheng fidgeted with his outer robes as he approached the Cloud Recesses’ gate, followed by a full Jiang Sect entourage. This year’s Discussion Conference was the first that Wei Wuxian would officially take part in since marrying Lan Wangji last Fall. Jiang Cheng would like to think that they had made a lot of progress on rebuilding their relationship, and a lot of the credit had to go to Lan Xichen’s calming influence.

Thinking of the Lan Sect leader and now Chief Cultivator, Jiang Cheng couldn’t help but smile fondly. He'd also like to think that their personal relationship had grown tremendously over the last year, and harbored hopes that they could take it to the next stage soon.

With his thoughts preoccupied with images of Lan Xichen’s smiles, Jiang Cheng was caught off guard when he felt a pair of tiny arms squeeze his legs.

“Hello!!!” The tiny boy who had wrapped himself around Jiang Cheng’s legs said, smiling. He looked oddly familiar.

“Who are you?” Jiang Cheng asked, letting the boy stay where he was. The other Jiang Sect disciples behind him watched the exchange curiously.

“A-Ying is A-Ying!” he proclaimed, smiling wider.

“A-Ying?” Jiang Cheng assumed the boy must belong to the Lan Sect with his white robes. Upon closer inspection, he noticed the boy’s curly hair was tied up in a loose knot with a red ribbon with the shorter strands poking out in an unruly fashion, and his robes weren’t the pristine white but were dotted with mud around the hems. There was something very familiar about him that Jiang Cheng couldn’t place.

The boy nodded before letting go of Jiang Cheng’s legs to show him the other thing he was holding onto, “And this is Lil’ Apple!” He pulled back his long sleeve to reveal a plump white bunny happily chewing on a bit of grass.

A few of the disciples openly awwed at the scene, and Jiang Cheng couldn’t deny that the boy - A-Ying, was adorable.

“Why are you walking around by yourself?” He asked.

“A-Ying is bored!!!” He answered, snuggling the bunny closer and looked up at Jiang Cheng with large pleading eyes.

Before Jiang Cheng could reply, a voice rang out from beyond the gate, “Sect Leader Jiang, you have arrived!”

Jiang Cheng looked up and was momentarily rendered breathless by Lan Xichen’s smile.

“Ahh, hello, Sect Le---- I mean Chief Cultivator,” Jiang Cheng bowed, and internally screamed at himself for being so embarrassing in front of the love of his life and his junior disciples.

“I see that you have met A-Ying,” Lan Xichen gestured at the boy, still smiling so brightly. Jiang Cheng once again found himself unable to breathe at the sight.

“Ahh, yes. He appeared out of nowhere and exclaimed that he’s bored,” Jiang Cheng said, looking down at the boy in question who was now pouting at full force.

“A-Ying is so bored!” He whined some more for good measure.

“Is he one of the Lan Sect’s disciples?” Jiang Cheng asked dubiously.

“Ah,” Lan Xichen looked a bit uncomfortable. “I think we should head inside before I explain what happened.”

“That does not sound good,” Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Ying, let’s head back. We have to talk to Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Xichen reached out and waited for A-Ying to grab his hand before leading the way towards the Cloud Recesses. Jiang Cheng was growing more suspicious by the second, but followed behind the pair silently.

The moment they settled in the Main Hall, with A-Ying plopping himself right down the middle of the room petting his bunny without a care in the world, Jiang Cheng couldn’t hold back anymore and pressed, “Please, do tell me what happened?”

Lan Xichen dismissed the servants and junior disciples lingering about before looking over at Jiang Cheng, “A-Cheng, please don’t be worried.”

“I... What do you mean ‘not worried’?” Jiang Cheng’s mind was hung up on the intimate way Lan Xichen was addressing him before catching up on what he’d just heard.

“Two nights ago, Wangji and Wuxian went out on a night hunt in Caiyi,” Lan Xichen began, “I had assumed it was just a normal water ghost plaguing the river, but when Wangji returned...”

“Did something happen to Wei Wuxian? Is he hurt?” Jiang Cheng jumped out of his chair, “Where is he now? I need to see him!”

“A-Cheng, I told you not to worry,” Lan Xichen approached and gently tugged Jiang Cheng back from running out searching for his troublesome brother. “Wei Wuxian is... fine... albeit a bit different.”

“Different... how? Where is he now?” Jiang Cheng asked impatiently.

Just then, the doors burst open and Lan Wangji rushed in, eyes wide and panicked obvious on his face. “Wei Ying!” he said, looking around.

“Lan Zhan!!!!” the little boy, who had been sitting quietly and petting his bunny, jumped up and ran towards Lan Zhan.

Jiang Cheng could not find any word to voice his shock and so continued to observe the scene before him.

“Wei Ying, I told you to wait for me in the Jingshi!” Lan Zhan crouched down and pulled the boy into a hug.

“But I was so bored I wanted to go see the new people visiting! And I have Lil’ Apple to protect me!” He replied, raising the bunny in his hand up triumphantly.

“I was so worried,” Lan Zhan continued, “When I returned and didn’t see you...”

“A-Ying is sorry,” he replied, frowning.

“I’m sorry, but... would anyone care to explain?” Jiang Cheng finally found his voice and interjected.

“Sect Leader Jiang, it wasn’t a normal water ghost that was wreaking havoc in Caiyi - it was a powerful demonic spirit that lurked in the waters and when Wei Wuxian got too close, managed to place a curse on him,” Lan Xichen replied.

“What?!” Jiang Cheng felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest.

“It was fortunate that Wangji was able to vanquish the spirit and started to play Cleansing right away,” Lan Xichen continued, gently patting Jiang Cheng’s back comfortingly. “The curse was meant to transfer Wuxian’s life force to the demonic spirit, and even though Wangji managed to interrupt the transfer process, its effect was already taking roots and well...”

“And now Wei Wuxian is a baby?!!” Jiang Cheng asked, confusion and concerns warring for dominance in his voice.

“I’m not a baby!!” Wei Wuxian protested at the same time as Lan Zhan said, “Just temporarily.”

“Yes, just temporarily,” Xichen confirmed, “Wangji has been playing Cleansing for Wuxian since and with time, the effects should be slowly lifted and he should return to his normal age.”

“How long would that take?” Jiang Cheng was afraid of the answer but seeked it out anyway.

“At the rate he has been progressing, most likely ten to fourteen more days,” Lan Zhan replied.

“Does he still remember... all the things?”

“What things?” Wei Ying turned his ridiculously large brown eyes at Jiang Cheng.

“From what we have seen so far, Wuxian’s memories lined up with his age,” Lan Xichen said.

“Then how is he still so close to Lan Wangji?” Jiang Cheng asked incredulously. “He’s what - six at most? My father wouldn’t have found him for another year or so. He wouldn’t be able to recognize me let alone knowing who you are.”

“Lan Zhan is my best friend!!!” Wei Ying exclaimed with confidence. “He gives me Lil’ Apple to protect me, and candies when I’m hungry, and he’s really good at hugs!”

“‘Really good at hugs’? Is that an euphemism...?!!” Jiang Cheng knew he might be ridiculously suspicious, but he wasn’t one to censor himself during normal circumstances, so why start now.

“Sect Leader Jiang, I am fully aware of Wei Ying’s current age and development and will not do anything as distastefully inappropriate as you have just insinuated,” Lan Zhan said slowly and calmly but with the heat of a thousand burning suns.

“Don’t make Lan Zhan sad!!!” Wei Ying wailed, stepping in front of Lan Zhan as if to shield him from Jiang Cheng’s words. His tiny face was scrunched up with displeasure while his arms were still full of Lil’ Apple, making for one hilariously adorable sight.

“I’m sure Sect Leader Jiang is just worried for Wuxian,” Lan Xichen said placately. Turning to Jiang Cheng, he smiled reassuringly, “I know it’s a lot to take in right now, but I promised you - the Lan Sect, and especially Wangji, has Wei Wuxian’s best interests in mind.”

“I know, I know,” Jiang Cheng conceded. Turning to Lan Zhan, he bowed respectfully and apologized with slight difficulty, “Please accept my apologies, Hanquang-jun. I am merely taken by surprise and allowed my worries for my brother to cloud my judgement.”

“Apologies accepted, Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Zhan bowed in return.

Lan Xichen watched the whole exchange with a satisfied expression. “I’m glad we have come to an understanding. Now, why don’t I escort you to your chambers to... ah, get some rest before dinner?”

Jiang Cheng snorted, an entirely undignified gesture for someone of his station. Lan Xichen was many things, but subtlety he was not. “That would be... greatly appreciated, Chief Cultivator,” Jiang Cheng replied.

“Huh? Rest?! But A-Ying wants to play with the new people!” Wei Ying pouted.

“Wei Ying, let’s leave Chief Cultivator and Sect Leader Jiang to rest. I need to play Cleansing for you,” Lan Zhan said before effortlessly picking Wei Ying up.

“Ahh! That’s boring! Lan Zhan~ Let’s go fly on a sword!!!” Wei Ying declared as he was being carried out of the Main Hall, limbs flailing about.

“Cleansing first,” Lan Zhan replied.

Jiang Cheng watched the two of them bickered back and forth all the way across the courtyard, definitely ignoring all the rules about noise levels.

“So, Sect Leader Jiang, ready to retire to your chambers yet?” Lan Xichen, the sneaky bastard, had siddled up next to Jiang Cheng and intertwined their hands.

“You think you’re so cute, huh?” Jiang Cheng smirked. Lan Xichen pretended to think over it for a moment before nodding unabashedly and tugged Jiang Cheng along the white pebbled path to the Hanshi.

#the untamed #cdrama #the untamed fanfics #wangxian #de-aged!wei ying #fluff #writings #i wrote this out of boredom #my writings

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iamcayc · 3 years

Text

The Sounds of Gojo - Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Exchange Rating: SFW Word Count: 4292 Relationships: Gojo x OC (Kaya)

read here on Ao3

To say that you’re going to murder your cousin would be a vast understatement. Not only did you explicitly tell him to come pick you up after work promptly at 3:30 PM, but you also reiterated that you had zero interest in putting up with Gojo’s shit when you’re still feeling like you ran a marathon after being squashed by an elephant. It was a very reasonable request, and you had worded it very clearly to avoid any potential miscommunication.

So, one could imagine your immense disappointment and rage at the sight of white hair... and that smug-ass grin?

Kento Nanami is dead to you.

“Hey there, teach.” He’s wearing Ray-Bans today, his hair framing his face in a way that makes him look more youthful—and much to your chagrin, more attractive.

“Heard you could use a ride to collect your bike from the school, so I generously offered my services.” You notice that some of the girls are staring at him unabashedly, making you roll your eyes. Sexually-repressed teenage girls around Gojo is a terrifying thought, so you quickly usher him off the grounds and towards the front gate.

“What’s the rush?” he asks amiably. “It’s a nice day, after all. Wanna go get some donuts? There’s a new shop around here that I was thinking about trying.”

Your arms are folded across your chest as you glower at him. “Why are you really here?”

He pouts prettily at you. “Huh? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Why on earth would that be my reaction to you showing up unannounced at my work, again?”

“Well, I still owe you compensation for helping me out last night.” He shrugs as he faces you. “Plus, I thought we had some chemistry going, but maybe I misread the banter. I mean, you brought up my dick the other night—”

Knowing full well that you won’t make actual contact, you cover his mouth with your hand anyway.

“Take me to get my bike so I can be rid of you sooner rather than later,” you hiss. His mouth stays covered until he nods, but your hands don’t make it away unscathed. No, just before you can yank your hand back, Gojo grabs hold of your wrist and you freeze. Not because he grabbed your wrist, but because you can actually feel his skin against yours.

He’s dropped Infinity, just long enough to stroke his thumb across the sensitive patch of skin inside your wrist. He makes actual contact just long enough to brush his surprisingly-soft lips against the back of your hand, all the while maintaining unwavering eye contact.

If you aren’t so stunned, you know your panties would be soaking wet at the intimacy of the moment.

But you are stunned, so you wrench your hand out of his as if burned.

Gojo simply smiles at you before gesturing at the sleek black car parked behind him. “Figured you’d want a ride, rather than warp.”

You sigh and head towards the car, shooting Kento a text.

You 3:30 PM What the actual fuck, Kento

kento-bro 🥐 3:31 PM I did NOT tell him to pick you up. I explicitly told him that the idea was a terrible one and would likely end with me dead. You can imagine his reaction to that.

You could, and you tried not to glare at Gojo as he held the door to his car open for you. The vehicle interior is surprisingly spotless; with his lackadaisical attitude, you expected random junk stuffed into the center console, at the very least.

It also smells just like him, sending a traitorous tingle down your spine.

“Are you cold?” Gojo asks as he slides into the driver’s seat. “I can turn on the heat, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

You shake your head, tucking a few lavender locks behind your ear. “I’m fine, just a random cold chill. I’m surprised you even both to drive.”

Gojo shrugs as he starts up the car. “No reason not to learn. I’m more than just my techniques, you know?”

It isn’t as if you only saw him as a sorcerer.

Based on the flood of pure heat that you nearly drown in as he shifts the car into reverse and immediately places his right hand on your headrest, looking over his shoulder to pull out of the parking spot, you see him as a red-blooded man just like any other.

And that is something you intend to keep to yourself.

“So, have you decided?” he asks conversationally. Your irritation with him clearly doesn’t matter in the slightest, which only makes you exhale slowly. Traffic is touch and go as you try to make it out of Shibuya, so might as well make the most of the drive.

“You didn’t trigger an asthma attack, and me nearly passing out was due to my own idiocy, so I guess I’ll settle for a bottle of a decent red blend,” you reply as you settle into the passenger seat. Chill EDM and instrumental music hums its way through the car’s speakers from whatever satellite radio station he’s tuned into, your finger absently tapping along with the beat against your thigh.

“Hmm.” You feel his gaze on you for the briefest moment as he continues to drive. “I think I can make that happen. Seems like a pretty lackluster request, considering I practically gave you a blank check.”

You roll your eyes. “What did you think I was going to ask for?”

“I don’t know. Something more exciting, like a date, or even a kiss.”

“Sure you aren’t projecting a bit?” You cock your head a bit as you look at him. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the shifter. Your brain tries to reconcile the tall, charming, sexy as fuck man sitting next to you with the arrogant, pain-in-the-ass sorcerer that grated your nerves like no other. You can’t say why he rubs you the wrong way; it could be his carefree attitude towards absolutely everything, or maybe his continuous assumption that he can charm the pants off you, literally and figuratively.

