Giants Here

Jakarta - There be Giants Here

2007-04-24T21:51:53Z

Remembering once again that I have this old thing as an archive for my scribblin's, it's time for another fic dump, starting (just to shake things up) with an original piece. There's a little more context for it in this livejournal entry (original posting).
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1777 words

]]> We sprinted with shoulders hunched from the shelter of his car to the shaky awning angling over the external stair to his apartment, heads bowed in inadequate defense against the pummeling rain--bowed also, possibly, in gratitude for our deliverance. Amos held the door for me, then turned to lock it and left me dripping on the door mat while he ducked through the doorway straight ahead. I stood in the dim light trying to twitch water droplets from my dress before they could absorb, still awash and thrumming with epinephrine.

The apartment was slightly larger than I had imagined, based on the sliver I saw the day I came to find him. It was still small, and unfurnished save for an armchair, an end table, and the desk that held his closed laptop and shadeless lamp. The door at my back was kept company by a large closed window in a chipping-paint frame. The next wall (moving clockwise) was broken by a closet door of the sliding variety (slightly open and nearly empty), the next by an open arch to the kitchenette and the door through which Amos had vanished--now to return with one towel around his shoulders and a second which he handed to me--and the last solid but inscribed with deep furrows marking out a rectangle, with a dangling rope handle near the top edge. A Murphy bed, I guessed, though the underside was plastered in the same bubbling wallpaper as the other faces. It looked like he could fit just about everything he owned in a suitcase not much larger than the one back at my hotel room.

Amos had paced straight from the bathroom to the kitchenette and was unloading the fruit I'd forgotten I'd bought at the market that morning into his humming refrigerator. The rattling was almost painful to my still-ringing ears.

"I feel almost giddy," I said as I kicked off my squishing sandals and wiped my feet on the towel before stepping onto the thick brown carpet. I wrung out my hair and peered behind the makeshift drapes (a pair of colour-clashing sarongs hung by their fringes from the curtain rod) at the flash flood outside. "I've never been shot at before, have you?"

"Once or twice," he called from inside the fridge. "It loses its charm."

"Oh. It's never happened to me before." Which was repetitive and stupid I know, but I couldn't think of anything else to say. It felt strange to be speaking at all, neither of us had said a word since Amos had breathed in my ear "go" and nudged me down the alley, walking fast and not looking back, and then the world had exploded with sound and we'd been running, running hard and I grazed my elbow on the stucco going round the corner and then the car doors slammed and we fishtailed out of there as the rain started pelting.

The alley where he'd left the car was by now a single clay-coloured puddle, ankle-deep, into which new drops collided with enough force to send them ricocheting back up, thigh-high or higher. Aside from the creeping vines on the opposite building and a couple of sparrows on a telephone wire, there was no life in sight. "Got any Jack Daniels?" I asked, only half-joking.

"Sorry. I've got a thing of Orangina, though."

I dropped my backpack and Gemma's purse onto the armchair, on top of Amos' sloppily-folded bed linens, and sat down on the floor beside it to inspect my blisters. "Even better," I called back.

Amos returned with two glasses of hissing yellow liquid and handed one to me with another wry grin. It was cool from the fridge but floated no ice. "I quit drinking the same time I gave up my other vices. It was harder than most of them."

He pulled an iPod from his pocket and connected it to the portable speakers on the desk, turned up the volume. I think it was Alejandro Escovedo but I didn't recognize the song. The picture of Gemma I'd given him at our first meeting was propped against one of the speakers, next to a stack of bills in a currency I didn't recognize.

I blotted rain and sweat from my neck with the bunched towel. The air felt thick as Amos sank to the floor beside me with a groan and held the cool glass to his sticky forehead. I watched his movements, the stiffness with which he extended his legs and the care with which his head balanced on the top of his neck.

Where had this fragility come from? In all the few short days of our acquaintance he'd seemed perfectly assured in everything he did. He'd stayed so calm and confident through situations that had made me want to cry (granted, he had a lot more experience than I did with both the country and the disreputable characters with whom we'd been dealing, and all the subtle rituals by which they both operate), but now inside the walls of his own shitty apartment with the rain beating arhythmically on his windows all the smoke had gone out of him and left only hollow glass. I leaned over and kissed him.

He pulled away, leaving my lips drinking vainly the humid air. He refused to meet my eye but stared at the carpet with his face in shadow. "You know you'd still have to pay."

"What?" I asked, bewildered.

"For the investigation. I don't take favours, you'd still have to pay the same rate."

I laughed, but he wasn't joking. "Good thing this isn't a favour." I shouldn't have said that. Should have stopped and apologized. I should have done a lot of things.

I kissed him again, my hands cupping his jaw and basicranium, fingers splayed so that the wings of the condor tattooed on his neck stuck out between them like feathered boomerangs. His face was prickly with stubble and clammy with perspiration, but his lips were soft and tasted of citrus and salt. For a moment I was alone in the kiss, and I felt my heart constrict in a spasm of confused fear and embarrassment, but then he made a noise somewhere between a giggle and a sob and he was kissing back with clumsy thirst. It seemed like everything I had felt and seen since I stepped off the plane, everything I left behind to board it, slipped away into darkness and this kiss was everything, face-to-face embrace as each sought to devour the other whole, tongues finding teeth finding tastes finding hands finding ears and eyelids and pulse-beating carotids. Or maybe I was just tired and hot and exhausted and worried about Gemma and starting to crash from my adrenalin rush and struggling desperately to hang on to that high lest the fear and understanding of what had just happened creep in to strangle me. Or maybe I'm rationalizing too much--it could be I was just horny. Either way, it was a hell of a kiss.

Amos pushed me back hard into the base of the armchair and the corner jabbed my shoulder blade but I didn't care. I ran my hands down his chest to the hem of his cotton undershirt and under it, feeling the rough denim of his jeans and the warm leather of his belt, then sliding higher. I pushed his shirt up without looking, feeling the rolling hills of ribs beneath his skin, and the smooth hard intrusions of scars (at least the one on his arm was not lonely) like clear-cuts in the coarse-haired forest of his torso. I read his body like a topographic map, trembling with seismic activity, this jungle island riddled with fault lines.

I reached his armpits and he flinched, but he raised his arms and allowed me to pull the beater over his head. The cotton hit the floor without a sound and Amos sat back on his heels, squirming, moving his arms awkwardly to cover his chest before letting them hang by his sides. He couldn't meet my eyes. I think he expected me to be repulsed by what I saw . . . but honestly, I was fascinated.

The scar on his arm, the one I had tried so hard not to stare at in the café that day of our first meeting, that fat worm curled around his right forearm and running half its length, was only the tip of the iceberg. Even my questing fingers had failed to report with any semblance of accuracy the extent and degree of Amos' mutilations. Scars of every size and description riddled his body: an earthquake here, the incisive erosions of a rain-swollen river there, and between them the craterous impression of a meteor impact, the atlas of his skin bearing witness to the turbulent geologic history of his nation-flesh. It was not hard, for my fevered brain, to imagine the tribal tattoo on his right pectoral as a monument erected by his skin's invisibly tiny inhabitants, crying desperately to their gods for some abatement from torment (it had been a long day).

The worst of all was the burn on his left shoulder, a palm-sized patch of skin gone shiny and rippled, crude loops and whorls of blistered cellophane showing pink flesh beneath. Its jagged border peeled right through another tattoo, leaving too little intact to identify the image beyond an impression of militarism. I realized then the care he'd taken to keep this defect concealed: hiding it behind the door when I came to find him at his apartment that first day, keeping it in shadow as he ducked back inside to shut down his computer and pull on that blue buttoned shirt, which he'd worn every other time I saw him until we arrived here today and he'd left it in the bathroom. The burn was only exposed now because the towel had rolled off his shoulders with his undershirt.

I wondered how many violent acts were here betrayed; how many were accidents and how many malicious; and how much pain he'd dealt out in retribution for what he'd received? This last thought gave me pause--Amos hurt people, maybe even killed them; could I continue to trust him?--but watching him sitting there, more naked than many people ever get despite still having trousers on, I felt only warmth. Well, warmth and a vague selfish relief at knowing that if he was this self-conscious about his own body my own cellulite and birthmarks were unlikely to freak him out. "You are beautiful," I said, and leaned in to kiss him again.

Success! - There be Giants Here

2006-07-15T02:41:52Z

I can still post! To celebrate, here's my entry for last year's HP Kinkathon, hosted by my good friend Kai.

Title: Lesson in Self-Love (original posted here)
Recipient: redpiratemel
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Tonks/Tonks
Warnings: genderfuck, doppelganger
Summary: Auror trainee Tonks tests the limits of her Metamorphic powers, and is startled by an unanticipated visitor.

]]> Tonks rolled over and blinked, her eyelashes scraping the pillow-cover with an audible whish. She sighed loudly and flipped back onto her back, kicking fretfully at the sheets, which were already balled around her calves. This was hopeless. She’d never get to sleep in this maddening humidity, when opening her tiny window did nothing to lessen the desperate heat but only let in sporadic bursts of restless street noise.

She sat up, crossing her forelegs and folding over them, forehead to the mattress to stretch he hips, neck and back. With another dramatic sigh she straightened, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and kicking them a few times, then stood and padded naked across the small dorm room to peer at herself in the vanity mirror.

She stared at her reflection, the strawberry-red hair she favoured this week and Cupid’s bow lips, the shadows under the eyes. She stretched her lower eyelids downward and stuck out her tongue, making a “blargh��? noise, then let her face relax. She tapped the glass over her reflected nose, then shrugged. If she wasn’t going to sleep tonight, she might as well use the time constructively. Her Magical Concealment and Disguise instructor was nagging her again for taking her Metamorphmagic for granted, pushing her to explore her power and discover its limits.

