Christopher

OK you guys you all totally need to sign up for this thing

a_respite — Fri, 04 Jun 2010 14:40:38 GMT

Are you tired of writing the same fic over and over? Have you always wanted to write a fic about a certain character, but haven't found the opportunity? Are you willing to write just about anything, but haven't?

In short, do you like a challenge?

If so, this will be the fest for you.

Basics:

-- All ratings will be allowed, from G to NC-17.
-- Thus, all participants should be 18 years of age or older.
-- Fics should be no less than 1,000 words. There is no maximum limit.
-- Any pairings are allowed (het, slash, femmslash, gen).
-- AU is allowed, crossover is not.

Sign-ups begin: June 4th
Sign-ups end: June 18th
Prompting begins: June 21st
Prompting ends: June 28th
Posting begins: September 30th

hpchallengefest - a fest focused on challenging writers to go above and beyond their norm.

Daria: Miss Scarlett's School for Boys (Daria/Jane, Tom. R)

a_respite — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 00:07:35 GMT

Title: Miss Scarlett's School for Boys
Author: a_respite
Fandom: Daria
Word Count: 3200 or so
Warnings: Dubious Consent
Rating: R for bad behavior
Summary: What would it have been like if Tom had been checking out Daria during "Jane's Addition?"

“Jane, do you know that guy?” Daria asked. The ring of microphone feedback was still stuck in her ears, which, along with a surreptitious Jack and Coke or three may have clouded her judgment, but Daria Morgendorffer had, for the last five minutes, watched her best friend and some random stranger making eyes across the room.

“I don't, Daria, but I think he'd like to get to know you. He's been staring at you for most of the set,” Jane answered, eyes still pointed at the dark-haired stranger.

“Staring at me?” Daria protested. “He's - ” Daria was cut off by the young man starting to make his way across the club.

“On his way over, apparently.” Jane finished. “Oh, look and I promised Trent I'd, er... Bye, Daria!” Daria had about a moment to get used to the idea of this random stranger chatting her up before he got to within earshot.

“Hey,” he said, as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“Hey yourself,” Daria answered. “If you're looking for my friend, she had to -”

“No, I – I wasn't looking for your friend. My name's Tom.” Tom stuck his hand out to Daria in greeting.

“Scarlett,” Daria answered. She caught sight of Jane out of the side of her glasses while shaking Tom's hand. “I don't recognize you from school – do you go to State?”

“Nope, still in High School. Fielding. What about you?”

“Grove Hills. Andrea over there goes to Lawndale High,” Daria replied, pointing at Jane.

“Huh. Tough school. What's your concentration?” Daria had to improvise – for all she knew, this guy might know someone at Grove Hills or have a sibling there. Plus, the canned music had just been turned on following Mystik Spyral's first set.

“Concentration – that's a Fielding thing, right? My electives are all in English – creative writing and criticism. So, what are you doing here, anyway? This isn't really a Fielding Prep kind of hangout.”

“I come here sometimes; it's good to get out of one's comfort zone, see new things. Isn't that what Barthes is always talking about?”

“From your point of view, I guess it could seem that way,” Daria answered, trying not to laugh.

“Exactly. So, as long as we're getting all PoMo, have you ever seen a deconstructionist convertible?” It was getting harder and harder for Daria not to laugh in the earnest young man's face. She needed an escape.

“Sure, convertible. Let me go let Andrea know. You stay right there, okay?” Daria's about-to-explode face told Jane everything she needed to know.

“So, a real winner, huh?”

“These guys I knew back in Texas would have been closer. But sure, we'll go with winner. He asked me to see his convertible – how does a girl say no to that?” Daria allowed herself a chuckle or two.

“He has money, then?”

“Yeah, Tom's loaded, and he's a live one. Scarlett is on the move.” A wicked smile bloomed across Jane's face.

“Same place?”

“Yep. Just give me an extra hour or so this time,” Daria answered. “He looks a little shy.”

“You got it, amiga. I'll make the usual arrangements.” Daria leaned in to give Jane a kiss goodbye and headed over to her new friend.

“So, ready to show me that convertible of yours, Tom?”

“Um, sure. Hey, if you and Andrea are - ”

“Don't worry about her,” Daria cut him off. “It's – it's complicated. We have our rules, and that's really all you need to know. So, shall we?” Daria grabbed Tom's arm by the elbow, and they were off. Once Jane saw that they were gone, she walked over to the bar to borrow the telephone.

“Hi, Le Grand Hotel? Let me speak to Bobby, please. Bobby? It's Andrea. Scarlett's on the move. Suite 502? Perfect. Yes, the usual – 10 percent.”

Dega Street was quiet, except for the occasional burst of noise every time the Zon's door opened. As they approached Tom's rusted-out Pinto, Daria had a sinking feeling in her stomach that the night might not go as planned. But the more Tom kept talking, the easier it seemed things would go.

“So I figured everyone wants to be different somehow, right? We all need that little thing that makes us unique. Our own semiotic, if you will.”

Daria bit her lip; Tom had nearly gotten that one right.

“So, I told Dad that I needed a car that expressed danger; that only someone who was really interested in pushing the limits would want to ride in. And what better analog for danger is there in automobiles than the Ford Pinto? Right, Scarlett?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Daria replied, nearly over-doing it expressing false interest. “Are you a dangerous man, Tom?” Daria smiled.

“Well, I - ” Daria stopped him with a soft kiss on his lips.

“Why don't you take me for a ride and show me?”

They drove around for a bit, Tom talking about Fielding, and the idiots he was forced to go to school with who would never step outside their comfort-zone long enough to go anywhere like the Zon. Daria half-listened, muttering “uh-huh” and “of course” as the situation warranted, wishing she could be anywhere but in that Pinto with that boy. After half an hour or so, she thought it might be time to press the issue.

“Tom, pull over.”

“What? I mean, we're on I-83, Scarlett, I can't just - ”

“Pull. Over,” she demanded, and so he did. After the car stopped along the shoulder, Daria took off her seatbelt and rolled over onto Tom in the driver's seat. She grabbed his face and fairly mashed it onto her own, looking for all the world as if she was trying to suck the soul right out of him. She then grabbed his hands and placed them on her breasts, while continuing to kiss him fervently and grinding into his lap as she straddled him. After about a minute and a half of this attention, she gasped in between kisses “Take me home.”

“Wha-?” Tom asked, his mind still in a rather libidinous haze, “won't your parents be there?”

“Not a problem,” Daria drawled, “I already told them I'd be spending the night at Andrea's. I'll just pack a little something, and then you'll find us a nice hotel.”

Mention of a hotel was apparently enough for Tom to be convinced, and the Pinto was pushed to its limits getting back to Lawndale. Daria asked Tom to wait in the Pinto a block away (making the excuse that she didn't want to be seen exiting such a wreck), told Jake (Helen was still at the office, as it was only 9:45) she'd be staying with Jane that evening, and went to her padded room to pack a few odds and ends.

Tom and Daria pulled into the parking lot of Le Grand Hotel about 10:15, which was half an hour earlier than the schedule Daria and Jane had agreed on at the Zon. This was going to take a bit more improvisation on Daria's part once they got upstairs. Daria looked over at the drivers seat, where Tom was fidgeting.

Daria cooed into Tom's ear. “It's okay, Tom. I know you're a bit nervous. Tell you what, why don't you just let me control things while we're in there. You'd like it if I took control, right?”

Tom exhaled, as if two-ton weights had just been removed from his shoulders. That was all the answer Daria needed. She smiled, grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat of Tom's Pinto, and said “Let's go, then,” and they walked to the hotel's front door.

Bobby was there to meet them, taking Tom's credit card as the three of them arrived at the front desk. He booked them into Suite 502, giving Daria a wink when Tom's head was turned. Bobby carried Daria's backpack up to their suite, holding out his hand to Tom after they got there. Twenty dollars later, and the bellhop was on his way, closing the door behind. Once the door was closed, Daria pushed Tom against it, kissing him passionately. She reached for his belt buckle, and opened it, removing his belt in the process. She heard Tom's breathing deepen and smiled. This was almost too easy. When she felt that Tom was beyond resistance, she grabbed him by the shirt front and pulled him to the bedroom, where she threw him down on the king-sized bed.

“Now Tom,” she said, with a jaunty sparkle in her eyes, “I'm going to change into something a bit more comfortable. By the time I'm done, I don't want to see a stitch of clothing on your body, am I clear?” Tom nodded his head in assent.

“Good boy,” she said, tousling his hair. “I'll just be a moment, so be quick about it.”

Daria grabbed her bag and walked into the suite's spacious master bath. She ran the water in the sink and picked up the telephone next to the toilet, dialing Jane's house. When the answering machine picked up, Daria was satisfied that Jane was on her way, and began to dress for the evening's entertainment. She pulled a pair of leather shorts, a leather vest, and a leather combination-style biker hat from the bag. It took a moment or two to slip the shorts on over her boots, but when she was done, she took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. “Well,” she thought “if that pantywaist appreciates semiotics so much, let's see what he makes out of this symbolism.” She left her jacket, tee shirt and skirt in the bathroom and grabbed her bag.

Tom had followed instructions quite well, and there was nothing like sitting naked for seven long minutes in a well-air conditioned room for sapping what little confidence there was straight out of a teenage boy. When he saw Daria dressed like a cartoon dominatrix, his confidence sunk even lower, so he did his best to make up for it with wit.

“Gee, Scarlett, if I'd've known, we would have taken your Harley here.” This turned out to be the wrong move.

Daria frowned, walked up to the edge of the bed where he was sitting, and smacked him hard enough across his face for his head to turn with the impact.

“You will speak only when I allow it, is that clear?” she asked him. She then stifled a wicked grin as she considered her next bit of fun. “And when you do, you will address me in a Southern accent as 'Miss Scarlett.' Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett,” Tom replied, bowing his head and doing his best impression of Prissy from [i]Gone With The Wind[/i]. This tickled Daria to no end, but she let it go for the sake of her performance.

“Now,” she continued. “I want to see you on the floor on your hands and knees. Move!” Tom complied, and Daria took his place at the edge of the bed.

“What wrong with my boots, Tom?” she asked.

“Er, nothing, Miss Scarlett.” This was the wrong answer. Daria pushed him over with her boot.

“They're filthy; that's what's wrong. I think they could use a good cleaning, don't you?”

Tom nodded in response.

“Excellent. Now be a good boy and give them a nice spit-shine. And if you so much as think of touching me anywhere other than those boots, you're going to wish you hadn't.”

Tom began, tentatively at first, to lick Daria's boots clean. As they were nearly knee-high jump boots, Daria was certain that this would take as much time as Jane needed to get over there, and she wouldn't have to touch him again that evening. Besides, watching the spoiled Fielding brat think he could “sow some oats” if he kept licking was amusing, to say the least. Ten minutes into the boot-licking, there was a knock on the door.

“Go answer the door, boy, will you?” Daria asked. A relieved Tom pulled his exhausted tongue back into his mouth and began to stand.