Either way, it boils down to the simple fact that you don’t trust if and when he’s ever being genuine with you, or anyone, really.

“Would it really be so bad for you to admit you find me attractive?” he wonders aloud.

“I have no problem admitting you’re attractive,” you reply with a half-sigh. “It’s honestly a little disorienting, but then you start talking and all the allure just gets sucked right out, like a nasty little vacuum.”

“Why are you and Nanamin so mean to me?” Gojo whines. He makes the turn onto the campus, easing his way towards the parking lot where you had left your bike the night before. “Here I am, just trying to be nice...”

He parks the car right next to your Triumph, turning to face you with a pout. You simply stare at him, trying to decide how to best to inform him that he once again lost his head in his own asshole.

“Maybe if you tried to just be sincere instead of nice, people would stop being so ‘mean’ to you,” you point out. He pushes his sunglasses up and into his hair, regarding you with somber blue eyes.

“Would that work on you?”

You can tell he’s asking you seriously. The pitch of his voice has dropped, abandoning the air of frivolity and slipping into a velvet soft baritone that sends warmth through your center. It’s a tone you haven’t heard from him before.

“Yes.” Your mouth is spitting words faster than you can censor them. “I’d trust you, at the very least.”

Gojo leans towards you, his expression painfully neutral. “That’s important to you, isn’t it? Trust.”

His proximity to you, speaking to you in that lower pitch… it makes your heart thunder in your chest. You know there’s absolutely no way Gojo can’t hear it—it’s practically pushing out of your chest. What had been basic attraction is suddenly inching its way out of that easy to manage category and into dangerous territory.

Your brain doesn’t get the memo.

“Yes, it is,” you reply, your voice barely a murmur. “When you get fucked over enough times, trust issues develop. A basic psychological fact, as far as I’m concerned.”

He turns this information over in his mind. You can see the thoughts sinking into the vault behind his eyes. Gojo can be a brat on a good day, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t brilliant or observant.

“Can I have your number?”

You blink, reeling from the whiplash of his question. You fully process the moment and realize his charmer’s grin and bubbly tenor are back. The moment of honesty is gone.

A scoff is forming in your mind when you catch Gojo’s eyes again. The dissonance between the honesty swimming in the azure blues of his eyes and the mask he’s presenting is so clear, it takes you a second to quell your retort and hold out your hand.

His mask softens just a fraction as he gives you his phone, but his eyes never waver. You only break the stare to glance at his phone while you enter in your number, calling your own phone to save his number before handing the device back.

You’re typing out his name when you see a text come through from that number.

Unknown Number 4:18 PM this is Satoru, fyi 🤗

The use of his name feels intentional. You focus your energy and let your aura slip along the edges of his, luring it out for you to see. It’s a halo of cerulean blue, humming softly to you.

Your fingers hover over your keyboard for a moment before you save the number under just Satoru.

“I’ll text you when your bottle of wine’s ready,” Gojo says brightly. “But you have to promise that you’ll follow the instructions I send, too.”

That sounds like a trap and you immediately narrow your eyes as you start to exit the car. He just drops his shades with a too-innocent smile. Bickering with him wouldn’t end up being productive, so you just shake your head.

“Thanks for the ride, Gojo.” You step out of the car and unlock your bike, the tiny bit of anxiety you have about leaving it unattended somewhere unfamiliar easing away as you zip up your leather jacket and pick up your helmet.

“Hey, teach.” You see that Gojo’s window has rolled down as you swing your leg over the bike. “Ride safe, alright? Let me know when you get home, too.”

You can’t help but smile a little. “What are you, my dad?”

His smile turns feline. “Why, feel like calling me ‘daddy?’”

Your eyes can’t roll harder than they do right then. Refusing to deign that with a response, you snap your visor shut and take off back towards your apartment in Yoyogi.

The moment he let you past his Infinity replays in your thoughts the entire ride home. The feel of his skin against yours felt so… nice. The internal cringe at the lackluster adjective is unavoidable. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve had sex, for fuck’s sake. Are you really that starved for attention that you’re willing to play with the giant bonfire of fuck-boy that is Gojo just to satisfy your curiosity — among other things?

You ease your bike into your garage and head back into your safe space. Shedding your jacket, you glance at your phone before you move into the kitchen to start dinner.

Satoru 4:53 PM what perfume do you wear??

Satoru 4:53 PM also, have you made it home yet??? 😰😰😰

Your brows knit at his first question as you pour yourself a glass of wine while last night’s takeout reheats.

You 5:09 PM Just got home. Why do you want to know about my perfume?

Satoru 5:10 PM whew, i was worried!!

Satoru 5:10 PM it smells lovely in my car, the same way you did when i carried you into your place last night. call me curious 🤔

Suspicious, that’s what you’d call him. You let the text sit while you stir your leftovers, distracted by the sense of a blush forming on your cheeks at the thought of him enjoying your perfume in his car as much as you enjoyed his scent.

“And those are the thoughts of a complete weirdo,” you mumble as you stick your leftovers into the microwave for another minute.

You 5:12 PM It’s called Wisteria Blue by Nest

Ordinarily, you’d have silenced your phone and left it somewhere beyond reach to completely disconnect while you unwind from the day. And ordinarily, you’d have your attention focused on some murder docuseries instead of thoroughly grading assignments.

Yet, your phone remains face up and on ringer as it stares at you from the coffee table. You’re half-paying attention to the new show on a crazy cult in the States during the 1980s while nibbling on leftover fried chicken and rice, your peripheral honed in on the screen of your phone and diverting your focus like a fucking teenager.

And, just like a teenager, your stomach flips when your phone chimes and lights up again.

Satoru 5:22 PM do you trust me now?

You 5:23 PM Not completely, no. but I am more inclined to try and trust you

You 5:23 PM Besides, not all of us have Infinity to ward off folks we don’t want hurting us

When he doesn’t immediately reply, you attempt to refocus on your dinner. It’s not like you think Satoru plans on hurting you; that moment in the car before you left gives you a tiny bit of peace of mind there. No, your reactions are purely automatic defense mechanisms, ingrained into you after years of gaslighting and emotional manipulation.

Nope, not going to think about all that. You turn up the television to drown out your own thoughts, just as your phone lights up again.

Satoru 5:31 PM got any good stories about nanamin? 😈

The cackle that bubbles up is pure petty bitch. Boy, oh boy, do you have stories? Since you steadfastly believe that the white-haired demon’s appearance in your life is all Kento’s fault, you feel absolutely no guilt in arming his friend with some solid ammunition.

You 5:33 PM Did you know that he’s terrified of moths? Not like, ew that’s gross, but little girl screaming terrified. He’s even had nightmares that they suck his face off if one lands on him

Satoru 5:35 PM you’re my new favorite person 🤣🤣

----

“It’s getting there, you just need to pay attention to your tempo, Ichigo.”

The third year frowns at her hands, as if their lagging is under someone else’s control. You smile at her, squeezing her shoulder gently.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” you tell her kindly. “It’s easy to get wrapped up in how your music makes you feel that you lose sight of little things like your speed or technique.”

“Does that happen to you, when you play, Ms. Nissen?”

An iron curtain drops on the memories of performing that her question pokes at. Instead, you just keep smiling, though it’s lost a little bit of its warmth.

“I don’t play too much anymore, but yes. If my heart is driving me to play, even I lose sight of my tempo,” you reply as you stand up from your perch by her keyboard station. You glance around the room, pleased to see that some of the girls have started to get a head start on cleaning the room after their check-in.

“Great job, all of you,” you say loudly over the low cacophony of music. “Don’t forget that your reports on your chosen pieces are due tomorrow at the start of class.”

With that, the girls go about their daily chore while you collect your things from the podium in the corner. As expected, you see that you have a string of messages from Satoru, which makes you smile a little, despite your best efforts.

Satoru 2:02 PM what made you want to be a music teacher?

Satoru 2:03 PM and why do you have sound proofing in your apartment?

Satoru 2:10 PM i’ve been to the states a few times. where did you live while you were there??

The last few days followed this pattern of intermittent texts from a perpetually curious Satoru, his questions rarely relating to each other as he fires them off during school hours. You understand his students’ dismissive attitude about his authority over them, especially if he’s on his phone most of the time.

You 3:11 PM I’m surprised you haven’t coerced Kento to tell you all of that 🙄

Your warning shot of the moth story did its job, bringing your cousin to his knees for forgiveness after Satoru released a few dozen moths in one of the classrooms while locking Kento inside. The pair of you reached a truce, agreeing to have dinner again this Saturday, without Satoru.

Satoru 3:12 PM he’s still not talking to me 😅

You 3:13 PM I always had a thing for music, since I was really little. My parents decided to capitalize on it and got me all kinds of private lessons… piano, cello, violin, voice, etc. When I decided to stop performing, I didn’t want to leave it totally behind, so I decided to teach.

Satoru 3:16 PM how did you avoid using your technique? it had to have shown up by then

You 3:17 PM Kento would teach me bits and pieces of jujutsu when I visited over the summers, but before he even started going to Jujutsu Tech, all my feelings and intentions were directed inward, rather than to my audience

You slip your phone into your backpack and put on your helmet. There is plenty about jujutsu that you don’t understand, and you wonder if anyone truly does, but you’re still grateful for Kento and Yaga. Without either of them, you’d have drowned in your own self-loathing.

It occurs to you that you haven’t seen Yaga in awhile, so you decide to pay your respects soon. Maybe he would have some tips on how to manage a certain snowy-topped idiot.

After locking up your bike, you drop your things on the couch and head straight upstairs to your bathroom. A hot shower sounds blissful, as opposed to finding out what other questions Satoru has in store for you.

The steaming spray soothes your tense shoulders as you consider the chessboard of conversation in your head. You’re used to answering personal questions with the bare minimum information needed, but Satoru isn’t your average pedestrian poking around. Besides, it doesn’t escape you that you’ve played the trust card, only to be a perfect hypocrite in terms of honesty.

You sigh as you work shampoo into your hair. The simplest solution is to acknowledge that there are things you aren’t ready to talk about, which is always so much easier said than done. A coil of anxiety tightens in your stomach but you dismiss it.

As you dry off, you make a mental note to dye your hair again soon. The color is fading a little too close to silver for your liking, and the last thing you need is for Satoru to start saying that you’re trying to steal his look.

Dressed in only boybriefs and an oversized sweater, you pad back down the stairs to fish your phone out of your backpack.

Satoru 3:29 PM what’s with the sound proofing then?

Satoru 3:43 PM did you die? do i need to come do a wellness check? 😱

You roll your eyes as you plop onto your sofa.

You 4:03 PM I didn’t die. I got home and showered, and didn’t feel like bringing my phone along

You 4:03 PM I put up the tiles to dampen any sounds I might accidentally make at home. Sometimes I start singing along to my Spotify, or hum while I bake. It’s just for my neighbors, really.

Checking work emails keeps you from watching his typing bubble from bouncing. There’s an upcoming faculty meeting that you pray has nothing to do with the school festival that’s coming up in a couple months. Last year, the girls in your class tried to convince you to perform in their faculty talent show — to the point that you had to dodge them in the halls in case they tried to use the power of their puppy-dog eyes.

Satoru 4:06 PM ooo… i bet you smell amazing. should have invited me to join 😏😏

You 4:06 PM Why’s that?

Satoru 4:07 PM i could have helped you wash up the hard to reach spots! instead, i’m just daydreaming about it instead of training the kids

You 4:08 PM Somehow I doubt me in the shower is what’s really preventing you from doing your job

Satoru 4:09 PM why are you so mean to me??? 😭

You 4:09 PM I’m not mean. I’m honest 😇

Satoru 4:10 PM i don’t believe you’re an angel for one second. no self-respecting angel rides around in tight pants and a leather jacket on a motorcycle, especially not one with a voice as pretty as yours

You 4:11 PM Please stop before you dig yourself into a deep chauvinistic hole that you have no hope of getting out of

Satoru 4:13 PM siiiiigh. fair point. so, where in the states did you live?

You 4:14 PM New York City. My dad works on Wall Street at an investment firm. Have you ever been?

Satoru 4:15 PM nah, i’ve only been to California and Hawaii. nyc seems cool though. did you like it?

You 4:15 PM I guess… I was a kid when I lived there. I moved to Japan when I was 15, so I think I missed out on all the really cool things that New York has to offer

Satoru 4:16 PM we should go together then!! you can show me around 🤗

The idea of playing tour guide to Satoru makes you smile but also makes you shudder. He strikes you as the kind of sucker who goes to all the tourist traps purely because that’s where everyone goes. Him in Times Square? Fuck that.

You 4:21 PM Hmm. I don’t come cheap, you know.

Satoru 4:22 PM name your price 😘

You 4:22 PM Do you always offer up blank checks to people you barely know?

Satoru 4:23 PM no, only the breathtakingly beautiful ones

You choke on rice, coughing roughly as you recoil from such a bold compliment.

You 4:26 PM Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you? How do I know that you aren’t just treating me like another conquest?

Satoru 4:29 PM who says you’re a conquest?

You 4:30 PM Don’t act like you don’t literally charm the pants off women whenever you feel the need. There’s no way a man like you doesn’t have a string of fuck-buddies

Satoru 4:31 PM i’m not, i’m asking why you think i see you as a conquest

Satoru 4:31 PM because if you were, i’d have already hit it and quit it

You honestly can’t decide if you’re flattered or more affronted at his honesty. To let yourself cool off, you finish up your dinner and go pour yourself the last of your favorite red blend.

It’s hard to disagree with his logic, the more you let it roll around in your head. You’re just as guilty of doing the same thing, when the dry spells go a little too long for your liking. And you’ve definitely gotten your share of lectures from Kento about being “so reckless” with strangers.

You 4:40 PM That’s fair. I apologize for making assumptions.

Satoru 4:43 PM wow, didn’t expect you to own up to that so quickly 😳

You 4:44 PM Why?

Satoru 4:44 PM getting nanamin to admit he’s wrong is like pulling teeth!!

You smile, knowing how utterly true that statement is.