Tonks screwed her eyes shut and felt her face squirm as it reconfigured itself in imitation of her instructor, Meaghan Savage. She scrutinized her handiwork. Not a bad likeness. It looked more like Meaghan than like Tonks, anyway. Could probably fool most people from a distance. She tried again, concentrating hard on the mental image of Meaghan’s face. That was much better. It still wouldn’t deceive anyone who knew her well, but in low light or quick glimpses it was an adequate impersonation. She shook her head back to its usual arrangement.

She was getting better at morphing into real people, though it was not as fun as creating her own faces and she felt kind of unclean doing it, usurping someone else’s identity. She’d also made great strides in changing her body, demonstrated by briefly sheathing herself in rippling muscle and striking satirical poses. Maybe it was time to try something she’d never done before. Maybe . . .

She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes, letting her hair to go mousy brown again, relaxing all the little morphs she wore everyday. Slowly she exhaled, allowing her lungs to drain completely and briefly tensing her body in stages from head to toe as she did. Finally she let her eyes flutter open, and giggled.

“Oh wow,��? whispered the young man staring out from the glass, looking down at his body and running his hands over broadened shoulders and flattened chest. “No way!��? He clapped his hands to his cheeks and flexed his jaw, waggled his eyebrows. “And a looker to boot, well done old girl!��?

He looked down again, stretching out a curly-haired leg to wiggle the toes, then laughed. “No way!��? he repeated as he cupped the scrotum now dangling between his thighs. The skin was soft and wrinkly, and delightfully sensitive, and he could feel the firm nuggets of testicles inside sliding between his fingers. He moved his touch to the prick hanging like a stubby breakfast sausage above his new bollocks. “That is so cool!��?

“I wonder . . .��? he said, retreating to sit on the edge of the bed. Tentatively, he took hold of his member again, caressing it. He squeezed it from base to tip, gently at first then firmer as he felt the peculiar tightening as the loose folds of skin began to fill out. “Like I’m going to let that go to waste,��? he said, stroking faster and more insistently.

Suddenly Tonks heard the click of a doorknob turning and hastily snatched for a pillow to hide behind. The door swung open quickly and was shut quietly behind the intruder who looked at you, and staring back at him Tonks was startled to discover . . . Tonks?

“What the f--“ he exclaimed, almost losing hold of his goose-down shield.

“Relax,��? the new Tonks, who was wearing her kangaroo-print pyjamas, said placatingly, “it’s me . . . I mean you. Whatever, I nicked a time turner from Jennings.��? She held up a small hourglass on a chain.

“I didn’t even know he had one.��?

“Neither did I until I told me.��?

“Huh?��?

“You remember how time turners work, don’t you? How it makes like a loop in time?��? Seeing Tonks’ nod, Tonks continued. “Well, about half an hour ago, I was where you are now, like you are now, minding my own business, if you’ll pardon the expression, when to my complete surprise I burst through the door and tell myself—you—that I’ve nicked Jennings’ time turner and come back half an hour. Savvy?��? Another nod. “And then I sent myself to go get the turner—it won’t be hard, I left the door open for me—while I waited here for the clock to catch up with me so I could go replace the turner.��?

“I see,��? said Tonks, lowering the pillow slightly and meeting his own dark eyes. “But why go to all the trouble? You know, uh, what I was doing, did you come to stop me?��?

“Of course not!��? Tonks laughed, leaving the door to take hold of Tonks’ hands. “I think it’s a marvelous idea. I came to help!��?

“Help?��?

Tonks nodded and put a hand on the back of Tonks’ neck, running her thumb against his earlobe lightly. “Help.��?

She leaned in to kiss him, sucking and tugging the lower lip, exactly how he liked to be kissed. He shifted his head to reciprocate, then pushed his tongue into her mouth beneath hers She purred and pushed him down onto the bed. He pulled away from the kiss, gasping for breath. “This is very weird,��? he said.

“But you like it,��? she answered, shoving the pillow aside and crawling onto the bed to lean over him on hands and knees.

“You can’t even imagine how much.��?

“Of course I can, you kinky bastard,��? she laughed, “I did.��?

She rose up to her knees and pulled off her still-buttoned pyjama top.

“Wow,��? he said as the pink linen hit the floor, “those tits look really good from this angle.��?

“Thank you,��? she said, “you can touch them if you want to.��?

He did, reaching up to cover and squeeze the whole left breast once, then loosed his hold to run his second and third fingers in circles over the salmon-coloured nipple. She sighed just the way he knew she would, and flushed just the way he guessed she always did, though he’d only felt it before and never seen it. He sat up, bringing his mouth to her right nipple and drawing it into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth. She gasped and ran her thumbnail down his spine sharply, making him shiver.

His cock, which lost its erection in the startlement of her arrival, was hard again and the tip brushed her inner thigh, leaving a dot of moisture. She reached down to take hold of it, stroking. He moaned and ran his free hand over her belly, back and hips, tugging the waistband of her pyjama bottoms.

She shifted off him, rolling onto her back, and he pulled the loose pants off and dropped them on the floor. He slid a finger between her labia to wet it before rubbing her clit, quick downward strokes from above just the way she liked it. Tonks was nearly overwhelmed by her continued fervent massaging of his prick and the little gasping noises she was now making.

“I want to fuck you,��? he said, “can I fuck you?��?

“Mm,��? she said, “okay.��?

Eagerly Tonks moved to hover above her, preparing his entrance trajectory.

“Wait!��? cried Tonks, taking Tonks’ wand from the bedside table and gesturing with it at Tonks’ member. “Impervius. I don’t want to go getting myself up the duff. How messed up would that be?��?

She replaced the wand and reached up to kiss him, guiding him in.

“Holy cow,��? he said as he found himself swallowed, in a mind-bending way, in his own warmth, then moaned when he felt her bear down.

“You could try moving,��? she said, so he did, tilting his hips to thrust in and out. She lifted a knee over his shoulder and bucked up, replacing his hands on her breasts. He did not last long, not having much practice with this situation at all and none from this perspective.

“Ohholymotherofallthatissweetandbeautifulthatwasthestrangestthingthathaseverhappenedtomeever thank you so much,��? he groaned, collapsing on top of her. He waited for his heart to slow while she smoothed his hair, then rolled off. He felt the morphs releasing as he relaxed and her body returned to normal.

It took her about five minutes to regain enough composure to look the other Tonks in the eye. “You didn’t cum,��? she said.

“I didn’t,��? she replied, brushing her fingertips against her neck and twining them in her hair.

“You should.��? She prodded her now-identical companion into rearranging herself on the bed, and kissed her again on the mouth. She moved down to the throat, the collar bone, sternum and hips. Her she paused, trailing her hands over her legs.

“I’ve never done this before.��?

“I know.��?

“I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it.��?

“You will. I know it.��?

“That’s reassuring.��?

“Just start slow. You know what you like.��? Tonks lowered her face, kissing her belly again, then each thigh, then breathed steam into Tonks’ bush and felt her squirm. “That tickles.��?

She extended her tongue hesitantly, probing gently, then grew bold enough pull her clit between her lips. She rolled it softly with her tongue, and was rewarded with a giggle and accelerated breathing. Encouraged, she broke off to blow ticklingly on the puffed labia and suck them before returning to the clit. She settled into a pattern of lapping and sucking that had Tonks purring in minutes, and pleading for divine mercy in minutes more.

Tonks pulled herself up to lean her head on Tonks’ heaving chest while the spasms of her climax subsided. She wrapped and arm around her and received a beaming smile. “I told you you’d do just fine.��?

“I’m so tired, I’d could sleep here all night, but at the same time I’m getting really horny again.��?

“Good, because now you get to go back and do it all again.��?

“Now?��? she said, hugging tightly. “Can’t we just snuggle a little longer?��?

“It has to be now, because that’s how it was.��?

Tonks rolled her eyes and sat up, reaching over the edge of the bed to retrieve the pyjamas and pull them on. She stood and started for the door but paused when Tonks tugged her sleeve.

“You remember what to do?��?

She grinned and leaned in to kiss herself goodbye. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget.��?

"This is only a test" - There be Giants Here

2006-07-15T02:14:47Z

Holy shit it's been over a year since I posted anything here. For a while I actually forgot that I had it, then couldn't figure out how to log-in since aparently the company has changed hands. The title seems appropriate given the circumstances (can I still post?) but it's also the name of the fic, which I wrote last August for the Fantasy Fest at Erotic Elves. I'm assuming it's cool to archive it elsewhere by now. Beware the ancient HP smut!

Title: This is only a test (link to the original: here)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Tonks/Moody
Summary: Locked in a pantry with her favourite teacher during a field exam at the Auror academy, Tonks gets bored.
Word Count: 1500ish
Notes: For jjtaylor's fantasy, "Moody is an instructor while Tonks is in Auror training. Friendship that's maybe already inappropriate between teacher/student, and then turns into something more. An aggressive, sassy Tonks and a dirty-talking Moody a plus."

