#you expect george michael to be ashamed?

[javelinbk]

Happy 25th Birthday to this iconic video

Outside - George Michael. Released 19th October 1998

The song was Michael's first single since his arrest for engaging in a lewd act six months earlier by an undercover police officer in the public lavatory of the Will Rogers Memorial Park in Beverley Hills, California– an incident that prompted him to declare his homosexuality, which had been rumoured for some years but never publicly confirmed.

Michael disparaged the incident in the lyrics, claiming he wanted an alfresco sex life because he was bored with lovemaking behind closed doors. Reference to the Beverly Hills affair came with the line: "I'd service the community, but I already have, you see" (he was sentenced to 80 hours of community service for the offense) and direct samples of radio reports of his arrest.

In a 2004 interview with Adam Mattera for UK magazine Attitude, Michael reflected: "I felt that lightening the stigma around cruising was the most immediately beneficial thing I could do. I know for a fact that when I was 16, 17, when I started cruising, that watching the Outside video would have taken some of the weight off my shoulders."

[agirlwholovesrockstars]

careless whisper

♡ STEVE HARRINGTON'S MASTERLIST ♡

❁ AGATHA'S MAIN PAGE ❁

You can read this as it is but if you wanted more from this, here's a sequel "Baby Come Back"

﹆ Summary : you loved him with all your heart but he became unfaithful and there's nothing that he can do to mend it, is it really your last dance together?

﹆ Word Count : and again hoping it's not that too long for y'all

﹆ Warnings : 18+ MDNI‼️KingSteve! x FEM!reader, cursing, Steve and reader are both (18), unprotected sex, p in v penetration, both oral receiving, SMUT‼️, slight public sex I guess?, Steve will be so oblivious with readers feelings, cheating, unrequited love, friends to lovers, emotional abuse, tolerating, no use of y/n, not going to give any spoilers in here but beware that this will be ANGSTY!

﹆ What to Expect : SMUT‼️, FLUFF‼️, ANGST‼️, Steve and reader are the IT couple on Hawkins High, of course- by the term "King Steve" you know what that means, sorry ✌🏻

﹆ Note To Reader : Y'ALL BABY'S FIRST EVER STEVE HARRINGTON FIC!!!! AHHHHH <3 I'm so excited to spill all of my ideas about my first ever fave character from the show! and yeah I also apologize that I chose to do angst first 😔🤚🏻

﹆ Author Note : this is literally one of my favorite songs from George Michael and don't come at me, okay?!? I was just listening to this song and I was like why is this so Steve coded?!? AND YUP IT CLICKED AN IDEA!!!! ;))

Present : Prom 1984

"How are you holding up?" He asks as he tries to look at your eyes but you're avoiding it

"Been alright" you say as you look at him very briefly, your touches with him as you both swayed in the dance floor it felt different

His heart sunk when you couldn't even look into his eyes in the same way again

The eyes that are once so dreamy when you both locked in

He can tell that you're still moving on from him

He can tell that your eyes speaks louder than words

He can tell that you're still hurting because of him

Past : He shouldn't had an affair with someone else

"Diana, she isn't-"

"I know"

Steve is staggered as he swallows nervously in front of you, he wishes to be sucked down deeply on the floor and never to be seen again

He's ashamed for himself

He doesn't understand the meaning and the idea of love until it hits him like a block of bricks

And it hit really hard to the point that right after he slept with the other woman that night after the party that you both went out

He realized he made a mistake

A huge mistake that "sorry" can never undo the damage to what he has been done

Once the trust is broken it can never be fixed

You know he had a choice not to choose to cheat on you

But you laugh in disbelief as you think about it

Oh, right, he's King Steve

He doesn't know feelings and wants to keep his title to stay relevant

"W-Wait, you knew?"

"Everybody at school knows about it, Steve" you tried your very best to mask your pained expression but he can see it

The look on your face pierces right through his chest as he gulps

You have every right to be mad at him

You have every chance to shout and yell at him

But you didn't....

You talk so cold like it doesn't even matter to you

He darts his eyes everywhere in the room as he spoke again "After all this time?"

You sigh tiredly "Yeah"

He shook his head at you as he couldn't believe what you just said

"How? H-How you look-"

"What- I look what?!"

"You look...fine"

You incredulously laugh "Of course, I've had to Steve, we both got a title to keep it stable, right?" You reply to him in a mockery way as he averts his eyes somewhere else

"If you knew then why are you still with me?"

You frown at his words as you take all the courage to not breakdown at him, to not show him that you're weak but you failed since....

You love him too much that it's okay if you break apart from him

"Because I love you, Steve! Why don't you get that?!?"

Your chest heaves heavily as you try to control your breath as you cried angrily but also filled with sadness and frustration

Steve gasps, the moment you snap at him and saw you for the first time like this

You've never showed your side of vulnerability, yes, you've told him a couple of glimpses of your life but never this

Now, his eyes burned with forming tears as he tries to close his mouth in shock

You loved him? No one has ever loved him truly before

"I loved you so much that I play pretend so I can keep you!" You hiccupped into your own tears

"I loved you too" he said it out loud before he can stop himself, you saw how his eyes widens when he realizes what he just said

It's like a record scratch, you stare at him with your tear-stained cheeks as you studied his face

You blink, "What?!?"

"I've been drawn to you ever since we we're friends"

"S-Steve" you shift on your stance

"You're the only friend that I've ever had, who knows me better than I do"

You throw your palms on your face as you continue to sob

You're both dating for almost 2 years but why does he have to betray you to make him realize that he is in love just like you?

"Is this true?" You quietly say as you wipe away your tears

"Yes, it is" he walks closer to you but you moved away giving him the signal that you don't want him to hold you

"I-I tried to ignore the signs before that I thought maybe you- you just wanted this for to gain something"

What the fuck?

"Is that all really matters to you? Steve? don't you even think about how much I've suffered to maintain my sweet-like personality whenever we walked in the hallways?!?"

He thought maybe if he confessed his true feelings to you, everything will go back to normal

But it doesn't....

Not even the truth will bring the both of you comfort

Pain is all there ever is

"I've wanted to scream and I'm so tired to act like everything is okay, I really really wanted us to last, Steve"

"Turns out it was just only me who wanted to have a future with you"

The words just rolls out of your bitter tongue and it's a punch to his gut

"N-No, that isn't true" he begs

"You lost me, Steve, you had your chance and you blew it" you sniffle

Before he can say anything, you left him alone in his house as his eyes are still glued at the closed door hoping that you'll come back

But you never ever did

Future : if only he's loyal to you this wouldn't happen

You endured every single thing that his friends talked about you

Talked about, you're not fit into their world

Saying that "she doesn't belong here" but you didn't care because why?

You loved him

You love Steve Harrington despite what everyone else says

You don't care about titles

You don't care about these social cliques

You just wanted to have good friends and well, maybe love

Everybody adored you at school saying that you're the sweetest and kindest popular girl, it's actually rare for them to have those qualities because most of them are fucking assholes

You even overheard some other people like how did you even get into this situation?

Back in 1982, you're a new kid at school and you somehow manage to get into King Steve's heart without any hassle

You wished you've only stayed as friends

So, this wouldn't have hurt this much

"Steve!"

"What?"

"You know I'm ticklish!"

"I don't know" he feigns innocence and he still continues torturing you into your side as he towers over you as you lay at the grass with a blanket on his backyard

"Stop!" You say with a breathy laugh

He chuckles when you pout at him holding the both of his wrists "Okay, okay"

There's a moment that both of you halted over your silliness at each other

He never felt anything like this before

His heart is beating so loud that he could hear it throbbing on his ear

Your eyes went everywhere to his face

He is absolutely so beautiful up close like this

You're the first one to break the whatever that was

He nods as he runs his fingers through his hair as he watches you

He is so thankful that he has someone like you

You've never judged him, you let him know that emotions are valid that he can always count on you

You comforted him on his darkest days, you're the sunshine that help him to forget his absent parents

You feel so sorry for him when he told you he's alone most of the time in his enormous house

Yeah, maybe he's wealthy but he did not once felt happy until you came along

You're like an angel, he knows that he made the right decision to sit next to you at English Class, that's where it all began your newfound friendship

A part of him is afraid at that time you might back out if you found out that he's King Steve and his reputation at school

He is surprised that you didn't knew anything about him and that gives him a relief

After everything crashed down, now, you wished you knew all about him that's how he thinks about love

It's all just fun and games to him

You cursed at yourself for being so lovesick

A smile grows on his lips as watches you ate cherries on the vanilla milkshake that he make for you, it's your favorite

The whipped cream went on the sides of lips as you take a sip from the straw

He swiped it using his thumb and you blushed at his sudden action

He licked it off clean as you watch him

He catches you staring, there's a unreadable gleam on your eyes that he didn't not quite understood yet

Steve can't even register that he's moving closer to you and you froze as you hold your milkshake tightly as he cradles your cheek

He runs his tongue over his lips as his eyes stare at your rosy lips

He moves inches closer and your breath hitches, your mouth is slightly open as you look at him

He gave you one last look before he dive in

Your lips are now connected to his as he pulled you closer to him, he snatches your milkshake away as he puts it down as you start squirming and shut your eyes as you throw your arms around him

He smiles through the kiss as he deepens making you moan and his heart flutters at the sound of it, your hand crawls through his perfectly styled hair and he made a guttural groan at your move as you tug it slightly

His hands went at your waist as he squeezes it, the touch is overwhelming and your skin feels on fire everytime he grabs and graze his fingertips under over your clothed body

He slowly made you lay down beneath the blanket as you spread your legs to position himself on top of you

Your heart had never been this so fast, he tilts his head over the side as you yelp when his hands went under your skirt he starts toying with the garter of your panties, he smirks through the kiss

He cuts off your heated make out session as he removes his shirt and his eyes widens when you chase his lips as he pecks on it, you blink at his bared chest as you became flustered yet again, your fumbled panicky with the buttons of your blouse but he halted you as you let him undress you

It reveals a red lacy bra as he wolfishly whistles and you playfully slapped his chest as you duck your head down in a shy manner

God, why you gotta be so adorable?

He uses his index finger and his thumb to lift your chin to make you look at his gaze as you finally take him in

His cheeks are flushed, his hair is a mess and both of you are matching the same looks

The look that he's giving you, it's enough to make your mouth run dry and the wetness is pooling between your red lacy underwear

It doesn't take him too long to kiss your lips once again as he rises up slowly to undo his belt and his pants along with his boxers

He unclasps your bra as he throws on the side doesn't really matter where it lands as your hands when back onto your skirt to unzip it as you shimmy down and put it away

He reaches at your red lacy underwear but the moment he struggles to get it off, he starts to get impatient he snaps it just right about where your knees making you squeal

"I'll get you a new one, don't worry, baby" he growls as his hot kisses went everywhere on your chest and you can tell that he is hesitant to touch you

He doesn't even know if you wanted this but as if you can read his mind, the second thoughts were erased as you told him

"Steve, it's okay, you can touch me"

You breath heavily with his kneading your breasts as he plants smearing marks on your neck hitting that sweet spot making you mewl

He pats your thigh as a signal to wrap it on his hips

He holds your waist aggressively you know it will be bruised and it turns you on even more

You gasp as you can felt his tip intruding your tight hole as you can feel him entering smoothly along with your juices and arousal

It doesn't even needed a lubrication, he is drenched because of you

"Jesus Christ, y-you're dripping wet" he grunts as he watches your cunt devouring him as he can see your eyes fighting to stay open

He smirks as he fills you all the way up, you throw your head onto the side as you bit down your bottom lip

"S-Steve, please move"

He is so big to make you scream as you finally adjusted to his size and felt comfortable with pain and pleasure

He puts the other leg down as he lifts the other one as he puts over his shoulder and pulls you down closer to him that earned a whimper from you

He starts rutting in and out slowly, he hasn't even done anything and yet, it's driving you crazy

The squelching noises, the slamming back and forth with his slow pace as you start clenching around him

"Goddamn it, baby, you gotta stop doing that" his mouth is hanging open and already knows what heaven feels like

This is heaven

He doesn't ever want to leave

"M-Move f-faster" you stuttered between soft moans as you pawing at his hairy covered chest as he begins to go rough on you

Your hand flew over as you slapped and covered your mouth as your breasts start to jiggle from his movement, he tear off your hand as he pins it down

"Don't be shy on me, I wanna hear you loud and clear"

You whine and arched your back as he start to held both of your arms to go along with his neck as he pulls you even more further making him go deeper inside of you as you throw your head back and you gave him his wishes

You moaned beautifully as he devilishly smirks as he kisses you again but this time is filled with lust and teeth began to clash

Your whole body feels lumpy as both of you went back down as he raises both of your arms over the top of your head as he pounds at you placing kisses all over your face

You watch him down below as he fucks you ramming his way so easily

Your eyes rolls back as your high pitched moans went "ah-ah-ah" he feels so fucking great to hear those coming out of you because he's the one that made you feel like this

"So tight, baby, you're killing me"

"S-Steve, don't sto-p"

You wrap your legs around him as you tangle at him along with his body to push him down

"Oh shit!" he exclaims as his eyes darkens

You giggle but the time when he fingers touched your clit and you shudder

"Not so funny are we now, baby?" He bullys your clit earning a lewd noises falls from your lips

You nod at him pathetically as you matched his movements making him chuckle darkly

He lets go of your hands as he hooks his hand under your knees as he sheathes himself inside of you

You started babbling at him saying "S-Steve- fuck! That's it right there!" You shouted out loud but not without a moan

Yes, this is what he wanted

Let the neighbors hear you that he's the one who giving you this sweet pleasure

He thrusts as you shake your head begging for a release

"Yes, baby, I know, just let it go, I got you"

"ah-Steve!-oh"

You moan wildly as you chant his name as you came undone

He spills his load painting your flesh walls white

Your legs are trembling and you're shaking badly as he lazily smile as his spent body went boneless on top of you

You embrace him with your warmth along with your tangled legs as you kept him in place

His eyes go big when he realizes he had done something, you felt him became tense as you hold him softly by his shoulder blades

Despite, the fiery sex that you just both had, you're still in that haze but you remembered that both of you just did that on his backyard is making you feel fuzzy

He carefully rips himself off of you as he start scrambling to get on with his boxers

You immediately missed his scent on you

You furrow your brows as you watch him run off with that worried look on his eyes

You didn't have the time to wear your discarded clothes as you chose to grab his towel that is hanging around the lounge chair that he uses when he wants to take a dip from his swimming pool, you covered it with your naked body

"Steve! Wait- what is it?" You asked him with concern his heart feels booming inside of his chest by the tone of your voice

You really did care about him

This is all too good to be true

You followed him as he moves the sliding the door as he went outside he stopped once he's in there

You stare at behind his back and insecurities are now lurking in the shadows

Did he regret it?

Just run off and never look back save yourself from rejection

But you didn't instead, you touched his shoulder softly as he melts with it, you call out to his name again, you swore you heard him crying

He slowly turns his body around facing you and now you met Steve's eyes with threatening tears that are about to fall

"O-Oh my god, Steve? Are you okay?- Tell m-"

"W-We didn't use protection- and I-" he croaked up in his own tears

"I came inside of you and I didn't even asked you first that if you wanted this to happen" he motions at the two of you and you can see the guilty look from his eyes as he rests his forehead against with yours

Your eyes softens as it starts become glossy

Did he ruin your friendship?

Did he broke the last precious thing that meant a lot from him?

"Steve, it's fine, I've wanted you to"

His blinked the tears away just to see your face clearly

"Y-You wanted it?" He says as he holds your hands raising it closer to his face as he kisses it

You take a deep breath through your nose as you brave enough to confess your feelings

"I wanted you more than as a friend, Steve"

The swallows the lump on his throat as his chest eases out from tension

"The truth is that I love you, Steve" a fallen tear as you smile at him

Your eyes are shining with so much affection that he doesn't have before and it scares him

He shakes his head in disbelief as he watches you hug him

"You don't have to say anything, I just wanted you to know that I do, I am really in love with you"

He squeezes his eyes shut to your words as he hugs you tightly as he rests on the crook of your shoulder

He finally got what he wanted all of his life

Until, he realizes it was too late

He was too late for him to figure it all out, when you finally made up your mind that you want him in the first place

You loved him too early, he loved you too late

Aftermath : you can't ever lie to yourself that you still want him after how he treated you harshly

As much as you wanted to cling on to him and keep things the way they were

You know what's best for you

You know it's the right thing to do

You know deep down to your soul that you don't want this to end

But this is all too much for you, too much for you to bear

The agony, pain, sorrow, disappointment, heartache, if you continue this, you will be miserable

You want it keep it going, hell, if he asked you to marry him, you would, fuck, he might not even finished saying the lines, you will say "yes" to everything

But his heart is elsewhere, his mind is remains afloat

You got your heart and your soul devoted to him, you gave your most sacred value, your body

Only to be wasted to be washed away down the drain

But still, you've never regret doing it to him,

But no matter what you do, no matter how many times he apologizes to you, sure, you can see it that he despised his fault for your failed relationship

It isn't feel right and it isn't working

You can't see and look at him in the same way before, all you can see is....

It's deceitful, it's making you so angry but you will never show how hot-headed you are

Because, yet again, you loved him, no matter how you wanted to scratch his face out of madness

He is intimidated by your whole sense of nonchalant micro expressions but he knows behind that mask

You're upset

You know it yourself that you've done everything that you could ever give to him

You conclude in your own thoughts alone that you aren't enough for him

There might be sprinkle of insecurity that you wanted to brush it off but that's what you feel

You supported him, take care of him, you've been a good listener, you've been a loving girlfriend of his that in other people lenses

You're just an eye candy

Now, you understand what you've gotten those sympathetic eyes on you at school

Because this is all what comes down to....