You 4:46 PM Well, I’m not my cousin… besides, it’s wrong to shame someone for casually hooking up with people when I do the same thing. I’m not interested in being a hypocrite 💁🏻‍♀️

Satoru 4:48 PM glad i’m not flirting with nanamin. that’d be awkward 😳😳

Satoru 4:48 PM ughhh. gotta run and kill some curses.

Satoru 4:49 PM before i forget, your wine is ready! so be set for dinner at 7pm tomorrow night. dress to impress 😉

Beg your pardon? How did getting a nice bottle of wine turn into a dinner date?

You 4:50 PM What the fuck? Can’t you just give me a bottle of wine, like a normal person?

He doesn’t respond, likely because he’s actually doing work, for once. You glare at your phone for another minute before you drain the last of your wine and start updating grades to keep yourself from texting a string of extremely rude curses to the subject of your ire.

It doesn’t escape your notice how he conveniently had to disappear and exorcise curses after dropping that bomb on you, either.

Huffing, you stomp upstairs and into your bedroom. Because, despite it all, you refuse to show up to dinner looking anything less than your best. As the thought settles, a little grin lifts the corners of your lips while you open your walk-in closet and survey the options.

“Time to fight fire with fire.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #gojo x oc #gojo satoru #oc #nanami kento #flirting #gojo loves emojis #also on ao3 #ao3

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years

Text

Pluralistic: 14 Mar 2020 (Free audio of Masque of the Red Death and When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth, Ada Palmer on censorship, Women of Imagineering, Glitch unionizes, Tachyon/EFF Humble Bundle, Canada Reads postponed, data-caps and liquid bans paused, Star Wars firepits)

Today's links

Masque of the Red Death: Macmillan Audio gave me permission to share the audiobook of my end-of-the-world novella.

When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth: A new podcast audiobook of my 2005 end-of-the-world story.

Ada Palmer on historical and modern censorship: Part of EFF's Speaking Freely project.

Glitch workers unionize: First-ever tech union formed without management opposition.

Women of Imagineering: A 384-page illustrated chronicle of the role women play in Disney theme-park design.

Tachyon celebrates 30 years of sff publishing with a Humble Bundle: DRM-free and benefits EFF.

Honest Government Ads, Covid-19 edition: Political satire is really hard, but The Juice makes it look easy.

TSA lifts liquid bans, telcos lift data caps: Almost as though there was no reason for them in the first place.

CBC postpones Canada Reads debates: But you can read a ton of the nominated books online for free.

Star Wars firepits: 750lbs of flaming backyard steel.

This day in history: 2005, 2015, 2019

Colophon: Recent publications, current writing projects, upcoming appearances, current reading

Masque of the Red Death (permalink)

Edgar Allan Poe wrote "The Masque of the Red Death" in 1842. It's about a plutocrat who throws a masked ball in his walled abbey during a plague with the intention of cheating death.

https://www.poemuseum.org/the-masque-of-the-red-death

My novella "The Masque of the Red Death" is a tribute to Poe; it's from my book Radicalized. It's the story of a plute who brings his pals to his luxury bunker during civlizational collapse in the expectation of emerging once others have rebuilt.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250242334

Naturally, they assume that when they do emerge, once their social inferiors have rebooted civilization, that their incredible finance-brains, their assault rifles, and their USBs full of BtC will allow them to command a harem and live a perpetual Frazetta-painting future.

And naturally – to anyone who's read Poe – it doesn't work out for them. They discover that humanity has a shared microbial destiny and that you can't shoot germs. That every catastrophe must be answered with solidarity, not selfishness, if it is to be survived.

Like my story When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth, the Masque of the Red Death has been on a lot of people's minds lately, especially since this Guardian story of plutes fleeing to their luxury bunkers was published. Hundreds of you have sent me this.

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2020/mar/11/disease-dodging-worried-wealthy-jet-off-to-disaster-bunkers

I got the message. Yesterday, I asked my agent to see if Macmillan Audio would let me publish the audiobook of my Masque of the Red Death for free. They said yes, and asked me to remind you that the audiobook of Radicalized (which includes Masque) is available for your delectation.

I hope you'll check out the whole book. Radicalized was named one of the @WSJ's best books of 2019, and it's a finalist for Canada Reads, the national book prize. It's currently on every Canadian national bestseller list.

There's one hitch, though: Audible won't sell it to you. They don't sell ANY of my work, because I don't allow DRM on it, because I believe that you should not have to lock my audiobooks to Amazon's platform in order to enjoy them.

Instead, you can buy the audio from sellers like libro.fm, Downpour.com, and Google Play. Or you can get it direct from me. No DRM, no license agreement. Just "you bought it, you own it."

https://craphound.com/shop/

And here's the free Macmillan Audio edition of Masque of the Red Death, read with spine-chilling menace by the incredible Stefan Rudnicki, with a special intro from me, freshly mastered by John Taylor Williams. I hope it gives you some comfort.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/the-masque-of-the-red-death/

(Here's the direct MP3, too)

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_332/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_332_-_The_Masque_of_the_Red_Death.mp3

Ada Palmer on historical and modern censorship (permalink)

My EFF colleague Jillian C York's latest project is Speaking Freely, a series of interviews with people about free expression and the internet, including what Neil Gaiman memorably called "icky speech."

http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2008/12/why-defend-freedom-of-icky-speech.html

The latest interview subject is the incomparable Ada Palmer: historian, sf writer, musician, and co-host of last year's U Chicago seminar series on "systems of information control during information revolutions," which I co-taught with her. Ada's interview synthesizes her historian's distance from the subject ("yes, this is my subject, and these people are terrible, and it's kind of fun in that way") with her perspective as a writer and advocate for free speech.

"One of the victims of censorship is the future capacity to tell histories of the period when censorship happened….. It renders that historical record unreliable… makes it easier for people to make claims you can't refute using historical sources… It's similar to how we see people invalidating things now—like 'that climate study wasn't really valid because it got funding from a leftist political group"—they're invalidating the material by claiming that there has to be insincerity its development.

"Pretty much every censoring operation post-printing press recognizes that it isn't possible to track down and destroy every copy of a thing…An Inquisition book burning was the ceremonial burning of one copy. The Inquisition kept examples of all of the books they banned."

Fascinating perspecting on whether nongovernmental action can really be called "censorship."

"The Inquisition wasn't the state – it was a private org like to Doctors Without Borders or Unicef, run by private orgs like the Dominicans and it often competed with the state." As she points out, everything the Inquisition did would be fine alongside the First Amendment, because it was entirely private action.

Next, Palmer talks about market concentration and how it abets this kind of private censorship. This is something I've written a lot about, see for example:

https://locusmag.com/2020/01/cory-doctorow-inaction-is-a-form-of-action/

"If you have a plural set of voices, then you're always going to have some spaces where things can be said, just like you have a plurality of printers printing books, and some will only print orthodox things and some will only print radical ones."

And while the internet could afford many venues for speech, in practice a concentrated internet makes is plausible to accomplish the censor's never-realized dream: "You can make a program that can hunt down every instance of a particular phrase and erase it."

Tiny architectural choices make big differences here ("Architecture is politics" -Mitch Kapor). Amazon can update your Kindle books without your permission, Kobo can't. Amazon could delete every instance of a book on Kindles, but Kobo would need cooperation from its customers.

Palmer is just the latest subject of Jillian's series. You can read many other amazing interviews here:

https://www.eff.org/speaking-freely

When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth (permalink)

Over the past two weeks, hundreds of people have written to me to draw comparisons between the pandemic emergency and my 2005 story "When Sysamins Ruled the Earth" – an apocalyptic tale of network administrators who survive a civilizational collapse.

https://craphound.com/overclocked/Cory_Doctorow_-Overclocked-_When_Sysadmins_Ruled_the_Earth.html

I started writing this story in the teacher's quarters at the Clarion Workshop, which was then hosted at MSU. It was July 6, 2005. I know the date because the next day was 7/7, when bombs went off across London, blowing up the tube train my wife normally rode to work. The attacks also took out the bus I normally rode to my office. My wife was late to work because I was in Michigan, so she slept in. It probably saved her life. I couldn't work on this story for a long time after.

Eventually, I finished it and sold it to Eric Flint for Baen's Universe magazine. It's been widely reprinted and adapted, including as a comic:

https://archive.org/details/CoryDoctorowsFuturisticTalesOfTheHereAndNow/mode/2up

I read this for my podcast 15 years ago, too, but the quality is terrible. The more I thought about it, the more I thought I should do a new reading. So I did, and John Taylor Williams mastered it overnight and now it's live.

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/when-sysadmins-ruled-the-earth-2/

There's a soliloquy in this where the protagonist reads a part of John Perry Barlow's Declaration of Independence of Cyberspace. Rather than read it myself for the podcast, I ganked some of Barlow's own 2015 reading, which is fucking magnificent.

https://vimeo.com/111576518

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. I've spent a lot of imaginary time inhabiting various apocalypses, driven (I think) by my grandmother's horrific stories of being inducted into the civil defense corps during the Siege of Leningrad, which began when she was 12.

You can subscribe to the podcast here:

http://feeds.feedburner.com/doctorow_podcast

And here's the MP3, which is hosted by the @internetarchive (they'll host your stuff for free, too!).

https://archive.org/download/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_331/Cory_Doctorow_Podcast_331_-_When_Sysadmins_Ruled_the_Earth.mp3

Glitch workers unionize (permalink)

The staff of Glitch have formed a union. It seems to be the first-ever white-collar tech-workers' union to have formed without any objections from management (bravo, Anil Dash!).

https://cwa-union.org/news/releases/tech-workers-app-developer-glitch-vote-form-union-and-join-cwa-organizing-initiative

The workers organized under the Communications Workers of America, which has been organizing tech shops through their Campaign to Organize Digital Employees.

https://www.code-cwa.org/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIovDRsc-S6AIVCuDICh0rFQCMEAAYASAAEgJb1PD_BwE

"We appreciate that unlike so many employers, the Glitch management team decided to respect the rights of its workforce to choose union representation without fear or coercion."

Women of Imagineering (permalink)

Next October, Disney will publish "Women of Imagineering: 12 Careers, 12 Theme Parks, Countless Stories," a 384-page history of a dozen pioneering woman Imagineers.

https://thedisneyblog.com/2020/03/13/new-book-highlights-stories-from-the-women-of-walt-disney-imagineering/

Featured are Elisabete Erlandson, Julie Svendsen, Maggie Elliott, Peggy Fariss, Paula Dinkel, Karen Connolly Armitage, Katie Olson, Becky Bishop, Tori Atencio, Lynne Macer Rhodes, Kathy Rogers, and Pam Rank.

When I worked at Imagineering, the smartest, most talented, most impressive staff I knew were women (like Sara Thacher!). It's amazing to see the women of the organization get some long-overdue recognition.

Tachyon celebrates 30 years of sff publishing with a Humble Bundle (permalink)

For 30 years, @TachyonPub has been publishing outstanding science fiction, including a wide range of stuff that's too weird or marginal for the Big 5 publishers, like collections of essays and collections.

https://tachyonpublications.com/

Now, they've teamed up with Humble Bundle to celebrate their 30th with a huge pay-what-you-like bundle that benefits EFF. There are so many great books in this bundle!

https://www.humblebundle.com/books/celebrating-25-years-scifi-fantasy-from-tachyon-books

Like Bruce Sterling's Pirate Utopia, Eileen Gunn's Stable Strategies, and books by Michael Moorcock, Thomas Disch, Jo Walton, Jane Yolen, Nick Mamatas, Kameron Hurley, Lauren Beukes, Lavie Tidhar and so many more!

I curated the very first Humble Ebook Bundle and I've followed all the ones since. This one is fucking amazeballs. Run, don't walk.

Honest Government Ads, Covid-19 edition (permalink)

Good political satire is hard, but @thejuicemedia's "Honest Government Ads" are consistently brilliant.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCKRw8GAAtm27q4R3Q0kst_g

The latest is, of course, Covi9-19 themed. It is funny, trenchant, and puts the blame exactly where it belongs.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hks6Nq7g6P4

If you like it, you can support their Patreon.

https://www.patreon.com/TheJuiceMedia

TSA lifts liquid bans, telcos lift data caps (permalink)

Your ISP is likely to lift its data-caps in the next day or two. @ATT and @comcast already did.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/v74qzb/atandt-suspends-broadband-usage-caps-during-coronavirus-crisis

And TSA has decided that 12 ounces of any liquid labelled "hand sanitizer" is safe for aviation, irrespective of what's in the bottle.

https://www.theverge.com/2020/3/13/21179120/tsa-hand-sanitizer-liquid-size-airport-screening-coronavirus-covid-19

What do these two facts have in common? Obviously, it's that the official narrative for things that impose enormous financial costs on Americans, and dramatically lower their quality of lives, were based on lies. These lies have been obvious from the start. The liquid ban, for example, is based on a plot that never worked (making binary explosives in airport bathroom sinks from liquids) and seems unlikely to ever have worked, according to organic chemists.

Keeping your "piranha bath" near 0' C for a protracted period in the bathroom toilet is some varsity-level terrorism, and the penalty for failure is that you maim or blind yourself with acid spatter.

https://www.schneier.com/blog/archives/2006/08/on_the_implausi.html

And even if you stipulate that the risk is real, it's been obvious for 14 years that multiple 3oz bottles of Bad Liquid could be recombined beyond the checkpoint to do whatever it is liquids do at 3.0001oz.The liquid ban isn't just an inconvenience. It's not even just a burden on travelers who've collectively spent billions to re-purchase drinks and toiletries. It's a huge health burden to people with disabilities who rely on constant access to liquids.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0m12mLXgO1A

And as we knew all along, the liquid ban was a nonsense, an authoritarian response to a cack-handed, improbable terror plot. It embodies the "security syllogism":

Something must be done. There, I've done something.

Think of all those checkpoints where all confiscated liquids were dumped into a giant barrel and mingled together: if liquids posed an existential threat to planes, they'd dispose of them like they were C4, not filtered water. No one believed in the liquid threat, ever. TSA can relax the restrictions and allow 12oz of anything labeled as hand-san through the checkpoints. There was no reason to confiscate liquids in the first place. But don't expect them to admit this. The implicit message of the change is "Pandemics make liquids safe."