]]> “How’m I doing so far?��? Tonks asked, rolling out her sleeping bag.
“Excuse me?��?
“The test, Mad-Eye. Am I doing alright?��?
Moody shrugged as he wrapped the kettle in a dishtowel to stow it back in his pack. “I’m not grading you.��?
“Yeah, but you know what they’re looking for. What do you figure?��?
“Hmm,��? he grumbled, “you haven’t botched things too badly yet.��?
“Thanks?��?
“Nah, you’re doing just fine. Probably better than they expected you too, though it doesn’t surprise me. Don’t go letting your guard down, though. Six hours to go, I’d wager there are some surprises still to come.��?
This was the final exam of Tonks’ second year of Auror training, a test of survival skills. They were on the grounds of a long-abandoned farm rigged with traps and periodically assailed by Aurors wielding live curses. It was Tonks’ job to get them through the night, Moody was there to follow her directions and get them out of the fire if she failed. On her command, they’d laid out their bedrolls in a pantry in the farmhouse, with a single entrance. She’d rigged the door shut with a piece of string tethered to the shelf above behind her head.
Her plan was to wait an hour or so, long enough for the monitoring Aurors to suspect they’d settled for the night, then break for the portkey at the exit point and, with luck, cover most of the interceding distance before they were discovered. Tonks liked this plan. It had a certain pleasing, if mild, deviousness. But now her pride at scheming it was losing its sparkle, and she was getting bored.
She watched Moody sloshing his hip flask before swigging and replacing the stopper. She was glad her was her partner for this mission, in fact had kept her fingers crossed that she’d be paired with him. He was more than a favourite instructor and more than a role model. She’d had long, more-or-less comfortable conversations with him about subjects she couldn’t bring up with any other teachers or even her few friends in the academy. She felt close to him, and safe, but this lately comfort felt less and less paternal. Sometimes she felt his eye on her when her back was turned and it made her shiver, and today when he patted her down for contraband items at the beginning of the exercise his rough hands had lingered just a little too long. And now here they were alone together, him taking out his oversized glass eye and shining it on his sleeve.
With an impish smile she crawled forwards on her hands, ducking a floating candle. She stopped a half a foot from his shoulder and perched on her heels, hands together between her knees. “Do you think they’re spying on us right now? The evaluators?��?
He looked around a bit with his magical eye, his head still while it rolled in place. “No means of monitoring this room that I can detect, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t. I doubt it, though.��?
“Good,��? she said, moving suddenly to straddle his crossed legs. “Not that I mind being watched, I just don’t want you to get in trouble.��?
“Trouble’s a mild phrasing. I’d lose my job, and my pension package. Probably face disciplinary proceedings. And you’d fail the test and have to retake the year, assuming they didn’t expel you outright.��?
“You seem awfully familiar with the situation. Happened before, has it?��?
“I read the small print. Get off my lap, you’re just a kid.��?
“Old enough to know what I want, and what wants me.��?
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.��?
“No? What was all that about, then?��? She picked up his slack hands and placed them on her ass, pressing the palms into her flesh. The only betrayal in his face that he was even aware of her action was the increased force and rapidity of his nostrils flaring when he breathed. “Feeling me up, before?��?
“Searching for materials that would compromise the safety or legality of the test. Get off.��?
“Not quite on command, more’s the pity.��?
“I’ve told you twice. If you don’t disentangle yourself from me in the very, very near future, I renounce all responsibility for my actions.��?
“Fair enough. So my materials are safe, then? That’s a bit disappointing. Couldn’t you have just looked through my clothes? It’s not like you never have before, dirty old man.��?
“Dirtier little tart for encouraging it.��?
Tonks tried not to grin while she blinked indignantly. “I never!��?
“The hell you didn’t. Wearing those baggy jumpers and loose robes, could’ve been hiding anything. You knew damned well I’d peek.��?
“You really are a lecher, aren’t you?��?
“Maybe smart, saucy little cunts just bring out the worst in me.��?
She made a show of exaggerated disgust. “No! Get your gnarled old hooves off me, you filthy goat, you’re could’ve babysat my parents!��? She tried to squirm loose but his hands tightened on her ass to hold her still.
“A less than convincing performance, Miss Tonks. Remember,��? the electric blue iris of his magical eye slid down to disappear below the lower lid, “I can see your underwear.��?
Her giggle switched to a yelp when he transitioned like lightning from stillness to motion, flipping her over and pinning her face down on his musty blanket. She exhaled steam and saw the wool fibres stirring as he pushed her legs apart with his good knee. “Besides,��? he growled in her ear, “like you said, I’m an old man. I’ve only got so many hard-ons left. It would be a shame to waste such a good one.��?
He ground himself against her ass, hard through the fabric of his trousers, pressing her hipbones into the floor with bruising force. She winced and bit her lip, drawing her hand under her shoulders and pushing away, up onto her hands and knees. She curled her spine, rubbing him back.
He wriggled a hand down the front of her robes and blouse, between her breasts, found the hard nub of a nipple and squeezed. The skin on his fingers and palms was like battered leather, coarse with scars and calluses. He brought the other hand up under her robe, working a finger under the waistband of her trousers, then wobbled and nearly fell forward onto her.
“Sorry,��? he said, “I’m having a bit of a balance problem.��?
“Balance problem?��?
“Wooden leg, remember? Kneeling like this is no good for it.��?
“Here,��? she laughed, “lie down.��?
Moody lay back on the slightly crumpled bedroll and watched Tonks undress. She wondered how many layers deeper his eye was seeing as she threw off her robes, unbuttoned her blouse and kicked her trousers off so they hung from one shin.
She moved to straddle him again, tugging his belt free of the buckle and pulling his pants down over his hips. He reached up to scratchily caress her upper arms as she reached down to stroke him. She was mildly surprised that his cock looked little different from any other she’d seen, despite being so much older. It was also unmarked by the scars that ravaged the rest of the body she’d seen, she speculated whether it were the only part and to what lengths he’d gone to protect it.
She leaned in to kiss him for the first time and his stubble scraped her chin and cheeks. He thrust his wet tongue into her mouth and she caught it in her teeth, tugging gently. When she released it he pulled his face away and panted. “Where’s my wand, I need to . . .��?
“Don’t worry,��? she said, holding him still and sliding down over him, “I’m on the Potion.��?
Moody groaned through gritted teeth and rolled his gray mane on the floor. “Oh, fuck me.��?
“I am,��? Tonks replied as she rocked up and forward, down and back.
“Smart-mouthed twat.��?
“Smart twat, too,��? she grinned, tightening her kegel muscle.
He gasped and caught her wrists, pinning them together in one hand. “Slowly, girl. Easy. It’s not a race.��? The hand not restraining hers trailed its hardened fingers down her belly with ticklish lightness, then slipped them between their bodies to massage her folds. She didn’t know whether it were some trick of his eye’s or just an unusual talent for reading the subtle cues of gasps and blushes but he very quickly deduced the formula of touch that drove her mad. He set to teasing her, bringing her closer and closer to orgasm with his fingers but never letting her quite to the edge.
In tantalized frustration she rode him harder, faster, goading him into giving her release, which he did, making her cry out once before collapsing limply against his shoulder. He continued to buck against her, thrusting deeply, until he came with a grunt, back muscles tensed.
He relaxed, shifting his softening cock out of her without displacing her resting head. She purred into his neck as he stroked her hair tenderly. When she started to doze off he nudged her, shook her shoulder until her eyes blinked open.
“Wake up, my girl. You’ve got an exam to ace.��?

There will be original fic soon, I promise - There be Giants Here

2005-06-17T19:57:39Z

But for now, more naughty fanfic.

Title: Justin's Juiciest Anecdote
Pairing: Pansy/Justin, peripheral mention of Draco/Pansy.
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1300
Summary: Justin runs into Pansy one night in the Leaky Cauldron, they get smashed, crazy stuff ensues.
Warnings: PWP, fem-dom het, rough intoxicated sex, some dirty talk, rimming, toy/wandplay, intrusive narrator.
Notes: Big thanks to Micaela for the beta-read. I kind of surprised myself when I wrote this one-- I didn't realise I was feeling that kinky. Characters are about 20 or 22.

]]> “Oh, man. You really will not believe this one. Trust me.

"Alright, I was at the Leaky Cauldron, and you know how weird it is running into people you haven’t seen since school? Like, it’s always the last thing you expect. Anyway, I was at the Cauldron, supposed to meet some mates, only I was running late and they weren’t there when I got there. So I’m wondering whether I should cop a seat and just wait or ask to use the hearth to Floo somebody, when who do you think I see? Pansy! Pansy bloody Parkinson sitting alone at a table with a bottle of Firewhiskey and an empty glass.

I’m not sure if I should say 'Hi' but in the end I figure what the hell, so I go over and say, 'Hello Pansy, how’ve you been?' And she looks at me, points a finger at my face, and goes, ' . . . Fletchley . . . Finch . . . Justin.' Just like that. I’m not kidding. So I kind of nod and go, 'Yup. Don’t think I’ve seen you since graduation, what have you been doing?' And she goes, 'Oh, you know. Got engaged.' And I try to congratulate her, you know, say, 'Oh yeah, to whom?' --though you know it’s got to be Malfoy-- but she interrupts me. She was obviously pretty drunk, but the way she did it, just talked right over me, you know it was on purpose. So she’s like, 'Got engaged, got disengaged.' And she goes on, ‘’Course he won’t say why, but Bullstrode’s seen him on Old Compton Street, with Potter no less.’ And I’m like, ‘Holy shit!’ Although when you think about it it’s really not that surprising, is it?

"So she’s squinting down the neck of the bottle and she says, ‘It would probably be a really bad idea to finish this all by myself, wouldn’t it?’ And I don’t say anything, so she’s like, ‘Care to join me, Mudblood?’ And I’m like, ‘Uhh . . .’ but she says, ‘Come on, sit down,’ and a free drink is a free drink. Between us, we kill the bottle in, I don’t know, probably less than an hour. No clue what we were talking about, I was so pissed I was cross-eyed.

"Anyway, when the drink was gone she asks me if I want to go upstairs. Yeah, I know! I remember thinking —You know how she’s got that little snub nose? I remember thinking, and please remember I was shit-faced, I remember thinking 'people say "as cute as a button", but I don’t know who’d actually want to fuck one.' Yeah, I know, like, what the hell? But that’s what went through my head. So anyway, she’s saying, 'You want to go upstairs?' And what do you say to that? You say, 'Yeah, all right!'

"She’s got a room already booked, I don’t know if she was staying there for a while, or what, but we go up and she unlocks the door and goes to open all the windows. And I’m scared she’s going to fall out, because she’s stumbling all over the place, so I go over and try to steady her. It’s cold outside and the windows let all the cold in, but she starts kissing me, tongue straight down my throat, and we sort of fall over on the bed with her on top, and we’re snogging and she takes her top off. She’s got nice breasts, Pansy. Great breasts.