“Tom?” Daria asked, severely.

“Yes, Miss Scarlett?”

“I didn't tell you to stand up.” Defeated, Tom got back down onto hands and knees and crawled into the suite's living room to open the door for Jane. Jane walked through the door and tousled Tom’s hair (even scratched behind his ears). She stopped when she saw Daria emerge from the bedroom, dropped her bag, walked over to her, and gave her a long, deep kiss, which Daria returned greedily. The under-foot Tom was banished to the couch as Daria and Jane continued to make out like teenagers in the middle of the living room; mouths open, hands roaming freely.

Tom would certainly go to his grave saying it was a simple scratch that undid him. A harmless scratch – something any man would do unconsciously. Unfortunately for him, Jane didn't quite see it that way.

“Oh, God. That's just gross – Scarlett?”

“Mm? What happened?”

“He – he was touching himself!,” Jane exclaimed. “Watching us – just, ew.”

Daria raised slightly on her toes to kiss Jane on the cheek. “It's not his fault, Andrea. The poor boy's just all excited. He thought he brought me up here for sex, after all, right?” Daria pointedly walked over to Tom, smacking him hard across his cheek. “Answer me when you're spoken to!”

“I – er, No, Miss Scarlett.” Daria smacked him again.

“Really? You expect me to believe that you shelled out all this money on a girl you picked up at some skeezy club, for a hotel room no less, all just for conversation?”

Tom shook his head.

“Excuse me? Didn't hear you, Tom.”

“No, Miss Scarlett. You were right. I brought you up here for sex.” Daria smiled.

“Excellent, now we're getting somewhere.” She sat down next to Tom. Jane took a seat in a nearby desk chair. “You brought me up here for sex. But, as you've probably figured out by now, I like sex with girls. You have figured that out, right, Tom?”

“Yes, Miss Scarlett.”

“Good. Now, if little virgin Tom is going to get his cherry popped, we're going to have to make some changes. Andrea?” Daria turned to her friend and drawled, “do you have anything that could help?”

Jane smiled brightly. “Why yes, I do!” she said, and grabbed her bag where it sat by the door. From it, she pulled a bright yellow sun dress, a matching bra and knickers set, and the falsies Dr. Shar had given Daria a few months earlier. Tom's mouth opened in shock.

“Wait just a minute,” he said. “You two set me up!” Daria and Jane just laughed. Then Daria stood up and smacked Tom again on what was becoming an increasingly sore cheek.

“God! Don't you remember the simplest things? I told you Andrea and I had our rules, and you should let me run things, right? Well, these are the rules: she gets to watch. If you don't like it, there's the door!” Daria pointed forcefully at the exit. Tom, however, remained still.

“Good,” Daria said. “Now, go into the bedroom and put these on. Then you're going to give us a little dance to get us in the mood. Clear?” Tom grabbed the costume from Jane and did as he was told.

Daria and Jane did their best to control their snickers after the bedroom door closed. Jane pulled her father's Nikon D-1 from her bag while Daria looked on.

“Dad didn't like it because the resolution on these things is lousy,” Jane explained. “For anything over eight-by-ten, there's just no clarity. But for this, we should be just fine.”

Tom's eyes widened when he saw Jane holding the camera. Daria noticed this and walked over to him, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Don't worry,” she said, out of character, “There's no film in there – it's just a prop.” She then swatted his rear forcefully and sat back down on the couch. “Now dance; and make it good, if you want sex, that is.”

Tom did his best, but legacy prep-school boys really aren't known for their dancing. Nonetheless, Daria and Jane enjoyed the show; Jane snapping many pictures with her father's camera. Tom wiggled and shimmied the best he could, while Daria sent whistles and cat-calls of encouragement. Ten minutes later, having gotten bored, Daria decided to move on.

“Very nice, Tom,” she said, clapping slowly. “I think we'll make a girl out of you, yet. Why don't you take those knickers off and go into the bedroom. If you can lie on your back and hold on to your ankles by the time I get in there, I'll make you feel something you've never felt before.

Jane and Daria were familiar with their roles, and when they walked into the bedroom, like clockwork, Daria picked Tom's belt up from where she left it near the bathroom and tossed it to Jane. She pulled the belt as tight as she could around Tom's ankles and wrists, tying the belt off in a knot to prevent his escape. She then snapped five or six more pictures of Tom as he lie there, while Daria rifled through his wallet.

“Hundred eighty-five. Not a bad haul,” Daria said. “Too bad the credit cards can all be traced.” She then walked over to Tom and kissed his forehead. “Now, you be a good boy and tell Daddy that you need a thousand dollars cash in a week, because you knocked up some guttersnipe and she wants to be the next Mrs Tom. Bring it to the Zon where you met us next Thursday, okay? Otherwise, all those digital pictures Andrea took will be sent to everyone who registered an AOL account with a Fielding dot edu email address, okay?”

There were tears rolling down Tom's cheek as he nodded acceptance. Jane grabbed the falsies from inside the brassiere (the clothes they'd leave with Tom, but those falsies would be expensive to replace). Daria kissed his forehead again, and then went to the bathroom to get changed, smiling. They'd owe Bobby a hundred, but the one-eighty-five they scored in cash was all theirs. She and Jane packed up and grabbed each others' hands as they walked towards the suite's front door.

Daria made it to the living room when she heard Tom call for her.

“Miss Scarlett?” Tom asked, still in the Southern accent. Daria was amused, so she ducked her head back in the bedroom to see what he wanted. What she heard next chilled her straight to the bone.

“If I get you that money sooner, can we do this again some time?”

Funny, funny stuff.

a_respite — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 02:24:40 GMT

The last time I watched an episode of TV that was so funny I literally thought I might hyperventilate: September 24th, 1987. The show was Night Court, and four episodes plus one summer of re-runs had built up to a gag in which Harry was to put Groucho glasses on the Statue of Liberty. Seeing those Groucho glasses, I laughed for 10 straight minutes, long into whatever in the hell we watched at 10 (probably LA Law or some crap).

Tonight's Big Bang Theory was that good, except I was laughing that hard throughout the entire episode. Wow. There's a writer somewhere who knows what he or she is doing.

From the fractured life of Stacy Rowe (Daria, R, Gen)

a_respite — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 03:26:48 GMT

Title: From the fractured life of Stacy Rowe
Fandom: Daria
Length: 2500 or so
Characters: Stacy, Quinn, Upchuck, various OCs
Rating: R for disturbing imagery, frank talk of a sexual nature.
Summary: A walk through the mind of a girl who just wanted to be liked.

I was trying to be good – really I was. Daddy said I had to stay in my room and shut the –. Bad words are for grownups, so I can't say what Daddy told me, but it was bad. And if Daddy started to use bad words, then I knew I ought to do what he said, 'cause then he'd have to, well, then I'd be a bad girl, and he'd have to lie to the policeman because he didn't want the policeman to think I was a bad girl. Good girls got ice-cream, you see, and bad girls had to go to the hospital. So I wanted to be good, because the hospital hurt, and Daddy would get in trouble if he got caught lying to the policeman – he told me so.

And I was being good, and Dolly and I were playing, and I was braiding her hair carefully so more of it wouldn't fall out, and Daddy and his friend were being so loud out there, yelling and lots of bad words, and they didn't really sound like friends.

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Oh wow, Quinn. From the first day I saw her I knew we'd be the best of friends. And that's what we were – best friends. Tiffany had been my best friend, since sixth grade actually, when I moved to Lawndale. Tiffany was always so fashionable, so thin, so pretty. And she was so nice to me, telling me what was fashionable and what was cute and what was just... ew. So I knew I had to be pretty, too, and I tried to dress just like her. I bought the latest clothes, and read Teen Waif, and learned to do my makeup so it looked like me but just a little bit better. And Tiffany would always be special, just not as special as Quinn. Quinn was so naturally cute, and that's why she had so many friends; why she was so popular. And if I was friends with someone as popular as Quinn, then I must be popular, too. And if I was popular, that must mean I was fashionable and cute, because girls who aren't fashionable and cute aren't popular, unless they're Jodie Landon, but she's a brain, and I could never be a brain.

But Sandi kept telling me I was never quite cute enough. And she was the President of the Fashion Club, and had just barely let me in so I could be the secretary. And the Fashion Club was an important extra-curricular at Lawndale, so Sandi really must have known best.

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Did she really think I gave a fuck he was married? Stuck-up bitch – no wonder her husband looked at me like he hadn't seen pussy in a year; bitch probably gives him one mercy fuck every year on his birthday or something. God, he was so good, too. I really thought he'd call, but I wrote my number on the inside of his t-shirt just in case he forgot. 'Cause I knew he wanted to call me, but he'd forget, 'cause he seemed like he had so much on his mind – we just talked and talked and talked at the bar, and he bought me so many drinks, and told me all about his job and it was so exciting, and he'd look right through my soul with those brown eyes of his. He totally wanted me. God, how he wanted me. And he was so sweet, too. He even fell right asleep after he was finished; he kissed the top of my head and laid down and just went to sleep like a little baby. Most of the time they just hurry the hell out of there or take a shower or something, and then hurry the hell out of there. But not this guy. So I knew he wanted to call me, and maybe take me to Chez Pierre and buy me something pretty, 'cause that's what men do when you're cute and they like you. And that's why I wrote my number on his t-shirt, so he wouldn't forget, and then curled right up next to him, and he was so warm, and I watched him sleep all night.

But then, just like every other bastard, he doesn't call, and it's five o'clock somewhere, and I'm halfway through my soaps and a bottle of Smirnoff when his bitch comes pounding on my door yelling my name like I'm going to come out if she keeps yelling. And so I had to do something, or my neighbors were going to hate me even more than they probably did already.

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The Rowes were the fourth family I went to before they said they'd adopt me and then I'd be theirs and not just some foster kid. Oh, foster kids are cute and all, when they're six or eight or something, but by the time I was ten I knew I'd better find a place and stay, so I made sure they'd like me. And they loved me! Mother was so pretty, and she was able to land herself such a handsome and successful man like Dad because she did everything right and kept her mouth shut so Dad wouldn't think she was smarter than he was (even though we know who's in charge, right?) and he'd just buy her pretty things and bring her home flowers and tell her she's beautiful (which she was). And Mother was so nice to me and told me that if I played my cards right, even I could land a man like that. She'd never hit me when I was loud or angry, she just told me that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and then she'd nod her head at me knowingly, and I felt ever-so-grown-up because I knew what she was talking about. These were women's secrets, the kind that women share. I mean, Dad was always away for business, so it wasn't so much secrets as practice secrets for when he was there, but still, they were ours.