Now onto data-caps. Like the liquid ban, data-caps have imposed a tremendous cost on Americans. In addition to the hundreds of millions in monopoly rents extracted from the nation by telcos through overage charges, these caps also shut many out of the digital world. They represent a regressive tax on information, one that falls worst upon the most underserved in the nation: people in poor and rural places, for whom online access is a gateway to civic and political life, family connection, employment and education.

We were told that we had to tolerate these caps because of the "tragedy of the commons," a fraudulent idea from economics that says that shared resources are destroyed through selfish overuse, based on no data or evidence.

https://thebaffler.com/latest/first-as-tragedy-then-as-fascism-amend

(By contrast, actual commons are a super-efficient way of managing resources)

https://www.onthecommons.org/magazine/elinor-ostroms-8-principles-managing-commmons

Telcos insisted that if they didn't throttle and gouge us, their networks would become unusable – but really, what they meant is that if they didn't throttle and gouge us, the windfall to their shareholders would decline.

What's more likely: that pandemics make network management tools so efficient that data-caps become obsolete, or that they were a shuck and a ripoff from day one, enabled by a hyper-concentrated industry of monopolists with cozy relationships with corrupt regulators?

So yeah, maybe this is the moment that kills Security Theater and data-caps.

https://techcrunch.com/2020/03/12/coronavirus-could-force-isps-to-abandon-data-caps-forever/

(Image: Rhys Gibson)

CBC postpones Canada Reads debates (permalink)

The folks at the @CBC have postponed next week's televised Canada Reads debates, so we're going to have to wait a while to find out who wins the national book prize.

https://www.cbc.ca/books/canada-reads-2020-postponed-1.5497678

Obviously, this is a bummer, though equally obviously, it's a relatively small consequence of this ghastly circumstance.

And on the bright side, the CBC have just released a ton of excerpts from the nominees:

https://www.cbc.ca/books/canadareads/read-excerpts-from-the-canada-reads-2020-books-1.5496637

If you're looking for some Canada Reads lit for this moment, my novella "Masque of the Red Death" appears in my collection Radicalized, one of the finalists. I put up the story as a free podast last night (thanks to Macmillan Audio for permission).

https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/the-masque-of-the-red-death/

Star Wars firepits (permalink)

West Coast Firepits went viral when they produced a Death Star firepit, though of course, I lusted after their Tiki Firepit.

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/tiki-firepit-69825

But now they're really leaning into the Star Wars themed pits, with an Interceptor pit ($2500):

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/interceptor

Or, if you prefer a post-apocalyptic version, there's a Crashed Interceptor pit, also $2500.

https://www.westcoastfirepits.com/shop/crashed-interceptor

If those prices seem high, consider that they're hand-made onshore, and contain 750lbs of 1/4" and 1/8" steel.

This day in history (permalink)

#15yrsago How DRM will harm the developing world https://web.archive.org/web/20050317005030/https://www.eff.org/IP/DRM/itu_drm.php

#5yrsago Anti-vaxxer ordered to pay EUR100K to winner of "measles aren't real" bet https://calvinayre.com/2015/03/13/business/biologist-ordered-to-pay-e100k-after-losing-wager-that-a-virus-causes-measles/

#1yrago A massive victory for fair use in the longrunning Dr Seuss vs Star Trek parody lawsuit https://www.techdirt.com/articles/20190313/09554041791/big-fair-use-win-mashups-places-youll-boldly-go-deemed-to-be-fair-use.shtml

#1yrago A detailed analysis of American ER bills reveals rampant, impossible-to-avoid price-gouging https://www.vox.com/health-care/2018/12/18/18134825/emergency-room-bills-health-care-costs-america

#1yrago Ketamine works great for depression and other conditions, and costs $10/dose; the new FDA-approved "ketamine" performs badly in trials and costs a fortune https://slatestarcodex.com/2019/03/11/ketamine-now-by-prescription/

#1yrago Facebook and Big Tech are monopsonies, even when they're not monopolies https://www.wired.com/story/facebook-not-monopoly-but-should-broken-up/

Colophon (permalink)

Today's top sources: EFF Deeplinks (https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/), Waxy (https://waxy.org/), Slashdot https://slashdot.org).

Currently writing: I've just finished rewrites on a short story, "The Canadian Miracle," for MIT Tech Review. It's a story set in the world of my next novel, "The Lost Cause," a post-GND novel about truth and reconciliation. I've also just completed "Baby Twitter," a piece of design fiction also set in The Lost Cause's prehistory, for a British think-tank. I'm getting geared up to start work on the novel next.

Currently reading: Just started Lauren Beukes's forthcoming Afterland: it's Y the Last Man plus plus, and two chapters in, it's amazeballs. Last month, I finished Andrea Bernstein's "American Oligarchs"; it's a magnificent history of the Kushner and Trump families, showing how they cheated, stole and lied their way into power. I'm getting really into Anna Weiner's memoir about tech, "Uncanny Valley." I just loaded Matt Stoller's "Goliath" onto my underwater MP3 player and I'm listening to it as I swim laps.

Latest podcast: When Sysadmins Ruled the Earth https://craphound.com/podcast/2020/03/13/when-sysadmins-ruled-the-earth-2/

Upcoming books: "Poesy the Monster Slayer" (Jul 2020), a picture book about monsters, bedtime, gender, and kicking ass. Pre-order here: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781626723627?utm_source=socialmedia&utm_medium=socialpost&utm_term=na-poesycorypreorder&utm_content=na-preorder-buynow&utm_campaign=9781626723627

(we're having a launch for it in Burbank on July 11 at Dark Delicacies and you can get me AND Poesy to sign it and Dark Del will ship it to the monster kids in your life in time for the release date).

"Attack Surface": The third Little Brother book, Oct 20, 2020. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250757531

"Little Brother/Homeland": A reissue omnibus edition with a new introduction by Edward Snowden: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250774583

#pluralistic

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rockettransman · 5 years

Text

MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT ROCKETMAN

I HAVE SO MANY! HERE WE GO!

prelude: i went into this movie pretty jaded and not thinking i was gonna like it. in my head, i got john lennon and elton john confused. i was thinking it was about john lennon. “oh god, they made a movie about that prick?” further, i was already dreading it because they play EJ’s hits on the radio at work all the time, and frankly i was fucking sick of tiny dancer and im still standing. when i watched the trailer i was like “aw geez, elton john sings these? damn, i was hoping i could tolerate him at all.” so. not many high hopes for this movie.

that was until i was on a six hour flight from boston to portland, oregon, and i was delirious with pain and boredom. i was sat in the middle of a father and daughter, and so i really didn’t wanna pull out my laptop and get in their space. reading the subtitles from the office off the airplane tv made me sick. the lights were off and it was 2 am, so no reading. i. was. BORED. and then, i saw someone watching something in the row in front of me. where i was sitting i got a whole view of their screen. oh, they were watching that elton john movie. they didn’t have subtitles on, so i could only take from visual and context clues what was happening. it looked flashy, and oh-- that man just stared lovingly, tenderly into another man’s eyes. oh shit. oh yeah. elton is gay.

now i’m hooked. if i’m anything, i’m a trans man in a desperate search for a complex queer romance movie. i wanted something that would pull on my heartstrings, that would wreck me emotionally with a high reward. suddenly elton is staring at himself in full garb, putting on and taking off his glasses. smiling then frowning. glasses on. smile. glasses off. scowl. oh he’s in distress. oh, is he snorting coke? okay, cool, tight.

from here on out, i watch the movie with (no audio) the predisposition that elton is in severe distress, dealing with drugs and self-sabotage all because his feelings and attraction towards men are confusing and frustrating and he doesn’t know how to cope with them. is he in denial? does he hate himself for it? does he try to make himself attracted to women? obviously, i was incorrect. elton was pretty secure in the fact that he was gay in his personal life.

i think about rocketman for days until my flight back to sarasota. i decide to watch rocketman on the plane back instead of renting it. but for some reason, my goblin brain told me to rent it, and i did. but i ended up just watching it on the plane anyway.

i was disappointed. really, kinda bummed about it. every article and review said it was R for a reason. there was plenty sexual content and drugs to do elton’s real life comparison justice. in the movie i watched, i saw none of it. there was some drinking of alcohol, he took pills, it was implied he snorted coke. i saw no kissing, no intimacy, not even a tender hand on a cheek or embrace between elton and another man. this movie was praised for being so groundbreaking! for representing so much of what elton’s life was really like, with drugs and sex and all that. and now that i thought about it, i heard not one curse word. “bloody” was tossed around a lot, but that is used as an inflection. and during the pool scene before he throws himself in, when he meets john at the deck, he spits something about “his secretary shagging him in front of the pool boys.” that had me in utter confusion. there... was no one there with john? he was just sitting there? must’ve been something i missed.

SO IT TURNS OUT THE AIRPLANE’S VERSION OF THE MOVIE WAS HEAVILY CENSORED. i watched the real thing when i got home yesterday and was FLOORED by the differences in the same movie i had just watched. in the scene where elton remarks he’d like to change his name, they completely edited out the character behind him peeing into a glass bottle. they also cut out the scene where elton is staring at the performer, being yelled at to close the door, and the kiss where he’s pinned against the wall. holy fuck. i realized when i saw that, i had missed something MAJOR. this meant i was missing some MORE major explicit, probably important-to-the-plot-and-character-development stuff. oh, now i was excited.

(we could talk all day about the fact that a single kiss between two men was cut because it was deemed “too explicit”, and in a movie about elton john being the ultimate irony)

the sex scene AND take me to the pilot were completely missing in the airplane version. i had no idea this song existed! oh my god, it was a banger! i cried tears of happiness during the song. holy shit. the tense energy between he and john, standing there silhouetted by the window, and then all of a sudden they’re all over each other, fingers tangled in hair, moaning into each other’s mouths, squirming, trying to get as close to each other as possible. this is what i wanted. this is what i was looking for. not because i was looking for something “hot” or “dirty.”’ i wanted an intense sex scene because then i knew it was real. i wanted the desperation, the nerves, the tender way they cradled each other, and how they went to town on each other. it was elton’s first time being intimate with a man, and it was such a nerve-wracking, intense, lustful, desperate moment. taron and richard absolutely nailed it. The swaying and the leaning into each other, the grabbing and nuzzling and all of a sudden they’re all over each other... it honest to god moved me. not to sound too “grew-up-baptist”, but sex, especially the first time you have it is so special and intimate and personal and important (imo). i know all the times i’ve had sex, it was a very, very special moment to me, and i wholly and completely trusted my partner then. i was so happy elton could find security and love and a heckin good time in bed with another man. it must’ve felt so freeing.

This was between two men! In the smack dab of the AIDS crisis in like 1975 or some shit! If being queer is this fucking tough in 2019, imagine what it was like in 1975!! MILLIONS of people were left to die by eat-shit Raegan who say by and said “aw that’s cute.” MILLIONS of people died for loving who they love!! That’s fucked man!! Seeing a triumphant moment like this in the middle of what was happening and what it could mean for Elton and his career just rly got me ya know

my entire perspective of the movie changed from then on. i was excited to see what else i had missed. in fact, some of the songs weren’t bad. maybe i’d like some of elton’s stuff after all?

i missed the scene in the closet. on the airplane, he followed john into the closet and shut the door. the scene cut. but in the real version, suddenly john pinned him against the wall, mirroring the scene of the first kiss i missed, and elton lamely stutters he wants dinner with him, not a sexual act john was certainly looking for, and in the next moment he was hungrily snapping at his finger. i missed exactly how much coke elton snorted. i missed entire scenes and nuances that provided so much to the story. man, i was angry i missed all this. i was cheated.

when i finished the real version, my perspective on the movie, and elton, and his music, had spun an entire 180. i dug it. i listened to rocket man on repeat during the entirety of my forty minute run. i fell asleep listening to the soundtrack. i woke up today listening to it, and have been through the whole day. i have not been able to get this movie off my mind. im watching it for the third time right now.

WELCOME TO THE THIRD POINT OF THIS POST!

if you made it this far, thank you. what i wrote feels so important to me. someone needed to hear it. I WANNA TALK ABOUT THE ENTIRE ROCKETMAN SCENE. I have PTSD with psychotic features. This means that under the right triggers, i hallucinate, visually or auditorily (is that a word), things that aren’t there. sometimes they’re scary, connected to my past trauma, but sometimes, they’re hazy outlines of good people who i think i know. i also deal with all the lovely things that come along with ptsd, including dissociation. pretty much any and everything can trigger me in a specific way. the pool scene was incredibly difficult to watch. seeing a little boy playing piano underwater, him sinking and hovering and singing along, and people slowly descending, dancing in the water until they retrieve him. the vision snaps apart and holy fuck elton is in trouble. (as an aside, that’s one of my favorite affects of film: the protag is under the influence of something, whether it be a hallucination, drugs, in a deep fantasy, or just otherwise a storytelling device, and he is in imminent danger. the audience is aware he is in imminent danger. the protag, however, is cool and chillin and hanging out, not aware or bothered, and maybe this is where a major character arc beat hits. in an instant, they’re pulled out of it, and we--the audience and the characters--are hit with how dire the circumstances really are.)

Suicide is a super sensitive subject to me. when he mumbled “i’m going to fucking kill myself” and plunged into the depths, my throat constricted. it was a difficult few minutes, but i held my breath, gritted my teeth, and paced myself through it. despite the sheer terror and panic that was racing through my brain, the entirety of it was so beautiful. the bright blues, whites, and blacks of the pool lighting and bubbles decorating him, the flow of his--forgive him, i don’t know if there’s a cultural name--outer garment, how curious and confused he looked as he watched his younger self do something he did now, and the people twirling through the water, reaching out, and eventually snatching him up until we’re suddenly in the present--dude, the cinematography of the entire first verse is so, so breathtaking. the scene in the ambulance and getting his stomach pumped was a bit too graphic for me (i could feel a flashback/hallucination creeping on; sometimes i can’t tell them apart.) but it was all done so smoothly. when they lifted him up, spun him around, undressed and dressed him all in one fluid motion, i lost my fuckin mind. i rewound it several times to just watch that sequence. the pain, reluctance, and exhaustion in his face right before he was handed his bat and exuberantly entered the stage was so intense it was palpable. my heart ached for him deeply. it’s allll about putting on a mask of being truly happy and well, when just before that, he had tried to fucking kill himself. how fucking heavy is that shit?

the downward spiral kept me on the edge of my seat. honky cat was funky as hell, and i loved the little tiny moments and gestures towards each other. maybe john and elton truly cared for each other for mere heartbeats before it all went south. he was hurting so bad and ruining everything and in such denial i wanted to throttle him by the shoulders to scream “LOOK WHAT YOU’RE DOING! YOU BIG FUCKING IDIOT!” he was constantly suffering, doing more coke and drugs than i thought a person could keep in his system. the suicide attempt, the fantastic Dodgers show, the night and day between his outward appearance and his actions, all of it was so gripping. the group therapy medium through which the story was told was insanely cool, too. i thought at first it was a bit cheesy, but it worked. i loved that he confronted everyone who had hurt him, and who he had hurt, and reconciled. i loved that as the major plot beats went on, his clothes eventually toned down in loudness, mirroring how the story was going along in real time. he went from having an explosive outburst, to levelly confronting his parents, and firmly insisting they not treat him like that anymore. they didn’t have the right. we could see how he’d grown through several different literary elements. the fact that it was laid out so plainly really helped me, someone who is dumb as fuck and constantly misses nuances like that.

it’s so disheartening to see elton’s first love was someone who was aggressive, non-interested, and who refused to listen to him.