"So she’s down to her bra and jeans and we’re snogging, and I’m feeling her up, and all of a sudden she slaps me! Hard, right in the mouth! So I back right off, just 'Whoa. . .' but she starts right up again kissing me! And she’s saying something, over and over, and it takes me a while to figure out what it is, and when I do I can’t believe it. She’s saying, brace yourselves, she’s saying, 'Call me Daddy!' What?! And I’m not sure what she really expects me to do, but she’s on top of me and I don’t want to piss her off, so I try saying, 'Umm . . . ooh Daddy, ooh that’s good Daddy.' And she seems to like that, at least she’s growling and dry-humping me. And I’m, I don’t think I even really need to say it, but I’m really hard by now, so I keep egging her on, 'Yeah Daddy! Go Daddy!' And every time I try to touch her down there, you know, to return the favour, or even take her trousers off, she pushes my hands away. But she keeps riding me like a bronco and muttering things, dirty sexy unbelievable things.

"Then, right when I’m getting close, with her grinding all over me and licking my neck, she pulls off and pushes me, physically flips me over. And before I know what’s happening, she’s pushed her hands up under my shirt and vest, and running her nails down my back. Not lightly either. I had the scratches for weeks, but at the time I was like, 'Wow. That’s cool.'

"And then, I swear this is true, and then she yanks my trousers down, and my shorts, rough-like; I’m lucky she didn’t break my piece off the way she pulled. And I’m glad I washed right before I went out, because Pansy spreads my arse cheeks and—I’m not making this up—she starts licking me. Licking my pucker, groping my balls, pressing her knuckle into that bit of skin between them and I’m telling you, wow. Merlin’s beard, you can’t imagine how mad it was. And I remember thinking, if Malfoy’s queer, why’d he leave this? I know that’s stupid and that’s not how it works, but remember I was drunk and being fantastically abused by Pansy Parkinson.

"I was about ready to cry when she stopped, it was that good, but anyway she stops licking me and she reaches over to the nightstand and whispers some charm, and next thing I know she’s spreading my arse again and sticking her wand in my hole. It doesn’t hurt, it’s covered in some warm slippery stuff, and she sticks it in me, and it’s all thin and bendy and sort of knobbly, and she starts pulling it out and pushing it in, not far, but the bumpy bits sliding through the opening felt really good. Then she starts talking again, 'Oh yeah, Mudblood, you like that, don’t you?' and 'Say my name, Mudblood, say my name!' And I’m like, 'Daddy! I mean Pansy! I mean—don’t stop!' And I’m humping the mattress through the bedspread, and she’s buggering me with her wand and squeezing my nuts and I’m telling you, I came like a fucking rocket. Kaboom! I haven’t seen so many fireworks since the Weasley twins’ departure.

"So I am done, spent, I just want to lie there on that bed in the puddle of my own cum until I get my strength back, but Pansy, who’s still in her bra and denims, mind, she leans in and licks the welts on my back where she scratched me, puts her mouth right to my ear and whispers, 'Get out.' And I’m like, 'What?' And she starts screaming! 'Get out! Getoutgetoutgetout!' Yikes!

"So I scramble off the bed, trying to pull my trousers up so I don’t trip as I hop to the door, which she slams in my face. And I just stand there for a minute, staring at this closed door. Then I fix my clothes and go home. One of the weirdest nights of my life, definitely the hottest.

"Try and top that.��?

Ginger - There be Giants Here

2005-06-03T23:12:09Z

More fanfic. Parvati/Lavender but no connection with the other one, and in fact the identities of the characters aren't at all explicit in the text. It's just two women in a kitchen. 401 words, PG-13 rating at very most.

]]> “Watch it!��? she warned with the knife in her hand.
She’d barely missed lopping off my fingers as they snatched a slice of ginger from the chopping block. She shoots me a concerned glance and looks down at the ginger she’s dicing, then immediately back up at me. “You’re not eating that raw?��?
I nod and grin and blow ginger breath at her. “It’s yummy,��? I crunch.
She shakes her head and pushes the diced ginger into the glass bowl with the garlic by the edge of the cutting board and sets it aside. I’m sitting on a tall stool, leaning on the kitchen island to watch her work. I love her hands. I’m instantly hypnotized by them performing any complicated or involved task. Her dark blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail behind her head and her eyes are still red and teary from the onion, which she now turns to check softening in the wok with oil and cumin seeds. She stirs it with a metal spatula and returns to the cutting board, reaching for the chilies.
She nips the ends off one with the tip of her sizeable knife, then turns it to slice down its green tapering length. She turns one half to halve again—and yelps, dropping the knife. She’s cut herself, a short diagonal slash between the first and second joints of her middle finger.
“Motherf—“ she growls, stifling the curse. “Ooh, that stings.��? She raises the cut to her mouth to blow on it, and I reach to draw it to my own. It’s not deep, mostly a raised flap of skin, and I kiss it, sucking away the small droplets of blood that are beginning to well up.
Her skin has absorbed the oils and juices of onion, garlic, ginger and potent chili pepper, which I can not only taste but feel seeping into my own lips, making them tingle and burn. “Delicious already,��? I say.
She smiles and wipes her nose on the cleanish back of her other hand. “Thanks. I only hope you say the same about the stuff in the pot.��?
“You’ve made it a blood offering now, it has to turn out good.��?
“I doubt it’ll touch your mother’s aloo gobi.��?
“If I wanted my mother’s aloo gobi, I’d be living with her,��? I say, and I slurp the whole length of her finger into my mouth.

On time! - There be Giants Here

2005-05-28T03:55:08Z

Not really happy with this at all, but it's done-ish so I'm posting anyway. Don't know exactly what's wrong with it or if it's just . . . not good. More Harry Potter, more femslash, still nothing naughty.

Title: "Daughter of the Mountain: Prana"
Pairing: Lavender/Parvati
Rating: G
Summary: First of three. Parvati returns to Hogwarts after a summer in India and Lavender cannot take her eyes off her.
Words: 2000ish.
Warnings: Femslash, though nothing naughty in this installment.
Note: First of three chunks of “Daughter of the Mountain��?. Prana is Sanskrit, means “The Breath of Life��?.