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My first time was so stupid – god, was I stupid. I thought – I don't know what I thought. But he really couldn't be as bad as he seemed, could he? No. Yes, yes of course he could. And he just looked at me with those pitiful eyes, and didn't we have fun doing the sidewalk magic, and didn't he buy me that dress to be his assistant, and I just let him. I'd only let one guy even get to second base before that (that was Jeffy, who really wanted to be with Quinn, but how can you blame him?), and I give it up for Upchuck? In the back of his father's old car? God! And it was like three times in and out and then he pulls out and gets come all over my blue top, and I have to wear it backwards so Mother doesn't find out. And then at school – even though I told him not to talk to me there – he tries to be all boyfriendy with me and I told him if he ever told anyone we'd done it I'd tell the whole school what a tiny dick he has and he got tears in his eyes and just stood there. He got better at it, though – the sex, I mean.

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I thought I’d lost Quinn one day, because I’m so stupid, and don’t know when to keep my mouth shut. She said she needed a place to stay for a day, because her cousin (and I knew it was her sister, but I didn’t tell anyone. God! How could anyone as nice and pretty and cute as Quinn have a sister that… ew!), and her parents were at some geek farm, and Sandi’s place was so crowded with the boys, and you know how Tiffany can be. Well, Tiffany was my friend, too, but I played along, ‘cause this was Quinn. So Quinn came over, and I was trying on outfits to see which one Quinn liked best (she was the Vice President of the Fashion Club, after all, and I was just the secretary), and Quinn kept saying things like “slipdress,” so I figured that’s what she thought was fashionable, but then she kept changing her mind, so I thought I’d just wear what she was wearing. And I’d bought a pink babydoll tee right after Quinn got to Lawndale, so I put that on over jeans, because I knew Quinn liked that outfit. And then I had to bring out that stupid, stupid hair color. I knew I should have made it a surprise – of course Quinn would think that I was trying to take her popularity away by looking as cute as her. I didn’t have enough time to explain that I just wanted beautiful, soft red hair like hers that would feel so good in my fingers, and that I totally wasn’t trying to take her popularity, I just wanted to be like her so she’d like me better, which I know sounds really stupid, but I meant it nice.

But I didn’t lose her, because the next year she could only have one friend come over, and she invited me. Not Sandi, not Tiffany – me! Well, at least before Sandi went ahead and messed everything up. But still – me!

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God, that bitch wouldn’t stop banging the door. So I opened it a crack, with the chain on. I was so fucking wasted I could barely stand up, but there she was, just yelling and screaming, and I just watched her. And her face turned redder and redder, and she stopped to take a breath and I said “wait, which one was your husband again?” Yeah, I totally knew who he was – bastard didn’t call – but whatever, right? So she shows me a picture – one of those happy family pictures with three angelic little girls, one of them holding a doll, and she’s asking me how I could live with myself taking their father away from them, and how I could look at myself in the mirror, so I just looked at her and said “bad upbringing, I guess,” and that just pissed her off more.

‘Cause then she got really mad, and started cursing at me like it was my fault she was such a frigid bitch that her husband needed to pick up girls in bars, but she thought it was. God! He was just being nice to me all night, buying me drinks and talking nicely to me, telling me I was pretty; what was I supposed to do, let him go back to that? It wasn’t my fault, I was just being nice, which is something she could have tried, but no, she just stood there and kept yelling, and kept yelling and swearing and cursing and I was so totally going to hear it from the neighbors now, but she wouldn’t stop, so I yelled back for her to shut up, but she wouldn’t. She just didn’t shut up. It wasn’t my fault! I was just being nice, and God! Now this! So I just started screaming at the top of my lungs “STOP YELLING AT ME! STOP YELLING AT ME!” And I pick up my coffee table and threw it at the door, which knocked my bottle of vodka on the floor. And I guess that must have spooked her, ‘cause she was gone, but all I could do was sit in the middle of my apartment on the floor, holding on to my vodka, crying.

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Um, so I poked my head outside my door, and there were Daddy and the other man, and there was all this stuff on the coffee table, and money, and it smelled like smoke – not like when Daddy smoked in the car, different smoke – and I don’t think that man was Daddy’s friend really, so I figured I should watch out for Daddy. I told Dolly to be real quiet (I know she’s just a doll, I’m a big girl! But I did it anyway.), and I watched from down the hall. They were talking so fast and yelling and stuff, and then Daddy hit the man in his face, which must have hurt, because it always hurts me when blood comes out, and there was a lot of blood coming out of the man’s nose. And then the man got really angry, and pulled something out of his pocket, and when he clicked it open it was all shiny, and the light bounced off it and got in my eyes and Daddy was on the floor with lots of blood and the man must have run away with all the money.

And that’s when I put Dolly in my knapsack from school, and a couple of clothes, and climbed out the window and ran away as fast as I could. I figured if I could just make it to the highway, maybe I could follow the road and it would take me somewhere nice, like Centreville, which Daddy said was the nicest town on the Eastern Shore. But I didn’t know which way the highway was, and it was dark, and the cars were scary. So I pulled Dolly out of the knapsack and held on to her, ‘cause Mommy said that Dolly would take away all my bad dreams, and this was so much worse than a bad dream, so Dolly must help extra much here. But then I got tired and I couldn’t walk so much.

I was really scared when the policeman came, ‘cause Daddy said I shouldn’t talk to them unless he was there, but the policeman was so nice. And then there was a policelady, too, and she was nice, and she asked about Dolly, and about my mommy (I told her she was in Heaven, ‘cause that’s what Daddy said, and I asked her if she thought Daddy was in Heaven, too, and she said “probably, sweetheart,” and gave me a big hug, which was nice), and I think she might have been crying a bit. (I wasn’t, though. I’m a big girl.) Then she asked me about grandma and grandpa, and I said they were in Heaven, too, and Daddy said it was just me and him, so I guess now it was just me. And the policelady said everything’s gonna be okay, and I didn’t believe her, but she seemed so nice and so sad, and I didn’t want to make her angry at me, too, so I just nodded, and she took me for a ride in the police car with the sirens.

Liveblogging the Monday Night Sitcoms

a_respite — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 03:39:33 GMT

The Monday Night Sitcoms, for those of you who don't live in the USA are as follows:

8:00 - How I Met Your Mother
8:30 - Accidentally On Purpose
9:00 - Two and a Half Men
9:30 - The Big Bang Theory

8:20-27 - Starting with How I Met Your Mother: Because I needed to start 20 minutes late so I don't have to watch commercials.

OMG, they're actually using that silly thing from the Super Bowl. Whoever came up with that really needs to be fired. The joke was funny for about two minutes, then it got old.

"I hate him. I hate him so much I just want to rip his clothes off and paddle him until his bum is all rosy red - Shut up!" Best line of the night so far. It's going to be tough to beat that one.

And it looks as though I'm going to have to make liberal use of the pause feature throughout this show, which (since the advent of Chelsea on 2.5M) has become the second-best show on Monday night.

8:31-41 So Ted wants his marriage arranged for him. By Marshall and Lily.

Duck Season! Rabbit Season! For a nonsensical bit that has nothing to do with the plot so far, that was pretty awesome.

"You're a hot lady bullfighter?" Meh - the joke's making a comeback. If they have to stretch it out this long, apparently they're doing it not so badly.

And the leg over the head? So totally fake. And the Duck/Rabbit thing makes a comeback!

Don pulls the Naked Man! OMG! They brought back the best bit ever!

Commercials - 1) Really? That bad, bad TV show with Landon Donovan's ex-wife is back on Monday? Tough to say this, but Accidentally On Purpose was actually an upgrade from Rules of Engagement. It's that bad a TV show. Really.

2) Mark Sanchez? Now, I love my fellow Trojans, but is he really supposed to make women think about heart health? And the "btw, I dig chicks that like football" thing was more than a little heavy-handed.

8:47-53 They really called it the Naked Man! And it's Robin again!!

The marriage proposal thing was pretty lame, but that's the way it goes with this show. The main plot is pretty lame (can loveable sad-sack ever get laid and/or find Twu Wuv?), but the things around it are the coolest ever. The Barney's Phone gag turned out to be lulzy, but omg the nakedman.

Now for the bridge - ending joke, then on to Accidentally On Purpose.

8:57 has the ending joke, and it's the Rabbit/Duck bit. Kinda lame.

8:58 has Accidentally On Purpose.

"Discrete Transitions? That's a Tranny Store! Oh, but they are cute!"

"Use this for one night and you will feel relaxed, with a smile on your face. --" "Where do I put the batteries?"

So far we have a couple of good lines. The plot - Billie's double-booked with Zack's 5th High School Reunion and her sisters cocktail party for selling Acai juice bottles (that's where the "batteries" line comes in). Not bad. Like that they're still using "BTW San Francisco Has Some Gayz In It!" as a scenery device.

Oh, and heeeere's the plot device: Zach has a totally hot ex- who's a Maxim model. And Zach's not told Billie anything about her. And she's on his Facebook. And now he's in trouble. And Billie looks like one of their teachers, and isn't *that* awkward and weird?

The secondary plot device: Billie's Sister's sales thingy isn't going so well... So they're adding vodka to the acai juice to sell it better.

Meh. After How I Met Your Mother, this is: So Far, So Lame. But it's better than not watching TV at all, isn't it?

OK, commercials over, and there's a couple of cool things - 1) Davis peeking at Billie over the stall. 2) "Don't make me go all Glasgow on your ass!"

Action hero music while Billie goes back in to reunion to confront totally hot ex is cool, too. As is when she kisses some other dude.

Yup, pretty lame, to be accurate. But with a few lulzy moments.

And, I think "Melissa is a skanky ho" was the joke at the end. Which means it's time for

OH GOD PLEASE DON'T HAVE CHELSEA IN THIS EPISODE!!!

No - no wait. There's another silly joke at the end. Which gives me time to repeat. OH GOD PLEASE DON'T HAVE CHELSEA IN THIS EPISODE!!! OH GOD PLEASE DON'T HAVE CHELSEA IN THIS EPISODE!!! OH GOD PLEASE DON'T HAVE CHELSEA IN THIS EPISODE!!!

Damn, there's Chelsea. But it's in the "this is what happened last time" bit.

Charlie, she should have been home hours ago, but she's not. Go on with your life. Please, for the sake of the show, go on with your life.

Damn. She's back. But, funny line: "If you'd done it as much as I have, you'd call it the high road."

Hm. Charlie's on the couch. Holy crap, but this show has turned into the worst thing ever. It went from gut-splitting debauchery to a parody of every bad sitcom ever.

Crap. This show is making me multitask. In other words, it's so bad that I'm paying more attention to facebook. So, 2.5 Men has now been reduced to background noise.

I've just spent the last 20 minutes looking for facebook pages about how bad Chelsea is for this show. There are only two. I'm going to have to create my own, obviously...

Oh well, back to the show. Charlie's getting drunk on the couch feeling sorry for himself. So that's better, at least. And he threw up on a baby, so that's pretty cool. Oh, and Chelsea left when he threw up on the kid, so that's even cooler!!

And now she's postponing the wedding, which leaves me in an awkward position: Do I dare hope?