You're just another girl that he got himself a jackpot to his prize

Just another trophy to his collection that he just....slept with you and he'll do it again after to the next girl that he got eyes targeted

Despite at how brutal that sounds

You will always love him

Back to Prom 1984

You can feel everyone's eyes on the both of you

You're dancing together at the center of the dance floor

They knew about you and Steve's relationship and the infidelity that he has done

They knew about the bond that is going to fall apart

Steve thought that the music is far from being too loud, he is getting overwhelmed by it, he wants to turn it off and leave the premises with you where he feels safe

Now, he is slipping off with your delicate fingers, the only sanctuary that he has ever given and he knows that he is fucking lucky to have you

He wished that the both of you could lose this crowd

"Let's go outside"

"N-No, S-Steve- No"

He ignores your protests and he tugs at your hand leading you out of the dance floor as he tries to scrape you off your feet and dragged you outside

The students starts whispering all around

He is surprised that you let him hold you

You let him intertwined your hands with his

He pushes you outside first slowly and he closes the door behind him, the music blurs out

You wrap your arms around yourself the night chilly air hits your delectable skin as the fairy lights from the streets makes you look glowy

He sadly sighs as he finally had the chance to look at you like this again

This is the only time that he saw what's in your eyes, god- is this what he trying to dodge? what is he thinking? all he wanted is to punch himself for cheating on you

All he can see the remnants of your undying love to him on your eyes but also mixed with a cloud of gloominess

He fucked up big time

He removes his coat as he tries to give it to you

"I don't want your coat" you step away as you sternly look at him

He ignores again, your remark as he places his coat around you

"What should I do to gain back your trust, please tell me" his hazel eyes pleads for you and your eyes burning from the tears forming

Your chest tightens, you don't want to have this conversation again

You know it'll ended up so raw and you feel exposed by your feelings and the worst case

The transparency of your emotions

The seconds as he awaits for your reply, the music from the gymnasium dies

You look at him that he doesn't ever wanted to see

It terrifies him horribly as he begins to cry in front of you as you did too

"Oh, god- please no" his voice starts breaking and your heart shattered at the sound of it

He knows exactly the meaning behind your melancholic eyes

It's all sad goodbyes

"Steve, maybe it's better this way" you say as you held his cheeks as he presses himself against it at the palm of your hands as he kisses it

"No, it's not-"

He knows that you aren't a fool to this any longer, he knows what's about to happen but he can't help but beg for you to not leave him

You rip your hand out of his cheeks as he already misses your touches

You hated how fast you feel powerless over him whenever you talked to him like this

You hated how easily that he can get to touch like nothing happened

But, not this time, not anymore

You're trusting your gut, you listen to your inner voice

"Steve! If we pick up where we left off, we'd just end up hurting ourselves and it will hurt a lot more of the things that we wanted to say to each other"

"Don't say it like that- I promise that'll be better, I'll prove it to you"

You slam your lips over his and he can't help but feel the same butterflies on his stomach that he once ignored, you kissed him like it was your last breath

There's a voice inside of his head that says he something is bad is about to happen

God, if he could only turn back the time and he'll make things right

"Don't let this get over with your head, I am giving you one last dance, one last touch and one last kiss"

"N-No, please- don't let go-"

"I'm saying that this is goodbye, Steve"

"W-We could've have been so good together, we could've have this dance forever"

You smile sadly, "I wish you thought about that before you crossed me" he watches you as you take off his coat from your shoulders

Your heels hits the pavement as it starts clicking as you walked away from him

He chases you as he hugged you from behind, you breakdown in tears again, he rests his head over your shoulder as he sniffled

"Please stay"

"You will always have my heart, you know it belongs to you ever since, Steve, and I'm always going to love you, but I have to go" you caressed his hand as you remove yourself from him as you take a look at him one last time

"I love you Steve Harrington, thank you for giving me how betrayal feels like" you humorlessly chuckle as he runs his hands over his face, he keeps shaking his head sideways

You kissed his cheek as he watches you with those tired eyes, of course, you can notice everything, the dark circles surrounding his eyes

He hasn't gotten any sleep like you do

He can't sleep properly because of you

His mind and his heart screams at you

He wants you back on his life, but now, he's alone again

He hates himself and he knows what he did is unforgivable and unforgettable

"I'll miss you, take care okay?" You choke in your own tears as you fixed his hair for the last time, the kind gesture that he always admired, he can't believe that this is the last time

He holds both of your shoulders "I can't never love again, I only want you"

Your heart cracks piece by piece to his words

The time is running out, you need to move

"If you really love me you have to let me go, Steve"

He begrudgingly loosens his hold on you as he watches you walking towards your car, his eyes are fixated on you and you know it

You badly wanted to look at him again, but you decided against it, you don't even wanna leave him like this but it had to be done

He cries standing all alone on that night

You cried while driving home as your knuckles turn white as you grip on the steering wheel

He knows for a fact that he will never gonna dance again

The way he danced with you

[startanewdream]

“His sister didn’t really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. “She gave him an easy save.”

“Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed."

Or they were both right. (1k, HBP missing moment, Ron and Ginny being siblings here)

The ball went through the first of the three loops they had improvised in the orchard. Ginny allowed herself another triumphant grin. “That’s the fifth goal in a row!”

Ron’s face was dangerously red when he came back from retrieving the ball, but he didn’t say anything. Ginny moved back to her position, about twenty feet distant from the goals, following the point Harry had marked on the ground. She ran three steps then threw the ball; as in the other five times, Ron jumped to the wrong loop, and she scored another goal.

“Sixth!”

“Oh, shut up.” He grabbed their improvised quaffle and sat on the ground. “This is stupid—it’s not really Quidditch.”

“There is a ball and there is a goal. If you can’t save it on the ground, you’re not going to be better in the air.”

“It’s different!”

“How so?”

“You will be flying also, duh.”

“Except I fly so much better than you, so that’s not a vantage for you.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed at the same proportion his face got scarlet. “Why are you so mean? Oh, sorry, I meant meaner than usual.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, annoyingly aware that this made her look like Ron, one of those few times where no one could deny they were siblings.

“Perhaps if you concentrated more on Quidditch and less on my love life, you would be a better player.”

“I don’t care about your love life.”

“Then how do Fred and George know that I’m dating Dean? Because I didn’t tell them.”

To his credit, Ron looked a bit ashamed, his expression softening a little. “I was just expressing concern, that’s it. You can’t blame a guy for worrying about his younger sister’s life.”

“I am your only sister,” she replied coolly. “And as said sister, yes, I can blame this guy. What’s your problem with Dean?”

“It is not—Dean is okay-ish—look, you just have to dislike the guy who is dating your sister. It’s a principle. You should know it.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Now there was a smirk on Ron’s face. “You and Fleur are already braiding each other’s hair, are you? Discussing the flowers for the wedding?”

She reached for her wand, only to lament the fact she’d left it inside the house.

“It’s not the same,” insisted Ginny. “I didn’t even know Fleur before she burst into the house as if she owned it!”

“Oh, right.” Ron crossed his arms, clearly at upper-hand here. “Tell me you wouldn’t hate anyone that Bill — favourite brother Bill, don’t deny it — would date.”

“I wouldn’t,” said Ginny at once, though lacking a bit of confidence this time. Bill wasn’t her favourite brother because a girl shouldn’t have a favourite sibling, only… Bill was Bill. She expected more of him than… Fleur. “I just think he is rushing things here.”

“So you breaking up with your boyfriend and soon after dating another guy—that is not rushed?”

“How long?"

"How long do tou think I've been friends with Dean before we started dating?"

"Ah... three weeks?"

“Three years. I was friends with him before I even dated Michael.”

His eyes widened. “Friends? I never saw it!”

“It’s not my fault you were too busy with other things to realise I have friends. Or that I can play Quidditch better than you.”

“Hey, hey, don’t get mean again.” Ron bit his lips, thoughtful. “Were you really friends?”

“Have you ever talked to Dean and Seamus? And I don’t mean only because you are aggravated with Harry or something stupid as this—I mean really enjoyed their company?” He shook his head. “Well, they are really fun. A lot of dirty jokes also, they give Charlie a run for his money.”

“Hum—I’ve heard a few…”

“Nice. The thing is, you, Hermione and Harry are so busy with your own drama that you forget that while you three are conspiring to defeat the dark villain of the year, other people are having a life of their own.”

“You were glad to join us last June.”

“Of course I was! Just because I don’t do it regularly, it doesn’t mean I don’t care about this war.” Ginny looked away, suddenly embarrassed. “I know what You-Know-Who can do to someone.”

There was a moment of silence, then Ron patted her shoulder. The gesture seemed to make him as uncomfortable as it made Ginny, but she appreciated all the same.

“Dean is a nice guy,” she said, her voice calmer now. “Don’t be a jerk to him.”

Ron seemed to debate the matter with himself for a moment, but then he nodded. “I won’t say anything,” he promised. “Not even to Bill.”

“I don’t think he would care at the moment,” she admitted, throwing an annoyed glance towards the house; Fleur had arrived with Bill for lunch and had stayed, the main reason why Ginny had agreed to Ron’s suggestion of a practice that afternoon, no matter how hot the day was.

“Don’t be silly.” Ron sounded amused. “You are still Bill’s favourite sister.”

“I’m his only sister, prat.”

“He only got one of those, exactly. There are other quarter-Veelas in the world. Somewhere.”

It wasn’t exactly a compliment, but she could find some comfort in Ron’s words.

“I guess,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. It didn’t seem to fool Ron, so she just grabbed the ball on the ground and resumed her position. “Go on.”

“Aren’t we past humiliating me? I can’t save it, there, I’ve said it.”

“You should have added that I’m a brilliant chaser,” Ginny said unashamedly. “And because I’m also a brilliant sister, I’ll give you a hint. Stop looking at me.”

“What? How is that a hint?”

“Look at the ball. It's the ball you need to stop,  not me. You already stay at a right distance from the posts to reduce my angle, you already face my direction–you are only missing the goals because I keep misguiding you where I am throwing it."

"So I ignore you and focus on the ball?"

"Don't ignore me, I didn’t say it–are you listening to me?"

"You are one that’s saying rubbish–of course I am looking at the ball!"

"If you were then you'd save something, wouldn’t you?" She threw the ball on the ground, letting it bounce away. "Don't be mad when the other teams score because you can't take advice from your little sister!"

"That has nothing to do with you being my sister!"

"Oh, right, because if Hermione had said it, you would have listened to it!"

"Hermione doesn’t understand Quidditch."

"Harry, then."

"He is the captain this year, and he's youngest–"

"Seeker, exactly! While I am a Chaser, and a Seeker in my spare time. But do what you want, I don’t care."

"Ugh, you are impossible." Ron shook his head; Ginny crossed her arms and neither moved for a few minutes.

Then there was a laugh coming from the house and she saw the door opening; Fleur's silver hair was glistening under the sun.

She sighed.

"Do you wanna play Exploding Snap in the living room?" She asked. "We can wake up Harry, he has napped enough already."

Ron smiled. "Let’s go, I bet Hermione is back already. She gets all flustered when the cards blow up in her turn."

"You know, there are other ways to get Hermione flustered, if that’s your goal."

"What are you talking about?"

Ginny smiled to herself. "Never mind."

[bouwrites]

Show Your Fangs: Chapter 9

Served Cold

First, Previous, Next.

Ao3.

Story under read-more.

Harry can already tell how everything is going to come together. He knows what Michael is working on, after all. Every tool he adjusts for their purposes is just another part of the whole.

The modification of the prank products is almost entirely Michael. He enjoys taking things apart, figuring out how they work, and reconstructing them. But the idea is Harry’s.

And Terry’s idea is even better. More vicious by far, and he and Harry both predict that someone will need to be outside to intervene when it’s discovered – which is half the point – but way better.

Harry hopes he can pull it off. Terry and Michael spend many sleepless nights on the problem while Harry is busy getting occlumency lessons with Anthony. In Michael’s own words, what he and Terry are attempting makes dismantling and repurposing Fred and George’s prank products look like squeezing a flobberworm by comparison.

In fact, it’s so difficult that when Michael first considers it, right after he starts getting detentions with Umbridge, he only just starts his research before he determines it too difficult to pull off. But that is before he has access to the rare tomes in the Room of Requirement and before he has Terry to work together with. He’s determined now that he can do it.

But that’s soon. First is the easy part, the gentler part. First is to punish those who do not deserve worse. Those whose only crimes are listening to someone with far more power than them.

First is the punishment they can pursue without malice.

It is for this purpose that Harry slinks through the Hogwarts grounds, avoiding students. He creeps along the walls and the tree line to stay out of sight right up until he makes it to Hagrid’s garden.

Harry is somewhat ashamed to admit that he doesn’t really notice that Hagrid isn’t here for most of the year thus far. He notes Hagrid’s absence on the first day, of course, when Professor Grubbly-Plank takes the first-years across the lake and does the anti-allergen charm on him and the other pets, but he doesn’t otherwise have any reason to come out this far. Harry thinks about him as he does Ron and Hermione, but since he never sees Hagrid in the halls on a normal day, it doesn’t occur to him to think twice about never encountering the man.

So, it is a surprise when, as he and Michael plot when and where to strike, Harry learns that Hagrid only just recently comes back to the castle. Harry spends some time eavesdropping after that and learns through a hushed conversation between Ron and Hermione that Hagrid was out doing something for Dumbledore.

Because of course it comes back to him.

Well, it doesn’t matter. Hagrid’s is the perfect opportunity.

Initially, Harry and Michael want to make it public, but the only reasonable place to do that is the Great Hall, and they don’t want to show their hand before they get to the main event. And since they’re altogether more forgiving to these three than the others, anyway, they decide it’s fine if they get off a little lighter.

“Well, ‘ello there!” Hagrid’s booming voice is more welcome than Harry expects it to be. He wants to grin and laugh just seeing the man again. He really wants to change back, give him a big hug, and talk about everything over tea.

Unfortunately, Hagrid can’t keep a secret to save his life, so there’s no way Harry can do that. He makes a promise to himself, though. Next year, when he’s readmitted to Hogwarts, it’s the first thing he’ll do.

“I ain’t seen you aroun’ before,” Hagrid says, bending down to give Harry the gentlest of pets, mindful of his terrible strength. “And what’s tha’ you got there?”

The moment Hagrid starts to reach for the small leather cylinder attached to Harry’s collar, Harry goes from placid and friendly to hissing in warning. That’s the most difficult part about the plan: subtly carrying the prank in.

But Hagrid is so pure and so good, he just chuckles and leaves the collar be. It’s not his business to get into what students make their pets carry, even if a cat with something like that is unusual.

When Harry’s charge is safe, he goes right back to being a friendly, affectionate cat. He rubs against Hagrid’s legs, meows adorably, trying to convince the man to bring him inside and feed him.

And this is Hagrid, after all, so of course, that’s exactly what he does. He picks Harry up, cooing all the while, and plops him on the table inside, then he putters about until he’s laying a dish of cream there for him.

Yeah, Harry loves Hagrid. He laps at the cream eagerly, only just mindful enough to remember he has to take his time.

He can’t finish too quickly and risk being put back out before showtime, after all.

But he needn’t worry about that. Michael plans this well ahead of time. He knows exactly when Hermione, Ron, and Ginny are going to be there.

As predicted, it’s only a few minutes before the three arrive. Hagrid welcomes them in and puts on some tea for them, and Harry sticks his tongue out, placidly mocking the three when they glower at him.

Someone isn’t over what Harry does in the Gryffindor Common Room at the start of the year, it seems. Good thing that’s not his problem. Although that does raise a good point. Harry should go back to that room of hidden things and retrieve the map. It will help Terry a lot for his part of the endgame. The invisibility cloak would be helpful, too, if only Harry takes it when he has the chance. It’s too bad, but there’s no way to get that back just yet.

He makes a mental note to bring Michael to the map when he can.

But he has his targets in front of him, and his timing has to be right. He can’t see anything, but he knows Michael is disillusioned outside the wobbly windows, waiting for his cue, and Harry has to be ready to go.

None of the Gryffindors say anything about Harry being there. It’s obvious they’re all suspicious of him, but Hagrid taking in one of the cats to feed it some cream is just so normal and expected that they don’t really question his presence.

Hagrid pours their tea, asking hesitantly if they’ve heard anything about Harry Potter’s whereabouts. Harry aches to worry him, but he knows Hagrid will just be happy that he’s safe, even if safe means Hagrid himself doesn’t know.

But this is his moment. While the tea is poured but still on the tray on the table with him. Hagrid is just about to pick up the tray when there’s a knock at the door.

“Now, who might tha’ be?” Hagrid says, abandoning the tray to answer the door.

While Hagrid turns his back, Harry carefully eyes the three Gryffindors. All are turning to see who’s at the door themselves, so Harry slowly paws at the cylinder attached to his collar, never taking his eyes from the students who might turn back to him at any second.

“Hey, Professor Hagrid!” Michael chirps.

Harry drops his paw. As he expects, when the others realize it’s Michael at the door, they all glance back to him.

“Can I blow up a pumpkin?”

All three Gryffindor heads whip back to the door. Harry suppresses a snort; he immediately starts working on getting the lid off the case attached to his collar.

“Now what would you want to do tha’ for?” Hagrid asks.

Michael shrugs. “Seems like fun. I need to practice the Exploding Charm, anyway, and you know how Umbridge feels about us using our wands for anything but- well, actually, for anything.” He shakes his head. “There aren’t a lot of places to practice a spell like that without making a scene, so I thought, maybe Professor Hagrid would be willing to let me use a pumpkin or two for target practice.”

Harry silently gets the cap off, lets it dangle by the small strip of cord keeping it attached to the case, and quickly tips a small amount of the contents into each of the three cups of steaming tea.

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea,” Hagrid says awkwardly, not wanting to let down a student. “Umbridge already ain’t happy wi’ me. I’m sorry, but I don’ think I can afford to draw her attention.”

Harry tries to make eye contact to let Michael know he’s done.

“Aw, that’s alright,” says Michael. He looks inside, then, acting as if he only just notices Harry there, and shouts, “Oh, Tiger!”

Bold as brass, Michael shoves past Hagrid’s massive width, pushing inside to scoop up Harry and hold him to his chest. Harry nuzzles in close, purrs happily, and otherwise just makes a show of being back with his owner. All the while snickering to himself, just waiting for the fireworks.

“Anyway, thanks Professor,” Michael says. “I knew it was a long shot. I don’t want to get you in trouble, either, so really, don’t worry about it. See you later?”

Hagrid beams. “I’ll see you in class, Mr. Corner! Have a good day, now!”

Michael takes them both out the door then, when it shuts, quickly looks around and disillusions the both of them so they can peek in the window without being seen.

Hagrid returns to the Gryffindors, grabbing the tray from the table to bring them each their tea. Michael and Harry wear matching, invisible grins as they all take a sip nearly simultaneously, politely trying it as soon as it’s in their hands.

“Strange,” they hear Hermione comment, “it’s unusual for Michael to whackle mapple-” Her eyes go wide. Michael lets the disillusionment drop. Hermione sees him first, but all three Gryffindors lock onto him in a second. “BABBLING BABBLE ZABBLE BABBLE YABBLE!” Hermione roars. “Pabble pibble babble... babble... babbling beverage..."

Ron and Ginny both surge to their feet alongside their friend. In seconds, nonsense starts spouting from their lips, too, until the whole hut is a cacophony of the three’s uncontrollable babbling.

Serves them right. They want to hedge so much, never telling Harry or Michael anything of significance… Now they know how they sound. It’s all just a bunch of babbling nonsense.

Michael holds up a hand. Harry gives him a high five. Hagrid tries to calm the three as Hermione furiously stomps for the door, but Harry and Michael aren’t worried. Hermione never makes it there.

She only takes two steps before her babbling is finally interrupted by her tongue growing large, fat, and purple pushing out a foot past her lips.

A clever deconstruction and combination of a babbling beverage and one of Fred and George’s Ton-Tongue Toffees. That’s what Harry has in the canister attached to his collar, and what he spikes their tea with.

He chokes on a much too human laugh at the look on the three faces when they realize what’s happening, smugly lifts his head so that they can all see plainly the now-open canister on his neck, and then turns and licks Michael’s cheek because wow he is amazing.

In such a short time he manages to reverse-engineer Fred and George’s sweet and combine it to play nice with the babbling beverage. Michael is brilliant!

Speaking of brilliant, Michael grins at the three, winks at Ginny, and trots off before they can figure out how to shrink their tongues and come after him.

“I’d call that a success,” Michael giggles. Harry licks him again, which this time makes Michael flush scarlet. “What do you say, Tiger… on to the next?”

Oh yes. The nice prank is over and done with. Now… it’s those Ravenclaw bullies’ turn.

-----

Michael’s hand strokes the length of Harry’s spine. It makes him shiver. Feels good.

“An eye for an eye,” mutters Michael, glaring at Felicity Eastchurch and Latisha Randle who emerge from the girls dorm staircases.

Harry, who gets quite good at swiping things as he builds up his stash in that bathtub in the storage room further down in the tower, stalks the two girls out of the dormitory, following them down to breakfast.

Michael lets him go. Rather than follow himself, he peels off to the Room of Requirement, where his trump card is finally ready.

It’s funny, really. In second year and fourth Snape has those ingredients stolen from him. Snape accuses Harry of stealing them last year. Yet it’s not until this year that it’s actually him. One would think Snape would get better security on his ingredient stores. This is a trend.

It’s also a little surprising that Michael, who will do just about anything to make someone else do his Potions homework, is unflinchingly confident that he can brew such a complicated potion. But then, Harry figures out a long time ago that Michael doesn’t beg off Potions because he’s not good at it. He just doesn’t like the class, and therefore doesn’t want to put any effort into it.

Harry can’t blame him. Snape is the teacher, after all.

The girls get to the Great Hall to eat. Harry darts under the Ravenclaw table. Obscured by the benches, all he needs to do to stay hidden is dodge the feet.

Thankfully, the girls don’t go too far down. He sneaks up by them and silently noses open the bags they put on the floor at their feet.