(im at the pinball wizard scene, and holy shit this tune fucks)

at the end of the day, when i had thought the movie fell through so many expectations, i watched the real, authentic version and was so, so happy with how it turned out. it was much more honest than what i had thought it was. when the credits rolled, and it said he and his husband David Furnish had been happily married for 25 years, the tears really started coming. Elton did it. He survived through all the shit he put his body through, all the heartache and loneliness and terrible isolation and suffering, and he won. He got what he always wanted. A man who loved him deeply, purely, passionately, and properly.

i haven’t shut up about elton john for days. i’m kinda baffled how something gripped me so intensely, when i had written it off as stupid just a day before this. thank you for reading. i’m sure i forgot a lot of things i wanted to express, but hopefully i got something across. let me know if you read this, please. if you made it all the way down here, i owe you like $5. drop me your venmo.

thank you for reading. this movie touched me in a way i didn’t think was possible. thank god for elton john. thank god for his perseverance. thank god for his story, giving me and millions of others hope that happiness will come. recovery is possible. healing is possible. you just need to reach out first. thank you and goodnight.

#noah.txt #rocketman #whew this was a long one #thanks for reading so much #rocket man #11:01 pm #i started writing when the movie started #and now were at the rocketman scene lmfaoooo it been over an hour of writing #im queer and deep in my feelings #taron egerton #elton john #reggie dwight #david furnish #burnin out his fuse up here alone #what else do i tag #bernie taupin

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mooneyedandglowing · 4 years

Text

I like these bushcraft videos. No one talks. Perhaps a man might whisper inaudibly into the cheek of a dog, but otherwise the sounds are the sounds of the day's effort. A man sits beside a lake and leans back against a stone and takes his first bite of dinner and closes his eyes having now long done what needed doing.

I was thinking earlier about how there are people who spend an entire lifetime failing at being themselves. People can get in their own way. There's a poem about that. And while it isn't something that induces long bitternesses, if someone is the sort to get in their own way, that often spreads. I mean, if someone is in the habit of getting in their own way, I'd prefer they stay out of mine.

There are others too I thought of recently. Some people think everything you do and say is about them. That's a terribly misguided way to operate, but I suppose it isn't too uncommon. I really do suppose as well that some friends of mine have assumed something I've not communicated. It's a restraint for everyone then that they've made. And I won't censor myself because another makes everything about themselves. I won't analyze everything and ask, "oh, but will xyz think xyz about this and then do xyz?" It's too much to ask of me. I'd rather untether if censorship in that manner is the prerequisite for harmony with those sorts. They rarely ever think to just ask.

I'm not angry, but I don't know sometimes what people expect out of me. How much? What for? And why to be honest? I'm not silly. I won't go dry. I can easily just relieve us all.

I've been reading Skin Folk some this evening, by Nalo Hopkinson. I often forget how much I delight in prose of its kind. Such balance that is struck. Nothing weighing the story down. It's all rather punchy yet poised.

I desperately need to fall asleep. I snuck a few minutes of manuscript edits, but then I realized I do have to eat. Realizing that means the other three free hours I had today mostly revolved around the kitchen in some form or another. Prepping. Cooking. Eating. Putting away. Cleaning. Washing.

I couldn't sleep last night. Not at all. My neuroses. I always laugh and say at least I'm keeping company with Tolstoy on that (before he figured it all out for himself). I can hardly ever think of anything else when I'm trying to sleep. My brain just whirs so naturally toward death. It only spirals from there into full blown anxiety when there are other extenuating circumstances at play. 0therwise I just think about it. And do not really enjoy the thought. I deal with it by listening to a podcast or audiobook or by falling asleep on the phone with a friend. Other people have told me they daydream as they fall asleep. I don't daydream much in general beyond thinking up stories that don't involve me or thinking of ways to improve upon a system or thinking about people and how they are and all those things can lead me to think about how I will die and so I really need to distract myself at night in a very calculated way or else I will dive sea deep into the dark existentialism.

Calvinism best solves the problem of evil, I think. From a theistic view of course. And I'm not particularly a theist myself. But I do appreciate a sound argument.

Shh. It's late now. And I've said too much as it is.

#personal #diary #life #journal #goodnight #must put the washing over and not think about my mortality #because it's a large waste of time to think about that

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arcanalogue · 5 years

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Music For Diviners - ‘The End of Time’

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Thusfar, these Music For Diviners posts have explored soundscapes that aren’t merely inspirational, but may have some kind of practical utility. (To the extent that one considers divination “practical,” but why not just humor me?)

This is the history of music itself; for as long as humans have been making it, we’ve used it as the gateway to other realms of existence, other parts of the self. Our ancestors used it to elicit and express feelings there weren’t words yet to describe. Even now, language often fails us in these areas. That’s how I feel every time I sit down to write about music.

Living in New York City is what drove me to incorporate music into my practice; no matter where I lived, silence was never an option. Like so many of you, I find it much easier to relax with a controlled background layer of noise —otherwise everything in the goddamn world distracts you by making its own tiny noise, including our own goddamned bodies.

*duodenal gurgle*

Music is also an enticing mode of creative expression for any magician. Look, I have almost no musical talent whatsoever, and artistically I tend to stay in my lane, but tinkering with unique tracks to accompany certain experiments allows me to bypass that self-censor. Because I’m the only person it has to be good enough for, right?

This is a neurotic preamble to explain why I’m posting some of my own homespun little music bits alongside others made by ACTUAL MUSICIANS. Because you might actually find them useful? Or perhaps they’ll help you feel permission to create some of your own.

CASEFILE: TITANOBOA

I won’t bore you with too many of the details, but I spent a couple of years harboring a magical fascination pre-human life forms. It began with researching humankind’s most recent common ancestor with birds, as a way of retracing our evolutionary steps to the point where, had things gone one way instead of another, you might be flying and singing and laying eggs today instead of reading these words. (By all means, don’t let me stop you!)

In case you’re curious, here’s how close scientists have it pegged:

• Archaeothyris (on the mammal side) - 306M years ago during the late Carboniferous Period (Protoclepsydrops is possibly older, but fossils are too fragmentary to be certain.)

• Hylonomus (on the bird side) - 312M years ago during the late Carboniferous Period

So at some point predating both of these species, there existed some kind of weird, ratty little lizard creature whose descendants ended up reaching VERY different conclusions about, for example, what to do about breakfast.

But I digress! Already!

In 2012, I happened to catch the Smithsonian Channel’s documentary “Titanoboa: Monster Snake.” The gist is that 60 million years ago, an area of Colombia was dominated by the largest snake that ever lived, now known by the name Titanoboa cerrejonensis.

Look, I don’t know what kind of serpent-y magick-y stuff you’re into... Hecate? Quetzalcoatl? Kundalini? Cthundalini? Whatever it is, I can only assume it could stand to benefit from associations with the largest ding-dang snake our planet ever produced... that we know of!

On a lark, or perhaps as a gesture of blatant self-disregard, I attempted a couple of rituals geared toward making contact with Titanoboa across the eons and applying its symbolic potency toward certain magickal aims.

Hi mom, if you happen to be reading: sorry I’m like this!

I shouldn’t have to point out how many of our feelings and desires are tethered in complicated ways to the experiences of our non-human forebearers. The needs which have historically compelled our species to “magical” solutions run deep, deep! We tend to forget about that since our own feelings are so painfully immediate, and our consciousness tends to remain very rooted in the present tense, to the point where we have to strain to see beyond it. Once upon a time our very survival hinged on this, but our needs have gradually evolved to the point where we crave far more than mere safety. In fact, a lot of what we crave runs completely counter to our survival instinct. It’s complicated, ya know?

Musing over all this, I decided my Titanoboa work demanded a sonic backdrop blessed by Our Lady of Poor Self-Preservation Instincts. That’s right, I’m talking about Lana Del Rey, whose “Born To Die” album happened to be released the same year as that Titanoboa doc. Coincidence? Gosh, I sure hope so!

I would only be slightly full of shit if I described this album as a fantasia of proto-human desire, expressed in the most cold-blooded ways through the idiom of American capitalism.

To Lana (in that stage of her songwriting, anyway), love itself is an expression of darwinism. Nearly every song is about survival and sacrifice, eating and being eaten, thanatos bleeding over into eros.

“I sing the National Anthem While I'm standing over your body, hold you like a python...”

I could go on, but you’re probably better off just going back and listening to the album.

This doesn’t even count as a digression though, since my Titanoboa devotional track — embedded up at the top of this post! — ended up consisting of just one line from the song “Blue Jeans,” the part where Lana sings: “I will love you till the end of time.”

The song is about a woman left to eternally rehash the details leading up to her gangster beau’s disappearance. You may recall, the music video (embedded below) featured LDR lounging with her love in a pool that turns out to be full of alligators — Titanoboa’s snack of choice! What a potent visual metaphor for attempting love in a world teeming with danger, recognizing one’s role at the bottom of the food chain and then wading in anyway. What do we have to fear from any mega-reptile, when our own desires are enough to cut us off at the knees? Might as well at least go ahead and pick out a nice one-piece and get our legs wet before we lose them.

The author Lawrence Durrell meditated on this at length in his Alexandria Quartet novels, and nothing would surprise me less than finding them on Lana’s nightstand. He writes:

“I realized then the truth about all love: that it is an absolute which takes all or forfeits all. The other feelings, compassion, tenderness and so on, exist only on the periphery and belong on the constructions of society and habit. But she herself — austere and merciless Aphrodite — is a pagan. It is not our brains or instincts which she picks, but our very bones.”

And later:

“By one of those paradoxes in which love delights I found myself more jealous of him in his dying than I had ever been during his life. These were horrible thoughts for one who had been so long a patient and attentive student of love, but I recognized once more in them the austere mindless primitive face of Aphrodite.“

This may end up being a LOT of setup for what’s ultimately just a simple ten-minute chunk of “music,” which was achieved by plucking out that one lyric and sloooooowing it down, then layering it, slooooowing it down again, blending into a chunky primordial soup. The result is a many-layered hymn of cthonic moaning, with no words clearly expressed: just a slurry of proto-mammalian melancholia: austere, mindless, primitive, coiling and uncoiling in warm pools of black water.

The warmth of it is actually what surprised me; I imagined it might turn out to be too bleak and desolate to use for any real length of time, and the last thing I need is to work even harder at depressing myself. But I’ve played it on a loop for hours at a time while I was working on... stuff, without feeling oppressed by it. I don’t really fux with Titanoboa anymore, but this bit of “music” has remained a useful tool in my magickal arsenal.

I tested the track on an unsuspecting friend recently, who detected a “strong generative energy” in it and said they’d love to use it for goddess work. Incorporate this into your appeals to Hekate, or to Venus, or your preferred source of succor in all matters primally personal. As a backdrop for divination, it’s the sonic equivalent of black candles on a black tablecloth, with things squirming in the shadows.

So there you have it! I’ve opened up to you about my creative process and certain absurd inspirations, standing bare before you in the full splendor of my nerdiness, “blurring the lines between real and the fake,” as a certain living snake goddess avatar might put it.

Like I said, the ultimate goal in sharing this is to remind you to take these same deep dives yourself. Follow your obsessions to their (un)natural conclusions! Risk making terrible art in pursuit of articulating the uncanny! You never know what might end up taking on a life of its own. The end of time could prove to be just the beginning!

This has been yet another installment of Music For Diviners. Thanks for tuning in!

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#blue jeans #lana del rey #titanoboa #divination #chaos magic #chaos magick #hekate #hecate #quetzalcoatl #kundalini #noise music #ambient music

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royallyprincesslilly · 6 years

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Title: Give In (III)

Idris Elba X Reader “Zanzee” Mini Series (6 Part Mini Series)

Warning: Ansgt

Word Count: 6.7K

Summary: For the past 5 months has worked on the set of the “Hobbs & Shaw” movie. She works close to all the main actors and is there to answer any whim they may have as the "Set Concierge". She holds herself to a high professional level and refuses to stray from the right side of that pesky, thin grey line that those in the entertainment industry easily jump over.

Note: Will go through 1 week in the life of Zanzee Grant. Ya’ll I’m afraid this is as close as I will EVER get to a one shot. SMH. I cannot write a one shot to save my life.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive Chapter***

****Thank you guys for reading. I appreciate it as ALWAYS! If you enjoyed this please LIKE and REBLOG. ❤️ ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Wednesday-

“Zanzee--,” Tammi began as she walked into your trailer. You flinched and held up your hand feeling as if her voice was piercing through your skull.

“Jesus, not so loud Tammie,” you growled out.

“Loud? All I said was your name,” Tammi defended.

“You’re still talking, god your voice is like nails across a chalkboard only one-hundred times worse. Just please-stop-talking,” you said pressing your fingers to your temples.

“No need to be mean about it. All I came to tell you was that you’re needed on set.”

You groaned, dropped your head on the desk and cursed yourself for being reckless on a Tuesday. You had no idea what you were thinking. You knew Wednesdays were always killer. It was as if that was the day production realized they had two more days to make their self-imposed weekly deadlines and they went berserk.

“Who did you party with last night?” Tammie continued, apparently not getting the hint.

“No one now leave!” you shouted a little louder than necessary.