The Big Bang Theory is on now. And I just laughed for the first time in a half-hour. So, Raj doesn't have a girlfriend. And that's a lol a minute. Especially when he tells Leonard that he doesn't mind hearing about his love-life, but hearing about Howard's really pisses him off. Ha! I've been shipping Howard/Raj for a long time now... Awesome!

So, the plot for this episode has Leonard with an invite to the Cern Supercollider in Switzerland. Leonard gets to invite someone - he naturally chooses his girlfriend. However, Leonard and Sheldon have a friendship agreement that involves a trip to the supercollider. So, Sheldon is pouty and moody, and claims Leonard to be one of the biggest traitors in history.

That throat-singing that Sheldon does keeps me laughing hysterically.

10:31 pm. Only one thought in my mind, having just seen the Alice in Wonderland commercial: Why, exactly, didn't Johnny Depp play Sirius Black?

So, TBBT was a decent episode. Not their best ever, but easily the second-best effort of the night.

Well, it's winding down. Sheldon and Penny got horribly ill right before the plane left LAX, so Raj went to Switzerland instead of either of them. He loved the champagne and roses.

Final grades for the night:

How I Met Your Mother: A-
Accidentally on Purpose: B-
Two and a Half Men: D
The Big Bang Theory: B+

Whoever did it, thank you!

a_respite — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 00:14:38 GMT

Yay. Someone was kind enough to nominate Scorpius Malfoy Learns Quidditch for an award. I don't know who you are, but whoever you are, thank you :) And if you'd care to make yourself known, even thank you-er!

Didja ever wonder...?

a_respite — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 18:08:12 GMT

*checks out f-list* Yup. Nothing but women of the female persuasion there.

As many of you are probably bored of hearing, I'm not just involved in the Harry Potter fandom. I also subscribe to the Daria fandom - a fandom celebrating a cartoon on MTV that lasted five blissful seasons in the late-90s, before being relegated to a censored version on a made-for-teens network.

Anyway, the fandom is nearly all men. Yes, fandoms like that do exist! (for evidence of such influence within the Harry Potter fandom, I invite you to check out the Dark Lord Potter boards).

And just in case you've wondered what a nearly all-male fandom would talk about, seeing as 'ships don't tend to control the conversation, I give you the following thread:

http://www.thepaperpusher.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=27796

OM NOM NOM

a_respite — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 15:17:33 GMT

Bleah.

As of about 3pm yesterday, I stopped seeing the NOM ad on ff.net. Didn't see it at home, either. But this morning at work, it's back.

It's apparently an AdSense ad, put out by Google. In the Google TOC under "Content Guidelines," Google says their ads may not contain or link to "Content related to racial intolerance or advocacy against any individual, group or organisation ". Obviously, any ad linking to the NOM site links to advocacy against a group. That has to go away and go away quickly.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

a_respite — Wed, 02 Dec 2009 15:45:50 GMT

From: Christopher
Subject: Offensive banner ads
To: support@fanfiction.com
Date: Wednesday, December 2, 2009, 10:31 AM
Dear fanfiction.net:

I love the service you offer, and I appreciate that it has to be paid for through advertising sales. However, nearly every banner ad currently in circulation is run by a hideously bigoted lobbying group: National Organization for Marriage. I'm afraid I simply can't use your service if it's paid for by peddling bigotry. And judging by the amount of homosexual themed fanfiction listed on your site, I doubt I'm the only one.
Please advise when these banner ads have been taken out of circulation so that I may return to your site.

Regards,
Christopher

Bourdain in Melbourne: Live Blogging.

a_respite — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 04:21:13 GMT

Background: Anthony Bourdain was a chef in Manhattan for 23 years. These days though, he runs the snarkiest travel/foodie show on TV called "No Reservations". His insights are on-point, and his tastes tend to be mine, too. For an idea of the level of snark involved, here's his blog: http://anthony-bourdain-blog.travelchannel.com/

Why do I care about this episode, instead of, say, last week's episode in Chile?

Because I have Australians on my f-list, and if the Australian equivalent of Tony Bourdain did a US show, I'd want to know his impressions of one of my country's fair cities. So, here it is: Tony Bourdain on Melbourne.

He digs the food scene.

Queen Victoria Market. He digs it. Loves that it's more supermarket than chef's hangout. Has a bratwurst for breakfast.

Buddy he's with runs a restaurant called "Half Moon" in a neighborhood called Brighton. Restaurant looks decadently good.

Now he's playing something called "Trugo". He seems to be the only person under 120 who's ever played. But he beats his host.

After Trugo, dinner's on his host. They go to Sydney Road, where they dig the Middle Eastern and North African fare. They nosh on Lebanese and Turkish kebab. In the monologue, though, he mistakes his host's talking about "Football" to mean "Association Football" instead of Australian Rules. I lolled.

Next place for food is what Tony calls "The best Lebanese food I've had outside Beirut". Name of the place is "Rumi's". Chef seems to be quite inventive with the Lebanese culinary canon. Tony's falling all over himself. Calls lamb ribs and quail: "best goddamned thing I've had to eat in Melbourne".

Chinatown's next. "Oldest continuous chinatown on the planet". Tony's Chinatown host talking about (okay, dancing around) the "White Australia" immigration policy, and how after that went away in '73, the food got so much better.

Tony and host are eating Szechuan, and his poor palate is getting its ass kicked by the heat. "Better than some I've had in China" is his reaction. Name of the place is Dae Ti Szechuan.

After Chinatown, Tony goes out to the sticks. Hasn't left Victoria, but he flew out of Melbourne. Name of the town in Dunkeld in southwest Victoria in the Grampiens, and he's at a restaurant called "Royal Mail". Okay, restaurant, farm, hotel, wine cellar... And as much as he's fallen all over himself at the other places, this might be his favorite. And from the look of the food (and the running commentary), I'd be on the next plane to Victoria just to eat there if I could afford it. Which I probably couldn't even if I lived next door.

(Commercial bump says he's going to thrown shrimps on a barbeque. *facepalm*)

Which, in fact, he does. But he doesn't make any cracks about it, except for the ironic commercial bump. This is the obligatory big communal meal party thing. Nothing much to see. And then it's over.

"Distractions" by a_respite, James/Sirius (and James/Lily and Remus/Sirius), NC-17

a_respite — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 05:23:57 GMT

Title: Distractions

Author: a_respite

Pairings: James/Sirius, James/Lily, Remus/Sirius

Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, Het, More Slash

Summary: James is trying to study for NEWTs. Sirius has other plans for him.

Disclaimer: This is fanfiction, not original fiction.

Lengthy Author's Note: This piece was written in response to the "I Never" challenge over at the Sober Universe forum at ff.net. The concept behind this challenge is to write a piece in a genre that you would never, ever write, and then post it where the aficionados of that genre would have the opportunity to offer critique, if they so chose. I generally write comedy pieces centering on the NextGen kids, with ScoRose as my main pairing. So, naturally I was given James/Sirius. This is my first time ever writing explicit slash or NC-17 level nookie of any flavor, so be gentle. I hope you enjoy.

When the Greek philosophers first wrote of the ideal of youth and beauty, it was undoubtedly Sirius Black they pictured. At least as far as he was concerned, to watch the way he strutted his way through my suite after borrowing my shower. Long, dark brown hair which positively flowed onto his shoulders, cheekbones that may have been chiseled into his face, a lean, sinewy frame with muscles lain one on another by hand and stretched taut, from his arms, to his torso, to his -

"Get a good look, Potter. You're going to miss this once we're out of here, you know."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Black," I answered, flipping him a rather rude hand gesture, "Put something on, will you? We all know you're hung like a hippogriff; you really needn't strut around here dripping on the floor like that."

Sirius toweled off as he continued the floor show. "How you wound up the straight one is beyond me, Jamie - "

"James."

"Right, Jamie," he retorted, transfiguring the book I'd chucked at his head into a Frisbee. "That's it, precisely. The ponciest fruit ever to spring from the hallowed branches of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, and yet you fall for a pair of green doe-eyes and a ginger fanny. How does this happen?"

"Are you going to put some clothes on, Sirius? I'm trying to concentrate here." I was starting to get annoyed. The written portion of our Transfiguration N.E.W.T. was in less that 18 hours, and I was starting to feel like a firstie wondering which way to point his wand. Sirius feigned a pout.

"Oh, and here I thought you'd fancy a go, staring at me like you were."

"I was not!" I objected. "Besides, Moony would walk in here looking for you and have us both trussed-up like a Christmas goose in ten seconds flat. Then he'd get Lily to help."

"Get Lily to help what?" Sirius did finally start getting dressed.

"Padfoot, I was on her bad side for four years. Trust me here, you wouldn't want to piss her off." There was a pause in the banter as Sirius fastened his trousers.

"Hung like a hippogriff you say? Huh. Never picked you for a size queen, Prongs. Must be all that Norman still in our blood. Mummy would actually screech at me in French, you know. The Normans were a particularly well-hung people, you see. It's how we rogered the hell out of Harold at Hastings."

"Are you quite done, Sirius? Merlin's balls, but I'm afraid you're going to break into song any moment now. And for fuck's sake, put on a shirt already!"

"It's really not fair, James. You get this delicious Head Boy shower all to yourself," Sirius whined as he sat down on my bed, hair still dripping.

"I do let you use it."

"But I'm all alone in there. Just me and the water. Me, the water, and my big Norman cock."

I buried my reddening face in my palm. Always the showman, that's our Padfoot.

"Merlin, Prongs, you're blushing."

"I'm just hoping Lily knows a good disinfecting spell. Lord knows what you've gotten up to in there."

"You come in there with me, and I reckon I could get up a lot more."

"You're a pig," I answered.

"And you want me." Sirius was smiling now - big, shit-eating grin on his face.

"You're hallucinating," I retorted. And then it happened. In one swift maneuver, Sirius had knocked away my Transfiguration notes, spun me onto my back, straddled my torso and forced his lips onto mine. He was rough and insistent. He tasted of tobacco, smelt of bay rum and felt like sandpaper. And after about 30 seconds of his assault on my face, I was harder than Honors Arithmancy. So I did what anyone would do in that situation; pushed him straight off of me.

"Padfoot."

"Fuck, Prongs. If I'd known you were that good, I'd've jumped you much earlier."

"Padfoot - Sirius. We can't. Really, really can't."

"And why not? Give me three good reasons."

"Lily's one. Remus is another."

"Ha! They'd both jump at the chance to join in. What's your third?"

"I'm not gay." At this, Sirius couldn't be bothered to hold in a chuckle.

"Prongsie, you were pulling my hair, mate. And what about that?" he asked, pointing at my crotch.

"A simple biological reaction. It means nothing."

"It means that while the big head may have been wondering what was going on, the little head had already sprung into action. I think you liked it."

"Sirius, I think you should go."

"What? Are you just going to leave me like this?" he asked, while grabbing my hand and rubbing it against the outline of his erection. I laughed.