Ah, yes, Felicity’s mirror. This is the thing Harry finds way back when. Harry can’t take most of this stuff in their bags because he does not have hands and will need to carry it all the way back up to Ravenclaw tower without being seen which is… impractical.

But what he can do is sow some discord. No honor amongst thieves, right? And a tooth for a tooth.

Felicity laughs at something Latisha says. She kicks out with a foot. Harry only just manages to jump out of the way without dropping the mirror. (He valiantly resists the urge to bite her.) But he snakes around to the other side of their legs, drops the mirror into Latisha’s bag, and doubles back to dig once more through Felicity’s bag.

Terry settles onto the bench across from the girls. Harry, after sneaking Felicity’s inkpot from her bag to Terry’s, jumps into his lap and makes himself comfortable to watch the spectacle.

“You guys,” says Terry, “and your little posse need to stop.”

The girls seem genuinely confused. “Stop what?” asks Latisha.

“Stealing from the fourth-year,” Terry answers simply.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felicity says just a little too quickly. “We haven’t stolen anything.”

Terry hums derisively. “Sure. I don’t expect you to admit anything. I’m just letting you know that you’re seen. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed you coming out of your dorms with that fourth-year’s things.” He glances pointedly between them, then adds, “Or more.”

The girls share a look. “What do you mean more?” Latisha asks. There’s an edge to her voice, a fear, that makes Harry think she actually does steal from more than just Luna. Not that it surprises him. Someone willing to steal from someone has no reason to limit it to just one person. Luna’s uniqueness is an excuse, and someone like Latisha Randle or Felicity Eastchurch is just looking for one.

Terry shrugs off the question. “There’s no point in flinging accusations you’ll only deny,” he answers. “But if I were you, I’d put a stop to it. People are watching. I’m only one of them.”

All at once, as the girls are trying their best to hide their panic, Terry gets up from the bench, putting Harry on the table as he goes. No one looks twice at Michael’s cat. The fools. “Well, then,” Terry says cheerfully. “That’s all I wanted to say. Have a good day, girls.”

Terry leaves, Harry stays to witness what comes next. The warning is given, but the hammer is already falling. Harry doesn’t know if the girls will listen to Terry’s warning, but it’s too late to stop their punishment, regardless. Too bad for the poor bullies and thieves.

“What did he mean by that?” Felicity hisses to her friend.

“How should I know?” growls Latisha. Her eyes go wide. “Do you think Flitwick knows?”

“If he did, we’d be in his office right now.” Felicity takes a breath. “It’s just bluster. Maybe he did see something, but Terry Boot is a coward – he’d never rat on us.”

Harry resists the simultaneous urge to laugh, scoff, and bite her for saying something like that about Harry’s friend. Terry is no coward, that’s for sure. He’s not the Gryffindor kind of “run in guns blazing” kind of brave, but he’s the one preparing for arguably the most dangerous part of their master plan to get Umbridge. He volunteers for it. He plans for it.

No, what Terry Boot is, is clever. These girls never stand a chance. Because he doesn’t hold their feet to the fire and embarrass them publicly for their crimes like Harry and Michael want to do. He just plants a seed. He scares them a little, shakes them just enough for the seed to sink into their earth. And then, he walks away.

Felicity, flustered and in need of some primping, reaches into her bag for her mirror. She gropes around for a while, then pulls the bag up onto her lap to search more thoroughly, then lets out a frustrated growl, “Ugh! And my mirror is missing again!”

But she lets it go, and the pair of them eventually head off to class, and Harry wags his tail smugly. He’s not a patient person, but he has to admit there is a certain artistry to Terry’s idea. There’s an anticipation that he can easily get drunk on.

…Even so, he just wants it to blow up, already.

Harry follows the girls to their first class of the day: Charms. They both hesitate and show their nerves on their faces before the door, knowing their head of house is beyond and still holding Terry’s warning in their heads. But they can’t put it off forever, so the girls eventually do get inside.

Felicity, realizing that she “forgets” her inkpot, asks Latisha to borrow some ink, and since the girls are friends since first-year and very close, it’s perfectly natural for Latisha to just allow her to find the inkpot in her bag herself.

(Terry knows this, of course. When he’s brought into the plan for this, he watches them, he talks to the people they talk to, takes just so many notes. Harry knows more about Felicity Eastchurch and Latisha Randle now than he knows about Ron and Hermione. All their habits, their routines, Terry marks it all down over the course of a week. “To account for variance,” he says. Michael very fondly calls him a nerd.)

But of course, what does Felicity find in Latisha’s bag but her own mirror?

“That’s what he meant…” Felicity mutters in disbelief.

“Hm? What’s up?” Latisha asks, unaware.

“You didn’t just steal from Loony… You stole from me, too!”

Latisha startles, completely taken aback by the accusation. “Wha-? No! I would never-”

Felicity brandishes her mirror like a weapon, showing it off to her (soon to be former) friend. “You forgot to hide the evidence this time! I bet I didn’t lose it that first time either. I think you took it and you lost it! What else have you taken from me?” She gasps, then roars, “Was it you who took my pearl earrings?”

(…Doesn’t Harry have pearl earrings in his stash?)

Latisha snaps back. “What are you talking about? I’ve never taken anything of yours! I don’t know how that got there; you must have just put it in the wrong bag earlier. And I don’t appreciate being accused of being a thief!”

Felicity rolls her eyes. “Please. You had no problem stealing Loony’s things. Why should I believe you’d keep your hands off mine?”

“Because you’re not a freak? Or at least, I thought you weren’t…” Latisha trails off purposely, the insult in the implication.

“This is what Terry was talking about. He saw you taking my things! That’s what he meant about you coming out with more than just Loony’s stuff! I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

“I didn’t! Come on, you’re acting totally craz-”

“I am not crazy!”

“Girls!”

Both girls go suddenly quiet at the interruption to their argument. Professor Flitwick, in the doorway as he enters midway through, levels a furious glare at the both of them. “Ms. Eastchurch,” snaps Flitwick. “Ms. Randle. Did I hear that correctly? You are the ones taking Ms. Lovegood’s things and hiding them throughout the castle?”

“Professor Flitwick! I swear I didn’t-”

“It’s just a prank, really, we didn’t mean anything-”

Flitwick holds up a hand to silence them. “Detention. With me, Saturday at three. And fifty points from each of you. Bullying is not tolerated in Hogwarts, am I understood?”

Both girls, wilting under their professor’s ire and now under the cruel glares of all the rest of the Ravenclaws who witness them toss a hundred house points out like yesterday’s garbage, hang their heads and murmur, “Yes, Professor.”

And then, when Flitwick goes to start the lesson, they silently glare at each other. They both blame the other for getting them caught.

Harry takes off back to Ravenclaw Tower giggling to himself. It’s no babbling, ton-tongue beverage, but it’s still pretty darn good. Revenge doesn’t have to be flashy.

Of course, that’s only Terry’s part. Michael’s part…

Harry walks into the storage room where he keeps his stash to see Padma smugly twirling a small bag around by its tassels, allowing it to wrap around her fingers before whirling it the other way, unwinding and winding again.

“Hey, Tiger,” Michael, disguised as Padma, says with a wink. “I take it it went well?”

Harry rubs up against his legs then meows at him.

He chuckles darkly. “All too easy, bud.” He holds up the bag. “I’m actually kind of disappointed. It didn’t take any more than walking in and grabbing whatever’s not nailed down.” He rolls his eyes. “Actually, I’m mostly disappointed in the school. The protections keeping boys out of the girls’ dormitory can be bypassed with just Polyjuice Potion? Ridiculous. I thought for sure I’d have to get more creative than this. Have like five other plans that will never be used now. Such a shame.”

Harry huffs, wags his tail, and once he’s picked up, licks Padma’s face.

“Yeah, yeah.” Michael rolls his eyes. “Gift horse, I know. Got to say, though, it is… so weird having the other bits.” He shudders. “Do you think if I took the potion while Padma was… would I…? No. No, you’re right. We’re not thinking about that. But what about trans students? If the security is just checking my physical gender, then… or is it actually letting me in not because of my gender but because I’m Padma? Are we individually registered into the- I mean, you are, aren’t you? To get in and out of the dorm…”

He shakes his head. “Anyway, I’ve got… five minutes left, give or take. Want to, like, play patty-cake or something until this wears off?”

They do just kind of sit there, playing patty-cake (as best Harry can as a cat) until the Polyjuice Potion wears off and Michael’s body returns to his own.

Then, after Harry picks out a few goodies for his stash, they steal away into the castle to hide all of Felicity and Latisha’s things that Michael swipes from their dorm. The girls spend the entire rest of the year looking for all their things, and even then, they don’t find everything.

They understand now that it isn’t funny.

An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

-----

While every one of the boys are more than eager to go after Umbridge in earnest, Terry and Michael regretfully inform them that they aren’t yet ready. Michael makes his masterpiece prank item, and prepares for the endgame by stocking up on and modifying a few other things that may be useful, but the spell Terry will need to cast continues to be a problem. They swear, though, that they’re close to a breakthrough.

The wait crawls under their skin, though. Every day brings another detention for Michael, who under pressure from Umbridge only doubles down in his defense of Harry and criticism of her teaching. Every day Michael comes back to the dorm late, pale and delirious, and every day the loathsome flame behind his eyes burns hotter.

But for a while, they can only sink into routine. Harry continues learning occlumency and teaching the boys Defense. They all continue working on Terry’s spell. And they go to class, meander through their days like good little students.

Well, except Michael. But making a scene is his normal, now.

The beginning of the end, the first hint they have that something is more wrong than usual, is Marietta Edgecombe coming back to the common room in tears, inconsolable, with the word “SNEAK” written across her face in large, close-set, purple pustules.

Overnight, notices are put up all around the school. Michael pulls one down, curling his lip at it. “By order of the Ministry of Magic,” he reads, “Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

By the time he gets through it, he’s pale. None of the others fare any better. “They put her as Headmistress?” Anthony hisses.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” mutters Terry.

Michael nods. “We have to finish that spell. By the weekend at the latest.”

“Michael…” Anthony warns. “She’ll have even more freedom, now. This plan will put you-”

“I know!” he snaps. “But we’ve got to do something, don’t we? And she’s not going to let me alone at this point, anyway, so what’s it matter?” Harry rubs against his leg, trying to soothe him. When Umbridge next gets him in detention… if she’s torturing him right under Dumbledore’s nose, what can she do with no oversight?

Even Harry is terrified for him.

The good news is that, soon after, Fred and George unleash their fireworks throughout the school. It’s as if they’re inspired by Harry’s run in the Gryffindor Common Room and, in typical twin fashion, up the ante by making it consume the entire school rather than just one room.

It inspires many students to rebel, and with Michael no longer the sole troublemaker, even when he does get detention in his next class, Umbridge reluctantly puts it off until the weekend so that she can focus on the mayhem caused by the twins.

“Remind me to kiss those two,” Michael mutters with a grin. Harry bats his nose with a paw. “Ow, hey.” Michael pouts. “Oh fine. Kisses are only for you, Tiger.”

Harry freezes, completely taken off guard. Michael just chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his furry head.

“We’ve almost got it,” he says into Harry’s fur. “And now is the perfect time to strike, too. Before my detention on Saturday.”

Unfortunately, according to the notice put up on the common room notice board, since Michael’s surname is so early in the alphabet, he’s one of the lucky ones who gets to have his career advice meeting with Flitwick this week rather than next.

Terry’s is even earlier, of course, and Anthony’s is on Friday, which irks the lot of them since they can’t work on Terry’s spell while they’re stuck in a meeting with their head of house. Anthony advises them to be patient, though, and reminds them that getting their career options in order is important, too.

Harry attends with Michael. To his surprise and utter displeasure, that means that, for the very first time, he is in close quarters with Professor Umbridge herself. (He’s in the room with her before now, but that’s usually the Great Hall or just in passing through the hallways. Harry can’t go to Michael’s Defense class or his detentions, so Harry never has the opportunity to be this close to the woman.)

Flitwick ushers Michael into his seat, and even conjures a small toy for Harry to play with while they talk, and seems to take the approach of simply ignoring Umbridge lurking in the corner with a clipboard.

Oddly enough, Umbridge seems to soften a little when she looks at him. Fond of cats, then? Stupid question: Michael tells Harry about the plates in her office.

“Welcome, welcome, Mr. Corner!” Flitwick says jovially. “As you know, this meeting is to talk over any career ideas you might have and help you decide which subjects you should like to continue into the N.E.W.T. level.”

Harry bats at the cat toy Flitwick gives him. Strangely enough, ever since he reveals himself to Michael, he’s actually more comfortable doing cat things like this. Starkly different from when he refuses to touch any of the cat toys Michael gets him at the start. Now, it’s not uncommon to see Harry jumping after a feather Michael charms about, or chasing one of the enchanted stuffed mice Michael torments the common room with.

But here, now, Harry notices that his play distracts Umbridge, if only a little. She smiles at him and does not watch Michael like a hawk and Harry takes it as a win.

“About that,” Michael says slowly, thumbing through some of the pamphlets on Flitwick’s desk. “Truth is, I don’t really know. I er- I like to tinker with things, but I’m not really an inventor. I just kind of… do whatever catches my interest.” He sighs and shrugs. “Sometimes, I think I’d be best off as some rich, famous guy’s trophy husband.”

Harry looks up at him, startled by the statement, to find Michael’s eyes slide to him and a wry smirk on his lips.

Flitwick barks a laugh. Michael politely turns his gaze back to his professor. Harry warms all over and petulantly thinks, I’m not rich… before he realizes just what he’s thinking about and proceeds to pounce on the toy with a particular savagery.

I don’t think… He doesn’t ever actually check how much is really in his vault, does he? He just sees the piles of galleons at eleven and thinks it’s way more than he could ever use. Mrs. Weasley handles his money before second year, third year he doesn’t need to visit Gringotts, fourth year again Mrs. Weasley handles it, and then this year he never makes it there despite his intention.

Huh. That’s an oversight. Harry really needs to get on top of something as important as his finances.

“While I don’t doubt you’d enjoy that, Mr. Corner, I dare say that would be a terrible waste of your talents,” says Flitwick. “You are a bright student with an uncommon drive. I only wish that drive of yours would lead you to something other than pranking.” He chuckles. “Have you considered a joke shop?”

“What, like get Fred and George to hire me?” Michael thinks about it. “Not a terrible idea. I’m not sure, though. I think I’ll appreciate using pranks far more than selling them.”

Flitwick hums. “Perhaps you’d like to hear what I think you would do well in? You needn’t pick one of my suggestions, obviously, but it may give you some ideas.”

“Sure. What’s your recommendation?”

“Well, I know you’re a competitive person with a great love of quidditch, and you are always bringing fun to your classmates, so you wouldn’t suffer to find yourself in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

At this moment, Professor Umbridge gives a very tiny cough, almost as if to see how quietly she can do it. Professor Flitwick and Michael both ignore her.

“I, personally,” continues Flitwick, “believe you would make a very competent auror.” His eyes shine proudly. “You have very strong convictions when you want to, and the skill and drive to learn to back them up.”

Michael flushes a little and bites his lip. Professor Umbridge coughs a little louder. Flitwick continues to act as if she is not even in the room.

“Although, and I don’t recommend this to many, Mr. Corner, for obvious reasons, but I do think you might have success as an unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries.”

Michael’s head snaps up. “But we don’t even know what they do.”

Flitwick’s eyes glitter. “And isn’t that precisely why you want to do it?”

There’s a moment, and then Michael burst out laughing. “Alright, you got me pegged, Professor.”

Flitwick beams at him. “While I’ve no doubt you’ll make a wonderful trophy husband for a delightful wizard one day,” he says (Michael snorts.) “I am of the firm conviction that you, and your friend Mr. Boot, for that matter, are meant to go beyond what’s been known and been named. In whatever path you choose.”

Seeing Michael thoroughly embarrassed at Flitwick’s high expectations, Harry quickly abandons his toy to jump into Michael’s lap and nuzzle into his stomach, showing him that Harry agrees completely.

Michael is already amazing. He’s only going to be more so in the future.

Professor Umbridge gives her most pronounced cough yet. Harry chokes down the petty urge to go over there and nip her heels.

Michael twitches and curls into himself around Harry, but Flitwick just continues to ignore her despite it being impossible to miss her obvious coughs.

“Thank you, Professor,” Michael murmurs, taking his cue from Flitwick and dismissing Umbridge’s interruption. “Do we even know what the unspeakables look for? Is it possible to prepare for that?”

Flitwick giggles. “I am under the impression that figuring that out is part of the whole process.”

“…Rad. I do like mysteries.”

Umbridge, done with being ignored, this time decides to speak up like an adult rather than put on a cough for attention. “I wonder,” she says, “whether I can make the teensiest interruption, Filius?”

Flitwick doesn’t even attempt to clear the disdain from his eyes when he finally turns to look at her. “I’d wager a guess that you can’t, Dolores. I’m not sure you’re capable, after all, of making only a small interruption.”

Umbridge simpers sweetly, and says, “I was just wondering whether Mr. Corner has quite the temperament for a job in the Ministry.”

“She’s got a point,” Michael says before Flitwick can answer. This is evidently not what she expects, because her simpering, fussy demeanor gives way immediately to utter bafflement. “I don’t much like being told what to do by a corrupt, amoral, sycophantic bitch.”

“Language, Mr. Corner,” chides Flitwick gently.

Umbridge stands up. She’s so short that this doesn’t do much, but the hard fury that overcomes her countenance makes her broad, flabby face look oddly intimidating. “And just what do you mean by that?” she hisses dangerously.

Michael shrugs. “What’s got your wand in a knot?” he asks casually. “I’m agreeing with you. The Ministry, no matter the department, isn’t for me.”

“Now, you would do well to-”

“After all,” he interrupts her shamelessly. “Why in the world would I willingly go to work for an organization that hunts down and attacks underage wizards? Or did we conveniently cover up the dementors in Harry’s muggle neighborhood that were obviously a heavy-handed plot to kill or expel him?”

“There were no dementors!” Umbridge shrieks. “Mr. Potter is a dangerously unstable individual, as his trial has conclude-”

“The trial in which he had no legal representation and no defense? The trial that should never even have happened as the only witness to the spell in question, as is stated in the public record of that trial, is Harry’s own relative who is already aware of magic? Yes, clearly the justice system is working and I should absolutely respect the conclusions they’ve fabricated.”

Umbridge, trembling with fury, glares poisonously at Michael. “…You will show respect. Minister Fudge himself presided over that trial. Surely you are not questioning the integrity of the Minister of Magic?”

Michael grasps the back of his hand, where red bandages cover his wound, but he meets her gaze unflinchingly. “What integrity?” he asks. “You know, I’m not surprised Minister Fudge is so desperate to cover up You-Know-Who’s return. From the very start of his term as minister, he’s been a weak, sniveling, self-important little weathervane. His bumbling ineptitude and inflated ego is a greater threat to this country, and especially the students of Hogwarts, than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could ever be.”

Umbridge sputters. “Surely, I did not just hear you accuse the Minister of Magic of being a dark wizard!”

“On the contrary,” Michael spits. “I’m accusing him of being more useless than a flobberworm. It’s the people he surrounds himself with,” he glares pointedly at Umbridge, “who are dark witches and wizards.”

He turns back to Flitwick, utterly ignoring Umbridge’s outrage. “Anyway, point being,” he says. “I’m not a spineless sack of wet shite or a sycophantic bully, so I don’t think I’d fit in very well at the Ministry.”

Flitwick’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he once more chides, “Language, Mr. Corner.”

Michael shrugs unrepentantly. “Thanks for your recommendations, Professor,” he says, ignoring Umbridge once again. “I’ll keep thinking about it. Would my options be limited much by the path I’m currently on just carrying into N.E.W.T.s?”

“I would recommend cutting down on a class or two, though if you change your mind about the unspeakables you would do well to learn all you can in as many different disciplines as you can. So, no, but we can speak more later once you’ve had time to consider your options.”