]]> You could credit it all to being on the rebound.
Having been harshly dumped by Susan Bones the week before, Lavender was truly dreading the trip to Platform 9 ¾ that day. Susan had never dated a girl before and feared the information becoming public knowledge, and concluded that the affair had to end before school started. Lavender, who had thought their summer relationship was the real thing and had bought them matching bracelets to wear as secret markers of their love, which she planned to present to Susan when she asked her to lunch in Diagon Alley, had been left sobbing over a triple chocolate peanut butter brownie sundae in a booth in Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour.
Then again, it may just have been how goddamned glorious she looked, lit from behind by a dart of sunlight lancing through the fog into the station, the way her hair brushed the small of her back and her midriff showed bare under her purple sari as she danced, arms over her head while her sister laughed. Her limbs seemed somehow longer and leaner, her bearing more confident. She turned in her dance and smiled. She ran towards Lavender, holding her skirts out of the way, then stopped short with her palms pressed together in front of her breasts. “Namaste, Lavender-ji,��? she said, bowing her head, then leaped forward to envelope her in a hug and plant a platonic kiss on her cheek. Her skin was soft, the embroidered silk of her wrap coarse and scratchy, and she smelled strongly of sweet incense and exotic spices.
Maybe it was fate or maybe it was pheromones, but whatever it was, Lavender Brown found herself suddenly head-over-heels in love with her best friend. “Hello, Parvati,��? she gasped, returning the embrace. “Had a good summer?��?
“Incredible,��? the other girl replied, releasing her. Gold bangles clacked together at her wrists. “India was soo hot, and I met about a hundred cousins I never even knew I had.��?
Parvati’s twin Padma reached them, pulling both their luggage. “You forgot you trunk.��?
“Sorry, Padmini, thanks for bringing it.��?
Padma was generally more sombre than her sister, and was dressed in more English Muggle garb, though she too wore numerous hoop bracelets. “Are your parents still here?��? Padma asked Lavender.
“Oh, yeah!��? she said, turning to wave to her mother and father, who waved back and left the platform through the magical barrier.
“Our mum and dad already left,��? said Parvati, “but I wanted to wait for you before boarding.��?
“That’s nice of you,��? said Lavender.
“You kidding? You’re my best friend!��?
They’d barely communicated over the summer, Parvati being too busy with her cousin’s wedding overseas to write much and Lavender too preoccupied with her romance with Susan to reply. In fact, they’d each been so distracted they hardly spared each other a thought. It was almost eerie how easily they reconnected, they were able to pick up exactly where they left off.
“Have you seen Harry or Hermione?��? Parvati asked.
“Or either of the Weasleys?��? Padma added.
“We want to ask about—“ she hushed her voice conspiratorially and her hot breath tickled the fine hairs on Lavender’s cheek, “—the DA.��?
“No, I’ve not seen any of them,��? she said, brushing the away residual moisture as Parvati pulled back.
“Hm. Probably on the train already, I guess, and either way we’d better find somewhere to stow this stuff soon. The platform’s emptying out.��? Parvati pulled her trunk to the nearest door and pushed it up the steps ahead of her. When she grasped the handrail to haul herself up after it Lavender saw that her hand was covered in reddish ink, in swirly, vaguely floral designs. She looked over her shoulder as she mounted the steps herself and saw that Padma’s hands were likewise stained.
“What’s that stuff?��? She asked, dragging her trunk down the narrow corridor as they looked for vacancies.
“What stuff?��? Parvati looked back and Lavender nodded at her hands. “This? It’s henna. It’s this green pasty stuff, you draw the designs on with that, and then when it dries it flakes off and leaves this orangey colour, lasts a couple of weeks. Actually this has stayed rather well, hasn’t it Padmini?��?
“Too well. I was hoping it would fade before term started.��?
“Just don’t try spelling it off. Remember what Auntie Chitra said.��?
“I remember. There’s Ginny.��?
“Oi, Gin!��? The youngest Weasley stood in an open compartment door, passing a caged owl to her taller brother inside, who put it in the overhead rack. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom were already seated. Ginny stepped inside to allow the girls to enter and all eight exchanged friendly greetings. Parvati addressed Harry, “I’m sure you’ve already been asked at least ten times today, but we were wondering, now Umbridge is gone, if you planned on restarting the club?��?
“We thought, even though Dumbledore’s back in control, it would still be really important to get as much practice as possible,��? Padma added, “given how they’ve, y’know, gone public.��?
“We were just talking about that, actually,��? said Hermione, “we haven’t scheduled anything yet. You’ve still got your Galleons?��?
They nodded and Lavender pulled hers from her jeans pocket to show.
“Good. Keep checking them, they should show a date by the end of the week. Pass the message on.��?
“Sure thing. Thanks. Did you all have good summers?��?
“Considering the state of things, yeah,��? Ron answered. “Are those real nose rings?��?
“Oh, yeah,��? said Parvati, touching a finger to the tiny, sparkling stone set at the base of her [left] nostril, which Lavender had somehow failed to notice. “We got real fancied up for wedding, this was a permanent souvenir. And I know I look mad, walking around in a sari like this, it’s just so pretty I wanted to wear it as much as I can.��?
“It was your cousin who got married?��? Hermione asked.
“Second cousin. Anjani.��?
“And where all in India did you go?��?
“We stuck mostly to Varanasi.��? Padma said “That’s on the Ganges, in a province called Uttar Pradesh, in kind of the north central part. It was really astonishing. So much history. We brought back all sorts of stuff.��?
“It didn’t take long for the news about You-Know-Who to get there, either, and people are pretty divided over it.��?
“Most of the kin I talked to are worried, some even said they’d come here to fight him if it starts to go bad.��?
“Not everyone, though, unfortunately. Uncle [P.K.] said he couldn’t wait for You-Know-Who to take India. He said it would be like Ramraj.��?
“That’s “rule of Rama��?, a kind of mythical utopian period,��? Padma clarified.
“He did say it, Padma.��?
“I believe you.��?
“Ooh, I wanted to hex his ears off!��?
“You spilled a bowl of tamarind sauce on him and he was stung by a wasp, I think that’s pretty good.��?
“Yeah, that was funny,��? she grinned, “Oh, Harry! We saw a Parselmouth!��?
“At least we think he was a Parselmouth. We didn’t actually talk to him.��?
“It was coming back from the temple of Durga one day with prasad, there was this hardcore Shaivite ascetic guy—“
“Naked, covered in ashes, dreadlocks—“
“Not nice rows like Lee had but real filthy and matted, rosary beads and stuff knotted up in it—“
“Walking around with this huge long cobra around his shoulders. A lot of these guys with snakes, they sew the mouths shut and tourists pay to touch them.��?
“Not this one,��? Parvati waved her arm in a serpentine motion and mimed biting at Ginny, who flinched.
“No, this one was quite unaltered.��?
“Like Padma said, we didn’t talk to him. But I’d put money on it he was speaking Parseltongue, Harry, it sounded just like that crazy hissy thing you do.��?
“Wow,��? said Harry when it seemed clear the twins had finished their ping-pong storytelling, “Well, they said it was a rare talent but I didn’t expect to be the only one.��?
“Moving in herds now, are you?��? A cold voice cut from the corridor and they all turned to look. There was Draco Malfoy, looking tired but arrogant as ever and flanked as usual by his goons Crabbe and Goyle. “Mm, nice costume, Gryffindor Patil,��? he rolled his hips like a belly dancer, “you going to shake those papadums?��?
“I’d rather eat glass, thank you, Malfoy.��?
He sneered. “It’s a shame I can’t write you up for looking ridiculous.��?
“I’d call it lucky,��? Padma said, “you’d have to spend the entire year in detention otherwise.��?
“Oh dear oh dear oh dear,��? he said, scraping phony bows and chortling in a hammishly bad Hindi accent, “I’m so very-very sorry. I had better go pray to my cow for forgiveness.��? The three backed giggling up the hallway, still engaged in their pantomime.
“There’s one snake who ought to have his mouth sewn shut,��? said Ron, scowling.
Padma shook her head. “He’s been crying. Did you see his eyes?��?
“They looked a little red,��? said Ginny, “you really think he was crying?��?
“I can’t say I feel sorry for him,��? offered Hermione, “not unless he undergoes a serious attitude adjustment sometime in the next hour.��?
Lavender wondered about the state of her own eyes. She’d barely slept this week for periodic bouts of private tears over her break-up with Susan. How recently had Draco wept for it to be visible, if indeed he had been weeping?
A whistle blew outside, and Parvati broke the settling quiet. “Anyway . . . we should probably stop crowding you guys and find our own berths. See you when we reach Hogsmeade.��? There followed a chorus of see-yous and byes.
They found space with Padma’s housemates and fellow DA members Luna Lovegood (ensconced in a book and mercifully quiet) and Terry Boot and got their luggage safely stored as the train got under way. Lavender leaned her forehead against the windowpane and watched the quickening blur of gravel and railway ties below.
What right did Parvati have to get so beautiful all of a sudden? Not that she hadn’t been good-looking before: she and her sister were included on most reputable listings of the beauties of the school. Lavender had just never considered her this way before. Perhaps their long term friendship (since before their mutual decision that boys had cooties, long before the eventual revision, on Parvati’s part at least, of this estimation) had precluded that kind of fantasy. So what had changed? Was she just a duckling, orphaned by Susan’s rejection and imprinting on the first pretty girl she saw? Or was there really something different about Parvati, a fundamental change beneath the surface of raw silk, nose rings and henna?
Parvati nudged her when the concession cart rolled by, so she bought a pumpkin pasty and ate it without registering the taste.
“Are you all right, Lav?��? she asked, sipping her juice. “You seem awfully quiet today. Haven’t said ten words in a string.��?
“I’m fine.��? She smiled weakly. “Really. I just haven’t slept much the past few days.��?
“Yeah, you look tired. No offense. Your eyes are puffy.��?
“Who can blame you, way things are these days?��? Terry asked, picking through a handful of Every Flavour Beans.
“If you’re sleepy now you should try to catch a nap.��? Parvati resumed. “Don’t want you passing out in your pudding during Dumbledore’s speech.��?
“Yeah, I think I might. Thanks, Parvati.��? She took off her cardigan and rolled it up to use as a pillow. She shut her eyes with no intention of sleeping and tried to crack the secret of her sudden attraction to the girl on her right. She must have dozed off after all, because the next thing she realized it was almost dark and her companions were shuffling about taking their luggage down. She wiped an embarrassing tendril of drool from her chin and abashedly collected her own things. Lavender was separated from the Patils in the hustle of transferring to carriages, and heaved a sigh of confused relief as she rumbled towards the school.

More HP fanfic - There be Giants Here

2005-05-23T04:01:49Z

Yes, it's a couple days late, and yes it's another piece of Harry Potter fanfiction. Bear with me. It's officially "femslash", though there's no nudity or anything in this one.

Title: "Outdoorsy Women"
Pairing: Hooch/Grubbly-Plank
Rating: G
Summary: Professor Grubbly-Plank invites Madam Hooch on a picnic.
Words: 1200ish.
Warnings: They're both grown women and they don't do anything naughty in this story anyway.
Note: Do you serve burgundy with fruit and cheese? I don’t care. Nor if Pembroke has nice beaches. There was going to be swivery, but I’m not thrilled with my apparent pattern of loads and loads of talking followed by sudden snogging, so I left it out. I’ll write that if anyone asks to read it. Not my characters, mostly my opinions.