"You're kidding, right? I invented that line. Got me center hoop with Linda Frobscottle last year, actually. That little Ravenclaw minx could suck the wood off a wand, lick her lips and go for seconds." Sirius got a scarily mischevious look in his eye.

"Could she, now?" I nodded in response, grinning, remembering that evening. Sirius leaned into my neck, where he placed soft bites from the nape to the jawline. Then he whispered breathily into my ear. "So could I."

I couldn't help myself. I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into mine. We were a tangle of tongues, lips, and fingers in hair falling backwards onto my bed, wrestling for control. He won, of course, and began to rub my once-again hardening cock outside my trousers as I arched my back in compliance. I traced my hands up and down his naked torso, raking my fingers along his lean musculature. He tilted his head back, letting go a throaty moan, which was my cue to aim for the button on his trousers.

"Don't start something you're not going to be able to finish, James," he growled, just as I was developing an appreciation for Lily's dexterity for disrobing a man from the opposite side. Lily. Fuck.

I stopped what I was doing and collapsed my arms on the bed next to me.

"What's wrong?" Sirius asked, rather touchingly concerned.

"Lily. I can't, Sirius. Look, mate, it took so long and I'd just be bollocksing it up. Sirius, I - "

He looked at me; a mixture of amazement and condescension, rather like one would give a kitten taking its first steps. Then he placed a hand along the side of my face and planted a tender sandpaper kiss on my lips.

"You let me know when, Prongs," he said, grabbing his tunic and heading out, leaving me with my thoughts, a guilty conscience, and a libido like a caged Chinese Fireball.

So there I sat, on my bed, rather in the same predicament Sirius had been complaining of. The words on the pages of my Transfiguration text may as well have been Norse runes for all the sense they made. The roughness of Sirius's five-o'clock shadow still stung on my mouth, and my heartbeat was racing nearly as quickly as my mind.

By the time Lily walked in a half-hour later, I was no better off, but had at least managed to un-ruffle my robes enough to look presentable. Merlin, but she looked good. The thing about Lily is that she had a way of making that bookworm look just work. Spectacles she only used for reading, ginger hair half done-up in a bun, robes that hugged her just right, and that crème-colored brassiere she had on underneath - or at least I hoped she did - they were doing things to me that were probably illegal in several jurisdictions.

"James," she asked after a moment or two. "Why are you staring at me like that?" I hadn't realized I'd been staring, so I got up off the bed and walked over to her.

"James? James, you look like you're about to have me for dessert," she said in a nervous giggle. I pulled my wand out of my robes and banished hers across the room, leaving her clad only in that hoped-for crème brassiere, matching knickers, stockings and pumps.

"Damn it James, it's cold in here! What are you playing at?" I grabbed her hair at the back of her head and kissed her roughly; as roughly as Sirius had kissed me earlier, feeling her resolve give way almost immediately. One quick snap between fingers and thumb and I had unhooked her brassiere at the back, and she let it slink off her arms and onto the floor. I began tugging on her nipples with my fingers, hearing her let that high-pitched moan I'd come to know and love escape, which spurred me on to suckle and bite on the taut nubs. She arched her back and tossed her head back as I placed small bites on the nape of her neck, then picked her up in my arms, placing her on my bed. Satisfied I was to hear no more protestations, I tugged on the waistband of her knickers.

"James, no. James!"

"Something wrong?" I asked.

"I just can't right now, James."

"Seems like you were doing just fine," I muttered, and tried to salvage my efforts by concentrating on that sensitive spot right behind her earlobe.

"James!" she scolded, sitting up. "Honestly, love. I really can't."

"And why is that?"

"Do you really want to know?" I wasn't sure I did, but she didn't wait for an answer. "Because I'm bleeding like hell, and I don't want your bedclothes to look like a murder scene for the house-elves to find in the morning. Which is probably why I snapped at poor..." She went on for a good five minutes along that theme, while I nodded sympathetically at all the right places. I was just about done congratulating myself on once again successfully tuning her out when

"What time are you going, then?"

"Going? Going where?"

"To meet Remus. We were just talking about the full moon - did you not listen to a word I said?" Lily began to gather her robes from around the room, and my face fell visibly. "Honestly, James. Sometimes I think you're not a good listener at all. I'm going next door - there's an Arithmancy practical tomorrow I need to revise for."

"You're just going to leave me here, like this?" I asked, pouting and doing my best impression of doe eyes.

"Potter, please. Try that line on some fifth-year who doesn't know better. I've heard far too many lines from you for one lifetime, thank you very much."

I grinned. "Oh, you mean like that Muggle-born Ravenclaw in Black's brother's year?"

"Do it and I'll hex your bollocks off, love." She planted a kiss on my cheek. "What's gotten into you, anyway? You're usually so calculating when you want to bed me. Don't get me wrong; I adore the passion, but I've never seen you like this."

"Can't a fellow just be happy to see his best girl?"

"That wasn't happy, darling, that was ravenous."

"Reckon I'm just a bit nervous about the Transfiguration N.E.W.T. tomorrow." Lily looked unconvinced, and I thought I was going to have to dance further.

"Transfiguration N.E.W.T.? A boy who'd successfully mastered an Animagus transformation before he'd taken his first O.W.L.? Oh, darling, you'll be brilliant. Now I really must go. See you at supper, then?"

xXxXx

Supper was an unmitigated disaster. I was certain Lily and Sirius hadn't meant to gang up on me, but as distracted as I was, I suppose I must have presented an easy target. One on either side, first making snide comments about my lack of appetite, then I managed to dip my sleeve into the gravy, and that was the topic for what seemed like eons. And right before pudding - I swear on Godric's grave - Sirius began talking about baby pictures Mum had shown him shortly after he'd arrived on our doorstep.

"Honestly, Sirius. We take you in, and this is what you give in return? Baby pictures?" Lily was doing her level-best to cheer him on, of course.

"Oh, stuff it, James. I want to hear this. I bet you were just darling. Was he, Sirius?" And on it continued. At one point a nervous sixth-year asked if this was to be expected before N.E.W.T.s. I shook my head, sighed, and proceeded to wolf down my apple tart with vanilla sauce before dashing outside to clear my head with that fresh Highlands air and a quick fag.

Trying to hit the books again was a mistake. Images of that afternoon with Sirius were successful in pushing out combinations of wand movements and incantations. What was he playing at? He saw me chase after Lily forever; I knew he knew what end of the broomstick I prefer. Right. If he had seen me attack her the way I did that afternoon, there would have been no confusion. None whatsoever.

By 8 o'clock that evening I was brooded out, and if I was to get any revising accomplished at all, I was going to have to sort things out with Black, and quickly.

Sirius and Peter were chatting amiably when I swooped in to the 7th Year Gryffindor room. I dismissed Peter, telling him that Remus was already at the Shack, and might appreciate some company. I turned to face Sirius rather dramatically, but he seemed to be expecting that, leaning rakishly on the footboard of his bed with that damnable smirk etched on his face.

"James," he began gently, in that condescending drawl he affected anytime he wanted to diffuse a conversation. "You do care. How sweet of you to come visit."

"Stuff it, Black," I snapped back. "What in the nine Hells are you playing at? You know, the more I think about this afternoon, the more I think -"

"That you want me so bad you're aching?" I zapped him with a stinging hex.

"Prongsie, if I'd known you were in to the kinky stuff, I'd have brought my leathers with me to your mum's place." His quip did nothing to staunch my growing anger.

"No, you filthy pouf, you fucking attacked me in there. What gave you the right, Black? Honestly! How am I supposed to let you keep staying in my house if you're liable to do - that - again? Merlin, Sirius. We've been friends for seven years now, and you pull this shite?"

There were any number of reactions I expected. Maybe he'd try to make nice and swear he'd never meant to do anything like that again. Maybe he'd fly off the handle, exclaiming (quite rightly, of course) that I'd kissed him back, and that a simple bit of snogging was hardly assault. But I didn't expect him to laugh. Yet that's what he did. Loudly and boisterously.

"Aw. Is ickle Jamie a bit confused? Did a wittle kissy-poo turn our Prongsie all queer?"

"Fuck you, Black!"

"Reckoned that was why you came up here," he continued to snark, sending me straight over the edge. I walked right up to him, toe-to-toe, rather intent on wiping the floor with that smirk of his.

Why I kissed him instead, I'll probably never know.

But kiss him I did; frantically and fervently. All fingers in his hair, tongue dancing with his in his mouth. I don't think he was expecting that reaction from me - hell, I wasn't expecting that reaction from me - because it took him a good moment to get his head together before he began to reciprocate. But when he did, wow.

My robes came off straightaway; Sirius not being gentleman enough to ask me if I was okay with it, and me not being man enough to tell him either way. But, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, and Merlin did he know what to do with his hands. Even something as pedestrian as running his fingertips down my spine became a luxurious exercise in back-arching toe-curling bliss.

Sirius laid me down on my back on his bed, stripped my y-fronts off of me, and with a flick of his wand, banished my boots and socks. He stared at me as if I were pudding, and he hadn't had a meal in a week. He growled something underneath his breath and laid down next to me.

"I've wanted to fuck you for ages now, Potter," he whispered, and began nibbling on the ear into which he'd spoken. He started to bite and suck on the nape of my neck, and ran a lazy finger around and around my left nipple, sending tendrils of pleasure straight into my stiffening cock. As he tongued and lightly bit the right one, I made a mental note as I ran my fingers through his dark locks: I'd have to make sure Lily knows to do that.

"Fuck, Sirius, who taught you that one?"

"Not a pretty story, ducks. Let's leave it at that." And we did. I needed this somehow, and Sirius knew it. There was little tender about the way he took my cock into his bony hand. He was rough, determined, as if he needed it as badly as I did. Fuck, but I just wanted him to finish me off right there, and my arching hips were certainly testament to the urgency I was feeling.

"God yes, Sirius," I moaned, and it egged him on to pump his hand up and down my shaft that much more quickly. I thought I'd just explode when he bent his head down to run his tongue around my aching cock's head, but I managed to hold on for a moment or two even after he took the whole thing into his mouth, before crying out a garbled scream as I came, sweaty and spent, holding on to Sirius's hair for dear life.

Sirius looked at me with a rather amused smirk, but happily didn't say anything as he took his own robes off. The head of his cock was poking through the fly of the pants that did nothing to hide his raging erection. He stepped out of those pants and found a small bottle of oil. He poured a small measure into his palm and, after cupping the bottle, ran his hand luxuriously up and down the length of his shaft, lubricating it well as I watched, rather transfixed.

"You want this, Potter?" he asked, and I was less sure of the right answer than I had been all evening.

"I - well, sure. If that's what you want. I mean, I'm all taken care of and such, but you're standing there like that and - "

"Just shut up and get on your knees."

I did as he asked, getting on all fours on his bed. He rubbed a bit of the oil from his fingers into my arse. It was warm; an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. Then he slid a finger inside, and I tensed up immediately. Godric, but that hurt, and Sirius could tell.