Right now, you didn’t give a shit about pleasantries. It felt like your brain was trying to force its way through the tear ducts of your eyes. You heard the door softly click closed and you released another groan before you sat upright. You rummaged through your purse and found your sunglasses and placed them on your face. Then you gathered all the papers you’d been half-heartedly reviewing and slowly walked out your trailer.

“Fuck!”

The sun was high as hell, and your sunglasses weren’t dark enough. More than ever you felt like you should have called out today. You walked across the lot toward the location of the first scene to be filmed trying your best to not think about anything. You’d barely got three hours of sleep, and even when you fell asleep, your dreams made you toss and turn. You work up feeling unfulfilled yet again but also with a splitting headache.

You turned the corner and saw everyone from production gathered around. You walked through the bodies toward David. He turned and walked towards you when he saw you approaching.

“Great, Zanzee, what do you have for me?” David asked with a loud chipper voice. You clenched your jaw and held out the thick booklet you’d put together an hour before. He scanned it, nodded and turned back to the cast and camera.

“Did we get a response from the city regarding my request?” David asked.

“The request to shunt down the busiest freeway for an entire day to scene thirty?” you asked with a sarcastic tone.

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately, they said they’re doubtful that’ll be possible. They said it would put a major strain on the city, too major,” you explained.

“Did you tell them it’s absolutely necessary?”

“Of course, I told them the fate of the free world depended on it, and if they allowed it they would not need to sacrifice their firstborn to you for appeasement,” you joked, but not really.

David looked at you as if he was trying to decipher if you were being serious or not. You had no energy or want to clarify. From behind him, you saw Idris doing a crack job of hiding his own amusement.

“I can’t tell if you’re serious behind those sunglasses,” David said.

“I think that’s for the best. Being the most amazing person on this entire set, I turned the denial around. They will not give you an entire twenty-four hours, but they will give you sixteen hours, and it has to be tomorrow,” you said.

David’s eyes lit up, and he gathered you in his arms and spun you around in the air. Everyone around you clapped and patted each other on the back. The entire thing was not only annoying, but it was also painful. After much longer than you liked he put you back on your feet and patted your shoulders.

“Seems like all the good things Spielberg had said about you were not exaggerations,” David said. Your ears perked up.

“Wait, what?” you asked.

David smiled again but didn’t answer. Instead, he turned back to production and listed off orders at a rapid speed. You looked to the three lead actors who all looked impressed. You smirked and nodded at them. Your eyes went to Idris who licked his lips and pressed them together in one smooth move. That was all it took for your mind to wander and with it your eyes, they traveled down his body and stopped at his waist before you caught yourself and looked back to him. He smiled and looked to one of the interns who approached him. You turned around and walked to the refreshment table in hopes of finding something to perk you up. You saw coffee, other caffeinated drinks, and small snacks. You grabbed a red bull and quickly took several gulps.

“Thirsty?” Jason asked from behind you. You turned and put your finger to your lips shushing him.

“Ah, hungover,” he corrected.

“No, not hung over that would be unprofessional,” you said.

“Of course, and we know you’re anything but unprofessional,” Dwayne added.

You nodded in agreement and took another full gulp of the red bull.

“Interesting, I didn’t think you had a life outside of this,” Jason said his voice empty of any humor. He was serious.

You looked at him. You were shocked and wanted to defend yourself against it, but it was then you took the time and acknowledged he was right. You’d been making it impossible to have a life outside of work. You went out on the weekends, mainly Saturday, but otherwise, you kept it very basic and simple. You enjoyed your wine, Netflix, books and kickboxing, anything else fell to the side. No matter how much you wanted to be a bitch about what he said you couldn’t he was right. You had no life outside of this movie; you hadn’t for the last five months. You finished the can in one last lift to your head and tossed it in the garbage without a word.

“Is there anything I can do for your guys?” you asked. Idris approached then.

“I think we’re good. You can take the time to take a breather and nurse that hangover in your trailer. We’ll text if we need something,” Dwayne suggested.

You were not in the mood to argue, you nodded, turned and walked away but not before taking another red bull. Your friends saw your basic life, that was fine with you but here was a stranger who saw it too. That didn’t rub you the right way.

You spent the next few hours in your darkened trailer getting some well-needed rest. You were also hiding out. You didn’t trust yourself today, when you were hungover your patience was lower, your censor was less, and your ability to recognize proper from improper was iffy at best. Hell, even your thoughts were more erratic, they jumped from work to Idris, then back to work and then Idris before work was pushed to the side allowing you to daydream.

You barely heard the first knock at your door; you were too deep in your subconscious. From the edges of your mind you heard the knocking, it jarred you from your lying position on your couch. You jumped up, looked around and tried to acclimate fully.

“Z?”

You heard Idris’ voice just outside, and that made your heard begin thumping madly. You looked around trying to see if anything was out of place. After a few seconds you walked to open the door, and there he stood in the tight black leather of his character’s wardrobe. The racer jacket was unzipped revealing his black men’s tank. You snapped out of it and looked back to his face.

“Hey, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you stammered.

“No, no, everything is fine. I don’t need anything,” he informed. You nodded.

“Okay. What’s up?”

“I uh—I um, I came to give you what you need,” Idris said. The words probably meant innocently made you shiver thinking of all the things you needed, the list began with his hands on your skin, but it didn’t have an end.

“Uh, what I need? What exactly do I need DJ Driis?” you teasingly asked and leaned on the jamb of your door while folding your arms in front of your chest. His eyes quickly roamed from your face to where your arms crossed before they came back to your eyes. He quickly shook his head and lifted his hand. You noticed he was holding a cup.

“This.”

You crinkled your brow inaudibly asking what that was. He smiled.

“This is my famous and magic potion for a hangover,” he said.

“Oh, famous and magic huh.”

“Yep, I can promise you by the time you finish this everything that ails you will have disappeared.”

You raised your eyebrow at his big promise.

“What if more than this hangover ails me?”

“Let’s start at the hangover and see if there’s anything else I can do.” He offered.

You bit your bottom lip and stepped back allowing him entrance into your trailer. He stepped up and inside. You could smell his cologne weft off of him, and it did things to you. You closed the door and turned to realize all your lights were off.

“Oh, here.” You said stepping to a lamp, in unison both your hand and Idris’ touched as your both attempted to switch on the lamp. When the room illuminated, you were just a few steps from each other. Neither of you moved or spoke. The same pressurized swell filled the air around you giving you a slight dizzied feeling. He stepped back first and broke the gaze. You busied yourself clearing off a seat so he could sit.

“There you go.” He sat across the trailer and held out the cup to you.

“So, what is in this famous magic potion of yours?”

“A little of this, and that. I can’t tell you it’s a secret. I full on plan on manufacturing it and making a profit off of those just like you,” he teased. You smirked.

“How do I know there isn’t some sort of drug in here? My mom always said never take an open drink from anyone.”

“True, your mom sounds like a smart woman. I know you don’t know me very well, but I hope you know me enough to know you can trust me. I’d never do anything to put you in harm's way or anything against your will,” Idris expressed. You stared at him, the playful air now changing to an intense one. You didn’t expect him to say that at all. You studied him trying to decipher if he meant the words he spoke. You couldn’t find any hint of a lie or line though. You nodded as you took the cup from him. You looked inside and swished around the smoothie consistency green liquid and unintentionally scrunched up your nose. Idris laughed loudly across from you.

“I know it looks disgusting, and as a fair warning, it doesn’t smell any better but I promise it’s not poison, and it tastes better than it looks but not much,” he cautioned. You smiled again and swished it around some more.

“It will do the trick,” he further encouraged. You swallowed and shrugged.

“What the hell. I can’t feel any worse than I do right now, right?” in a heartbeat you raised the cup to your lips and drank it down. It tasted like every single green vegetable under the sun, mixed with the sourest lemon and a touch of dirt.

“Drink it all, the good stuff is at the bottom,” Idris urged. You raised it higher and finished its contents. Once finished you made up your face as you swallowed a thick chunk of something. You covered your mouth worried you might puke it back up.

“Steady; let it go down.” You frowned as you looked at him. He smiled.

“Uuugh.” He nodded.

“Yeah, sorry about not telling you about the chunk at the bottom, it was better I didn’t.”

“That is disgusting. Please tell me that wasn’t a raw egg.”

Idris shrugged leaned back and watched you.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

You wiped your top lip and sat still trying to gauge how you felt. Slowly you felt the tension in your head break apart, the pain in your neck and shoulders subsided some, the ball in the pit of your stomach that threatened vomit every thirty minutes faded and the throbbing behind your eyes went allowing you to stop squinting. You looked at him. He sat there with a pleased look on his face. A look that said this was what he expected.

“What in the hell was in that?”

He snorted and shrugged again.

“I told you, some of this and some of that.”

“Wow, that’s incredible. The throbbing in my head is gone, I don’t wanna puke anymore, I can look at you, like really look at you. Wow,” you continued to marvel. He smiled to himself.

“Told you, everything that ails you will disappear,” he cockily responded.

You scoffed, shook your head and sat back on the couch.

“Who said all that ails me was gone? It’s just the hangover symptoms,” you clarified.

“Okay, and I said let’s start with the hangover, and we’ll see whatever I can help with. What else ails you Z?” Idris inquired, his voice deeper than before. You looked at him but only for a moment before your eyes went back to your hands.

“Is it work, this production?” Idris asked. You nodded.

“Yeah, I know it must be hard working in a huge production being at the beck and call of everyone. Actors have it hard, but crew members have it equally as hard,” he voiced.

“No, it’s not working in production. This I can handle, this is easy work. I feel as if I could do most of this job in my sleep. It’s not working as part of the crew that’s hard,” you said raking your hand through your curly hair.

The silence in the trailer stretched on for a few moments.

“Then what else is it about this production that’s so bad?”

You risked looking at him; his eyes were glued to you. He didn’t move an inch; he simply waited for you to speak or move. You flared your nose and closed your eyes deciding against saying anymore. You stood.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine. Plus, production is almost over, two months left. It won’t matter then. It’s fine,” you lied walking closer to the door. Idris got up from the chair and approached your back.

“You can tell me Z.” his voice was gentle, and it made you want things you shouldn’t want, things that went past his body. You turned realizing he was closer to your body than you anticipated. His eyes roamed your face before they finally stopped at your lips. After almost a minute he took a step closer to you only leaving about three feet between you. You looked down assessing the space between your bodies when you looked up the look in his eyes gave you butterflies. You licked your lips and did your best to fight the urges overtaking you. The feeling was strong, and you felt your body sway slightly. Idris placed his hand on your waist steadying you but also igniting a deep hidden desire you’d worked hard to stifle for the last five months.

From the depths of your throat, a soft moan escaped your lips. Idris’ eyes dropped down to your breasts, and you saw a flurry of emotions flit across his features before you saw the tight clench of his jaw. He firmly squeezed your waist before he dropped his hand away and took two steps back increasing the space between your bodies. Your core felt the pain from the separation.

“Glad I could help with your hangover. Guess its not in the cards for me to help with everything else,” Idris whispered searching your eyes.

He didn’t move for almost a minute. You felt like he was giving you time to react, time to object, to turn the situation around. You wanted to so bad. You stepped closer to him until the space between you was only big enough for a pillow. You zeroed in on his sinful looking lips. You decided to go for it and blame it on the alcohol and hangover like Jamie said. You attempted a step, but your trailer door opened just then.

“Z—,” Tammie interrupted. You quickly turned away from Idris covering your mouth.

“Uh, yeah.”

Tammie didn’t speak; instead she just looked from the two of you almost expecting one of you to explain.

“What is it Tammie?” you asked annoyance shining through your tone.

“Uh, David needed to see you, something about the freeway scene for tomorrow,” she informed.

“Okay, thanks I’ll be right there,” you said, your back still to her.

“Okay, later.” She stepped back out and closed the door. You place both your hands on your had and lamented on the colossal mistake you’d almost made.

“I better get back out there,” Idris said breaking the silence.

“Yeah you better,” you agreed. He nodded his head and walked out the door before he closed it, he hesitated but closed it nonetheless.

Once you were alone, you scolded yourself as you prepared to go to David. If Tammie had walked in ten seconds later, she would have found you forcing yourself on Idris Elba, thirty seconds later she would have found you with your hands down his pants and two minutes later she would have caught you on your knees with a mouth full of DJ Driis. The thought of how close you’d come to being one of those girls made you want to vomit. You shook it off and pushed everything to the side you didn’t have time right now to lament on it. You had to actually go do the job you were hired for.

The rest of the day because you were feeling better you stuck around set as the scenes were filmed while you worked on other arrangements. Throughout the rest of the day, you noticed Idris struggle on more than a few scenes, something that was rare. He never missed a line, never forgot a move, or mishandled a prop; he was the epitome of a pro. When he messed up, you saw him scold himself harshly. It was as if he too was affected by what happened before. Even after an impromptu forty-minute break he still had flubs. Dwayne and Jason teased him to lighten the mood, but you could tell he was uncomfortable and increasingly uneasy about it. You said nothing.

Before wrap was called for the day you were able to finish the plans for the cast and crew dinner on Friday. That feat alone helped lift some of the tension from shoulders. It didn’t take it all because your new task was making sure everything was going smoothly for the freeway scene which meant permits, security, police, and all the other little nuances that are associated with set work. Tammie sent you a text a few hours before wrap inviting you to the nightly crew unwind.