As Flitwick knows Umbridge will be here to stop him from actually helping his students, especially Michael, who is outspoken against her, he already speaks to Michael after Charms class ahead of time and knows there will be another meeting with the boy later without Umbridge’s interference. So, rather than waste more time trying to talk about it here, he tells Michael, “You’re free to go.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

[sweeethinny]

James is dating

thank you very much to @matrixaffiliate and @deadwoodpecker who helped me finish this one shot

ao3

--------------

''James is dating.'' Harry said, no longer holding on to the secret, remembering non-stop the scene of his son kissing the blonde warmly, in the back of the house.

Harry knew that his children were growing up, apparently it was inevitable that this would not happen, there was no potion or spell that would slow that moment. But he hoped he was free a few more years from having to deal with teenage romance.

''What?'' Ginny said, stopping the cream on her face and turning to him with eagle eyes. ''How do you know?''

''I saw it.'' Harry sighed, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face with his hands. When did your son stop saying 'ew' for any interaction between man and woman and started practicing them? Nobody talked about it when you said you were going to be a father.

''Saw? What the fuck?'' Ginny was still half-white and the other half intact, looking at him like an owl mother, looking like she was about to leave the room and go down to the second floor in order to find her newest perverted son.

''I went to see if he needed anything, he was so quiet and... Ah Gin, he was kissing that friend of his'' The man groaned in disapproval, wanting himself to throw himself out of the window or oblivion himself. It was horrible to be sure that your children were growing up.

''Mira?! Oh, Merlin..'' Ginny sat next to her husband, still with rosy cheeks and steady eyes. ''But..'' She started. ''It's better here, than in a dark alley, who knows where... You and I know what we did to escape my parents.''

''Please speak quietly, the Gods can remember that and punish us even more.'' The man fell on the bed, watching the plaster ceiling they had chosen years ago .. 16 years ago.

So many, many nights that he interrupted his parents just because he wanted to sleep among them, or that he liked to sit on Harry's legs because he was his dad, and the times when he asked to hear stories from school... It looked like it had been a century ago.

They had lived there for 16 years, didn't seem to be so long ago that James had been born and Harry held him for the first time.

James was still talking to him, obviously, earlier the boy made a joke about Albus and some other Slytherin.. Robert? Stephan?Harry didn't remember, but it was one of those moments when James gossiped about his brothers, without actually gossiping. As if he just wanted to keep his parents aware of what was going on.

‘‘Should we go talk to him?’’ Harry asked, but not quite sure what he was going to say. Teddy had first told Ginny when he started dating Vic, so the whole situation was easier when he arrived. Did James expect him to help him? That he knew?

‘’We’re going to wait for him to come to us.’’ Ginny said firmly, still looking a little jealous ‘’And he will come eventually.’’

But James took a while.

The next day, he was talking normally at the table, and when the subject became Mira (something recurring, because apparently, Lily loved the girl), James acted naturally and told something they had done or something muggle that she introduced him to.. And then he changed the topic, without even looking ashamed or afraid.

In the days that have passed, every time Harry touched - unpretentiously - on the subject of dating, and how they would cope when Lily started dating, James shrugged and said that Lily would be lucky if someone was able to be with her for more than five minutes, and then, he would do whatever he was doing again.

Even when George asked him about girls on Sunday, James didn't blink. He laughed at the joke, rolled his eyes, continuing the matter normally.

Harry was going crazy.

But finally, a week and a half later, after another day where he went out with Michael and Piper (which Harry doubted), he finally said:

''I'm dating.''

Both were lying in a hammock, it had been a fun day. Harry, James and Albus had modified Lily's treehouse and made it more spacious and comfortable. Then they fixed the owlery, and also built a new home for Sir, their dog.

Albus had gone out with Ginny, they were both going to the market to buy something that Harry didn't understand, and Lily had gone out with Arthur and Molly for a walk.

Harry and James were left. They flew for a while and then settled in the hammocks he had won from Bill a few Christmases ago. The sun was almost setting behind the trees at the back of the house, and they were starting to hear some crickets, birds and even owls, with the silence they were making.

‘’Since when?’’ It was the first thing that came out, his curiosity and fatherly concern dueling in the chest.

But then James had said that, and Harry thought he was unable to hide his expression.

‘’Really dating? I think... Since after Easter.’’ Harry's eyes widened.

‘’Since April?!’’ They were almost in August!

‘’I didn’t want to tell you via Floo or Letter... Won't you ask who it is?’’ He finally sat on the hammock, looking at his son, who - just now - had pink cheeks. James still looked like the same boy that Harry saw growing up, but now he looked much older than he remembered. However, it was still the little boy who cared too much about his dad's opinion of him.

‘’Mira?’’

‘’How do you know?’’ James laughed nasally, sitting up too. ‘’Albus told you? He's a gossip.’’ Oh dear…

‘’Er… Yeah, yeah.’’ He wouldn’t tell the truth, besides, even James knew that Albus wouldn’t tell his parents anything, not if he asked for secrecy. ‘’But then… Do you like her?’’

‘’I wouldn’t be dating if I didn’t like her.’’ James gave him that cheeky smile, loaded with a confidence that neither Ginny nor Harry knew where it came from. Harry raised an eyebrow in response. ‘’It’s a joke, of course I like her.’’ He lay back in the hammock, legs out touching the grass, swinging it from side to side. ‘’I wanted to tell you before, but I thought I was being hasty.’’

‘‘No, it was really Michael and Piper.’’ James shrugged. ‘’I wasn’t going to lie about it, besides, Mira is out of town.’’ Harry smiled at his sincerity.

‘’So those outings with the boys, were you with her?’’

It was quite different to see James talking quite naturally about Mira, and to think about how he had dealt with Ginny in the beginning, so afraid to even hold her hand in front of Molly or Arthur.

The boy started telling about how it had all happened and how he had been an idiot before, and all Harry could do was laugh and listen, marveling at the ease of the facts and how much more comfortable James seemed to be telling the truth.

He thought vaguely of Sirius, of Snape's memory, confident and a smartass, even more so than his dad (as much as James seemed to want to appear extremely confident).

His son had that sparkle in his eyes that Harry had never experienced, telling him about how he felt when he realized he liked her, and how Mira said no when he asked her out (''Can you believe it? But in the end she went out with me and we kissed, so ... who cares?'')

Harry laughed and listened to everything, happy to be able to provide it to James (only Merlin and he knew how much he missed having someone who could hear him talking about Ginny), making some comments and reminding him of the traumatic sex conversation - which seemed much more important now.

He was happy to have listened to Ginny and let James come over when he felt comfortable, even though it was still awkward to think about his little boy, dating.

[mst3kproject]

The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues

I found this movie online while looking for From Hell It Came (which I haven’t yet found – someday I will and then you’ll all be sorry) and it looked bad, so I checked out the details.  Turns out it stars Kent Taylor from The Crawling Hand, Cathy Downs from The Amazing Colossal Man, and was written by Lou Rusoff, who was behind It Conquered the World, The She-Creature, and… oh god, he also wrote Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.  This is gonna suck goat nads.  I must watch it right away.

You shouldn’t picture me groaning when I write stuff like that, by the way.  You should picture me giggling like a maniac and rubbing my hands together with glee.

A monster is killing people at sea near an incredibly bleak and depressing California college town, and the bodies and wrecked boats it leaves in its wake are scorched by radioactivity! Washington sends Agent Grant to find out what’s going on, and he soon discovers that the Pacific College of Oceanography is positively overflowing with suspicious characters.  There’s the reclusive and paranoid Professor King, who is working on weird experiments in his locked laboratory.  There’s King’s assistant George, who follows him around and hides in the bushes to watch what he’s doing.  King’s secretary Ethel blames the professor for the death of her son and wants revenge, and George’s girlfriend Wanda is a foreign agent.  Not to mention the visiting Dr. Stevens, a radiation expert with an unsettling habit of turning up just in time to discover the bodies.  Someone among this motley crew has created a sea monster… and someone else is planning to sell it to the highest bidder!

You know how some movies save their monsters until the last minute, in order to build suspense?  Or because what we imagine is always scarier than what we actually see?  Or because the monster sucks and they’re ashamed of it?  Or some combination of the above?

Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not one of those movies.  Before we’re even a full minute into it, the monster has appeared on screen in all its ridiculous glory.  Stevens calls it a hideous beast that defies description but I think I can make an attempt.  It looks sort of like the lovechild of a saber-toothed tiger and the Horror of Party Beach.  There’s a ridge down its head and back like an iguana and a poorly-camouflaged window in its neck so the dude inside can see what he’s doing.  The whole costume is also rather buoyant, and the actor is having to work hard to stay underwater.  Sadly, this beast remains lurking in the depths and never shambles out onto the beach to menace sunbathers, which is the only thing it would have needed to make it a perfect bad movie monster.

The creature is not the only nuclear threat in this movie… or even the silliest one!  During an investigatory dive, Stevens discovers a glowing patch on the seafloor which he says represents an ‘activated’ uranium deposit with the potential to form a naturally-occurring death ray!  We finally get to see this in action when stock footage of a ship passes over it – and turns into a different ship that immediately blows up! I’m just sad this only happens once. The glowing stone itself is represented by a mirror with a light shining on it in underwater shots, and by the reflection of the sun when seen from the surface.

So the effects are not special and make an already silly threat even more hilarious.  What about the story?  Like all cheap monster movies, the focus of The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues is not the creature killing people but the investigation into it.  There’s a large number of potential monster-makers here, which could have made the movie a bit messy – but by the time the words The End appear, we know who all these people are, how they’re involved, and what they hope to accomplish.  Even the women are given distinct motivations and personalities, although those fall neatly into the ‘maiden, mother and whore’ tropes I’ve discussed in the past. The dialogue is not exactly subtle, but it seems like I can’t wholly blame Lou Rousoff for Ghost of Dragstrip Hollow.

It’s also nice that, despite the preponderance of White Men In Suits (Stevens and Grant both walk along the beach in suits and ties at all hours of the day and night), the characters all look different enough that I can tell them apart!  None of the cast are great actors, with a lot of stilted or awkward line deliveries, but then, a lot of the things they’re saying are completely ridiculous, so I probably can’t lay that entirely at their feet.

Unfortunately, the plot of Phantom From 10 000 Leagues is rather unfocused, and like so many of these films it’s not sure who its main character is.  It seems like either Agent Grant or Dr. Stevens, who are each conducting some kind of investigation into the goings-on, ought to be the protagonist… but both are introduced in contexts that make them seem potentially suspicious.  Dr. Stevens is actually significantly more suspicious than Grant, because when he first turns up he gives a fake name, and later proves to have actually performed experiments with mutating sea life in the past.  Yet for much of the movie, it’s Stevens we’re watching, as he cozies up to Professor King and flirts with King’s daughter Lois.  He actually gets far more screen time than Grant, with the latter sometimes being out of the movie for long enough that the audience kind of forgets he’s there.

Stevens and Lois’ love story is, as is probably inevitable for a movie of this kind, completely bland.  Kent Taylor and Cathy Downs have no appreciable spark between them, and one gets the uncomfortable impression that he’s about twice her age. The movie never offers even an approximate age for either character, but Lois is still unmarried and living with her father, which in the 1950s suggests she’s in her early twenties.  King describes Stevens as a ‘young man’ but between his appearance and his impressive academic credentials he’s obviously not, and when I looked up the actors I learned that Taylor was forty-eight when The Phantom from 10 000 Leagues was made, while Downs was twenty-nine.  That’s… well, they’re both adults, but he’s still old enough to be her father, and the younger we assume they both are, the worse the two decade gap gets.

Once we actually get to know the characters, the solution to the mysteries is fairly obvious, but this lets us spend some actual time with these men and find out what they think about the situation.  Stevens, who’s been down this road before, wants these terrible experiments to stop before any more people get hurt.  King, hearing about it for the first time, is more excited about what he might be able to learn by building on Stevens’ work. This represents an interesting inversion because if you’ll recall, King is supposed to be significantly older than Stevens (though actor Michael Whelan was actually born only five years before Taylor).

Usually knowledge and wisdom are both associated with age.  This is a very old trope and has some fairly sound logic behind it: the elderly have had longer to learn and to experience.  In Phantom from 10 000 Leagues, however, we have the older Professor King excited by the ground-breaking discoveries made by a younger scientist and wanting to learn more about them, even when the (supposedly) younger Stevens warns him about Tampering in God’s Domain.  Each assumes the role their ages might make us expect of the other.

This is reflected in their respective fields: depending on how you define it, oceanography is as old as mankind.  Humanity has been mapping the seas for as long as we’ve known how to sail across them, and marveling at the monsters we pull from its depths for as long as we’ve been catching fish.  That is the Professor King’s domain. Stevens, on the other hand, is a specifically nuclear scientist. Nuclear physics technically begins with the discovery of radioactivity in the 1890’s, but it seemed like a new and scary field in the 1950s, as the development of atomic weapons forced scientists to take a closer look at the phenomenon’s effect on living tissues. To King, who is an expert in another field, the possibilities of this relatively new work outweigh the potential consequences.

As sloppy and poorly-made as Phantom from 10 000 Leagues can be, this contrast between Stevens and King does make it a movie with something to say.  It of course has the standard moral for a fifties atomic monster piece, about paths science is not meant to tread, but it also wants us to think about that connection between age and wisdom.  On the one hand, King’s interest in Stevens’ work tells us that you’re never too old to learn something new.  On the other, just because somebody is young doesn’t mean they have nothing to teach. If King had taken in Stevens’ wisdom along with his knowledge, a lot of suffering need not have happened.

Even if you’re not into that, the crappy monster, the bad acting, the ridiculous science, and all the sneaking around and backstabbing that goes on makes Phantom from 10 000 Leagues plenty of fun watch.  It’s much like Beginning of the End in that it ticks all the MST3K boxes, while remaining coherent enough that you can enjoy the actual story along with the badness.

[dearly]

i know that skadeglädje is natural, but what really gets me in the gloating messages and attitude towards louies is this flattening of why some of us are so upset. i can’t speak for others, but for myself, i was driven towards 1d/harry/louis/larry because of the narrative of combating a profoundly corrupt and homophobic system. i am not an optimist, but i was optimistic about this for some reason. and once you see that potential, the idea that the label that infamously fought and defeated george michael, michael jackson, mariah carey, the dixie chicks, kesha etc -- would be caught with egg on their faces after mistreating another group? the contract that george michael fought against was described as, the basic contract which record companies use[d] by label execs, that is exploitative enough that artists can be held hostage either monetarily or production or output wise.... for however long their contract might unfortunately dictate. yes, i was naive in hoping for an upset in the music industry, especially when one of the key players had a 90$ mil investment on the horizon, and years worth whispers of greatness in his ear. there’s a reason why these bands don’t last and human behaviour and psychology is probably at the root of that. 

anyway. all that to say: i won’t be ashamed of having expected something good to happen. a black swan that we could see the clues of. it isn’t about some ~ship being dead. it’s about having that promise of change snatched away-- change that would’ve benefited way, way more than those directly involved. 

justice and closure are the exceptions, not the rule. i suppose it’s a good lesson to learn for anyone.

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

Rose’s Christmas Carol (Part I)

"It will get easier over time," they said. "Time heals many wounds," they said.

No, it doesn't, if it gets hurt, it collapses and takes everything with it, Rose thought bitterly and took the bend to her parents' house. As much as she loved them, she'd rather been alone today. Maybe go to work tomorrow. Anything to distract her from Christmas and - most of all - remembering. "Oh no, I'm not lettin' you mope around in your flat, all by yourself, on Christmas!" Jackie had said sternly, thinking she'd do her daughter a favour. Rose had given in at the end, tired of fighting back.

But how was her Mum to know that being with her on Christmas would hurt more than being alone? How was she to know that Rose felt ashamed to be with her family, after she'd been so ready to leave them behind? She couldn't know what Rose had told the Doctor after she'd crossed over and how sure she had been.

Still, he was gone. Another evening, another day, another night without him. Rose stopped her car and leaned her head against the steering-wheel for a moment, exhaling slowly, gathering herself. The radio was playing "Last Christmas" again. Rose huffed. "Last Christmas I gave you my heart," George Michael sang. "The very next day, you gave it away."

Last Christmas, she thought, I woke up crying and catatonically sat in mum's kitchen two days straight. Rose ignored the tears gathering in her eyes.

'You saw me. I changed, right in front of you ...'

No. Not again. With a bit-back sob, Rose pushed herself back and gathered her things in a sudden rush of newfound angry energy and dragged herself out into the cold along the frontyard. Her feeble fingers pressed the doorbell. "Hello?" "Dad, it's me!"

'Every single cell in my body. But ... I'm still me.'

Rose shook her head, as if she could get rid of his voice, wondering if it would ever stop. The door opened and Rose tried not to think about the other failed launch of the dimension cannon. She let Pete hug her and for a moment, she didn't manage to hide her emotions behind a smile. Her father laid a hand on her shoulder and smiled sympathetically, almost apologetic. He'd been there when the launch had failed for the umpteenth time, he'd been the one to drag her out when, in a moment of one of her rare breakdowns because the frustration and grief and exhaustion took over, she had been weeping and hitting and screaming soundlessly.

Rose gathered up a tight smile at her Dad and then pushed through the door into the living room. "Rosie!", the voice of a child squealed and Rose couldn't help but crack a smile when she gathered her little brother in her arms. "Hey, Tony," she crooned softly and stroked his curly-haired head. "You okay? Did you and Mummy decorate the tree yet?" "Mummy said wait on you, Rosie!", Tony replied happily. "'m helped choosing the tree!" Rose's eyes flickered over to the tree, boxes set beside it.

'Remote control. But who's controlling it?'

"Oh, did you? Well, you did a brilliant job, it's beautiful! Best tree I've ever seen!" Rose praised and Tony giggled when she threw him up in the air a little. His little arms clung around her neck when he came down again. "So, you wanna get started?" "Yeah!" Tony exclaimed and wobbled away when his sister let him down again.

"Let's just call Mummy and then we'll -"

Rose broke off when she suddenly faced her mother who stood in the door of the kitchen, a wooden spoon still in her hand. Rose knew she'd insist on cooking herself for Christmas and that she'd given the entire staff off for the holidays. She didn't even have time to do anything and Jackie wrapped her arms around her daughter with a soft call of her name. "Thank you," she whispered into her ear, just loud enough for Rose too hear and the young woman swallowed the lump in her throat as she pulled back. Jackie smiled and took a step back, taking in Rose's tired, dull eyes and the attempt to hide the bags under her eyes with make-up, her pale skin and the harshness of her once so soft lips. Rose tried to ignore the flash of pity and sadness in her mother's eyes when she said quickly: "You look good, Rose."

'First things first ... be honest. How do I look?'

Rose lowered her head. "Thanks."

'Good different or bad different?'

Her eyes swam back into focus when Tony tugged her sleeve. "Rosie, can we start?" She forced a grin on her lips. "Sure." Quietly, just for herself, she whispered: "Allons-y."

Jackie's gaze had barely left Rose's face the whole evening. Eyeing her carefully, she caught her daughter throw a quick glance at the door for the twentyfirst time. Rose seemed restless, looking at the door every now and then, as if she was waiting for something. Jackie could only have a faint guess and sadly pushed the thought away.

Just over a year had passed now and still, Rose hadn’t let go of what had happened. Pete kept telling his wife about the launches and Jackie knew about Rose's latest "breakdown", he'd called it. She thought these had been over; she knew it still was bad but she didn't know it was that bad. Not even a year had gone by, after all. She hadn't expected her daughter to move on quickly and would, honestly have been rather worried if she'd found her daughter back at her old self in just a few months.

But still, there was this constant layer of sadness in her eyes, deep down. Past the fake smile and the concealed dark circles under her eyes and the bright red lipstick she was wearing now. Under that mask, it was easy to see: the grief, exhaustion. The weariness. Rose looked drained. Depressed. Empty. The longer Jackie looked at her, the more she couldn't help but think that maybe Rose would never really heal. Because maybe her Rose, the old Rose Tyler, had stayed on the other side. Behind the void, in the TARDIS, with the Doctor.