"What kind of Gryffindor are you then, Potter? Are you going to take this or run away like some fucking Hufflepuff?" And that was all the encouragement I needed.

"Go on then, Padfoot," I said, with as much gravitas as my parched throat would let me squeak out. And it did, and it hurt like a bludger to the ribs, but damned if I was going to let him know that. So, for a very long three minutes, he slid that cock of his in and out of me, and I resolved never to take the piss about his size again. By the time he'd finished, I was even almost starting to enjoy it, so that when he slid out, it was almost as though something was missing.

We lay there a bit afterwards; Sirius with a broad smirk on his face, and me feigning exhaustion. Oh, to be sure, I was spent. And my thighs were aching, and my arse still felt as though it was on fire. But mostly my head was racing; thinking whether Sirius would expect this often, and what would happen when word of this got out. Thinking about how I was going to explain it to Lily if it did, and if this meant I was as bent as Padfoot and Moony. And that was really all a bit much to think about, so I decided to cuddle up to Sirius instead.

"Not bad for a straight boy, I'll give you that," he quipped and ruffled my damp hair a bit. "But come on then, James, I'm not some bird who's going to be expecting pillow talk afterwards. Besides, we should get cleaned up and head over to the Shack. It's getting late.

xXxXx

Any illusions I had that Remus couldn't tell what we'd been up to were quickly put to bed the next day. He was surly as a rule the morning after his transformation, so I paid little attention to his cool demeanor at breakfast, but after lunch he pulled me aside on our way to the Transfiguration N.E.W.T.

"Why'd you do it, James?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

"Why'd I do what?"

"Oh come on, Prongs. We've been friends too long for this shite. You fucked Sirius. You fucked my boyfriend, Prongs, why?"

"I'm sorry, Moony. It just happened. Honestly. It's not something either of us set out to do. It just - really, it just sort of happened like that."

"But you have Lily. Merlin's balls, man, you worked so hard to get her and now you're pulling this?"

"You're not going to tell her, are you?"

"No. Although I really ought to. Good luck on the test." Remus was a man of his word, but those were the last words Moony and Prongs shared as Hogwarts students.

Padfoot and Moony had split by the time we were inducted into the Order. According to Sirius, Remus was 'cramping my style,' and Sirius just wasn't ready to be 'hitched up as tight as you and Lily.' According to Remus, the split had been amicable, but we began to see less and less of him. Sure, he was at Lily and my wedding, but Sirius was the best man, so Remus felt a little out of place. He would make hasty exits whenever we tried to get the old gang back together at our cottage in Godric's Hollow. We started to wonder where we would get off to.

Which is probably why when Sirius said that he was too predictable a choice for Secret Keeper, we went with Peter.

Allow me to fanboy a moment.

a_respite — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 12:01:59 GMT

The United States men's national soccer team beat Spain's men's national soccer team in the knockout stages of a major FIFA tournament yesterday. Beat them convincingly and definitively. It wasn't luck, they weren't looking past us. We were the better team yesterday. The final score was 2-0. Or as we say in America, two-nothing.

Joy.

Just pure, unqualified, unambiguous joy. I haven't stopped smiling since 4:22 yesterday afternoon, when I saw the ESPN.com matchtracker mistakenly post "Full Time: ESP 0:3 USA" or something like that.

For me, watching the match was a pure US Soccer fan experience. Watch it live on TV in my native language? Well, unlike those who'd come before me, that option was available. But I couldn't skive off of work yesterday because I'm in a class, so I "watched" the match on the classroom computers, first following the surprisingly good fifa.com matchtracker (my favorite option, The Guardian.co.uk, wasn't covering this one), then when their servers became overloaded, the ESPN.com matchtracker.

My breath hitched a bit when I saw that Davies had nearly scored in the 8th minute. I nearly jumped out of my seat when Jozy put us ahead. I spent minutes 28-73 in absolute terror, watching "DAVID VILLA has shot blocked" and "XAVI swings in a corner kick" over and over again. Class was over by the time Deuce hit the clincher, and I was barely keeping my cool. When it hit me that the match was over and we had actually won, I jumped around the nearly empty classroom like a five-year-old.

After I got home, I turned on my DVRed recording of the game. I watched Jozy's goal, Clint's goal, the final whistle, and Alexi and Reese's recap. I haven't been off of Google News since, trying to find every available article on the match. I've read them in English, German (and even a couple in Spanish). It took me hours to get to sleep last night, and I sprung out of bed this morning to hunt down more articles (nearly missing my train!) before leaving for work.

In terms of importance, I guess this victory ranks right up there for our boys. It's not '89 vs. Trinidad, nor is it '02 vs. Portugal, but it's certainly a more important (if not more improbable) win than '50 vs. England, and while it's not as important as '02 vs. Mexico, anyone who's ever watched a sporting event knew that when we drew Mexico we were through to the quarterfinals.

I'm just incoherently happy. And as an American soccer fan (who gets to simultaneously hear "you guys can't play this game" from folks who live elsewhere and "why should we care" from fellow countrymen), I think I've earned that.

Big Bang Theory

a_respite — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 03:31:54 GMT

Okay, some of you on my list enjoy this show. I've just gotten into it recently, so I have a question for you longer-tenured fans.

Sara Gilbert: did you enjoy her character as much as I did or is it just me still digging her from Roseanne?

I really enjoyed that bit. Sara Gilbert makes everything better.

OMG, I'm so excited. It's a reality show I actually watch! flails

a_respite — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 02:14:31 GMT

Yeah, we'll go with excited.

It's "Next Food Network Star". Now, it's Food Network, not Bravo or A&E or whatever, so you'd think it's about food, right? *facepalm*

No, it's about the personalities. And it seems to be even more about the personalities this season. They were dishing on each other in the intros. Hopefully it won't suck this year. The less they talk about food and the more they talk about each other, the worse it is.

They start with food, so we'll see. The first challenge has them in teams, cooking for a host of Food Network stars. So far the drama is that one team's shoppers forgot an entire cart of ingredients.

At least from the editing, it looks like one team is far ahead of the other. But then they talk about the food, and it seems like the other is far ahead. So who knows.

One thing that's easy to see though, is that the contestants have been watching earlier seasons. They've each brought rehearsed versions of their "culinary point of view". Makes it really kind of ew.

Best line so far:

Susie: "You just have to bring it."

Contestant: "It will be brought".

So, a contestant who made green beans with some walnuts was let go. On balance, she deserved it. She did not "bring it".

Verdict: I don't feel as weird about this season as I did last season. Hopefully it won't go all "Top Chef" and be about how these people get along.

Super sports day Saturday

a_respite — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 18:18:44 GMT

And a beautiful day it is.

Couldn't get the England - Kazakhstan game here (except on PPV), but I did catch the score. 4-0 Eng-er-land.

Did manage to watch much of the second half of Australia v. Qatar. A scoreless tie, but it's enough to qualify Australia for South Africa. Congratulations to the Socceroos!

There are a couple of South American qualifiers going on right now, but I'm not really following any of those teams, and the announcers speak much too quickly for my poor Spanish. So instead it's Baseball. Yankees (excuse me: the First Place New York Yankees) vs. the defending AL champion Tampa Bay <strike>Devil</strike> Rays (and that still feels weird to type). Yanks are up 1-0, bottom of the fourth in the Bronx.

At 4 (it's quarter past two now) it's back to soccer. This time it's the Galaxy, hoping to get a win in Toronto. Tough match for my Gs, to be honest. Another tie wouldn't be the worst outcome, to tell the truth.

Then at 8 is the big show. USA v. Honduras. We just stunk up the joint in Costa Rica on Wednesday night, so we really, really need to nail down the three points on our own turf. They're a tough team, couple of EPL players. We've got a few key players hurt or out with yellow card accumulation. It'll be tough, but I think the kick in the ass we got Wednesday night will do wonders for us.

This really may be the funniest thing I've ever seen. Really

a_respite — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 06:20:37 GMT

Enjoy the lulz.

A number of fic recs that are in the HP-verse (and a smaller number that aren't)

a_respite — Mon, 18 May 2009 16:26:39 GMT

Hooray for Honda. Great meme, and it allows us to pimp some of our favorite fanfiction from other-than-HP fandoms. Personally, I only ever read two: HP and Daria, but here goes.

In no particular order:

1. Harry Potter And The Summer Of Change » by lorddwar

Harry returns to Privet Drive and Tonks helps him become the man and hero he must be to survive. The bestest Harry/Tonks in the action genre, ever. The first and best Lord-Baron Potter-Black. It kicks ass. It takes names. I know, it's my default rec. But there's a reason for that.

1a. Lizardlaugh: Birthday Boy »

The hot, summer air was thick with dust and sweat and the smell of charred flesh. His wand felt as though it was fused to the palm of hand – a slim holly and phoenix-feather extension of his arm. HarryTonks. Harry and Tonks hit the nightclubs. Mayhem ensues.

and

1b. Undercover Discoveries: http://browneydweasley.livejournal.com/22524.html#cutid1
Harry needs to get out of what's become uncomfortably close quarters in the tent with R and Hr. Apparently someone's been keeping an eye on the trio.

What do these fics have in common? It's all about the pink-haired auror. Moving on...

2. India by Perspicacity

The real hero of Deathly Hallows was Hedwig; this is her story. A canon-compliant, Deathly Hallows era, spy/military/action/thriller with Hedwig as protagonist. Hedwig/Phantom . I forget what the occasion was (think it was the last RL birthday thing), but this was my favorite.

3a. Bar Maid by

snegurochka_lee and 3b. Five Women who Hate Fleur Delacour, also by snegurochka_lee

Do you hate the way women were reduced to trite, stock supporting roles in HP the way I do? So does the authoress, who has composed two of the most overtly feminist, brilliant and deliciously subversive fics ever to find their ways into the HP verse.

4. Girls Together Sarcastically » by Dennis
Time to leave the HP verse! In this series of post-canon vignettes, Daria Morgendorffer, her sister Quinn, best friend Jane and Quinn's old high-school nemesis Sandi form a band up in Boston. They rock the house.

We'll end it with another Daria rec.

5. An Overlooked Flaw by legendeld. Quinn devises the perfect system to rank potential dates. There's one fail-safe she forgot to program in, however.

Enjoy, and happy reading. If some are new to you, let me know how you like them. If they're not new, let me know that they're your favorites, too :-)

Going out to eat in my nation's capital

a_respite — Thu, 07 May 2009 00:03:41 GMT

Yeah, so I spent an hour and a half trying to figure out where to eat tonight. It's the last of my nine nights in Washington (spread out over four weeks), and I had yet to really go foodie in this big foodie town. Tonight? Well, I'm always up for adventure, and there's a cuisine I have no familiarity with whatsoever, so here goes: Ethiopian. There's a Little Ethiopia section of town that the foodies here (thank you, Chowhound) fall all over themselves for. So I'm headed up there to see what I can dig.