Alcohol was the last thing you wanted tonight. You wanted something or someone a hell of a lot more. You didn’t know how to handle it. Your mind wandered back to the feeling of wanting more than Idris’ body, and that was the root of your distress tonight. You could handle wanting to have sex with him, but wanting more was something unexpected, something you weren’t sure you could accept. You drove yourself crazy the rest of the night watching him film; you were convinced anyone who looked at you could see how bad you wanted him. Before you finished up for the night, you found Tammie and accepted her invitation for that night. While alcohol wasn’t what you truly wanted, it was what you had to settle for.

~~~~~~

Once you made it to Sin, the bar where everyone was meeting and stepped to the crowd, they all cheered your name. Clearly, they’d already had a few rounds.

“Finally, where have you been?” Ethan asked as you approached the group.

“I left set and had a few errands in prep for tomorrow’s scene. I’m here now though. What’d I miss?”

“Three rounds. Catch up,” Tammie informed pushing her shot to you. You took it, sniffed it and held it up in the air before knocking it back. You grimaced and blew out trying to cool your inflamed taste buds.

“What the hell was that?”

“Vodka,” Tammie answered.

You shuddered, you hated Vodka. You raised your hand to the bartender and ordered two tequila shots instead. That was more your speed. While waited you listened in on the conversation which was on set gossip for the day. Every set assistant had their fair share of actor gossip; they had the best gossip. They knew everything about these celebs, starting from their underwear size to the brand of condoms they preferred if they even liked condoms, many didn’t. Another reason you stayed far away from the cesspool and kept your cookie on constant lockdown from them.

“What about you Z, any juicy gossip about your Three Musketeers?” another set assistant asked. You looked at Tammie who gave you an interested look no doubt thinking about what she’d walked in on earlier.

“Is that what you guys call them?”

They laughed in unison, and you shook your head wondering if the reference was from the candy or the actual Three Musketeers.

“Um--no, no gossip. They’re pretty tame,” you confessed.

You didn’t feel like divulging any details, but you sure weren’t opposed to hearing some. You smiled and zeroed in on the gossip of the minute about another set assistant Molly who’d tried to proposition one of the actors. When you got your shots, you drank them both down with no time to spare. You were on a mission to forget everything from the last few hours. Everything. Well, until you were lying in bed that night at least.

Thirty minutes, seven shots, one tumbler full of bourbon and several sordid tales of celeb escapades or sexcapades with the assistants you shied away from the group to go to the bathroom. You needed to stretch your legs. Once inside the dingy bathroom, you stared at yourself in the mirror and allowed your mind to wander to the dangerous side of what if. What if you did give in this one time, to just him? What if it wasn’t that bad? What if despite the rumors about him he was truly different and not that bad? What if you were missing out? As soon as you began down the rabbit hole of possibilities, you shut it down with a hard hit to your forehead.

“Don’t be stupid Z. You work for him, and he’s an actor, be professional, be professional. Two months left, barely six weeks. You can keep your shit together that long,” you recited to yourself in the mirror.

By the time you walked out of the bathroom, you felt more confident in your ability to keep your legs and your mouth closed. You made your way back to the bar with the other assistants when Ethan approached you.

“Everything all right?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah fine,” you responded signaling the bartender for another drink.

“You know Z; I’ve been trying to get the guts to ask you out for months,” he confessed. You looked at him and tried to give a surprised expression. You studied his face. You knew it all along.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know not very professional, but hey when you see something you want you have to take a chance right?” Ethan questioned.

You looked up and saw Idris across the bar sitting with Jason and Dwayne. You froze as your eyes met. Whatever Ethan was saying before was now a distant memory. You both stared at each other as if speaking in your minds.

“You know what I mean?” Ethan asked breaking you out of your daze and forcing your attention back to him.

“Um, uh…I guess,” you responded completely unsure what he said.

He smiled as if he’d gotten the best news. You looked behind him to see Dwayne wave you over, you quickly looked away and tried your best to ignore him and focus on Ethan. His mouth was moving again, but you didn’t hear one word he was saying.

You kept thinking there was no way you could go over there after all that’s happened. Nearly knocking yourself out from his dick was an accident, walking in on him practically naked and wet also an accident, although ogling him after that was more of a choice, but tonight in your trailer, that was something more. Wasn’t it, you thought?

You especially couldn’t not after all you’d had to drink tonight. Sober you had control, tipsy control was just a seven-letter word. You could seriously do something you couldn’t take back. You chanced a look back to them and saw now Dwayne and Jason waving you over. Idris just sat there rolling his glass of brown liquor in a circle on the table his eyes glued to you. He looked as if he was daring you to come over. You released a sigh in time for Ethan to look back to see where you were looking at.

“They’re everywhere huh.”

You snorted and nodded.

“Seems that way. Go hang out; I’ll catch you later,” you said before you sashayed over to them. Approaching their table, you noticed Idris’ eyes roam your body causing heat to run down your spine. You straightened your back and pressed forward.

“Hi.”

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Dwayne happily chimed in. You scoffed.

“I think it’s the other way around, Gods among men. Did you guys need something?” you asked.

“Not at all. Calm down Zanzee; you’re off the clock. We did need you to sit with us, have a drink, or two,” Jason said nodding to the last empty seat at the table.

“Well I’ve already had more than enough to drink for one night,” you responded. “Plus, I’ve learned my lesson about drinking during the week.”

“How much is enough? Anything under six drinks is too few,” Jason announced before he chugged down the drink before him.

“Six? Armature,” you joked. The group of them laughed at your remark. You chanced a look at Idris who sat quietly as he drank his amber-colored drink.

“Sit, what’s your poison?” Dwayne asked waving down a waiter.

“We won’t take no for an answer,” Jason said. You raked your fingers through your curly hair and sighed in defeat. You pulled out the empty bar stool from the table and climbed into it. As you did Dwayne and Jason clapped and cheered at their victory. Idris remained silent.

“So what’s your poison?”

“Mai Thi? Manhattan? Apple Martini?” Jason teased.

“Not at all, I’ll take a half of bourbon,” you announced. All three of them looked impressed.

“Ah, I see why you had a hangover now,” Dwayne said. You shrugged.

“I only drink the best, but last night’s culprit was tequila.”

“Oh, you’re a tequila woman,” Jason confirmed leaning back in his chair.

“Why do you say it like that? Is there something wrong with a tequila woman?” you asked.

“No, no, not at all. It’s just women who prefer tequila are a whole different breed,” Jason informed. You snorted.

“What can I get you guys?” the waitress asked.

“Three whiskeys, and the lady will have a half of bourbon,” Jason listed off.

“Add a half of tequila to that order please,” you interjected. The waitress nodded and walked off.

“Please do tell me all about a woman who drink tequila.” You crossed your arms before you and waited for the read.

“Tequila women are just normally free-spirited, and confident. They’re passionate women, honest to a fault, independent, and from my experience, they go after what they want,” Jason explained. You looked down and swallowed; it sounded like you. You did go after what you wanted, all the time. You went after this job, fought for it, you’d gone after everything you had. You looked up and saw Idris finish his drink while looking at you.

“Interesting read,” you muttered. The waitress came over and placed the drinks before you. You took up the glass of bourbon and took a hearty sip.

“But you also like your bourbon, so that makes you an entirely different breed. Isn’t that right Z,” Idris said before taking his own heavy sip of his whiskey. You looked over him.

“How so?”

“You can clearly handle your liquor. Bourbon says you’re smart to know it’s different from others like scotch. Bourbon’s not cheap, and its flavors are varying, I’d say a woman who likes it is a little reckless if not a lot, she probably tries to keep it under control though so she can come off uptight but watch out underneath is another story. Bourbon is not a typical drink. It’s often too strong for most, it’s a risky drink, you’re a risk taker, you like to be different. Bourbon is an acquired taste no one has it once and loves it; it grows on you, it says you keep trying and trying and never give up. Kinda’ plays nice with the other traits of a tequila girl. Sums up to one hell of a woman,” Idris finished.

Your mouth was dry, your heart pounded erratically, your stomach was filled with butterflies, and your panties were soaked. No one else spoke or moved.

“Wow…that was specific mate,” Jason broke in. You looked away and knocked back the rest of the bourbon scrunching up your face slightly. You didn’t know if you should lean over the table and stick your tongue down his throat or drag him to that dingy bathroom and let him bend you over the sink. You bit your bottom lip, lifted the glass of tequila and gulped it down.

“Maybe slow down a little,” Dwayne cautioned. You scoffed and shook your head grimacing against the slight burn that traveled down your throat into your belly. You rose from the seat.

“Thanks, but I’m good. Matter of fact, I think it’s time I turn in. Tomorrow’s a big day. Good night.,” you rushed out. You turned, walked to the door and quickly hurried out.

Once outside you took several gulps of fresh air and tried to still your spinning head. You had no idea how one man held so much hypnotizing sex appeal. You took your phone out and quickly ordered a Lyft. You were pleased when the estimated wait was less than two minutes. Almost instantly a white Acura pulled up; the diver poked his head out.

“Zanzee?” he asked. You nodded.

“That’s me,” you hurried to the door, opened it and scooted inside as you were going to close the door another body slide in beside you.

“Excuse me—” you began before realizing it was Idris next to you.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m not the kind of man who allows a woman he cares for to make it home alone especially one who’s had as much to drink as you have,” he explained. Your heart skipped a beat, and you just stared at him.

“Eh-em, what am I doing lady?” you looked away from Idris, cleared your throat and slide over giving him more room to fit, he then shut the door.

“Uh-, 19 Hargrove Road please.”

The car lurched into motion. You leaned back and looked out the window.

“I’m fine; you didn’t have to. I really haven’t had that much to drink,” you protested.

“Good, so you won’t be puking in my lap. Still, I was raised proper, and I’ll see to it you get home safe,” he shot back.

You took a deep breath in and held it, as you slowly released it you glanced through your phone at your missed messages. You saw a few from our friends asking you about plans for Saturday, and a few from your mom asking about family dinner next Sunday. You typed in a response to your friends knowing the chance of them being awake was higher than your mom. You could feel Idris’ eyes on you, but you didn’t trust yourself to look at him instead you pressed your side to your side of the door taking special precaution not to have any part of you touch him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to handle that.

After a quiet thirteen-minute drive the Lyft car pulled up to the front of your apartment building. You thanked the driver, and Idris stepped out first. He held out his hand offering it to you, you bypassed it, grabbed the handle hanging from the roof of the car and stepped out on your own. After Idris shut the door, the car drove off leaving the two of you standing at the bottom of your steps.

“Nice place,” Idris began. You looked up at the two-story building that held only two apartments, one of the right, the other on the left. It was more townhouse style.

“Thanks.”

He nodded and looked to his feet as the awkward silence wrapped around you both.

“So, thanks, I think I got it from here,” you said walking up the steps to your door. You dug in your pocket and took out your keys while you battled with the lock you felt him still standing there. Everything your mother taught you was swirling in your head. “If someone does something kind for you, repay the favor,” “The proper thing to do is invite a guest in,” “You always thank someone for any kindness paid to you.” You groaned under your breath.

“Did I do something wrong Z?”

You paused your actions and shook your head. He was kind to a fault.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I kind of feel like I did something to you that was wrong, or I said something wrong. Did I? did I say something wrong back at the bar?”

You turned to look at him and felt guilty.

“Not at all, you’ve done nothing. It’s just that it’s late and-,” you trailed off. He stepped onto the bottom step.

“Did I say something?” He repeated fully aware you didn’t answer the question. You chanced a look at him.

“No,” you whispered before swallowing harshly. He took another step up.

“Out of curiosity, which one do you prefer, Bourbon or tequila?”

You smirked and licked your lips.

“Love them both equally.” He took two more steps, now just one below you.

Z-,” he began before he stopped as if he were trying to find the words. After a few moments, he shook his head, words failing him.

“I…you-, damn it, you’re beautiful Zanzee,” Idris rushed out.

You felt as if you’d been kicked in the gut you almost keeled over. You forced your back straight and tried to control your breathing.

“Say something.” You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“What do I say?” you whispered.

“What’re you thinking?”

You searched your brain for some thought, but it was blank.

“I don’t know,” you responded in another whisper.

“Then what do you feel?” He asked.

You couldn’t tell him what you felt. You couldn’t tell him anything about how you felt or thought you felt. You sucked your top lip into your mouth and nibbled it trying to stop the words from forming. His eyes dropped to your lips, and he took the last step to you. You sidestepped giving him enough space to stand next to you.

“Idris-,” you began before you stopped to gather your thoughts better.

“What do you feel Z?” he repeated. Again you opened your mouth to speak but didn’t. You dropped your head down, but he caught your chin and lifted your head to look into his eyes.

“Fuck.” You hissed out. Once he heard it, he smiled, and any thought of professionalism died there.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse. You’ve always been so reserved, so controlled.”

“Don’t you mean uptight?” you teased, he smiled.

“Are you uptight?”

“Some might call it that.”

“What do you call it Z?”

“Controlled, methodical, disciplined,” you filled in. He nodded while focusing on your lips again.

“Good attributes to have, but you can’t be controlled your entire life. Don’t you ever worry about the things you’re missing out on by being so disciplined?” He asked.

As of late, it was all you worried about, all thanks to him. You weren’t going to tell him that though.

“If it’s meant for me there’s no way I can miss out on it. It’ll always be mine.”

No more words were needed; you just stared at each other your eyes doing the talking. His hand trailed from your chin along your jaw to your ear where he tucked some of your unruly curls back. His fingers then dropped to the crook where your neck and shoulder met. His eyes followed his fingers, and before long his hand was trailing down your back to your waist.

“I don’t ever do this; I don’t-this isn’t who I am. I’m not the man who prays on set assistants or interns. I like to stay far away from things like this but…,”

“But?” you questioned.

“There is something different about you Zanzee, something that I saw the first day of production, something that I keep seeing more and more. Over the last months working with you, I am more drawn to you than any other woman, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I want to touch you, I don’t know why I want to take care of you, or why when we’re near each other I have to fight my body from drifting to yours.” Idris spoke as he looked over our features.

“It’s the draw of what you can’t have,” you spat out. He arched his eyebrow.

“Is it? Is that your way of saying that what I feel you don’t?”

“I never said that just presenting a plausible reason.”

“So, you feel what I feel?” he asked again.

You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t. You knew this story; you read about this story time and time again in tabloids. You’d seen it play out before your eyes. You knew the beginning, middle, end and after effect. After you opened your thighs somehow, it would get out, and you’d be labeled as this set groupie, another one of his many flings. You couldn’t live with that sort of title or reputation.