Rose perked up when she heard the rattle of porcelain and quickly jumped up. "Oh, Mum, let me."

Jackie smiled. "Thanks. Be a dear and get some more potatoes."

"Sure, hang on a mo'." Rose got up, took the bowl and made her way into the kitchen, a warm smell of turkey still in the air.

'Back to your Mum. It's all waiting: fish and chips, sausages and mash, beans on toast - no, Christmas, turkey!'

Rose set the bowl on the counter, sighing. Quickly, she scanned the cooking plate in search for the mashed potatoes - when something suddenly caught her eyes' attention. A round plate, covered by an aluminium layer. "Oh, and I think we're ready for the nut loaf, too!", her Mum called from the dining table and Rose tried not to fall apart as she made her way through the kitchen towards the door, still staring down on the plate she held in her trembling hands.

'Although ... having met your mother ... nut loaf would be more appropriate.'

The plate slid out of her hands and crashed on the cold tiles. And that was when Rose gave up. That was when she just couldn't take it anymore, the moment she let the tears run freely down her cheeks. She barely even felt the shattered pieces of porcelain and crumbles of loaf around her when she slowly sank down, clutching the wood of the door frame. That was how Jackie found her seconds later when she heard the crash. Rose sat on the floor, sobbing violently, her face screwed up as she constantly whispered a single word she felt like drowning.

"Oh God, Rose!"

'Rose Tyler-'

The voice of her mother was mixing with the one in her head and it made her crumble. Rose felt hands drag her up and she curled up on the floor, wanting nothing more than to just lie there and cry herself out. Jackie crouched down next to her and after a while she managed to pull Rose into her arms and then Rose clung to her like a drowning man to a lifesaver. "Rose ... Rose, what's wrong? Rose ..." Rose opened her mouth to talk, but no sound came out, no word of how tired she was and how much she missed him and that she wished she could just leave. She let herself be picked up and led to the living room where she was sat down, still weeping because everything was missing and she felt so out of place.

Nobody touched her in ten minutes. Jackie shook her head when Tony wanted to run to his sister and picked him up in her arms. "What's wrong with Rose, Mummy?" "She just ... she just misses her friend, sweetheart," Jackie replied softly and Tony asked if she meant the Doctor but broke off when Rose let out a whimper at the mention of his name and hid her face in her hands. He'd never seen his sister cry. It was not until five minutes later that Rose had calmed down to a level she could talk. She looked up at Jackie with red, tear - stained eyes and whispered:

"I ... I ..." "What, sweetheart, what is it?"

Jackie sat down next to her and Rose clasped her hands in front of her mouth, holding back a sob.

"I miss him, I m-miss him so much." Jackie looked at her daughter and felt her heart break.

"I know, sweetheart, me too," She pulled her into her arms. "Me too ..." Rose let herself be held and hid herself in the warmth of her mother's arms and finally gave in. And then all the words suddenly started flowing out of her mouth, unstoppable now and she wasn't able to take them back or hold them in.

"I just keep waiting, I keep thinking he'll burst through that door any second, I, I keep w-waiting for him to walk in bec .. because he promised, he," She drew a deep shaking breath, the tears still hadn't stopped and another sob escaped her when she pulled out her her mother's arms, her own arms helplessly by her side.

"He said he'd be here," Rose whispered then, half sobbing. "He said he-" She broke off and wiped her eyes but it only left her eyes stinging.

"And nothing works, nothing ever works, I've been trying for - for months I've been trying to get back to him, but it doesn't ... and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry because I keep hurting you, I tried to be okay, I really did, but it, I can't, can't ... be ..." "I know, Rose, I know,", Jackie said softly and took her hand but Rose slipped hers out of her grip.

"It's okay," Jackie's voice, too, was trembling but she continued: "It's okay to be heartbroken and no one expects you to be just back to normal, sweetheart. It’s okay to feel like this, I promise. It’s okay." Rose said nothing and just sat there, crying quietly, staring into space. Time, she thought, that's the problem.

Much later, hours after the dinner and after Tony had been brought to bed, Rose still sat on the couch in the living room. It was way after midnight and the radio started to annoy her but she just couldn't be bothered to get up; also because she feared her legs would give up on the Rose sat alone, listening to 'Merry Christmas' for the fourth time.

She hated it. Oh, how she hated Christmas. " ... and a happy new year!"

But it was never a new year, not ever a new new year, ever again. It was just another year, another year without him.

Rose knew nights like these. Nights like these, when she'd sat alone in the tiny kitchen of her new flat between the still uppacked boxes and reconsidered her resolution not to drink. The nights she remembered she had forgotten her important meeting at work. The nights she cried herself to sleep because she missed her life and just couldn't fix this gaping hole inside of her. The nights she spent on her computer looking up flights to places she'd never go because she needed to leave but also couldn't do it without him. Nights where she felt like drowning and like the walls of her flat seemed to move in closer and closer until they crushed her between them. But most of all, the nights that were just so bloody lonely.

She wondered how she could feel so lonely just because of missing one person. Rose thought of the Doctor and wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry. She hoped with all her heart he was better. Better than her and not falling back into his darkness. She thought of the picture she imagined every day, every time she launched another test, the Doctor sitting alone in the TARDIS, his brown eyes dull and empty, face unmoved. Lonely. She didn't want that, she never wanted him to be lonely.

Rose felt her heart skip a beat when she started up out of all sudden. Everything was absolutely silent. The radio had stopped. Finally, her first thought, then: Why's that? Slowly, Rose got up. Indeed, the screen of the radio was dark and empty. And then another noise started. The one sound in the whole universe she had yearned for. Tearing her apart, ripping her soul in half - with a gasp, she stumbled back and her hands gripped the edge of the table. For a moment her heart stopped. It couldn't be. Part of her was aching to take a second look, the other part of her didn't want to because she feared it might have been another daydream of her, the trick of an eye and the melody of her lonely heart playing the wooshing sounds of her home in the back of her mind. Finally, Rose forced herself to look into the darkness a second time.

There, in the dark backyard of the Tyler manison stood the TARDIS.

Rose froze, her heart beating faster than ever before, throwing itself against her ribcage as if it wanted to flee. But she couldn't be sure until she had touched it, until she hadn't been inside of - "Rose?" a voice - oh, how she wished this wasn't a dream because this was all it could be - called behind her. Rose turned around, almost sure to see nothing because it was another nightmare after all and she was so angry at her own memory for giving her such an accurate imitation of his voice. She tried to fight the urge to cry when she saw the tall, slim figure stand in the door, pinstripes and all. Her heart stopped as it was torn apart and then she started crying and her legs took a stumbling step forward, then another, another, yet another and by the time she reached him she had thrown every care away. It had to be real. This time it was.

Doctor. Oh, my Doctor. And then, Rose Tyler stopped in front of the Doctor.

[365days365movies]

April 11, 2021: Tootsie (1982) (Recap)

To be clear, I like Dustin Hoffman.

I can’t exactly claim that I’ve seen him in a lot of his most iconic roles, but I’m planning on fixing that this year for sure! On my to-watch list this year and beyond is Midnight Cowboy, Kramer vs. Kramer, Stranger Than Fiction, and Marathon Man at the very least.

But that’s not to say I haven’t seen him in other iconic roles of his, of course. Fun fact: I actually tried to do this project in 2019, and it...didn’t work. But, one of the films I watched that year was one of Hoffman’s most iconic dramatic films: Rain Man.

Oh, and by the way, that movie is not about an autistic man. Or, rather, it’s not based on a man diagnosed with one of the autism spectrum disorders. Instead, he actually most likely had a genetic disorder called FG syndrome, unrelated to the spectrum disorders. Ironic, since Hoffman’s character was the pop-cultural depiction of autism that people STILL refer to quite often, and quite inaccurately. But, obviously, that’s not Hoffman’s fault, and he was good in the movie, to be fair.

I grew up with him in Hook, as the pirate captain himself (I still do his laugh sometimes, it’s weird, I know). He had an underappreciated starring role in one of my favorite guilty-pleasure films, Outbreak (I fucking love that movie, and I’m not ashamed to admit that). He was in Finding Neverland, but I just forgot about that until I looked up his filmography to write this intro. And, of course...Master Shifu.

So, yeah, I actually DO like Dustin Hoffman, despite the fact that his role in The Graduate wasn’t stellar for me. Just seemed kinda miscast, and a little too awkward to be even slightly sympathetic. Then again, he wasn’t really meant to be, so maybe Hoffman was the perfect choice. Even then, he still acted well in it.

And anyway, I watched that movie for two major reasons. One, it was on my list of films to see, and TWO: it was a lead-up to the ACTUAL Hoffman film I wanted to watch this month: Tootsie. After all, I just watched rom-com Some Like It Hot, and if you’ve looked at me schedule, you know what film is coming next. So, this one fits in my planned schedule. Why? Well...there’s a theme.

Yup. I actually picked these movies for a reason. See, here’s the thing: this is a repeated trope in comedies, and I’ve always wondered whether or not it’s...problematic. But, much to my surprise with Some Like It Hot, they actually used the situation to comment on the female experience. I mean, not necessarily really well, but they tried at the very least. And for a film from 1959, that ain’t bad!

Which isn’t to say that it’s entirely clean, of course, but it was far better than I’d expected. So, if 1959 did that OK, how did 1982 do? Let’s find out, shall we?

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap

Michael Dorsey (Dustin Hoffman) is an acting coach, as well as being an actor himself. However, he’s not the most successful actor, as he keeps attempting to audition for pieces, only to get refused for nebulous reasons, or refuses them when he disagrees with the director. He might want to take his own advice, for the record.

In the meantime, he works in a restaurant with Jeff Slater (Bill Murray), a playwright and roommate. That night, the night of his birthday, he spends time with an actress friend, Sandy Lester (Teri Garr), and also hits on the majority of women there that night.

As the party concludes, and various people go home, Sandy is abandoned by her date, and Michael offers to take her home. She breaks down crying, and Michael guesses that she’s upset about an upcoming audition. He gives her some coaching advice, and manages to get her to produce the correct emotion for the role. Afraid that she’ll lose it without him, he agrees to accompany her to the audition and enrage her. It’s very funny.

That morning, however, she IMMEDIATELY gets kicked out of the audition, as she wasn’t right for the part. However, when he goes to help her by speaking with an actor on the show, he finds out that the actor is off the show, and is instead getting a part that MICHAEL was supposed to get. Now enraged himself, he goes to speak with his agent, George Fields (Sydney Pollack), and the two have a tense conversation. It’s revealed that because of his difficult nature, he has a terrible reputation in acting circles, and literally nobody will hire him.

Challenge accepted.

Now dressed up as a woman named “Dorothy Michaels”, he goes back to the audition that passed on Sandy. Like her, he’s also immediately rejected by the director, Ron Carlisle (Dabney Coleman), who insists that she’s too “gentile” for the part of a hospital administrator. This causes “Dorothy” to go off, in a righteous monologue that accuses Ron for conflating power with masculinity. Which...yeah, he totally is, and DAMN, it’s a good tell-off!

Producer Rita Marshall (Doris Belack) agrees, and invites “Dorothy” to read for the part. He comes in to read, and in the process meets Julie Nichols (Jessica Lange), to whom he’s IMMEDIATELY attracted. He brushes that off, and the audition commences. From there, he gets the part, which is a regular part on a soap opera called Southwest General.

Now fully invested in the dumbest idea anybody’s ever had, “Dorothy” goes to her agent and tells him the ridiculous news, and asks for $1000 to go shopping for more clothing. Back at their apartment, Michael speaks to Jeff about the whole situation. He notes that he’s doing this to get the money for his play in Syracuse, which requires $8000 to produce.

Sandy is to be cast in this play, which is an issue, as they now need to explain where the money came from, as it’s technically from the part that SHE was refused for, which would hurt her feelings. He lies and says that the money’s from a deceased relative. While in her place, and while she’s in the shower, he decides to try on some of her clothes to get ideas for Dorothy. But when she walks in on him, he lies AGAIN and says that he’s sexually attracted to her. And she reciprocates IMMEDIATELY, which leads to an unintended relationship.

On the set, “Dorothy” finds out that he’ll be kissing John Van Horn (George Gaynes), an older actor who’s clearly a bit past his prime, and makes it a point to kiss every actress on the set when they start on the show. Gross. Michael agrees, and when the scene comes, he improvises and has his character (Emily) hit the doctor instead.

While the director (who’s a DICK, by the way) notes the improvisation, he approves of it, while also discouraging any similar actions in the future, and calling her “toots”. “Dorothy” takes it, rather than talks back. John compliments her on the improvisation, and then kisses “Dorothy” anyway, much to Michael’s shock!

We also find out that Julie, who plays a nurse on the show, is dating director Ron. Later on, though, Michael observes him making out with another actress on stage. Shortly after this, Julie invites “Dorothy” to dinner at her place, which is eagerly accepted. At dinner, we find out that Julie has a young daughter and that her relationship with Ron is...not stellar.

They have a discussion about being a woman in the ‘80s, and the complexities inherent in that concept, which is an interesting theme of this movie! Gotta say, this is a more socially-conscious version of Some Like It Hot, and I really like that! But the conversation is cut short when Michael realizes that he’d promised dinner with Sandy that night, and leaves in a hurry.

Dinner with Sandy is awkward, as Sandy is...Sandy is a lot, to be honest. But, she tells Michael that the woman hired in her stead on the soap opera (who is, of course, Michael himself), is written as a wimp, rather than tough as intended, and that she should change that. Michael agrees, and actively goes against the script to make the character of Emily far tougher. and essentially a feminist.

While this causes some grief to Ron and Rita at first, Dorothy Michaels soon becomes a massively successful and popular actress on the show, and her popularity absolutely explodes. Michael’s wrapped up in the success of Dorothy Michaels, and thinks that she might be able to branch outside of the role of the soap opera. Which is difficult, as his agent points out, because of the simple fact that Michael is...well, Michael.

At a party that his agent invites him to, Michael meets Julie AS MICHAEL. He uses a line on her that she’d mentioned before to Dorothy, only to be met with a drink to the face. Which is fair, as the line was about being honest about wanting to have sex with her, so I get it.

On the set soon afterwards, we see that the show is becoming more progressive, allowing Julie’s nurse character to stand up to John’s chief doctor character. After the scene is done, the director once again calls Dorothy “toots” instead of her real name, and Dorothy absolutely snaps back at him, and rightfully so! In response, Julie goes and invites Dorothy to a weekend in the country, on her father’s farm. Despite some rebuke from Jeff for lying to Sandy AND Julie, Michael as “Dorothy” goes on the trip.

This, by the way, is an excellent time to mention that this film is exuding some real strong, uh, vibes. You know...alphabet mafia vibes. Like, it’s definitely there, heavily leaning towards Julie. Obviously, “Dorothy” is actually the heterosexual Michael, but that’s not helping, just saying. And there’s literally (and absolutely obviously) nothing wrong with that, but it’s so strong at this point that it’s hard to ignore.

On the farm, “Dorothy” meets Les Nichols (Charles Durning), Julie’s lonely and genuinely nice father, if a bit old-fashioned in his views on gender politics. He’s also got the hots for “Dorothy”, which is funny-but-awkward as shit. That night, Julie tells “Dorothy” some very personal things about her dreams as a child, which is a genuinely very sweet scene. And can I just say, that this movie is both funny and quite heartfelt? I love it! Also, again, the vibes...THE VIBES.

Meanwhile, the popularity of “Dorothy” continues to skyrocket, to the frustration of director Ron, but to the delight of producer Rita, who decides to extend her contract with the soap opera by a full year! Oh FUCK! Realizing what the hell he’s gotten himself into, Michael calls his agent, who tells him that it was in his contract, meaning he’s basically fucked.

Jeff also tries to help hi, out of it, to no avail. Just then, though, they get a call from Julie, looking for “Dorothy”. She’s been having her doubts about her relationship with Ron, and she realizes that she’s been settling for Ron and other men like him. And Dorothy’s inspired her to be a better person, and to be honest with others and with herself. Fuckin’ OOF.

Just then, Ron arrives, allowing them some alone time, as Julie is getting ready for their night out. In the process, “Dorothy” reveals that she knows about his indiscretions with other women. Ron proceeds to use the EXACT SAME EXCUSE that Michael used to excuse his lies to Sandy, and it’s well-executed! Good job, writers, that’s pretty awesome.

“Dorothy” promises to watch Julie’s daughter for the night, which proves a bit of an issue, but he works it out. Julie returns later on, having broken up with Ron. Another heart-to-heart ensues, but this one is concluded with a revelation that Julie is lonely, despite the fact that she appreciates Dorothy’s influence and friendship. And then, "Dorothy” tries to kiss Julie. OH

Yeah, Julie’s not exactly chuffed about this as, despite a LOT of “Sappho and her friends” vibes, she doesn’t actually swing that way. “Dorothy” tries to explain, but this is interrupted by a call from Julie’s dad! He asks her out on a date that night, and “Dorothy” accepts. On said date, he FUCKIN’ PROPOSES TO HER! She promises to think about it, and takes the fuck OFF.

And to continue the parade of “Fuck me, I guess” that marching down Michael Street, who should show up at the apartment but John, from the show! Having followed her home the previous night (YIKES BUDDY), he literally serenades her outside of the apartment window, before “Dorothy” lets him in. It’s there that he reveals he’s MADLY in lust with her, and it’s HILARIOUSLY awkward. Thankfully, just as John is forcing himself on her, Jeff walks in on them, interrupting John’s actions, and causing him to leave in shame.

AND FUCKING THEN, after all of that, Sandy arrives at the apartment to find out why Michael’s not returned her phone calls. And Sandy’s a lot, sure, but all of her concerns are completely valid and legitimate. And despite Michael’s impressive ability to lie, he tells her the truth: he’s in love with another woman. Which she absolutely freaks the fuck out about, but whatever, not like Michael doesn’t deserve that.

Having had it with all the drama around Dorothy’s life, he goes to his agent and hilariously recounts to him the whole series of events that’s taken place. Still struggling to find a way to get out of the situation, he goes to work the next day, for an awkward conversation with Julie. She thanks Dorothy for inspiring her to be true to herself, which cuts DEEP, but still says that they shouldn’t spend time together anymore.

Producer Rita arrives with news: the erasure of a reel of footage has forced them to shoot a scene live. Said scene involves a party being thrown for Dorothy’s characters, putting her in the starring role. And THAT is when Michael takes his chance. Dorothy improvises a monologue about Emily’s REAL past, as a twin who tragically died before realizing her dream to become a hospital administrator. Ripping off his disguise, Michael reveals himself as Emily’s twin brother, Edward!

Everyone on stage and at home is SHOCKED, especially Les, John, Sandy, and of course, Julie. And once the cameras stop rolling, Julie now understands everything. She walks right up to Michael...AND PUNCHES HIM IN THE DICK

John asks if Jeff knows, and I break in half laughing.

Months pass. Michael was able to fund Jeff’s play in Syracuse, and goes to meet Les, who lives in the area. The two make amends after an understandably awkward reunion, and they begin the journey to become friends after everything. This prompts Michael to return to the city and speak with Julie, who is...less than happy to see him. Which, yeah, entirely fair.

But, again overcoming the initial awkwardness, Julie is able to admit that she misses her friend Dorothy. And Michael reciprocates, speaking for Dorothy, who is...well, him. He says the following great line: 

I was a better man with you as a woman than I ever was with a woman as a man.

And from there...the two decide to rekindle a friendship, with Julie asking to borrow one of Michael’s dresses. And y’know...I’m rooting for those crazy kids.

That’s Tootsie! And, uh...I love it! I LOVE it. I actually think this is a great film, and one of the best I’ve seen this month. But I’ll elaborate...in the Review! See you there!

[marveliciousmae]

Hello

My name is Amelia

I was born in South Africa, 10 years after incredible change happened, but it seems as if that change has become more relevant in recent times.