Meme from Suzanne. 'Cause she's cool.

a_respite — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 19:42:18 GMT

The idea is to have a character assigned and then be asked several questions about that character. Suzanne rocks, so she gave me Tonks.

1. Do you like this character?

Adore this character. She's one of my favorite in canon. What's not to like about a mood-hair sporting, death-eater ass-kicking hottie, anyway?

2. What name/s do you call this character?

It's sure as hell not going to be "Nymphadora". No death wishes here. I'm also not a fan of "Dora," which is a fanon convention, especially in the Harry/Tonks community. Nope, I call her "Tonks". Even when I wrote a Lupin/Tonks and they were getting married, she was still "Tonks".

3. What image-color do you associate with this character?

Electric Hot Pink and Black.

4. What image-song do you associate with this character?

Image: she'd have to be a Roy Lichtenstein. Song: "Ray of Light" by Madonna.

5. What blood-type do you think this character is?

Metamorph - she can be whatever type she wants to be ;-)

6. Of all of the titles to that this character appears in, what character do you like to put this character with?

I've shipped Harry/Tonks since I first read Order of the Phoenix. Shocked the crap out of me when she got paired with Remus.

Now: you want your own character? Go for it. I can play in the Harry Potter, Daria and Xlormp fandoms.

Reason # 872,964 to miss the hell out of living in California

a_respite — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 15:28:43 GMT

Back in Cali, Champions League matches started at 11:30; right in time to take a nice long lunch. Here on the East Coast: 2:30. Just in time to surreptitiously put a lame-ass matchtracker underneath a spreadsheet every time you hear someone walking near your cubicle.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

a_respite — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 19:39:54 GMT

Okay, it's a bit overcast, and maybe a bit cool. But after wearing a winter coat for four months, followed by two weeks of freezing my ass off because I refused to wear the bloody thing again, I think it's safe to say that Spring has finally reached the Northeastern United States.

60 degrees F (um, high teens, maybe 20 C?), and just enough Sun to let you know there's no danger of rain. I've had a wonderful day so far - spent the whole day in Manhattan. I went to an AA meeting at the General Service Office (kinda like world headquarters, if there were such a thing), and rather informally celebrated 5000 consecutive days (which is nearly 14 years) without a drink. I had a tour of the office, which was just lovely, and then took care of a couple of errands. Then I took the subway downtown to Columbus Circle, and heard some rather swinging jazz in Central Park. Just four kids on the street blowing Central Park South pretty much away. Walked over to 5th Ave., stopped at the Lindt store (present for my wife) and H&M (for me), and now I'm sitting in Rockefeller Center waiting for DW to come downstairs(she works at 30 Rock), 'cause we're headed to the Museum of Modern Art, which is just a few blocks away.

So, yay. It's Spring, and I love New York in the Springtime. And I love my 4x10 workweek which gives me Friday off. And sorry if I just killed your F-page with my ramblings, but I'm on the blackberry, so I don't get the groovy "insert cut" button.

Yay Spring :)

Because I want to kick ass, too

a_respite — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 04:40:58 GMT

He's Green, stubbly, and ready to beat some evildoer upside their evildoing head with his stick of whoopass. Hero maker rocks.

International... Baseball?

a_respite — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 01:31:11 GMT

Well, would you look at that, Christopher's typing about sports again. Sports of the international variety.

This time, however, it's not soccer. Nor is is Basketball. It's Baseball. The only sport out there that even comes close to capturing my heart the way Soccer does. The tournament is called "World Baseball Classic". It's the tournament that answers the question "So, if an international sports competition takes place, and Europe is an afterthought, is it really an international championship?" Why yes, Europe. Yes it is.

16 teams; Four from Asia (Japan, China, Taiwan and South Korea), two from Europe (the Netherlands is really a Caribbean team for these purposes, and to make up Team Italy, they pulled any major leaguer whose last name ends in a vowel), four from North America (USA, Canada, Mexico and Panama), three from the Caribbean (Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, Cuba), plus South Africa and Australia.

Yup. Australia. I didn't really believe it either, until I saw it. Well, if the USA somehow keeps getting invites to international rugby tournaments, we can let Australia play a little ball, right? Right?

The game's going on right now. It's the top of the first inning, and Australia is beating Mexico, 3-0. Mexico. A country in which the game of baseball is played at a very high level. I don't know if this game is even available on television, but if it is - wow. That's a story. Not quite as big a story as, say, the Netherlands beating the Dominican Republic yesterday (which is rather like the Dominican Republic beating the Netherlands in soccer).

Meanwhile, my boys in Red, White and Blue are down to Venezuela, 3-2 after four innings. Honestly, not unexpected. We don't get to send our best players (no team does except Cuba), and the tournament is rather an afterthought to the pre-season. Baseball is very much a club-before-country sport.

Update: it's now 3-1 Australia, bottom of the first with two out.

EDIT: So, my boys wound up winning 15-6. And Australia wound up kicking the crap out of Mexico - invoking the mercy rule - 17-7 in 8 innings. Mexico is a very good team - knocked out the USA last time around. Most Australians would try to bounce the ball to the plate, 'cause it looks a lot like cricket, but it isn't quite. This was a colossal upset.

Fic: Scorpius Malfoy Learns Quidditch

a_respite — Thu, 05 Mar 2009 23:35:33 GMT

Title: Scorpius Malfoy Learns Quidditch
Dedicated to my friends at The Sober Universe. They inspired this.
Rating: R
Words: 2500, give or take
Couple(s): Scorpius/Rose
Summary: Fifth-year Scorpius doesn't know how to answer when his dorm mates ask him what hoops he's scored through with Rose. So they give him a little Quidditch lesson.
Warning(s): Boys and locker-room humor. Mom jokes. And you'll never read a Quidditch box score the same way again.
Authors Note(s): I'd left this one off of LJ for some reason. Apologies to my f-listers who are also on scorpius_rose for the cross-posting.

In the annals of beauty, whenever the next volume is written, I don't think it will be said that Rose Weasley was the most spectacularly beautiful fifth-year in 2022. Ginger hair and freckles, while no longer a combination that induced snickers in passers-by, was hardly a look sought after by the truly fashionable. Her teeth and hair were passed down to her by her mother, and her winter wardrobe consisted of cardigan sweaters with peter-pan collared blouses, calf-length woolen skirts, tights and trainers with ankle socks. And she really only needed a half-dozen sets of this outfit, because she was rarely seen sporting anything other than the school uniform.

Yet to many of us – okay, to me – Rose Weasley was by far the most sought-after girl in our year. When Shakespeare wrote that "Wit beyond measure was man's greatest treasure," he was, without question, portending Rose's birth four hundred years later. She was sharp-witted and acid-tongued, and every target she picked was happy that she did, such was her timing. Having been brought up as the child of two-thirds of the Golden Trio, she had a grace about her that only comes from remarkable self-confidence. She could boldly look each of our professors dead in the eye, disarming them with a smile; all the while turning whatever question they had posed into the beginning of a longer, more theoretical discussion.

Did I mention she was brilliant? Well, I thought so, at least. She didn't have too terribly many friends. Her cousins, save Al, were all in Gryffindor, and she was Ravenclaw. Oh, was she Ravenclaw. She spent every waking moment studying. At meals. During Quidditch matches. I've seen her take textbooks into the loo with her. Al said that her mother would often implore her to take some time for herself; to get to know the other Ravenclaw girls, to maybe – just maybe – actually go to Hogsmeade on a Hogsmeade weekend. They would then squabble for a few moments until Rose decided that time squabbling would be better spent studying.

Rose isn't the reason Al and I became such good friends, mind. I'm not that Slytherin. We hit it off right after the sorting feast first year. We're both sort of a lost-soul type; the kind that makes one good friend and treats everyone else suspiciously. There were six Slytherin boys in our year, and the other four became good friends pretty quickly, too. Called themselves the Snake Brothers. They also became good friends with a bunch of others, both in and outside of Slytherin house. Al and I; not so much. We keep to ourselves, sometimes there's a Ravenclaw or a group of Weasleys that will go with us to the Broomsticks, but pretty much we're our only true friends. At least we were until this past Christmas.

Al invited me back to his parents' vacation home in Mallorca for the hols, you see, and Rose and I were finally away from Hogwarts long enough to get to know each other. Our little duo had become three, as Rose latched on to us quite easily. She and Al had been the best of friends before Hogwarts, but between being sorted into separate houses and Rose's manic study habits, they'd rather lost track of each other. She and I spent many hours just chatting on the beach, watching the sun dip into the Atlantic. Her father gave me quite a good talking-to at one point, but I assured him that there was nothing going on between us.

Which there wasn't – at least not until the Hogwarts Express ride back to Scotland. Al was sitting on one bench in the compartment, Rose and I on the other. We were talking from London to Lancashire before we'd noticed he'd gone. When I did finally notice that, the butterflies in my stomach began to flutter furiously. My face reddened, and I had a devil of a time focusing on our discussion of early Celtic influences on Latin incantations. Then, mid-sentence, Rose stopped talking, which almost never happened. She looked around and looked back at me.

"Right. So we're alone now, are we?"

"Er, it does appear that way, Rose," I answered, trying desperately to maintain a measure of aloofness.

"'Bout bloody time…" and she tenderly grabbed my face with her hands and snogged the daylights out of me. It took all of a half-second for my butterflies to cede ground to my hormones, and we passed from Lancashire to Hadrian's Wall snogging like the schoolchildren we were. And it was at Hadrian's Wall that Al and Hugo barged right into the compartment to let us know it was time to change into our school robes. Had they waited until Glasgow, well…

Anyway, Rose and I became quite the Hogwarts romance that day, and we both took a good bit of stick for coming out of our respective shells so abruptly when we did. Rose now spent nearly as much time in the Slytherin common room as she did the library, and neither of us were particularly shy about our affections. One night after curfew, the Snake Brothers made this quite clear. I was the last one in; red in the face, and sporting a fresh nail scratch along my neck. Fawcett, the prefect and leader of this group, had apparently been chosen as my interrogator.

"Oi, Malfoy. We've got a bit of a bet to settle here. Decker and Noll don't even think you've scored through the left hoop, whereas Simpson and I believe you've tallied left, right and center. So, give it up then, mate, how far's that Weasley bird let you go?"

"I'm sorry," I replied, "We're really not playing Quidditch in our spare time. Besides, it's her dad who's the 'keeper; in their family pick-up games she prefers beater." The four of them shared a laugh at this.

"Funny," Noll interjected, "I'd have thought Potter over there was the better beater." Al flung a scroll from his bed, which Noll dodged with a laugh.

"Easy there, mate, just taking the piss here." Then he turned back to me. "Do you really not get what we're asking?"

No. No I didn't. So rather than replying, I just looked at the four of them blankly. Noll pointedly looked at Al, who was very busy trying very hard to pretend this discussion wasn't happening with him in the room.

"Al, that's just not right, leaving your best mate out like that!"

"Oi, he's been after my cousin since first year, and you want me to talk to him about getting into her pants? It's not my fault she's ignored him until now."