]]> In retrospect, this probably should have been foreseeable, even anticipated. As it was, Rolanda harbored no suspicions when the interim Care of Magical Creatures instructor, Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank, asked for her company at lunch, nor when she appeared at the periphery of the Quidditch pitch as Rolanda dismissed her first years at the end of their flying session with a wicker picnic basket, nor when she lead her along a lightly worn path towards the Forbidden Forest and laid out a checkered blanket in the middle of a bay on the forest’s edge, a meadow surrounded on three sides with trees. She raised her eyebrows when Grubbly-Plank removed a bottle of burgundy from the basket, but having no other obligations that afternoon accepted a glass without question. Neither did she question the attentiveness with which Wilhelmina served the light meal of bread, fruit and cheese, even when she placed a slice of pear topped with a glob of Brie directly in Rolanda’s open mouth, or the way she said almost nothing besides politely encouraging Rolanda to talk about herself, her day and her students. She didn’t get the drift when Wilhelmina shifted herself to sit by her side. In fact, Rolanda was caught completely off guard when Wilhelmina put a hand on the back of her neck and leaned into kiss her.
“What are you doing?��? She asked, startled and pulling away. She swung her legs around so she could face her companion.
“What do you mean?��?
“This, what is this?��?
“You’re joking, right?��?
Rolanda shook her head.
“I was so sure you understood . . .��?
She shrugged and smiled apologetically. “Apparently not. I mean, I'm not offended, I just wasn’t expecting it.��?
“I thought you were going along with it . . . how could you not have known?��?
“Well, evidently I’m the most naïve person in the world. But you . . . how did you know I liked women? Did you know?��?
Wilhelmina took up her pen knife and began segmenting a nectarine. “I knew.��?
“How?��? Rolanda’s eyes narrowed as she accepted the proffered piece of fruit. This was one of her pet peeves. She’d always been skeptical of other people’s claimed ability to discern a person’s inclinations from their movements or dress, perhaps because she was herself so bad at it.
“Well, you don’t seem to be taking pains to disguise it.��?
“What’s that supposed to mean?��?
“You’re hardly the most feminine witch on staff, are you?��?
“Go on.��?
“For starters, there’s you hair.��?
“It’s more practical short. I’m sure you can testify to that.��?
“True, but you’re also only, what? Forty, forty-two?��?
“Forty-three.��?
“Really rather young, and you make not effort to cover the fact you’re already grey.��?
“I’ve tried covering it up, it’s more effort than it’s worth.��?
“You don’t wear make-up.��?
“I use a moisturizing ointment. With all the windburn, I tend to chap.��?
“Then there’s your boots.��?
“What’s wrong with them?��? She asked indignantly, looking at her crossed feet. She loved these boots, knee-high with sturdy two-inch heels, angular steel toes and extra thick leather panels to support the ankle through forceful kick-offs and rough landings. They were practical and gorgeous, broken in to a glove-like fit and bearing their scuffs like ornaments. These were perfect boots.
“Nothing’s wrong with them, they just stick out like a banner to anyone who knows what to look for.��?
Rolanda shook her head. “You’re making this up.��?
“You sit with your knees wide at the staff table.��?
“This is ridiculous. I’m a flying instructor. My job is physical, it’s outdoors, I’m in the air all day, and that’s an important part of my life, and I like doing it. Are you saying you keep your hair bristly and grey as some sort of advertisement? Is that why you’re not out here in smart, strappy stilettos?��?
Wilhelmina smiled modestly. “No. I too compose myself in accordance with the pragmatic concerns of physically taxing outdoor work. Though I could argue that our career choices reflect a shared, innate affinity for nature.��?
“Which has what to do with being queer?��?
“Probably very little.��?
“Then don’t tell me you lured me out here because my boots told you I was a lesbian.��?
She conceded, bowing her head. “I also talked to your ex-girlfriend.��?
“Who?��?
“Betty Morgan.��?
“From Swansea? Jeez, that’s ancient history. We were on an amateur team together. She dumped me the day before a tournament match, scout present and all. Floored me. She got picked for the Harpies, I kept playing amateur and eventually came here.��?
“I met her at a mutual friend’s baby shower. Apparently she’s planning to retire this year.��?
“Really? It’s been so long since I spoke to her.��?
“She and her partner Susan have some idyllic cottage on the beach near Pembroke where they plan to settle down and breed crups. They seemed happy together. Very affectionate.��?
“Bloody hell.��? Rolanda reached to refill her wine. “I’m happy for her, but that’s depressing.��?
“It’s hard watching exes move on.��?
“Worse when they dropped you as coldly as she did.��?
Wilhelmina raised her glass. “To break-ups: if pain truly does bring wisdom, may we always emerge the stronger.��? They clinked their glasses together and sipped in unison. “Couldn’t you tell I was gay?��?
“You know, I did wonder. But Filius said you had a husband.��?
“I did. Past tense, a very long time ago. Thirty years this spring. He was going to leave me, run off with the girl from the grocers’, but I ran off first. With her sister.��?
Rolanda laughed so hard it spooked the unicorn that had been edging towards them, lured by voices and the smell of fruit. Too old anyway, thought the unicorn as he bounded back through the forest, hardly worth the attention.
“Yes, well,��? Wilhelmina shrugged modestly, “Plank was his name, but I thought I’d keep it . Reminder of my failed experiment. You’re not joking with me? You really had no idea I fancied you?��?
“I really didn’t. But then, I’m terrible at guessing things like that. I was dead certain Minerva was queer, when I first got here, but she’s always got a man somewhere, sometimes even juggles them.��? She paused, toying with her glass. “Do you really fancy me?��?
Wilhelmina nodded. “I really do. I must say, you’re not my usual type. I’m usually drawn to girlier lasses, very waifish, very domestic. But my last few girlfriends, in fact too many of the women I’ve dated over the years, we’ve had nothing in common, few shared interests, no shared activities. I like that you like flying, that you’re not afraid to scrape your knees or break your nails. And you’re not so butch. I mean, you’re tough, but there’s a delicacy to you, too. A grace. Like a lot of birds, you look at them close and they seem so fragile, like you can’t believe they can do everything they do without breaking. But they do.��?
Rolanda blinked. “Well, thank you, Wilhelmina—“
“Billie.��?
“Billie, thank you. I’m flattered.��? She set down her glass on the blanket. “Is there any more of that Brie left?��?

"Weekly" writing thing number one - There be Giants Here

2005-05-12T03:47:20Z

Heh. This is what, three weeks late? I'm sorry. There've been distractions. I don't think I was overly ambitious, and I'll try harder to meet deadlines from now on. Partly I blame the fact that I prefer to write by hand (it's portable, pleasingly scribbly and just feels more comfortable to me), but that means typing is an extra step, and I always forget how much I bloody hate typing.

Umm . . . it's fanfic. *flinch* Harry Potter fanfic. And it includes "adult situations". It's been like two years since I even really read any fanfic, so I'm out of practice, and intimidated by all the hardcore fans (is that a pun? I don't know)- those persons are freaking scary. I hadn't planned on getting back into it, but I was browsing Micaela's
"friends" page and I ran into a challenge that sparked an idea in my head, and when I started to scribble some notes on that one (which I basically finished two weeks ago, a week late for the challenge, but I wasn't happy with it so I moved on. I'll type it and seek feedback before posting) it phoned up some friends and invited them to party, so I now have six more planned- five of which are also at least a little naughty (the other is a crossover). This was for a different challenge, subject being Molly and Arthur Weasley (no one can argue that isn't canon). It's nothing kinky I don't think, though it does get raunchy, especially towards the end. Don't read it if that doesn't sound like your cup of tea. You have been warned. I'm not entirely happy with how my characterizations, particularly Molly, came through, I feel she might be too flat. Tant pis for me.