I came here today to talk about the horrors of today, but I feel before I do that, I need to speak my truth.

I was born into a privileged white family. We did not choose this, our ancestors forcefully made this happen. I am ashamed of this and wish I could take my privilege away and turn it into equity if I could.

My parents raised me to be myself. They raised me to respect authority and to do what I was told. They taught me to see the potential in myself and thus I did well in my schooling. They have always tried to expose me to the world and have always had the best intentions.

They taught me not to see colour but people. That we are all humans born into different circumstances that are not always just and fair.

Along the way I learnt more about myself and the world.

I encountered racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia. I could go on. I recognize that my privilege has sheltered me and that I have not and will not experience the severity of these situations like my family of colour do. I apologize. I am ashamed of the violent and disgusting people hurting you.

I will stand with you, against them. I will stand for anti-racism and more. You did not ask for this pain and discrimination. We can end this. We can win. We can try.

I truly realize that standing up like this and expressing myself can be dangerous, but if I can help save lives or at least be a drop in the rainstorm, it will be worth it.

Last year the sisters and siblings from my school stood together with numerous groups of other people around the country and world, against the violence against women and the feminine. Femicide. It is a brutal and horrible disease.

Me and many others feared that everyday would be our last. That we’d be taken by these animals who dare to call themselves human. South Africa has a deep rooted past in racism. And now even our police force, takes part in brutality against the innocent.

I went to a colour majority primary school and have many colour friends around the world, especially in the US and South Africa. They should not have to fear for their lives. They are family. And we will stand against the discrimination, hidden and obvious.

6 years ago I discovered the world of the LGBT+ community. And over these years, I’ve learnt to associate and love myself within this community.

A few days ago I heard of the horrible attack that is rumored to happen over pride month, called pridefall. Many people mainly from 4Chan are planning to attack and harm and just destroy the queer community.

As a stand against this I want to tell you who I am, and tell you that your words cannot hurt us anymore. We are stronger than ever. And we will never let you take off our crowns that we fought for, and will continue to fight for.

All of you know me as Amelia. Family knows me as Mila. Friends know me as Mae. Some of you more recently know me as Apollo.

I will not be restricted by a title. I am me. I am no woman or man. I am a human that wants to love. And about who I love, that is my business.

But if you really want me to give it a label, then I am a queer non-binary individual who does not see gender. I see people who deserve to live in a world where they can be themselves, without having the fear that they will die for it.

I will say proudly that I use They/Them pronouns and I will stand by my names.

I understand if you are confused or do not wish to know me any longer, but please know that I am still me, nothing has changed, I am still here, the same me I was and will be, even if being me is dangerous.

The history behind the queer and black communities are truly incredible.

The people behind gay rights, were trans women of colour that rioted against the police. And if that isn’t a sign of the times I don’t know what is.

Did you know that trans people have lower life expectancies, due to violence?

We owe a lot to these brave women.

The world is in a terrible state right now.

There is a global pandemic spreading which has caused a dubious amounts of racism towards the Asian communities.

The American government is going against its people. The land of the free. The American Dream. That does not exist.

And the month that was supposed to allow queer people to be able to express themselves and reflect on the struggles of the past, now has people waiting to threaten it, and hurt people for loving.

1093 reported deaths due to the police in the US, according to the guardian.

Michael Brown.

Eric Garner.

Ahmaud Arbery

George Floyd.

Breonna Taylor.

Say their names. Say all their names.

They will not die without justice. At least, we will try not to let them.

Black lives matter.

White privilege exists and it’s gross.

Even through a pandemic, the US will find ways to increase their gunpower which is incredibly wrong.

If you feel the riots are too violent and wrong then you haven’t opened a history book. These riots are a few of many throughout hundreds of years. And we will not stand for this unjust. We will not go quietly.

They will hear our voices and we will do what must be done to show that change is needed more than ever.

I ask you to take time to reflect this week. And take time to donate. Would you rather buy a Big Mac, or help people fight this horrible disease that is happening all over the world? And I am not just talking about Covid-19.

For the first time in history people have more opportunities than ever to be able to make their voices heard. We hear you. And we must stand together.

Martin Luther King once said, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character.”

Nelson Mandela said, “No one is born hating another person because of the colour of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate they can learn to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than it’s opposite.”

The year is 2020.

We just sent a crew on the first spacecraft for commercial space travel.

Why are we still dealing with the issue of skin colour, who we love, and gender?

Barack Obama said, “While we breathe we hope.”

Thank you for listening.

There will be links in the description where you can learn how to help and where to donate.

Black lives matter.

We will not be silenced.

Be safe.

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Parabitri!

This idea turned out to be far more angsty than anything I usually write but it insisted on being written. I love the way Magnus and Alec always find their way back to each other, no matter what universe you put them into.

This is their Hallmark-style Christmas Story - I hope you enjoy it!

Read on AO3

******

This Christmas

Chapter 1

I remember,

I wish I could forget

What you did last December

You left my heart a mess.

- Ariana Grande (& George Michael), Last Christmas

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

“Are you sure Alec won’t mind?” Magnus asked for what had to be the fourth time that morning as he followed Izzy inside the apartment she and Alec shared.

“When has Alec ever said no to you?” Izzy threw over her shoulder with a wink as she opened Alec’s bedroom door and sauntered in.

“Well, there was that whole morning after the Yule Ball fiasco,” Magnus muttered to himself, dragging his feet as he followed Izzy.

“Besides,” Izzy said as she flopped down on Alec’s bed apparently oblivious to Magnus’ dark comments, “You and I both know, Alec’s the only person who has an early enough edition of Gray’s Anatomy to feature the illustrations you need.”

“They’re too valuable for any libraries to stock before about the 18th edition,” Magnus agreed with a sigh as he approached Alec’s bookshelves brushing his fingers lightly over the soft leather spine, tracing the gilded letters which identified it as a hallowed second edition.

“You said you’ve tried every other option, Magnus, and your essay is due in tonight. It’s not like you can just call and ask him. Even if by some miracle he isn’t still in the remote mountain villages in Timor-Leste then he’ll be in transit. You know as well as I do that any time he gets funded flights it means he’s on a stopping all stations round the world tour of obscure airports. Even if you managed to get a message to him, there’s no guarantee he’d be able to get an answer back in time.”

“I know,” Magnus sighed easing the book gently out from between its neighbours and cradling it close to his chest. He wanted Alec home but he also half-dreaded the idea that the tension that had grown like a wedge between them might still be there. “Thank you, Isabelle. I guess I’d better go finish my essay. You’ll let me know if you hear from him?”

“Of course! Hopefully this time he’ll remember to let us know before he boards the last plane so we can meet him at the airport, I know Max is dying to use the latest sign he’s made.”

Magnus laughed, thinking of Max’s ever-expanding stack of ‘Welcome Home Alec’ signs. At this point, they’d need to bring everyone they knew in order to hold up even half of them.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

[Throughout human history there have been many iterations of the symbol which represents the human heart. The first non-medical European illustration of the heart is thought to be a drawing accompanying the medieval French poem Le Roman De La Poire circa 1255 however it was not until the early 1500s that the familiar shape made its appearance...

...but why does this symbol bear so little resemblance to the human anatomy it represents? There are plenty of theories, the most prominent one being that most of our ‘knowledge’ of human anatomy in the 13th and 14th centuries was based on animal biology, in particular reptiles, which much more closely resemble the familiar scalloped shape of the heart icon. The ability of early physicians to view or study the human body was fiercely regulated and controlled - with many unable to view a single dissection let alone partake in the kind of labs that are a standard part of modern medical tuition. As such, Henry Gray’s seminal work Gray’s Anatomy, first published in 1858, was a turning point in the depiction of the human heart…]

Magnus' fingers stilled on his keyboard as he glanced again at the book he’d brought back to his apartment almost four hours earlier. It was ridiculous but he still hadn’t opened it. The thing was, he hadn’t told Izzy the whole truth. Yes, this essay was for his History of Medicine subject and accounted for almost a third of his grade but it was also final piece of his application to join Médecins Sans Frontières’ new project, working in the new hospital Alec had spent the past year helping local engineers design and build. Alec would be going back for another whole year to support the development of sustainable water supply for the school and the rest of the village. Following your best friend halfway around the world was madness, especially when things had never been quite the same between them since last year’s Yule Ball.

~ Morning After the Yule Balle: 19th December 2017 ~

Magnus came to slowly, groaning as he peeled gritty eyes open just long enough to take in the couch and apartment around him before squeezing them shut again. It wasn’t the first time since becoming friends with the Lightwoods three years earlier that he’d woken up on their sofa but the blinding headache was new. So was the fact that he couldn’t for the life of him remember how he’d gotten back here. He barely remembered any of the Yule Ball. Burying his head further in the soft pillows Magnus vowed never to mix first-generation antihistamines and alcohol again.  

“Breakfast?”

Magnus’ eyes snapped open his lips curling at the corners as he took in the sight of Alec setting a breakfast tray on the coffee table beside him. The man really was an angel sometimes.

“I figured you’d need something to help wash down the aspirin,” Alec said, smiling back as he reached over and placed two pills on Magnus’ palm, following it with a glass of water.

“My hero,” Magnus said, downing the tablets and finally tearing his eyes from Alec and focusing on the food in front of him. “You made me blueberry pancakes, Alexander? That’s not exactly standard hangover fare. If you were anyone else I’d think you were trying to seduce me with your culinary skills.”

Magnus grinned at the way Alec’s cheeks heated at the suggestion and he became suddenly fascinated with his boots. Whatever the cause, Magnus wasn’t complaining - in fact, he almost moaned as he took that first blissful bite of pancake. Alec really would make an excellent husband to someone one of these days. Too bad there wasn’t any handy mistletoe or he might...Magnus’ thoughts ground to a sudden halt as he suddenly remembered kissing someone under the mistletoe last night at the ball. It hadn’t been a typical crappy holiday season hook-up either, it had been incredible. He found himself describing it to Alec as he ate: the way her lips had felt against his, passionate and wild yet somehow also tender as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to devour Magnus or worship him. The way her fingers had tightened in his hair, tugging roughly to adjust the angle of his head, deepening the kiss, only for those same clever fingers to send shivers of pure pleasure as they massaged away any last traces of pain. The worst part was, despite remembering every tiny detail of the kiss, he had no memory of the person who’d done the kissing.

“Please Alec, you were there last night you have to help me find her!” Magnus said, looking up beseechingly at his best friend only to realise something was wrong.

At some point during his monologue, the blushing, solicitous angel who’d made him breakfast had been replaced by a stone statue.

“You remember the kiss but don’t remember the-the-the person, at all?” Alec asked harshly his fists clenching at his sides.

Magnus flinched, feeling suddenly ashamed even though he didn’t know why it was such a big deal to Alec if Magnus’ memory had decided to defy logic. Before he’d had a chance to ask, Alec had turned away, his shoulders tense as he’d gathered up the remnants of Magnus’ now cold breakfast.

Tray in hand he’d barely looked at Magnus as he’d apologised, “I can’t do this, Magnus. I-I-I thought -” Alec sighed sounding frustrated but resigned. “I’ve got that application for Engineers Without Borders to finish.”

Magnus tried to get up and follow him into the kitchen but the world still spun horribly when he attempted to stand and he was forced to sit again so he didn’t fall down. The last thing he needed was for an already grumpy Alec to have to bandage his head when he split it open on the sharp corner of his coffee table. Impatiently, he waited for Alec to reappear, which took considerably longer than Magnus had expected.

When at least he came out he headed straight for the door his bag already slung over his shoulder giving every appearance of intending to leave without another word.

“Alec?” Magnus called out after him, wishing his head would stop pounding long enough for him to figure out whatever this was.

Alec turned, his hand resting on the door handle still refusing to meet Magnus’ eyes. “I have to go. Feel free to stay as long as you need.” And then he walked out, closing the door firmly behind him.

Magnus had waited, half expecting at any moment that his best friend would come back and tell him what exactly he’d said that upset him so much. After over an hour, Magnus had to accept the unwelcome fact that Alec wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t answering any of Magnus’ messages either. He knew he was being selfish, knew how important that application was to Alec even though the thought of them being on opposite sides of the globe sounded miserable to Magnus all of a sudden. It would be the first time in almost three years since Izzy and Magnus had met on their first day of med school that they’d have to go more than a few weeks without seeing one another. At present, barely a day went past that they didn’t speak, one way or another, whether it was IM, in person or notes passed via Izzy.

Despite Alec’s continued refusal to discuss anything about the Yule Ball, Magnus had kept looking - amazed to discover that despite there having been hundreds of people at the ball, somehow no one had seen Magnus spending time with any women other than Dot, Cat and Izzy and he was absolutely certain it hadn’t been any of them. He’d even tried to convince the photographer to go through their shots from last night only to discover to that the man was crazy enough to still be using film and hadn’t had time to get the negatives developed yet. Rolling his eyes at the pretentiousness of art students in general, Magnus had hunted on in vain.

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Magnus sighed, running his fingers over the soft leather cover of Gray’s Anatomy. He could still remember the first time Alec had shown it to him. It had been a gift from his grandfather on his mother’s side, the same one that was responsible for Alec’s middle name being ‘Gideon’. He’d apparently been convinced, despite Alec’s complete lack of interest in medicine, that book that had been in their family for generations would inspire Alec to become the next doctor in the family. The meticulous technical drawings the book was famous had inspired him just not to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. He’d taken his love of the book’s illustrations and developed a fascination for cartography, drafting and surveying, finally settling on a career in engineering. Izzy had told Magnus that Alec had offered her the book when she’d first set her heart on doing medicine but she’d knew she’d never love it the way Alec did. She wanted the modern textbooks, the ones filled with gory colour photographs of real bodies, not the elegant etchings done over a hundred and fifty years earlier.

Magnus, by contrast, had happily indulged Alec’s passion and they’d spent hours pouring through the book together over the years every time Magnus had happened to need to reference one or other of the illustrations as he learnt about the body’s various structures and systems. As much as he’d adored it when Alec bought him a modern copy of Gray’s Anatomy for his birthday he always defaulted back to Alec’s copy with its incredible single-colour woodcut illustrations whenever he could. The text might mostly have become redundant has as medical knowledge changed fundamentally and rapidly over the past century but the illustrations were as important now as they’d ever been.  

He missed Alec. Magnus hadn’t realised how much he’d relied on his presence until his absence left a gaping hole in his life. It’s been almost a year and Alec is still the first person he wants to tell whenever anything happens. He might finally have stopped getting his phone out and staring out compose texts he can’t send but it still aches everytime he remembers Alec’s sat-phone is for emergencies only. Going from talking every day to exchanging infrequent emails had felt worse than some of his breakups. Then again, for the last few years, he’s always had Alec there helping him pick up the pieces whenever a relationship inevitably failed. He’d always scoffed at the adage ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ but it’s been 355 days since Alec left and he’s sitting at his desk hours before an important assignment is due incapable of completing it because he doesn’t want to open a book that would remind him too much of the man he wants, more than anything else, this Christmas. Too bad he felt certain Alec didn’t feel the same way about him.

Sighing, Magnus opened the cover and scanned the index of illustrations for the one he was looking for. There, under the heading ‘Heart’, the illustration he’d looked everywhere for: ‘Circulation of Blood in an Adult’ directing him to page six hundred and twenty-nine. Picking up the tome Magnus started at the middle and skimmed gently through the pages, slowing when he finally reached the six-hundreds to turn each individual page so as not to miss it. Magnus nearly dropped the book in surprise when he turned the final page and a colour photograph slides out onto the desk.

A single glance is enough to make him forget Gray’s Anatomy, forget the essay he has only hours left to finish and the application he needs to ace. On the desk in front of him is a photograph from last year’s Yule Ball. A photo of him and Alec wrapped tightly in one another’s arms, kissing under the mistletoe.

Chapter 2

I confess,

I loved you more than I let on but you weren’t ready for it and I wasn’t going to pour myself into hands that couldn’t hold me

- Lauren Eden, Of Yesteryear

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Having seen the photo, Magnus wonders how he could possibly have forgotten. He’s spent an entire year comparing every kiss he shared to this one, like Prince Charming with his stupid glass slipper, finding them woefully disappointing by contrast. The thing was, with the exception of giants like Alec, he was tall so it hadn’t occurred to him why the angle always felt off - no matter what he tried. God, he was such an idiot! How could he have ignored what was right in front of him all this time? And why hadn’t Alec said something? But as soon as that thought occurred to him, he knew exactly why.

Who in their right mind would confess when the object of their affection not only didn’t remember them but had also somehow misgendered them in the process. Magnus felt physically ill as their conversation the next morning replayed in his head with full 5.1 surround sound, complete with high definition technicolour images of Alec’s transformation from breakfast baring angel to the stony-faced statue he’d been by the time he left the apartment. The fact Alec had hidden the photo here, in his most treasured book under the heading ‘Heart’ made the tears that had welled up unnoticed spill out over his cheeks.

With shaking fingers Magnus picked the photo up off the desk, the knife in his heart twisting as he realised they were both smiling as they kissed. Steeling himself, he flipped the photo drawing in a sharp breath as he saw the inscription in Alec’s familiar all-caps handwriting and in smaller text printed directly onto the photo, the photographer's details.

‘A NIGHT TO REMEMBER’ MAGNUS BANE & ALEC LIGHTWOOD YULE BALL 18TH DEC 2017

PHOTOGRAPHER: J. GHAMSARI  - EDITION: 1/1 - PRINTED: 24TH DEC 2017

He’d thought nothing could make this situation worse, but one glance at the date the photo had been printed made Magnus want the ground to open beneath his feet to transport him straight to hell. Alec had tried to tell him and Magnus had unintentionally broken his heart a second time instead. By the time Magnus had realised his mistake, Alec had already left the country.

~ December 24th, 2017 ~

Magnus groaned when he heard the doorbell, it would probably be carollers but as the only person home the night before Christmas Magnus had promised his housemates he wouldn’t let any last minute parcels go unsigned for. Snatching his shirt up from where it lay discarded beside the sofa and buttoning it haphazardly Magnus made his way down the long passage to the front door, stunned to see it was Alec standing on the sill, a thick manilla envelope clasped in one hand.

“Alec, what are you doing here? I thought you would have gone back home for what’s left of the holidays,” Magnus said noticing the way Alec’s eyes lingered on his exposed chest a beat longer than they usually would before darting away.

“It’s - uh, it’s about last week,” Alec paused, threading his fingers roughly through his hair in that familiar tell of mental agitation. “Look, you’ve got every reason to be mad at me. The next morning, after the Yule Ball - I know I should have-”

“Allowed me to drag you halfway ‘round NYU on a wild goose chase when neither of us had any idea who we were looking for?” Magnus interrupted smoothly, laughing softly. “I should never have asked, Alec, I know how important getting that internship application in was to you. Besides, it doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“It doesn’t?” Alec asked roughly, his gaze piercing as he froze in place.

“Surely you know me better than to think I’d let it rest until I found out, Alexander?”

“You - you’ve remembered?” Alec asked, looking suddenly paler.

“Not exactly. But Camille - you remember her from the presentation night for the Medical Prize, don’t you? She found out I was looking for her and admitted she’d been my mysterious stranger all along. Apparently, my crush wasn’t so unrequited after all. So you see, it’s all worked out. She’s coming around later tonight if you wanted to stay and meet her?”

“No.”

Magnus’ head snapped back, surprised by the vehemence in that single word but before he had a chance to do more than raise an eyebrow, Alec had continued.

“I mean, I’d be interrupting your evening plans. I should let you -” Alec paused again, his teeth sinking into his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “I have to go. Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

“Wait, Alec!” Magnus called out, hating this sudden chill between them as Alec turned away. “Surely you didn’t just come here to apologise. You should stay, have a drink with me. It is Christmas after all.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Well, can you at least tell me when we’re catching up next?” Magnus asked, suddenly feeling the need to make sure he hadn’t somehow irrevocably ruined the friendship without even realising it. “I know you had planned to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with your family but seeing as you’re still here...”