“No matter what I may or may not feel it doesn’t matter, just as what you think you feel doesn’t matter. We work together, you the actor me your set concierge. Those are the facts that cannot be changed. I work for you, that’s all,” you explained with more calm in your voice than you expected. You sounded sure although you felt anything but. He studied you for several long moments.

“What’re you saying Z?”

“I can and will do anything for you as your set concierge, anything in the scope of my job but anything beyond that isn’t something that I can do. I’m a professional, I hold myself to certain standards and expectations. I refuse to lower myself as countless others have. That’s not the woman I am,” you finished.

You watched his expression go from gentleness to confusion, to understanding and then finally sadness. He nodded dropped his hands from your body and took two steps back.

“Right, I’m sorry Z, this was inappropriate. I’ve crossed a line, and I apologize for that. It won’t happen again; please forgive me,” Idris said his voice full of emotion.

You had no words, seeing that he nodded curtly and walked back down the steps.

“Good night,” Idris said as he walked down the sidewalk and into the night. A heavy feeling rested in your stomach, a feeling of worry that you had missed out on something that was meant for you.

To Be Continued….

A/N: Do Not Come for me y’all!

Tag List:

@deansbbysblog @lovelynervouschaos @scarlet-fury1421 @spacefloozy @letreck @fairyscarywrites @chaneajoyyy @queennanayaa @disneysdarlingdiva @hidden-treasures21 @mellowjellow6 @skysynclair19 @amirra88 @jozigrrl @bidibidibombaclaat @vibranium-soul @ovohanna24 @yourwonderbelle @champagnesugamama @leahnicole1219 @aieyr @kaykay0829 @hi-looo12 @dadinhas-heat @airis-paris14 @90sinspiredgirl

#give in fic #idris elba #idris elba thirst #idris elba fanfic #idris elba x you #idris elba x reader #idris elba is daddy #idris elba smut

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amplesalty · 5 years

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Day 5 - Frankenhooker (1990)

I think you’ll find it’s called Frankenhooker’s Monster

We’re branching out into the wider filmography of Frank Henenlotter today. He’s primarily known for Basket Case, which was one of the entries in the early days of this blog. I had a weird moment before watching this in trying to remember if I ever saw Basket Case 3 as I didn’t seem to mention it on here. Evidently I watched it during my attempt at the ‘365 movies in 365 days’ challenge in the mid 2010’s, which seems a little odd for me as normally I feel like I would have normally left it until Halloween, especially since I discussed the first two movies.

As the title might suggest, we’re very much dealing with the ‘Frankenstein’ tropes in this, with a whole bunch of gratuitous nudity thrown in from the hooker side of things. ‘Ol Tor has his work cut out today.

We start out by meeting Jeffrey, an oddball sort of fellow that dabbles in a little bit of mad science on his kitchen table. He follows the more Jeremy Clarkson school of tool selection as he does his mad science with hammers. Neither his fiancé or family seem to mind this and just casually carry on enjoying the birthday party they’re throwing around him. Would you mind passing me the ketchup whilst you’re performing invasive surgery on your brain/fish thing, honey? I don’t know what that thing is and they never explain it. I guess it’s just a quick way to introduce the fact that he’s able to create life in some weird ways.

He later moves it into a fish tank, at least it’s more roomy than just being a brain in a jar. Plus it has neighbours! Do you think it eats the fish food as well?

It reminds me of Arrghus from A Link to the Past, only without the tentacles or the little creatures satelliting around it.

This party takes a turn for the worse when his fiancé demonstrates the remote control lawnmower Jeffrey invented by turning it on and standing in front of it whilst it runs her over. What is it with people in Hollywood who are too stupid to take a sidestep out of incoming danger? Seriously, just a few feet either way but no, she just stands there and screams whilst the machine cuts her down.

This is an event summed up on the evening news in a manner rather lacking in any tact or dignity, proclaiming the young woman’s ‘personality’ was chopped up and rained upon the party guests like some sort of human tossed salad.

This Prison Break reboot looks a bit odd. And as much as I am curious to see if muscular and flesh level nudity would flag up Tumblr’s censors, I’ll play it safe here.

No, those are just Jeffrey’s plans to make things right again; like Doctor’s Frankenstein and West before him, he will restore life.

I say West because there is a bit of a low rent Jeffrey Combs vibe going on here. Actor James Lorinz is a bit cheesey in his delivery at times but it probably doesn’t help he spends half the film spouting exposition to himself. He has the look down though, with some good facial expressions and looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Puts me in mind of the guy in Nightmare on Elm Street 2 as well actually. I keep going on about that bloody movie.

See, Jeffrey was only able to salvage a few body parts before the cops did their clean up. The most important thing is he got the head so he can just put that on a new body and he’s back in business.

A head that he likes to enjoy candlelit suppers with.

I must say, these fake nude images were a lot cruder before the invention of Photoshop.

The only trouble is, where to get a donor body? Jeffrey is wracking his brains but can’t think of anything so, bizarrely, he drills into his own head which seems to tap into some wickedness like tricking a bunch of stewardesses off a plan by dressing as a maintenance man and saying there’s a fault. He doesn’t think they’ll fall for that though so he figures he’ll just go kill a bunch of hookers.

I don’t know what the deal is with the drilling thing. It’s like something out of the middle ages, trepanning. He uses it later on and seems to act as some sort of relief to him. See, Dr Spengler had it right, it would have worked.

Forget all this dealing with tragedy and grief business, it’s sexy hooker party time! The girls think this is just some weird roleplay fantasy that Jeffrey has, with his white gown and stethoscope, but really he’s just sizing them up as suitable donors.

Things go slightly wrong though when they find the bag of super crack he’s being cooking up and they just go to town on it. That’s the problem with crack, it’s really morish.

Mr Stark…I don’t feel so good…

It also has the slight side effect of making you explode. The crudity of this scene really makes it, just take a load of dummies, strap some fireworks to them and just watch the show. I shouldn’t jest, there are dozens of people that spontaneously combust every year, it’s just not really widely reported.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Jeffrey scoops up the body parts and takes them home. I think this shows the kind of neighbourhood he was in that he can drive around with his trunk rigged open, with body parts spilling out, and no one bats an eyelid.

You got these titties but then you got like this whole tray full of titties and that’s just too many titties. You need like some well rounded female characters in the titties to make titties sweeter.

Those aren’t the kind of bolt ons that most women elect to have surgery for…

Like when Dr Frankenstein created the bride for his creature, so to does Jeffrey have to deal with a rebellious streak within his creation. When she finds out that he doesn’t have any money, she shows him the back of her hand and heads off into the night. Forget being a hooker, she should be running the show with a pimp hand like that!

See, the slight problem with the new body that Jeffrey has put together is that it has infected his fiance’s mind, no longer the sweet, innocent girl he knew, now she’s taken on the personality of one of the hookers, just going round asking if people want a good time and if they have any money. For all the gore and breasts on show so far, you have to give the movie credit for finally delving into the sort of deep, metaphysical questions that I’m sure Mary Shelley had in mind when she wrote the original story. What makes us who we are? Is it just our thoughts and memories or is there something more, a soul within our body?

Eh, who am I kidding? Bring on the ungodly creature effects from all the reanimated hooker body parts!

#Halloween 2019 #Frankenhooker

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writingutensilthief · 5 years

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Balloon Bot

StarLife has a sudden spike in his magical abilities and calls Mendel to discuss the possibilities for why. Based (very loosely) off the prompt “circus”.

Word Count: 1,587

In truth, StarLife wasn’t particularly concerned about this new development. He had always been able to sense life possibilities in objects; this was just the first time his sense was that strong in years, which gave him slight pause. Slight enough that he gave a customary video call to Mendel. Mendel liked keeping track of power differences, and it gave StarLife someone to bounce ideas off.

Mendel was at his desk when he answered, which StarLife was grateful for. He would have felt awful if Mendel was in the middle of something important.

“Do you have something to report, Jared?” Mendel asked, swiping away the digital files he was working on. He then noticed what his caller was wearing. “Or should I be calling you StarLife currently?”

“Jared is fine professor, I’m just still in my costume from taping.”

Though he said that, he was clearly still in StarLife mode, as he began literally pulling something from his glittery, orange top hat. Mendel used that pause in StarLife’s train of thought to quickly ask something he had been pondering himself.

“You mentioned that you’d be doing that show the last time you were over. Do you think it would be appropriate for Kylie to watch? Parental sites online say its too mature for her age, but you know how those places can be.”

“I’d say she’s probably fine,” StarLife answered, finally getting a yellow plush rabbit out of his hat. As he spoke the plush began to straighten itself out and grow to nearly human size before finally stopping at StarLife’s neck. “Really, the show censors out anything too dangerous from the places we visit. Most of them you wouldn’t even know were villain lairs until it’s said out loud.”

“That’s good to know.” Mendel went to a file to jot that information down, then turned his attention back to the situation at hand. “Do you have something to report about Yellow Rabbit?”

Yellow Rabbit’s head fell on StarLife’s shoulders at the mention of his name.

StarLife patted his head. “No, I just like keeping him in the loop.” He then gently pushed the rabbit’s head back upward. “I wanted to show you this. I found her while filming today.” He briefly turned around and then wheeled a small robot in front of the screen.

Mendel was immediately disturbed at what he was looking at. Her frozen face and stiff pose clashed with the bright reds-and-yellows she was decorated with. His aversion only got worse when StarLife turned it around and Mendel noticed her “hair” was pulled into pigtails. She could easily be mistaken for a small child in a costume at first glance. “You wanted to show me a ... clown robot?”

“A balloon bot.” StarLife grinned and crouched down, pushing the buttons on the bottom of her hands. Holes in her palms opened, and a whirring sound began as balloons slowly came out of each one. Once the pre-attached strings finished worming their way out, the holes clamped close, making it look like she was offering the balloons to Mendel.

StarLife’s smile remained on his face as he moved behind the robot and pressed its temples. “She can do cool tricks with her eyes, too. That also makes her a distraction droid, if you will.”

A light suddenly shot towards the screen, causing Mendel to reflexively jump out of his chair. He regained his composure as the lights died down, quickly realizing that StarLife was right about it merely being a trick. Still, uncomfortable thoughts remained in his head as Mendel sat back down. Why a group of villains had a child-sized robot with faux laser eyes, what they used her for and against who, how many others were there...

He didn’t really want the answers to those questions though, and based on StarLife’s face, Mendel assumed he didn’t even bother asking them. So Mendel opted to push them aside for the time being. “Why show me this specific robot, Jared? You’ve sensed other robots before this one.”

“She’s different,” StarLife insisted, “I could sense her before I even got in the building. It was the strongest I’ve felt my magic in years, like it was guiding me to her. And honestly, now that I’m thinking about it-” He shot a glance towards Yellow Rabbit and then lowered his voice. “-I don’t think I’ve felt my magic this strongly since I first sensed Yellow Rabbit.”

Yellow Rabbit still heard him and slapped his ears against StarLife’s face.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He whined, trying to push away the rabbit ears. “I’m just stating facts!”

“You’ve never reported that strong of an increase in your powers before.” Mendel had already opened up the files he kept on StarLife and started adding a new section. “This is something we need to keep looking into. Tell me in detail about the situation that caused this power surge.”

StarLife did start his story about finding the robot in a back room of the building and being the only one in the filming crew not disturbed by her motionless eyes, but it was clear his attention was on comforting Yellow Rabbit. He understood the rabbit’s concern; this new robot was the closest thing to competition he’s had since StarLife was a child. He let Yellow Rabbit hold onto him in an almost pathetic way, in an attempt to push away any real concerns about their changing relationship. He then finally focused his full attention back onto Mendel.

“I assume you’ve already noticed that this situation has very limited commonalities with your first interaction with Yellow Rabbit,” Mendel sighed, pulling away from how closely he was looking at the files on screen. “I think it’s possible that the cause is more personal than environmental. Have you been noticing any significant physical changes recently?”

“None that my doctors say aren’t a part of normal aging.”

“So it might be more psychological then.” Mendel mumbled to himself, already coming to his own conclusions.

“Like a mid-life crisis?” StarLife offered, though he knew Mendel wasn’t really listening. He used the pause in conversation as an opportunity to carry Yellow Rabbit to the side of the room and set him up against the wall. “I want you to stay here while I enliven her for the first time once the professor and I are done talking,” StarLife calmly commanded, referring to the robot. “I know you don’t want to see it, but you deserve to stay in the loop.”

Yellow Rabbit nodded its head in defeat, but then closed its eyes in defiance.

StarLife sighed but let the rabbit be. He returned to the robot and rolled her backwards into the center of the room, then finally noticing Mendel waiting for him to be done.

“Will you accept a superficial explanation for the time being?” Mendel asked.

“Why professor,” StarLife replied with a fake gasp, “I didn’t think men of science thought in such a way.”

Mendel snorted. “Theories have been started based on lesser evidence. I believe that your sudden pull towards this robot may be based on your theming, for a lack of a better word.”

“Theming?”

“Your StarLife alias is based upon classic magicians, isn’t it? Right down to the magic wand and the rabbit you pull out of your hat. It would make sense if you were drawn to a clown-themed robot as well.”

“Do magicians work with clowns?” StarLife questioned. “I’ve never seen that happen.”

“Sure they do,” Mendel countered. “Have you ever been to a circus?”

“Have you?”

Mendel looked at him for a couple of seconds. “I have eight children. Of course I’ve been to the circus.”

“Right, right.” StarLife looked away embarrassed, and then tried to salvage the situation by mentioning a more legitimate concern he had. “But I wasn’t thinking about the magician theme when I sensed Yellow Rabbit as a kid.”

“But you’ve spent your entire adult life so far thinking about it,” Mendel reminded him. “It’s possible your brain has rewired itself to pay extra attention to those kind of opportunities.”

“Maybe.” StarLife was unconvinced. “Is that the theory you’re working with?”

“Until I’ve gathered more information, yes. I’ll search through your files to see if I can find any other possible clues, but until then keep me updated if anything else unusual happens with your powers.” Mendel then opened up yet another file. “I’m starting a new file on your clown robot, too. What’s her name?”

StarLife was surprised he had forgotten to mention that detail. “She had a serial number on her back, but it looked scratched out so I couldn’t read it. I’m calling her Balloonie, personally.”

Mendel nodded in confirmation as he typed. “With a Y or an IE?”

“IE.”

“Have you noticed her having any other abilities besides the ones you demonstrated earlier?”

“Not yet, but I’m planning to enliven her soon, so I’ll let you know what she’s like when she’s moving on her own.”

“Keep me informed then,” Mendel agreed, closing out all the files on his screen. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He ended the call in his usual abrupt way, leaving StarLife alone with his two companions.

StarLife looked over at Yellow Rabbit, who was still leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He shook his head and then went over to Balloonie. He crouched down and pressed his hands against her temples. “Come on now, Balloonie,” he whispered as magic streamed from his finger tips, “let’s see what you’re like.”

#Test Tube Powers #Mendel #StarLife #original character

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