]]> Title: "Empty Nest Thing"
Pairing: Molly/Arthur
Rating: R (eventually)
Summary: With all the kids finally away in school, Molly looks to a book for some new ideas.
Words: 3614 (too many?)
Warnings: None, unless a mature married couple experimenting with the Perfumed Garden disturbs you.
Note: Contribution to this Arthur/Molly challenge. Positions mostly derived from this website (artists' mannequins, questionably worksafe). Geez, am I rusty. I apologise for taking so long to reach the steamy stuff (and I think in the position they do, she's supposed to be lying down . . . oh well), the melodrama got a little out of control. Be nice if readers could tell me what does and doesn't work.
-----
Arthur Weasley yawned into his hand as he filled out a third copy of his latest report (on a pay telephone that rang suggestively at female passersby), to be stamped, filed in some archival cupboard and promptly forgotten. He read the report over for errors. Perkins shuffled in, easily navigating the overhanging precipices of paper and bizarre artifacts to his desk.
“Molly’s on the hall hearth for you, Arthur, line three.��? Their office did not have Floo access, lacking the space, so they were accustomed to using the bank of fireplaces adjacent the lifts.
“Oh? What about?��?
“She didn’t say. Didn’t look too urgent, but you’d know your wife better than I.��?
“Thanks, Perkins.��? Arthur folded the report into an airplane, tapped it with his wand and sent it flapping down the hallway. He was no less deft in his handling of the maze-like office, his storkish limbs trained by long habit. It was like a bureaucratic fjord, he thought fancifully, a Grand Canyon of office work. The paper walls grew taller by geological deposition even as Weasley and Perkins sought eternally to erode it away.
The Magical Maintenance crew were in top form today, Arthur observed when he came in sight of a window. The crisp autumn sunlight was punctuated by flurries of orange leaves swirling off to nowhere in particular.
The hearths in the public bank were for face-to-face communication only, too small for transportation, which was allowed only through the lobby and certain authorized private lines. They were arranged two by four, stacked vertically, and looked like open-sided clay ovens. A witch standing tiptoe on a chair was engaged in conversation with a bearded wizard in the topmost hearth of one column, while bored faces peered out from four of the other boxes.
Molly was second from the bottom of the other column, pursing her lips and watching the legs passing through the corridor. He crouched down into her field of vision, but she still had to tilt her head back to look at him “Arthur! Good Afternoon!��?
“Molly, love,��? he leaned into the flames to kiss her, “how are you, is anything wrong?��?
“Oh no, nothing at all. I just wanted to ask you do your best to be home on time tonight. I picked up a book in the shops this morning. There’s a couple of things I’d like to try.��?
“What, a cookbook?��?
“Something like that. Seven o’clock?��?
“I’ll do my best.��?
“Thank you, sweetheart. Love you.��?
“I love you.��? He kissed her again, a quick peck on the lips, before her face disappeared from the fire.
Arthur returned to his desk with a bounce in his step. Molly hadn’t shown much interest in cooking these past few weeks. They’d been having a lot of leftovers; she was long out of the practice of cooking for only two people. It had taken her almost until Christmas last year to stop cooking as if Ron were still in the house, and Ron ate like every meal was his last so they’d had heaps to spare. Ginny’s absence was less obvious but still felt. He looked forward to a change from the past two days’ reheated macaroni.
When Arthur stepped out of the fireplace that evening into his own sitting room in the Burrow he smelled roasting chicken, and saw that Molly was lighting candles on the kitchen table set for two. “Hmm, smells wonderful,��? he announced, setting down his briefcase and removing his shoes and cloak.
He moved directly to the stove and tried to help, but Molly waved him to his seat while she finished her bustling. She gave him the chicken to carve while she served out two plates of mashed potatoes, carrots, onions and red pepper roasted in the fat of the chicken, and spears of steamed asparagus with lemon.
She poured him a glass of wine and refilled her own. “How was work today?��?
“Same old, same old. This looks marvelous.��? Arthur observed as she swung herself into the seat at his elbow that she was in one of her best frock-style robes, the red and blue polkadot one with buttons down the front, and black high-heeled shoes with sheer tights. “We’re not having company, are we love?��? He asked, sipping his wine.
“No, why do you ask?��? She started on her potatoes.
“You’re looking awfully smart this evening is all.��? She even had a black velvet ribbon in her auburn hair.
“I don’t know, I get so few excuses to dress up I thought I’d start making my own.��?
“Well, you look lovely, you really do.��?
“Thank you, love, you’re very kind.��?
He tried the chicken, which was moist and green on the outside with a layer of herbs. He’d taken a breast and thigh; Molly preferred the dark meat, as did all the children except Charlie and Ginny. “Mmm. Delicious. Not much different from the old recipe, though, is it?��?
Molly swallowed her bite of asparagus and washed it down with wine. “It is the old recipe.��?
“Oh. Well it’s lovely, either way. I suppose it’s a new dessert you’re trying then, eh?��?
“Dessert’s strawberry cheesecake, that’s the old recipe too.��?
Arthur looked at her, then down at his half-finished vegetables. He sipped his wine. “You know I love your cheesecake, Molly, but I thought you said you’d bought a new cookbook?��?
“I said I bought a book. I didn’t say it was a cookbook.��?
“Oh. Then why did you say--?��?
Molly put down her utensils and reached behind her to the slightly-open silverware drawer. She removed a hardbound volume and set it on the table in front of his plate. Magic in the Bedroom proclaimed the cover, on which an illustrated witch and wizard kissed and smiled, wrapped in a billowing bedsheet. Arthur blinked at it for a moment. “Ah,��? he said, then returned to his meal. A few moments later, glass raised in front of his face he asked, “Is this some sort of empty nest thing?��?
Molly’s fork scraped loudly on her plate. “Excuse me?��?
“It’s just the last time you brought home a book like that was when the twins were learning to walk, and you were all worried no one needed you anymore and we were all going to run off somewhere and leave you alone. And then nine months later,��? he mimed presenting her with a large, round object, “there was Ron.��?
“You think I want another baby? Another mouth to feed? Arthur, are you insane?��?
“No, and I didn’t think you were either. That’s why I’m asking.��?
“I’ve had six healthy pregnancies, Arthur, and two miscarriages. I’ve raised seven children, spent half my life raising—and now the last one’s finally out of my hair, you think I want to go back to that? The puking, and the pain and the sleepless nights . . . the worry . . . you think I want another brat to lug around? Is that what you think?��?
She was flushed, clutching her knife and fork in white-knuckled hands. He met her eyes and licked his lips. “No, Molly, that’s not what I thought.��? He reached out a hand to take hers and felt it tremble, then relax its grip. “I just thought . . . maybe, now Ginny’s off to school . . . with all the kids away and me working all this overtime lately . . . maybe you were feeling lonely. Unwanted. Like with no one to take care of, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Like you weren’t sure of your purpose anymore. But Molly, you do have people to take care of. You know me, I’m hopeless. Couldn’t find my own feet if it weren’t for you. And the kids aren’t really gone. There’s still holidays, years of busy, crazy holidays to look forward to. And even once they’ve moved on, like Bill and Charlie, they’ll still need you. You’re their mother. Nothing in the world can take that away.��?
Her eyes were moist now, but crinkled at the edges from smiling. She smudged her mascara wiping away a tear, then laid her free hand over his.
“Dear Arthur,��? she said, “that is the sweetest, most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me.��? She chuckled, the melancholy and ferocity of a moment before replaced with genuine cheer. “You know I did feel like that, like you said, all lost and useless, for a while. I thought it was all gone, but I guess I still had some left. It was after I calmed down a bit over Ron’s latest stupid escapade—and it was stupid, and reckless, could’ve got himself killed and Harry, and losing the bloody car—“
She took a deep breath through her nose .“After I’d calmed down and decided to tackle the cleaning, and after a few days I realized, I was done. I had caught up. There was nothing left to do. It was disorienting. I spent about four days just sitting here, listening to the wireless and eating baking chocolate—shut up,��? she said in response to Arthur’s amused snort, “just sitting here, and I realized: yes, it’s lonely, having the kids out of the house, but it’s also freeing. I have so much time now, I could do whatever I want. But more importantly, you and I have the house to ourselves. We’re totally alone.��?
“There’s Errol,��? Arthur said, gesturing with his fork at the scruffy owl dozing on top of the family clock. Never one to waste food, he’d resumed his cooling meal when the storm clouds cleared.
“Well, yes.��?
“And the ghoul in the attic. In fact you never really had reason to be lonely. This place is practically a zoo.��?
“That’s not the point. The point is, there are no children here. We don’t need to worry about noise, or getting caught in the act. We don’t need to find excuses to send the kids away for the night. We can do whatever we want. In fact, I could even start to undress . . .��? She popped a button at the neck of her robe, then another “. . . right here in the kitchen.��?
She stopped there, looking at Arthur expectantly. He grinned wolfishly. “What did you have in mind?��?
Molly opened the book to a page with a turned-down corned and passed it to her husband, who laughed out loud. “You’re joking, right?��? He gestured at the diagram, where the illustrated wizard (handsome and swarthy) was bent over, belly up with his hands and feet on the floor while the witch (fairer, and rather skinnier than Molly) straddled him, leaning back and resting her hands on his bent knees. “I can’t do that, I’d break my spine. Where’d you ever get the idea I was that, what, acrobatic?��?
“I don’t know, I thought it looked interesting so I marked it. And anyway, we used to do stuff like that all the time when we were courting.��?
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me, I never did that.��?
“Well not that exact thing, no, or it wouldn’t be new. But you used to pick me up and sling me around, remember? I loved that. It was like dancing, only I didn’t need a fancy frock.��?
“I remember that. Those were fun days, weren’t they?��? He leafed through the book, watching the tiny couple writhe in their sensual contortions. He scoffed or whistled awe when appropriate. Molly came around to peer over his shoulder and together they critiqued the book, declaring some positions unoriginal (reclining rear entry facing up), others ridiculous (rear entry, lying perpendicular on sides, the man curled around her torso with his feet in her face) or downright dangerous (man on his back with his knees to his chin, woman straddling his legs).
“Now here’s one,��? he said, pausing and pointing. “See?��?
“I see it,��? said Molly, “looks simple enough. Though with my legs bent like that I’m not sure I’d be able to move much. You’d be doing most of the work.��?
“Oh, that’s no problem,��? he said, snaking an arm around her waist. “As long as you can get yourself up the stairs to the bedroom, you can leave everything else to me.��?
Molly’s coy smile turned into a bubbling laugh as she shook off his arm and fled to the stairs. Arthur growled and left the table to pursue her, leaving the book.
On the bottom riser she whirled, hair bouncing, and opened her robes another button. She began to back unsteadily up the steps, unbuttoning as she went. He followed her pace for pace a few stairs below, unfastening his own robe. Underneath the polkadots she wore a silky-looking black slip that stopped above her knees. The top of the slip was conservatively cut, keeping her ample bosom well covered, but the material was some sort of not-quite opaque patterned lace through which her skin appeared in peeks and flashes, and more lace ringed the hem.
Molly discarded her robe on the first landing and ran up the next flight with a wild laugh. Arthur ignored the crumple of fabric and broke into a round of the William Tell Overture as he chased her up and around the cramped staircase to their bedroom. Molly hurled herself on the bed and rolled over on her elbows to smirk at Arthur, who halted in the open doorway.
“Molly, Molly my love, Molly my doll,��? he murmured, panting slightly from the sprint.
“My big, tall scarecrow Arthur,��? she purred, kicking off her shoes. One strap of her slip had fallen down her shoulder. She sat up and beckoned, “Come and get me!��?
In the two steps it took his long legs to close the distance between them, Arthur had thrown off his robe, loosened his tie and started to unbuckle his belt. Molly’s hands took over this last task from his fumbling ones when he reached to kiss her, pushing his tongue between her parted lips. His hands wrapped in her hair and untangled the velvet ribbon. The movements of their mouths were practiced but passionate and his hands slid down her neck to massage her shoulders. Molly threw his belt aside, where it thwacked off some piece of furniture or other, and started to unbutton his shirt. She rolled it off his shoulders and he nudged it off his arms to the floor.
In his undershirt, trousers and sock feet Arthur dropped to one knee and pushed up the hem of Molly’s slip. She was wearing actual stockings, he saw, with a straps and all. He bent to kiss the band of skin exposed above the lacey band of one garter as his fingers worked to open the snaps. Molly gasped. “Oh Arthur,��? she sighed as he rolled her stockings down inch by inch, massaging her fleshy thigh and calf and leaving a trail of kisses as he went. When he reached her foot he lingered, working his fingers between every bone, then smoothing the skin and planting a kiss on each toe in turn. He repeated the procedure with the other leg. Molly was moaning by now and had dropped her free foot to rub at his crotch through his trousers.
When he had finished with her feet he moved up to lie beside her on the bed, running his hands over her body. “Molly,��? he breathed as he kissed her ears, neck, collar bone and the portion of her breasts exposed by the slip, “my beautiful wife.��?
“My hopeless husband,��? she replied, unbuttoning his trousers and reaching into his shorts to pet his wakening member. He shimmied the corduroy trousers down to his feet and kicked them off, then pulled off his socks with his own toes.
Molly pushed Arthur over onto his back and pulled his undershirt over his head. His chest was nearly hairless, a white-pale expanse broken by a shy spattering of freckles. Molly stooped to blow softly in his navel, which tickled, so the slight middle-aged paunch he’d acquired quivered as he laughed. She moved up to kiss his nipples and Arthur arched his back and neck.
With his head thus tilted he had an upside-down view of the bedroom window, and was surprised to see that it was still light out. This was the first time probably in many months they’d made love before well past dark. For a long while their routine had been maybe twice a week, when the house was dark and quiet and one of them would stir sometime in the hour either side of midnight and decide to wake the other. The top priority at such times was silence, and they had trained themselves to a comfortable sequence that got the job done but encouraged neither frantic passion nor protracted savoring.
What Arthur really used to love was shagging in the morning, waking up together in a hesitant sunbeam and the way snuggling turned naturally to more pointed caressing. It was a long time since they’d done that, though. Probably not since before Percy was out of the crib. Mornings had just become too short, days too busy and energy too scarce. With just the two of them to get ready now, maybe they could resume the habit.
For now, Arthur wrapped his hands in Molly’s hair and drew her face to his to kiss her. She pulled away and to the side, rising to kneel on the bedspread. She gripped the edge of the slip, bunched up high on her thighs. She hesitated a moment, eyes locked on his, then pulled the slip up over her head.
With their recent silent, pyjama-clad nocturnal pattern, Arthur realized it had been a while since he’d seen his wife naked. And she wasn’t yet fully nude: the slip had by magic or manufacture supported her large, beautiful breasts, which now tumbled free, but she still wore the black garter belt over flesh-coloured knickers of the rump-and-belly minimizing variety.
Rather than spoiling the fantasy, this sad touch, this banner of Molly’s concern over her figure (which was still impressive considering the distortions imposed by age and childbearing), filled Arthur with love and pride. This woman, this spectacular woman, was no dream: she was reality, she was solid and she was his. He growled again, predatorily, and lunged at her.
Cackling, they managed to peel back the coverlet, exposing the crisp sheets, and fell to snogging on the bare linen. Somehow the last undergarments came off. Down to nothing but wedding bands, the pair tried to arrange themselves.
“Is that right?��? Arthur asked Molly.
“I’m not sure, I left the book downstairs.��?
“Oh, who cares. Just come here.��?
They ended up with Arthur sitting upright with his legs open and Molly kneeling between them. She slid her toes under the base of his thighs and drew her own buttocks towards her heels. “Oh, God,��? she said, in a less than ecstatic manner, “Should’ve stretched first.��? She lifted into a wobbling squat and Arthur supported her as she lowered her full auburn bush over his waiting cock.
Passing seven children had stretched her channel significantly but also taught her a phenomenal degree of muscular control. When Arthur put his arms as far around her back as he could reach to pull her towards him, she constricted her slick vaginal walls around his shaft. He moaned, leaning in to bite her shoulder. “Ooh. Oh, bloody- Molly, you are fucking amazing.��? She reciprocated the hug, and they worked into a rhythm of Arthur thrusting while Molly squeezed and rocked on her heels.
Arthur freed his hands to caress her breasts, lifting them to kiss the nipples. Molly’s were what all breasts should be, believed Arthur, legitimately fantastic, prize-winning breasts. He’d suspected as much since he first noticed them, their third year of school together, and it had been confirmed without question when he finally saw them uncovered two years later. They were huge (the left slightly larger than the right), round and firm, with perfectly circular, darkly red-brown areola. They had suffered a bit over the decades under the forces of gravity and suckling, so that they now hung to the edge her ribs and had lost some of their fullness, but were still tactilely superb, and even more sensitive.
Molly grunted and ground her pelvis against his. Arthur was panting now, eyes closed, still working his tongue in circles around the firm nub crowning her right tit. The rolling motion of her hips and repetitive squeezing of his cock was overpowering and he was losing the battle to delay his ejaculation. “So good—Molly—I can’t—“ he pulled her close and buried his face in her hair, grunting as he came. She continued to roll, rubbing her clitoris against his pubic bone. She climaxed soon after, bucking against him, face twisted up in concentration as she delivered one last crushing squeeze, then dropped limply against his arms.
They unfolded themselves to lie spooning on the sheets, now damp and twisted from their passionate sporting. Arthur stroked her thigh softly and nuzzled her shoulder. “Feeling better now, doll?��?
“Much better. Though I was thinking . . .��?
“Yes?��?
Molly rolled to face him, tracing patterns on his chest with a fingernail. “If you could try to get away on time again tomorrow, or even early . . . we still have that whole book to try.��?
Later, after a bit of a nap, when they went downstairs to clear up the dishes and feed each other cheesecake, they did not bother to get dressed.