“Actually, I, um. I got offered the internship with Engineers Without Borders,” Alec muttered, shifting his feet.

“Alexander! That’s fantastic, now you have to come in and have a drink with me, tell me all about it. Where they’re sending you, for how long - I want to know everything!” Instinctive Magnus reached out, tugging on the arm of Alec’s long black coat. It hurt when instead of smiling Alec pulled away.

“I fly out January 1st. I’ll be gone all year. It’s - I’ll be living in one of the mountain villages in Timor-Leste, they’ve got a new project to build a hospital there and if things go well, I can stay to work on securing the town’s water supply the year after. They said they’d try and get me back in time for next Christmas. So I - um - I have to go. You know, packing and everything.”

Every other time Alec’s said anything about the project his passion had been radiant, which meant these clipped sentences and flat tone had to be Magnus’ fault. Magnus cursed the Yule Ball, cursed the fact he couldn’t even abandon his plans with Camille because he hadn’t thought to get her number. Cursed the fact he was meant to be going away with Cat and Ragnor to have New Year's Eve at Cat’s family’s Chalet. So this was it? Alec was leaving the country in a few days for an entire year and Magnus wouldn’t get to see him again till next Christmas?

“At least let me take you out to the airport, Alec,” Magnus said, throwing caution to the wind and jettisoning his New Year's plans.

“But-” Alec began, displaying that adorable furrowed brow of his.

“Nothing is more important than seeing my best friend off on the trip of a lifetime,” Magnus assured him. “I’ll be at that airport whether you let me drive you or not. I’m not below blackmailing Izzy into telling me so you may as well just accept it.”

Alec’s rueful smile was like sunshine, the man he recognised peeking out from behind the rigid facade he was putting up.

“You really want to get up at six in the morning just to see me off at the gate?” Alec asked, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“I’ll be on your doorstep at five,” Magnus shot back, his lips automatically curling to match Alec’s.

“If you’re late I’m leaving without you,” Alec threatened sliding back into their familiar banter without even seeming to realise he was doing it.

“Okay.”

“Okay. You’re on.” Alec nodded, holding Magnus’ gaze before saying softly, “Merry Christmas, Magnus.”

“Merry Christmas, Alexander.”

~ The Present: 22nd December 2018 ~

Magnus needed a drink.

His crush on Camille had been madness and she’d played him for the fool he was. She’d strung him along for almost 3 weeks after ‘confessing’ to being his mysterious mistletoe kiss. She’d made a game out of kissing him everywhere except his lips, correctly assuming that he’d realise the minute their lips met that something was off. He’d been so caught up in wanting it to be her, wanting to believe that she felt the way he did about her. But even she’d tired of that game eventually, laughing at his naivety when she’d finally revealed she hadn’t even noticed him at the Yule Ball, she’d just thought it would be fun to see how long she could string him along because surely the top medical student couldn’t be that stupid? Well, apparently he was. He’d spilled the whole humiliating affair out in one of his emails to Alec. It makes perfect sense now that Alec had barely referenced the whole mess when he’d finally replied over a week later. Then again, it wasn’t like Alec had super reliable internet at the best of times, so it could also be that Magnus was projecting.

Getting up, Magnus paced over to the drinks cart, skipping his usual ice and pouring whiskey liberally into the waiting tumbler. Tossing it back in a single swallow Magnus tried to figure out what to do. It’s been a whole year since that photograph had been taken, it’d hardly be surprising if the intervening time had been enough to thoroughly destroy whatever feelings Alec might once have had for him. Did he really want to risk destroying their friendship a second time?

Yes.

The answer was immediate. He was in love with Alexander Lightwood and he had to know if there was any chance to make this work. Hell, he’d been prepared to follow the man to the other side of the world without the tiniest shred of real evidence to justify his hopes, now at least he knew it was possible. There had been real passion in that kiss and tenderness in the breakfast he’d made for him the next morning. He just hoped Alec was willing to give him a chance to show just how much he wanted that future.

To Be Continued

[lunchboxpoems]

CENTO FOR THE NIGHT I SAID “I LOVE YOU”

Today, gentle reader,

is as good a place to start.

But you knew that, didn’t you? Then let us

give ourselves over to the noise

of a great scheme that included everything.

That indicts everything.

Let us roam the night together

in an attempt to catch the stars that drop.

                              •••

White clouds against sky

come humming toward me.

One closely resembling the beginning

of a miracle. There’s

the moonlight on a curved path

lighting the purple flowers of fragrant June.

I dreamed him and there he was

silent as destiny,

lit by a momentary match.

                              •••

Men are so clueless sometimes,                                                          

like startled fish                                                                                              

living just to live.                                                                                            

We are dying quickly                                                                                      

but behave as good guests should:                                                                  

patiently allowing the night                                                                              

to have the last word.                                                              

And I just don’t know,                                                                                  

you know? I never had a whole lot to say                                                        

while talking to strange men.                                                                          

                              •••

What allows some strangers to go past strangeness? Exchanging                      

yearning for permanence. And who wouldn’t

come back to bed? Love—

How free we are; how bound. Put here in love’s name:                      

called John. A name so common as

a name sung quietly from somewhere.

Like a cry abandoned someplace

in a city about which I know.

                              •••

Like black birds pushing against glass,

I didn’t hold myself back. I gave in completely and went

all the way to the vague influence of the distant stars.

I saw something like an angel

spread across the horizon like some dreadful prophecy

refusing to be contained, to accept limits.

She said, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

                              •••

I love you, I say, desperate

to admit that

the flesh extends its vanity

to an unknown land

where all the wild swarm.

This is not death. It is something safer,

almost made of air—

I think they call it god.

                              •••

Some say we’re lucky to be alive, to have

a sky that stays there. Above.

And I suppose I would have to agree…

but the hell with that.

It isn’t ordinary. The way the world unravels,

from a distance, can look like pain

eager as penned-in horses.

                              •••

And it came to pass that meaning faltered, came detached.

I learned my name was not my name.

I was not myself. Myself

resembles something else

that had nothing to do with me, except

I am again the child with too many questions

as old as light. I am always learning the same thing:

one day all this will only be memory.

One day soon. For no good reason.

                              •••

Dying is simple—

the body relaxes inside

hysterical light

as someone drafts an elegy

in a body too much alive.

Love is like this;

not a heartbeat, but a moan.

                              •••

Can you see me

sinking out of sight

in the middle of our life?

Should I be ashamed of myself

for something I didn’t know I—

(He walks by. He walks by

laughing at me.)

“What else did you expect

from this day forward?” For better. Or worse.

                              •••

One life is not enough

to remember all the things

marriage is. This town at dawn

can will away my lust

to suck honey from the sunlight,

so why am I out here trying

to make men tremble who never weep?

                              •••

After all’s said and after all’s done                  

and all arrogance dismissed,

the distance rumbles in

sparing only stars.

The moon, like a flower,

survives as opinion

making it almost transparent.

The pieces of heavy sky

heavy as sleep.

I close my eyes

and this is my life now.

NICOLE SEALEY

** “Cento for the Night I Said, ‘I Love You’” is comprised entirely of lines borrowed from the following poets (in order of appearance): C.D. Wright, Mary Jo Salter, Patricia Smith, Toi Derricotte, Philip Levine, Lynda Hull, Langston Hughes, Malachi Black, Kimberly Blaeser, Maxine Kumine, Afaa Michael Weaver, Hédi Kaddour, dg nanouk okpik, Claude McKay, Deborah Landau, Sharkmeat Blue, George Bradley, Yona Harvey, Federico García Lorca, June Jordan, Kwame Dawes, W.H. Auden, Ana Castillo, Erica Hunt, Muriel Rukeyser, Ed Roberson, Ruth Madievsky, Thylias Moss, Gregory Orr, Yusef Komunyakaa, Elizabeth Spires, Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon, Tim Seibles, Nathalie Handal, Wisława Szymborska, Lucille Clifton, C.P. Cavafy, Rainer Maria Rilke, Raúl Zurita, August Kleinzahler, Louise Glück, Victoria Redel, Adélia Prado, Sonia Sanchez, Jean Sénac, Claribel Alegría, Remica L. Bingham-Risher, Sylvia Plath, Harryette Mullen, Emily Dickinson, Sharon Strange, Larry Levis, Sherman Alexie, Franz Wright, Marianne Boruch, Andrea Cohen, Linda Susan Jackson, Carl Phillips, Robert Hayden, Eavan Boland, Anne Waldman, Dorianne Laux, Natasha Trethewey, Eric Gamalinda, Galway Kinnell, John Murillo, Yves Bonnefoy, Tina Chang, David Wojahn, Nick Laird, Simone White, Catherine Barnett, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Brenda Shaughnessy, Kazim Ali, Brenda Hillman, Valzhyna Mort, Blas Falconer, Theodore Roethke, Kahlil Gibran, Rita Dove, Brigit Pegeen Kelly, Khaled Mattawa, Tracy K. Smith, Ed Skoog, Alice Walker, Pablo Neruda, Adrienne Rich, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Edna St. Vincent Millay, Aimé Césaire, Jake Adam York, Bob Kaufman, William Blake, Frank Bidart, Marilyn Nelson, Polina Barskova, Santee Frazier, Suheir Hammad and Cornelius Eady.

[hearteyesuris]

Losers Club and their music tastes - Headcanons!!

Some 80s/90s music tastes of my babes, with a bonus modern for each of them!! @trashmoutheds i thought the hite stripes fit rich better, sorry bbz

Bill

The Cure (duh) 

He owns all their vinyls and plays their tapes in the car whenever he’s driving, the others pretend to hate it but they don’t

Smashing Pumpkins!!!

He saw them live and never shuts up about it - inspired by my Dad’s story of seeing them, they all tried to sing along to ‘Today’ and Billy sang it so quickly they couldn’t

Blur

My boy Bill feeds into the britpop era BAD. Like. So much. 

Pulp

see above point

The Romantics

He just really likes catchy music, okay?

MODERN!BILL is a slut for two door cinema club. he just is. 

Ben

I mean. New Kids on The Block

He’s not even ashamed. Beverly talked to him for the first time when they were playing. That has to mean something, right? (It does, because they dance to them at their wedding)

Wham!

Duh. George Michael is a beautiful man with a beautiful voice. He plays last christmas when it’s November the first, and everyone groans (but they love it)

AC/DC

No one really ?? Expects this?? But boy. He loves them. So much.

Duran Duran

He just. Loves those boys, probably sprints downstairs when Top of The Pops comes on.

David Bowie

Who doesn’t? He dresses up as Ziggy Stardust one year for pride, and Bev is actually smitten.

MODERN!BEN adores Bon Iver. They’re just /so/ poetic.

Mike

Michael Jackson

Again - who isn’t? But Mike’s Dad really likes him too, so they listen to him together and it’s just so cute :’)

Eurythmics

Mike loves the techno beats of them, and Annie Lennox’s voice? beautiful. 

Prince

What a beautiful man. An icon. Courtesy of Eddie for owning the vinyl and letting him listen to it. Prince may or may not be the reason Mike realises he’s not exactly straight.

Madonna

Queen of Pop amirite? Mike loves her. His actual queen. God bless Madonna.

David Bowie

He listens to him with Ben, and it’s like their best friend alone time. It’s really sweet.

MODERN!MIKE loves Dodie Clark. Like. C’mon

Eddie

Erasure

Is there a more reddie song (that isn’t Africa) than A Little Respect? someone write me a fic based off of that please.

The Smiths

Eddie loves Morrissey. I’m sorry. This is a fact. He thinks ‘Bigmouth Strikes Again’ perfectly describes Rich

Spandau Ballet

I don’t think this needs explaining. It’s just true ;) (ba dum tschhhh)

Prince

Bitch. Prince makes everyone realise their sexuality, that’s just The Rule

Bonnie Tyler

THE QUEEN OF BALLADS. Eddie is a sucker for a good ballad. 

MODERN!EDDIE really really really likes Gorillaz. Imagine him doing the Noodle dance to DARE.

Beverly

Blondie

Debbie is the queen of being on drugs and still looking like a babe. Bev admires this. 

R.E.M

They just. Make. Some. Really great. Songs. 

Bikini Kill

Riot grrrrl bev is canon, I don’t make the rules sorry

Janis Joplin

those vocals. are brilliant. Bev would actually cry to Janis. 

No doubt

Gwen Stefani is a feminist icon. 

MODERN!BEV loves Florence + The Machine, and Long and Lost is her and Ben’s song. 

Stan

The Cure

How many times do I have to say that Lovesong is Stenbrough culture?

Joy Division

Will fight you if you say that New Order are the same. Ian Curtis provided their band brilliance, Jan. Still listens to New Order though. 

Orchestral Manoeuvres in The Dark

My boy Stan loves those bass beats.

The Smiths

We all love a good depressed cry to The Mozz, don’t we?

INXS

I just? Love the idea of Stan belting out Never Tear Us Apart whilst making Bill tea. 

MODERN!STAN would love Hozier!!!! My Irish love.

Richie

Guns ‘n’ Roses

He has a poster of Axl Rose on his ceiling. Pansexual culture. 

The B-52s

Just. Does this need an explanation? He just loves them. No one gets it.

Pixies

Of course. Birth of grunge and whatnot

The Rolling Stones

My rock baby

BLONDIE

HE IS A BLONDIE STAN. NO ONE CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

MODERN!RICHIE is borderline in love with The White Stripes. He just really likes them.

[alexsmitposts]

Mueller’s Deep State Ploy Against Russia America has been at war with herself since 1787. America’s war of independence has gone on for centuries now, a war against the Deep State and the banking interests that brought about century after century of European war, fueled colonialism and engineered two world wars in the 20th century. Russiagate, the Mueller report and the corrupt Trump presidency are simply another page in this long saga. We begin. Decade after decade, Soviet propaganda held to one theme, that the United States used its military and economic might to rule the world on behalf of criminal elites. With the fall of the Soviet Union, a new era of world peace and prosperity was to emerge. Instead, something else happened, war upon war, hot war, cold war, economic war, and a resurgence of colonialism and bullying. How does this apply to “Russiagate?” The story isn’t simple, nothing is today. Here is what we know. The Russia investigation was always fake, a cheap ploy to kill time while the Deep State consolidated power inside the US under a puppet president with a long personal history of criminality and emotional instability. It wasn’t just Russiagate. It was also the fake Skripal poisoning, the fake Russian based gas attacks in Syria, an opportunity to re-create the Cold War and the old boogeyman that the Deep State needed to distract the public. Evidence? Despite promises, the US has seized 40% of Syria including all oil reserves and is now entrenched as a permanent occupying power. The US is now fabricating another “coalition of the willing” as cover for military intervention in Venezuela. Donald Trump just vetoed a congressional resolution to stop US military action against Yemen. Donald Trump, by executive order, and in violation of the Geneva Convention, awarded Syria’s Golan Heights to Israel and has announced his intention to further award the West Bank to Israel as well, despite dozens of UN Security Council resolutions to the contrary. Trump has deployed American missiles and AEGIS systems along Russia’s borders, in violation of the INF treaty On April 19, 2019, Russian presidential spokesman Dmitri Peskov made the following statements, from TASS: “’We regret the documents of this sort are causing direct influence on the development of Russian-US relations, whose condition leaves much to be desired,” Peskov said. ‘Speaking less seriously I should say that in a similar situation our Audit Chamber would’ve certainly probed into what the taxpayers’ money has been wasted on. Anyway, it’s up to the US taxpayers to ask such questions.’ He stated that as before Moscow dismissed the charges of intervention in the US presidential election, because there was no such interference at all. ‘The latest version of the Mueller report contains nothing new. All that information had been published by different sources and mass media earlier,’ Peskov stated.” Russia had been “blindsided” by events in the US and, having made this statement, Peskov was perhaps unaware of the furor going on in the US. When an American Attorney General issues a legal opinion, as William Barr had, it isn’t typically expected that he will lie outright yet this is exactly what Barr did. Trump was never exonerated. What did become clear is that the Mueller investigation, which found considerable, perhaps even “endless” criminal wrongdoing by Trump, was fake. One thing the investigation did make clear is that Trump knew he was guilty. From the Mueller report, in reference to a Trump statement made to then Attorney General Jeff Sessions on May 17, 2017 when Trump learned of the Mueller appointment: “Oh my God. This is terrible. This is the end of my presidency. I’m fXXXXd.” What this tells an insider is that Trump himself wasn’t aware “the fix was in,” and that Mueller had a long history of gutlessness, cowardice and selling out to the highest bidder. The “fall guy” in this fix was to be Russia and behind that, the American people, the Constitution and America herself. The strings, as always, the Deep State taking control in Washington as always. The Mueller debacle was a plan, it bought time, two years, and had one purpose, to “inoculate” Trump against prosecution for years of criminal acts that were expected to end with Donald Trump dying in prison. Background William Barr and Mueller had, since the 1970’s when both worked for the CIA engineering coverups for corrupt practices there, as outlined in the Gene “Chip” Tatum book, The Mule. From Tatum: “Robert Swan Mueller III has been the go to man when secrets go awry. Recruited as a CIA asset in Vietnam as an member of the Phoenix Project it was embedded in him that there are no borders, no limits, no restrictions, and no repercussions. With these standards ingrained in his persona, Mueller became an invaluable asset in protecting what today is called “The Deep State”. When the need arises, invariably the Deep State handlers call on “The Mule.” With the release of the redacted Mueller Report in late April 2018, a number of things should be clear. They aren’t. In fact, nothing is clear except that US Attorney General Barr lied when he claimed Trump was exonerated by the report, far from it. What is clear is that none of this had anything to do with Russia but that Russia was used to provide “cover and deception” for Trump. You see, Trump came into office with dozens of lawsuits hanging over him, some for sex assaults, including children, criminal fraud tied to Trump University and the Trump Foundation and income tax evasion. When Michael Cohen, Trump’s attorney, described Trump to congress, he knew what he was talking about, from Time Magazine, February 27, 2019: “Michael Cohen, the former personal attorney of President Donald Trump, testified publicly Wednesday that the President is “a racist,” “a con man” and “a cheat,” in remarks before the House Committee on Oversight and Reform. “I am ashamed that I chose to take part in concealing Mr. Trump’s illicit acts rather than listening to my own conscience. I am ashamed because I know what Mr. Trump is,” Cohen said Wednesday in his opening statement. “He is a racist. He is a con man. And he is a cheat.” The Real Target, the Constitution America’s constitution was always a weak document. Prepared initially without the Bill of Rights, the first ten amendments that guarantee due process and personal freedoms, the “Magna Carta” basis for what some assumed wrongly was the real heart of the document, America has always been vulnerable. At the outset, America was subject to the same economic pressures the nation states of Europe bowed to. In fact, each nation state of Europe found its economic roots in the banking houses of Venice and her merchant princes. For the US, birth was defined when, in 1689 William of Orange with a mercenary army of 40,000 arrived in England to collect a 15 million guilder debt for those same Venetian princes. England got a central bank, today known as the Bank of England and both England and their American colonies fell under the economic stranglehold of the Deep State. When America broke free by declaring independence in 1776 and through ratifying the Articles of Confederation in 1781 after 4 years of debate. After the defeat of the British, pressure was put on the new nation to replace the Articles and in 1787 a new constitution was ratified. The problem was that those who penned the new document were not those who fought the war but rather those with continuing economic ties to Britain and those who had taken over that nation on behalf of the money lending houses of Europe. In 1913, scholars at Columbia University led by historian Charles A. Beard penned a controversial examination of the constitution. An Economic Interpretation of the Constitution, the result, helped fuel the progressive movement and provided an academic framework for challenges to limitations within the constitution. Beard provided the fuel to pass the Seventeenth Amendment which established popular election for Senators who had, under the constitution been picked from among wealthy elites much as with the British House of Lords and the Nineteenth Amendment which gave women the vote. Beard’s work, long under attack and now virtually erased from the academic and legal world, hypothesized, with extensive primary document support, that the “Framers” of the constitution were intent on building a “failed state” with limited opportunity that empowered Europe’s banking houses to take control over America’s government. However, history will show that not all Americans chose to submit, among them presidents like Andrew Jackson. Daniel Feller in his “King Andrew and the Bank,” written for the National Endowment for the Humanities, outlines the struggle against a central bank than defined America prior to the Civil War: “Yet, in its day, nothing galvanized American political conflict more than banking, currency, and finance. In the republic’s first half-century, no subject, save foreign relations and war, gave greater vexation to American statesmen or aroused more heated public debate. The creation of the original Bank of the United States in 1791 sparked the first major division within President George Washington’s administration, which later ripened into the Federalist and Democratic-Republican parties. Jackson’s veto in 1832 repeated the process: It became the touchstone issue in his reelection campaign and precipitated the organization of the Whig and Democratic parties, the latter, still surviving, now the oldest mass political party in the world. The very language of Jackson’s veto, departing sharply from all that came before, furnished a political grammar since claimed by Populists, Progressives, New Deal liberals, socialists, free marketeers, libertarians—in short, by just about everybody.” Among American presidents who opposed a European and by that we mean Rothschild controlled central bank were Jackson, of course. Then came President Lincoln, but he was assassinated. Lincoln refused loans from the Rothschild’s at interest rates up to 40% and chose to print “greenbacks.” Then came President Garfield, but he was assassinated. Then came President McKinley, but he was assassinated. Last was John Kennedy who issued $4,292,893,000 in “United States Notes” through the US Treasury after an announcement that the US was ending its central bank with Executive Order 11110. After Kennedy was murdered, the “notes” were quietly removed from circulation. That executive order in its entirety, now otherwise removed from all public records and history books: Executive Order 11,110 AMENDMENT OF EXECUTIVE ORDER NO. 10289 AS AMENDED, RELATING TO THE PERFORMANCE OF CERTAIN FUNCTIONS AFFECTING THE DEPARTMENT OF THE TREASURY By virtue of the authority vested in me by section 301 of title 3 of the United States Code, it is ordered as follows: Section 1. Executive Order No. 10289 of September 19, 1951, as amended, is hereby further amended- a. By adding at the end of paragraph 1 thereof the following subparagraph (j): (j) The authority vested in the President by paragraph (b) of section 43 of the Act of May 12,1933, as amended (31 U.S.C.821(b)), to issue silver certificates against any silver bullion, silver, or standard silver dollars in the Treasury not then held for redemption of any outstanding silver certificates, to prescribe the denomination of such silver certificates, and to coin standard silver dollars and subsidiary silver currency for their redemption and – b. By revoking subparagraphs (b) and (c) of paragraph 2 thereof. Section 2. The amendments made by this Order shall not affect any act done, or any right accruing or accrued or any suit or proceeding had or commenced in any civil or criminal cause prior to the date of this Order but all such liabilities shall continue and may be enforced as if said amendments had not been made. John F. Kennedy The White House, June 4, 1963. Conclusion Seemingly endless fake reports of Trump issuing arrest warrants for “Deep State operatives” and ending US participation in the Rothschild controlled Federal Reserve System are more game playing and deceit. Trump has run up trillions in new debt already and America’s coffers have been emptying into the waiting hands of the Rothschilds at a record pace. The global jockeying, the endless tantrums, all of it is a game, cheap theatre. Follow the money, from the pockets of the poor and middle class into the rich and powerful. War and politics are for show and no more.