That's when the group's own Lothario, Will Decker, stepped up. He cleared his throat and walked toward our section of the room.

"Now then, Scor. You are familiar, I will assume, with the basic strategies surrounding the game of Quidditch. At its core, the best Quidditch is played by offensive-minded sides. Your chasers and seekers are going to be the ones to win the match for you. Your beaters just give the team something to do in between scoring drives."

"Actually," I interrupted, "many teams will employ rather sophisticated beater strategies throughout the course – "

"Right. You'll just be quiet now. Anyway, as I was saying, you really don't want to spend the whole match just beating. It's about scoring. And you, Mr. Malfoy, are in a match with one Rose Weasley. Your objective is to score – score often and score effectively. Then, when the time is right, you send your seeker out to catch the snitch."

I continued to look blankly back at Decker.

"Sex, Malfoy. We're talking about sex." And that's when the light went on in my head.

"Sex, right… Oh yes. Al the beater, catching the snitch, releasing the seeker. Yes, yes, very good then, I understand." I chuckled nervously, as there had been something very obviously missed in my education. I didn't understand at all.

"You don't understand at all, do you?" Decker asked. I shook my head. "Potter? You want to give this one a go?"

"Will it make you shut the hell up any quicker if I do?" Al asked. "Right, you lot learn him on it, then."

Decker began to pace, then got a look in his eyes as though he'd just found the 13th use for Dragon's Blood

"Alright, Mal-boy," I hated it when they called me that, but I let it go. "What's the easiest hoop to score through?"

"The left one. It's most 'keepers' blind side."

"Right. And what's the hardest hoop to score through?"

"Center."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere. So, if sex is like Quidditch, it would make sense that your 'keeper is going to have an easier time protecting her center hoop than her left one, right?"

"Of course – it's that way with all 'keepers." Quidditch I knew. The rest of this, not so much.

"So, if you get your hands on her tits, over the clothing, that's the left hoop. Under the clothing, that's the right hoop. Get under her skirt, and that's center. Catching the snitch, well I suspect you get the gist of that."

"Wait wait wait," Simpson called out. "Is that what your mum taught you, Decker?"

"No, it's what yours taught me, Simpleton. Over hols as she was screaming my name and calling me her 'Double Decker'." Decker pantomimed having sex with Simpson's mum from behind, using some very flashy arm movements. Simpson flashed him a rude hand gesture and continued with my education.

"Perhaps half-pint over here thinks you can score just by getting the hands over the blouse. But the way I was taught, you didn't score at all unless you get under her clothing. Left hoop up top. Right hoop is getting to that burning bush of hers."

"Oi! Do you lot mind?!" shouted Al, "that's my bloody cousin you're going on about!" Simpson disregarded the interruption, but lowered his voice.

"So, is it then?" he asked. "Is that bush of hers a-flame? Carpets match the drapes, if you know what I mean?" Simpson winked and eagerly awaited my response. I let him wait a beat or two.

"Oh yes. Yes, it's quite red." The room practically shook with laughter and shouting.

"Arooo!" howled Noll, "Fire in the hole! Arooo!" And that's when the laughter stopped, and the other three just sort of looked at Noll.

"What? Saw it in a film visiting muggle relatives, okay?" There was a bit of silence, and then Fawcett spoke up.

"Right. That's five galleons, lads. He's scored through that center hoop. And that will teach you lot to underestimate nerd-love."

"Bullshit!" answered Decker. "I want proof before believing that Mal-boy over here has seen the outside or inside of any girl's knickers, and especially Rose "Ice Princess" Weasley. Besides, I'm interested to hear how Simpleton thinks one ought to score through the center hoop."

"Ah, the center hoop," Simpson smiled. "I personally prefer that one with a bit of teeth and just the right amount of suction." He tilted his head wistfully, as if recalling some magical evening of his own.

"Right!" Al yelled into the calm. "First of all, anyone who claims to like teeth on their knob has never had a witch's mouth there, so come off it already. Secondly, my father is a very wealthy man, and I'd have no problem whatsoever owling him right now to get however much it would take for you lot to stop talking about my cousin this way." But Decker just couldn't let it go.

"Burning bush you say, Scor?"

That's all he needed. Al jumped up, grabbed his wand, nearly flinging it as he conjured a flock of sparrows, then shouting "Oppugno!" and having the birds attack Decker with abandon.

"Like that one do you? Her mum taught it to me. She's much better at it than I, though; fancy letting her have a go, bastard!"

Fawcett jumped in quickly to restore order.

"Alright. Let's lay off of relatives, shall we, lads? Think there's been quite enough of that for one evening."

"What about Simpleton's mum? She'll feel left out if I don't let you all have a go."

"Give it a rest, peckerhead," answered Simpson, and the evening's entertainment was over.

The next morning, Al was still in a state when Rose came by the Slytherin table to join us for breakfast.

"What's with him?" she asked, innocently enough.

"Oh, he's still cheesed off at the Snake Brothers for, er…" It occurred to me that Rose probably wouldn't appreciate the conversation she had been the focus of the previous evening.

"For what, Scor?"

"Oh, it's nothing Rosie, really." She loved it when I called her Rosie. "The Brothers were telling me about the finer points of Quidditch, is all." Perfect. I could tell her the truth without embarrassing her.

"But why would – Oh. Quidditch, you say?" She got a mischievous gleam in her eye, and for a moment I thought I might have earned myself a spot of trouble with my indiscretion.

"Er, yes. Quiddich, Rosie."

"Oh, I do love playing Quidditch. Shall we play some this afternoon?"

"But it's minus two outside, and it looks like it might snow."

"Oh, we'll be playing indoors, love. I'll be just dying to get my legs around a broom after studying all morning. Think I can use your Firebolt?"

I really couldn't speak much after that, so I just looked at her with my mouth hanging open.

"Let me warn you though," she continued with a wink, "I'm a dreadful 'keeper."

What are your favorite angsty songs?

a_respite — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 15:48:36 GMT

Yup, I'm curious. This is a topic on a message board I frequent (PPMB, a Daria fandom board), and there are some pretty good examples in that thread. I picked three; one each from Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan. And then I remembered I need more Leonard Cohen on my iPod.

So, here they are.

Tom Waits: Blue Valentines
She sends me blue valentines
All the way from Philadelphia
To mark the anniversary
Of someone that I used to be
And it feels like a warrant
Is out for my arrest
Baby, you got me checkin' in my rearview mirror
That's why I'm always on the run
It's why I changed my name
And I didn't think you'd ever find me here

To send me blue valentines
Like half forgotten dreams
Like a pebble in my shoe
As I walk these streets
And the ghost of your memory
Baby, it's the thistle in the kiss
It's the burglar that can break a rose's neck
It's the tatooed broken promise I gotta hide beneath my sleeve
I'm gonna see you every time I turn my back

Oh, you send me blue valentines
Though I try to remain at large
They're insisting that our love must have a eulogy
Why do I save all this madness
Here in the nightstand drawer
There to haunt 'pon my shoulders
Baby, I know I'd be luckier to walk around everywhere I go
With this blind and broken heart
That sleeps beneath my lapel

Instead these blue valentines
To remind me of my cardinal sin
I can never wash the guilt
Or get these bloodstains off my hands
And it takes a whole lot of whiskey
To make these nightmares go away
And I cut my bleedin' heart out every night
And I'm gonna die just a little more
On each St. Valentine's day
Don't you remember I promised I would write you

These blue valentines

There's Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone" beneath this cut, too, but my LJ quotient is pegged at "FAIL". That song is kinda my own private angst - kinda lived that one.

Leonard Cohen: Chelsea Hotel #2

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
you were talking so brave and so sweet,
giving me head on the unmade bed,
while the limousines wait in the street.
Those were the reasons and that was New York,
we were running for the money and the flesh.
And that was called love for the workers in song
probably still is for those of them left.

Ah but you got away, didn't you babe,
you just turned your back on the crowd,
you got away, I never once heard you say,
I need you, I don't need you,
I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around.

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
you were famous, your heart was a legend.
You told me again you preferred handsome men
but for me you would make an exception.
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind,
we are ugly but we have the music."

And then you got away, didn't you babe...

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best,
I can't keep track of each fallen robin.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel,
that's all, I don't even think of you that often.

Bob Dylan: Like a Rolling Stone

Once upon a time you dressed so fine
You threw the bums a dime in your prime, didn't you?
People'd call, say, "Beware doll, you're bound to fall"
You thought they were all kiddin' you
You used to laugh about
Everybody that was hangin' out
Now you don't talk so loud
Now you don't seem so proud
About having to be scrounging for your next meal.

Chorus:
How does it feel
How does it feel
To be without a home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?

You've gone to the finest school all right, Miss Lonely
But you know you only used to get juiced in it
And nobody has ever taught you how to live on the street
And now you find out you're gonna have to get used to it
You said you'd never compromise
With the mystery tramp, but now you realize
He's not selling any alibis
As you stare into the vacuum of his eyes
And ask him do you want to make a deal?

Chorus

You never turned around to see the frowns on the jugglers and the clowns
When they all come down and did tricks for you
You never understood that it ain't no good
You shouldn't let other people get your kicks for you
You used to ride on the chrome horse with your diplomat
Who carried on his shoulder a Siamese cat
Ain't it hard when you discover that
He really wasn't where it's at
After he took from you everything he could steal.

Chorus

Princess on the steeple and all the pretty people
They're drinkin', thinkin' that they got it made
Exchanging all kinds of precious gifts and things
But you'd better lift your diamond ring, you'd better pawn it babe
You used to be so amused
At Napoleon in rags and the language that he used
Go to him now, he calls you, you can't refuse
When you got nothing, you got nothing to lose
You're invisible now, you got no secrets to conceal.

Chorus
</div>
Okay, those are mine. Now what are yours?

Christopher

OK you guys you all totally need to sign up for this thing

Daria: Miss Scarlett's School for Boys (Daria/Jane, Tom. R)

Funny, funny stuff.

From the fractured life of Stacy Rowe (Daria, R, Gen)

Liveblogging the Monday Night Sitcoms

Whoever did it, thank you!

Didja ever wonder...?

OM NOM NOM

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Bourdain in Melbourne: Live Blogging.

"Distractions" by a_respite, James/Sirius (and James/Lily and Remus/Sirius), NC-17

Allow me to fanboy a moment.

Big Bang Theory

OMG, I'm so excited. It's a reality show I actually watch! *flails*

Super sports day Saturday

This really may be the funniest thing I've ever seen. Really

A number of fic recs that are in the HP-verse (and a smaller number that aren't)

Going out to eat in my nation's capital

Meme from Suzanne. 'Cause she's cool.

Reason # 872,964 to miss the hell out of living in California

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Because I want to kick ass, too

International... Baseball?

Fic: Scorpius Malfoy Learns Quidditch

What are your favorite angsty songs?

OMG, I'm so excited. It's a reality show I actually watch! flails