Right-ee-oh: Changes - There be Giants Here

2005-04-23T01:17:42Z

So. Trying something different. Got a LiveJournal (primary reasons: peer pressure, envious of icons and friendlier comments system) for spontaneous entries, random thoughts and internet flotsam. Keeping this puppy around, and as exercise in discipline going to try to keep writing muscles flexing by updating at least once a week (aiming for every friday plus whenever else I have something) with some piece of fresh, tasty, some-effort-involved prose (rant, essay, original story or fanfic). Also going to make some of the technical and cosmetic alterations here I've been planning since August.

School officially done for term, job situation still unresolved (got an interview monday, waiting to hear from a couple of other places, or for an election call). Script banging along, still don't know what venue we're in, but apparently Sharon's officially in now, so I will be super-busy come Fringe time. And Dad's still looking for another job, maybe in another city, so until that part of the future gets resolved I can't really make travel plans for the summer. From now on, look for this kind of information on the other journal.

Siiiiggghhh. - There be Giants Here

2005-04-17T23:10:59Z

Which is more pathetic, that this cartoon is like a metaphor for my life (kay, I'm exaggerating a substantial bit here. But I totally identify with little boy) or that next year's uni timetable info makes me salivate (not even exaggerating)?

Two more exams. I can do this. This is not a problem.

Two for Two - There be Giants Here

2005-04-13T03:30:51Z

I was dumped today.

So that's always fun.

]]> I almost cried when it happened, which was embarassing, but I wasn't really crying over the dumping (well, probably a little. It hurts!). I was crying because right before he called (yes, it was over the phone) I was thinking that (I'd have to check last year's exam schedule to be sure) today was probably the anniversary of the day my parents told me they were separating, so as he was talking, I leapt to the natural conclusion that April 12th was some sort of cursed Day of the Delivery of Bad News for me.

Later I really did cry, though I was chopping onions so I had a cover. This time I was crying cuz I'd realised I have a Relationship Pattern. Twice now (see entry title), I have met a guy, made out with him a scant handful of times (he has a couple orgasms, I barely come close), then spent a solid three months trying to figure out whether or not we were really "together" at all, and eventually been rejected because he might have a shot with something better. It's not a good pattern.

And the real problem, not the "fault" I don't think but the place where it all goes topsy-turvy, is me. I sit around dithering and angsting for weeks on end, trying to sort out what I percieve as mixed messages (the messages may in a hypothetical objective "reality" be totally unmixed and the ambiguity all added by my overactive imagination) instead of just asking because I'm equally afraid of not being loved and of being expected to love and unable to deliver, and more than either of those I'm just afraid of people, of direct communication and confrontation when I'm not sure where I stand (a character I think I share with today's dumper, probably why I thought we were compatible and part of why we ultimately weren't).

Today's illustrative metaphor is daisies. You know, pulling petals, helovesme, helovesmenot? That's what I do. I go over every clue, every action he makes or I make, wondering what it means, whether I reacted correctly. So I spend these weeks, petals collecting in drifts at my feet, trying to figure it all out, and the last petal comes with good signs (a trip to Vancouver and joking about no spare beds, more free time and a scheduled date): helovesme. But I forget to count the head of the daisy, the yellow bit: helovesmenot. Moral: daisies are not a reliable divination method (and not really a great metaphor after all, sorry). Stop playing detective, you're not good at it. If you have a question, just fucking ask. And it'll probably be another six months before I get a chance to try again, and it'll probably go just as sourly. Ah well.

And besides that, I really didn't get anything done today. Or this week, in fact. Should probably try to remedy that.

Are olfactory hallucinations a good thing? - There be Giants Here

2005-04-05T04:04:28Z

I'm being haunted by the smell of blueberries. I have no idea where it's coming from. Please resume your previous activities.

Fruitcake - There be Giants Here

2005-04-05T01:10:11Z

In movie Iron-Jawed Angels (and maybe it's a real quote, I don't know), about American Women's Suffrage movement (Hilary Swank, Molly Parker, Anjelica Huston) the prison psychologist says*: "In women and oranges, courage is often mistaken for insanity." Now, brave women are often called crazy, agreed. But let's all contemplate the second half of that . . . Heh heh heh.

*in response to guy accusing him of comparing apples and oranges in paralleling Alice Paul's hunger strike and Henry's "give me liberty or give me death."

Students, Sinners, Sun Wukung - There be Giants Here

2005-04-03T03:50:09Z

The Anthropology Students' Association Colloquium went extremely well. For a while it seemed Murphy (operator of the law of the same name) had it in for us, but He relented. Professors Silcox and Richling were both top notch, and most of the students did damn well, too (Maureen's, on a never-really-studied-before Roman lamp, was actually probably the best student presentation. Yay Maureen!)

Sin City was terrific. Not a filling intellectual or emotional meal, but a delectable sensory treat. But was it worth the hours it took out of working on my Religions of India paper (fuhkinelllastonelastone)? We shall see. I might be able to pull it off in time ('course everytime I say/think that something turns up to screw me over. . .). Need to finish reading R.K. Narayan's adaptation of Kamlan's Tamil translation of Valmiki's Ramayana (actually a mighty fun book), then try to get through this Hsi Yu Chi translation if I can, plus a hundred pages of articles. For Tuesday. And the paper only has to be 5-7 pages. At least comparing Indian and Chinese monkey divinities (Hanuman and Sun Wukung) is a fun topic.

Waaaahahahatermpapershahahasniffle. - There be Giants Here

2005-03-17T23:03:17Z

Why does anything have to exist? It's freaking impossible. Stupid everything. Bleargh. I need about another two weeks, six arms and three heads to get this crap done. Course, if I had eight arms and four heads I'd prolly spend all my time decapitating buffalo demons and drinking gouting blood over the corpse of Shiva while cobras writhed and the sun streamed backwards in a crimson sky and not bother with inanities like school. Man, that would be cool. And not so much a direct representation of any particular Hindu divinity as something that would look spiffy and not too out of place in technicolour devotionalist poster art. Vote for me for Bhagavan and I will totally give you whatever crazy shit you ask for.

. . . Wow. I do seem to be on drugs, don't I?

Hully gee*, this is freaking awesome. Cat with patch!!!!

*yellow kid

Kinda hyper now. Need a shower. And maybe a full night's sleep.