[lefilmdujour]

500th movie celebration

Last month I have quietly passed the 500th movie landmark on my Tumblr, so I decided to make a post with text instead of pictures for a change.

Five and a half years ago, I have decided to create a Tumblr, my own personal space where I would upload film frames, mostly so I could remember all the many movies I watch. By associating an image to a title, it helps to maintain my mind fresh and pinpoint exactly why I loved or despised a certain movie, linking them to the people I have watched them with and the surrounding circumstances.

The criteria is simple but methodical: no more than one post per day, all films I watch are represented even if I am ashamed of having spent time with them, all films are represented only once regardless of the amount of times I’ve re-watched them throughout the existence of the Tumblr.

I like to watch Artsy Avant Garde movies. Trash movies. 80′s “classics”. 70′s sleaze. Documentaries, a whole lot of them. Surrealism. Nouvelle Vague. The occasional Hollywood blockbuster. Skin. I usually get complaints from people about the amount of nudity represented in the Tumblr. 

Movies, regardless of how bad they are to the viewer, always mean something special to someone, so I respect them all.

To celebrate the 500th movie landmark, I decided to pick 50 of the ones that evoke the most vivid memories in me. Quality and circumstance were the deciding factors. Random order. I recommend them all.

The Virgin Spring (Ingmar Bergman) - An inspirational exercise on mythology, symbolism, and pacing.

Philanthropy (Nae Caranfil) - Romanian New Wave is my latest passion. This one is a highlight. A very entertaining tutorial on how to scam and be scammed.

Wings of Desire (Wim Wenders) - Poetry in motion. Falling in love every day.

The World is Big and Salvation Lurks Around the Corner (Stefan Komandarev) - A road movie, on a bicycle. Friendship, memory gaps, backgammon.

The Red Turtle (Michael Dudok de Wit) - If a movie makes me cry, it goes to the favorites bucket. The story is simple, the animation is fluid, the outcome is expected. Yet, its message is always powerful.

The Imposter (Bart Layton) - More than a very compelling story of deception and manipulation, this documentary shines due to its brilliant editing. Made me feel pity, anger, compassion and repulse, often at the same time.

American Movie (Chris Smith) - If you love movies, then you cannot skip this documentary about a film director who makes his life mission to finish his crap movie, despite lack of funds, means, and talent. Funny and heartfelt. Highly quotable.

Mustang (Deniz Gamze Ergüven) - Growing up as a woman in traditional Turkey. A feminist look on a closed society. Beautifully shot.

Mad Max Fury Road (George Miller) - A throwback to a time when action movies were being made with a sense of movement and a requirement for suspension of disbelief. Amazing cinematography, highlighted in the recent “Black & Chrome” edition.

Nights of Cabiria (Federico Fellini) - The fruitless search for true love. Finding it, losing it, finding it again, losing it again, getting up, trying again. “Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks in it”.

Bicycle Thieves (Vitorio de Sicca) - A masterpiece. The importance of a bicycle as an instrument of survival in 40′s Italy. Puts things into perspective. Nothing can be taken for granted.

Underground (Emir Kusturica) - In my opinion, the greatest Kusturica movie. The sad story of a country that no longer exists.

The Hourglass Sanatorium (Wojciech Jerzy Has) - A very surreal experience where time and space are meaningless. Living in a lucid dream.

Despair (Rainer Werner Fassbinder) - The only Fassbinder movie I ever watched to date. I always want to watch more of him, but somehow keep forgetting. This movie makes justice to it’s title, despair creeps in slowly, but overwhelmingly by its end.

Mary and Max (Adam Elliot) - A claynimation film about friendship and mental health. Funny and melancholic. People should write letters to their friends more.

Blue is the Warmest Color (Abdellatif Kechiche) - A beautiful love story.

The Grand Budapest Hotel (Wes Anderson) - Twee as fuck, like all Anderson’s movies. This man can do no wrong.

Blue Jasmine (Woody Allen) - I have a special interest in movies related with mental health. The last great Woody Allen movie to date.

Grave of the Fireflies (Isao Takahata) - I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I claim that this is the saddest movie ever made. It took me days to recover from the emotional impact it left in me. War makes victims of us all.

Teorema (Pier Paolo Pasolini) - What would you do if you have been touched and subsequently abandoned by Divinity? The final scene is one of my all time favorites.

Forbidden Fruit (Dome Karukoski) - Two girls escape from a oppressive religious cult and experience life for the first time. The scene when one of the girls watches a movie for the first time, in a theater, left a good memory in me.

Forbidden Zone (Richard Elfman) - I like musicals too! This one in particular was scored by Danny Elfman, who also plays the devil in its most memorable scene. A weird freakout of a movie. Specially recommend the colorized version that adds up to the surreal atmosphere.

 Enter the Void (Gaspar Noé) - To be seen on a big screen with the best speakers money can buy. Intense psychedelic experience. Stay on the safe side, remain sober while watching this one.

My Best Fiend (Werner Herzog) - I find most of Herzog’s documentaries to be very relaxing. Not this one. Klaus Kinski was a fabled asshole. Werner Herzog is an eccentric lunatic. How these two geniuses managed to work together without killing each other (although both came very close to it) is definitely documentary material. An intense story about friendship, respect, and guttural hate.

The Big Lebowski (Joel Coen & Ethan Coen) - My favorite Coen brothers film. The week from hell on an otherwise quiet and unremarkable life. Improves with repeated viewings.

Mulholland Drive (David Lynch) - Spent years analyzing and trying to make sense out of this movie. I only understood it upon giving up on my quest. My favorite Lynch movie.

Female Convict Scorpion: Jailhouse 41 (Shunya Itō) - 70′s Meiko Kaji is a Goddess. A talent wasted in exploitation movies. Her eyes talk louder than all of the movies’s dialogue. This film is a Pink Women-in-Prison Japanese cheap thrill on surface, but the amount of symbolism and surrealism adds weight to a paper-thin plot. And the title song was borrowed to Tarantino’s Kill Bill. Truly one of my favorite movies ever.

Battleship Potemkin (Sergei Eisenstein) - Soviet Propaganda? Yes. Compelling gut-wrenching story? Yes. Cinematic masterpiece? Yes. Regardless on how you feel about the topic, there is no question that the Odessa steps sequence is a work of art. 

The Holy Mountain (Alejandro Jodorowsky) - Watch in on psychedelics, or don’t bother.

Heima (Dean deBlois) - A documentary about Sigur Rós’ return to Iceland. Even for people who are not fans of the band, the landscape is undeniably beautiful.

Django Unchained (Quentin Tarantino) - I am finding the latest Tarantino efforts to be a tad boring on repeated viewings. I usually love them when I see them on cinema, but then abandon them half-way when I try to watch them at home. But this one passed the home test, so it gets my thumbs up!

Disquiet (João Botelho) - Squeezing in a Portuguese movie due for national pride reasons. Not that I care much about those things. But I believe more people should watch this movie. The dialogue is lifted from my favorite poetry book, written by Fernando Pessoa. Heavy, dark, contemplative narrative.

Baraka (Ron Fricke) - There is a particular documentary style associated with both Ron Fricke and Godfrey Reggio that I find very appealing. Visual snapshots of people in their homelands. The silent contrast between traditional and modern. And the omnipresent feeling that all life is meaningless and mankind is a just a random occasion on a ball floating in space. Baraka is the best of all.

Rashomon (Akira Kurosawa) - There is nothing in the World like Kurosawa’s samurai movies, and no better samurai than Toshiro Mifune. Rashomon rises above the other excellent Kurosawa movies by its symbolism and usage of light. A murder story told by four different characters. The truth is somewhere in between the lies.

Dogtooth (Yorgos Lanthimos) - A perverse tale of innocence and isolation. 

Gomorra (Matteo Garrone) - Disturbing stories from Napoli’s crime underworld. Realistically shot, no sugar coating, no happy endings, no poetic criminals.

Kids (Larry Clark) - I had this one on VHS, a double feature that also included Trainspotting. Found memories attached to this movie, I saw the actors as a parallel to the kids in my street. Several of the participants in the movie are dead or living miserable lives nowadays. Just like the street kids from my youth.

A Woman Under the Influence (John Cassavetes) - It is not easy to get into this director. And this is a psychological scarring movie. The audience is led to descend into madness like its main character. 

Down by Law (Jim Jarmusch) - “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.”

Daisies (Vera Chytilová) - My most popular post for some reason. An excellent, imaginative, innovative, playful, senseless fun movie to watch. 

Taste of Cherry (Abbas Kiarostami) - A man’s quest to end his life. The ultimate taboo.

Black Orpheus (Marcel Camus) - Greek Mythology meets Brazilian Slum. A wonderful, poetic ending makes up for some dull parts in between. Excellent soundtrack!

The Cabinet of Dr Caligari (Robert Wiene) - Insane expressionist film with lovely painted backdrops that add a sense of depth and misdirection to its scenes. Timeless movie experience!

Amélie (Jean-Pierre Jeunet) - Modern Fairy tale. Inspirational. Makes me want to enjoy life more.

Oldboy (Park Chan-Wook) - Part of the Vengeance trilogy, I picked Oldboy because I now realize that I haven’t seen Sympathy for Lady Vengeance again ever since I started this Tumblr. Both films are excellent tales of twisted revenge. Oldboy’s fight scene has inspired a generation of copycats.

Spring Summer Fall Winter... And Spring (Kim Ki-duk) - Episodes of the life of a Buddhist monk, from childhood to old age. The wheel of life and rebirth. As Buddhist as it gets.

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (Terry Gilliam) - This got me into Hunter Thompson. There’s no such thing as too much drugs.

Battle Royale (Kinji Fukasaku) - A high school class is taken to a remote island and instructed to kill each other until only one survives. Classic 80′s video game plot, tickles the nostalgia bone just right without resolving to remakes and rehashes. Incredibly fun!

House (Nobuhiko Ôbayashi) - A horror movie, a comedy, a fever dream, an art-house lysergic extravaganza. Don’t know what to make of this movie, just that watching it is an amusing experience.

Band of Outsiders (Jean-Luc Godard) - I love all Anna Karina’s movies with Godard, so it’s hard to pick one. I went with Band of Outsiders because of its dance sequence. Godard had fun while experimenting with filming techniques, and this feeling is contagious to the audience. 

Thanks for reading and sticking around.

[wud-u-suck-me-off-if-i]

How Queerness, Androgyny and Gender in Music Has Evolved

With the passing of 2016 came the tragic loss of some of the most distinguished rock & pop artists to have ever graced our eyes, ears and record players.

Many of our late stellar idols had at least one thing in common. From David Bowie toPrince to George Michael, they all shared a tremendous penchant and commitment towards smashing the fragile ego of masculine stereotypes, flexing genders strict binary, and denouncing sexuality as something ever to be ashamed of. This has lead to the three remaining emblematic figures within the queer community, through life and after death.

Bowie's fame sprouted not only from his prolific musical career, but also his bravery to collapse expectations through self portrait and stage persona. Dylan Jones has described his time on TOTP's as a 'dangerous figure on British TV at a point when television didn't do danger'. Bowie was elaborate to say the least; expelling his concoction of straight, gay, masculine and feminine persona's, whirl-pooling into a state that always remained an undefinable limbo. Fans were able to titillate waves of desire, a rejuvenation of the human condition and sexual vigour. Sporting heels, glitter body suits and a full face of slap was not what the common man was admitted to model. Bowieunapologetically exampled the fortitude to dismantle the sex categorisation of clothing in the 70's, making it human. His gender bending wasn't just beneficial to men aspiring for sexual liberation: He fought hard against any easy definitions, repelling labels with remarkable result, as Gucci designer Frida Giannini comments: "[His] shameless androgyny helped women express their masculine strength without losing their feminine glamour and sensuality". His alter egos flourished in style, as he paved the way for all listeners to shed their formal code of conducts and embrace his androgynous, ostentatious presentation of gender moral; striking the mainstream with full force and razing ideologies that had ruled.

A second avant-garde in normalising queerness in music was the most recent and wistfully lost George Michael. Michael's was outed by his arrest for 'lewd acts' in a public place, seized by an undercover police officer. This was in no means a hindrance toMichael's work. He used his experiences to propel the queer image shamelessly into our living rooms; positioning sex at the forefront of his brazen sexual narratives and camp portrayed disco music video 'Outside'. Michaels caricatured the drama of the situation and its fascicle idea that he should engulf utter shame. He followed up with comments in a coming out interview with CNN: "I don't feel ashamed and I don't believe I should", continuing his brash and flippant attitude towards gay sex and its media coverage.George Michael evolved from someone who hid his sexuality due to his mother's fears, claiming "Aids was the predominant feature of being gay in the 1980's and early 90's as far as any parent was concerned", before embellishing self love and bold gratification of self worth, "I'm a dirty filthy fucker and if you can’t deal with it, you can’t deal with it”.

Likewise, a final artist whom teased heterosexuality and gender solidarity from its pedestal was Sylvester. He emerged as a cosmic disco singer who brought 'Do You Wanna Funk' and 'Dance (Disco Heat)' to the international stages, ruling dance charts for a massive 6 weeks in the late 70's. From his childhood church where he was ostracised for his homosexuality, to his record label meetings, where he was pressured to 'butch up a bit', Sylvester's bombastic and androgynous figure has been assailed in his private life and career. However, this never stopped him showing up to meetings in full drag. Despite his explicit queer bravado and gender fluidity expression, his passion and music were embraced fantastically; before entering the Dance Music Hall Of Fame in 2005. Sadly, Sylvester passed away with AIDS in 1988.

Thus, the music industry in the past was adorned by male figures stirring the pot of the conventional artwork. Whereas fresher artists of today are exploding in a more female direction. As social tolerance arguably increases, groups producing music of a queerer disposition are clawing their way out of every crevice onto the mainstream playing field. LGBT music has branched off into an almost entire genre of its own; ample in burgeoning content of complex sexual flexibility created by artists who have no desire to taint themselves for anyone. This music is consequential in reaching a wider scope audience within a colourful, growing industry.

For one of our most recent artist to be catapulted into super stardom, excessive confidence and innate zeal was not always bountiful, until the non sexualised, gender-queer alter ego, 'Christine and the Queens' was born. Named after drag artists fromSoho, Heloise Letissier was allowed to unmask a serene sense of sexual awakening, the abandonment of conformity, and most importantly, fluidity of identity, all down to the adoption of this personality. The power of the androgynous microcosm of herself, as she claims in her song 'IT'; "I wanted symbolically with this song to take the place of a guy", as well as her lyrics "Cos I won, I'm a man now" exuding an honest narrative and the dexterity she doesn't believe herself would be fulfilled alone. Despite sporadic and exotic performances that Letissier describes as 'a little boy who wants to be Beyonce', the mainstream audience has lapped it up due to its subtle integration; with international ears cascading the most admiration and her biggest headline to be set in the US. Thus,Christine and the Queens has knitted the dichotomy of these two worlds together through the addictive reverence of pop music and its subsequent culture.

A fellow artist who followed suit in producing exquisite pop music riddled with beat dribbles and hooking tastes is the once frontier of Anthony and the Johnsons, now known as ANOHNI, an open transgender woman. Her emancipating track 'Drone Bomb Me' is infested with dark beats and silky synth drops, all coated by ANOHNI's epicentre vocals. She has spoken outwardly and blatantly, generating much needed discussions surrounding trans issues, stating as laconically as possible the importance of pronouns in an interview with Flavourwire: "I think words are important to call a person by their chosen gender is to honour their spirit, their life and contribution". All of which exhibits the power of a musical platform:

Last but definitely not least, we are brought to an innovator who's ascend up the pop ladder has been consumed so earnestly by so many it's hard to keep track of her ever budding successes. Shura's bloom into the music industry came about as her record'Touch', enriched with analogue synths along with the roots of a break up embedded in its foundations was plunged onto Youtube, receiving over 27 million views to present. Her home-made video that laudably presents same sex intimacy with all the spaces in between, emboldens queer love visually, flushing out left over hate with shameless exposure. This video allowed Shura the traction she deserved, blowing up into a huge queer-pop solo artist and an idol many were able to relate to.

Therefore, this radical procedure of creating normality with androgyny, queerness and gender fluidity is continuing to make sporadic and behemoth impact within the industry. As music, questionably our most expressive outlet, is used as a platform to share pain, anxieties and liberties, and allow listeners to feel safer about sexuality, that still receives hatred from those privileged enough to face it with ignorance. Without those striding forward in the limelight, less would feel as invigorated as we do down here, and thus is why celebrities perusing these avenues is as important as it is.