#and yes i DID just sink about two hours into those so you'd better appreciate them
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So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.
See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.
But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...
What is the difference between this and this?
Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?
Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.
But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.
And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.
But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.
See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!
As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.
And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:
So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?
Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.
In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.
In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.
This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).
Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.
More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.
This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.
A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.
But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.
#everyone say 'thank you togas' for not including a long tangent about evil rimmer in red dwarf 5x05#Our Flag Means Death#Togas does meta#and yes these principles DO fall apart slightly in s2 and i DON'T like those costumes as much#don't get me wrong they're fun and gorgeous - but generally a bit less deep and more inaccurate. so. :(#I'm not sure this really says anything new about Our Flag but I just needed to get my thoughts out#i hate hate hate Gritty Period Drama costumes they're so boring and so ugly and so wrong#god bless OFMD for using more than 3 muted colours and actually putting men in heels (and not as a shorthand for rich/foppish villainy) <3#looking at that Tudors still is insane like they really will go to any lengths to not make men feel like they've got bare legs XD#image descriptions in alt text#and yes i DID just sink about two hours into those so you'd better appreciate them
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Keep The Secret?
MAINLY JAKE LOCKLEY X GN READER , SOME MARC SPECTOR AND STEVEN GRANT X GN READER
prompt : marc and steven had gotten themselves sick. luckily for them, they have a wonderful and loving partner who's willing to take care of them(you). unbeknownst to you, another person is taking care of them in their own way. (yes it's jake.)
i finally finished this and it ended up a lot longer than i had planned but i'm pretty okay with it, so, enjoy!
likes and reblogs appreciated, also leave me requests cause im running out of ideas!!
warnings(?) : fluff. maybe angst? but mostly fluff. my knowledge on DID is very limited but im hoping i didn't mess anything up and if i did, feel free to message me about it!!
word count : 2,705
masterlist
Here you are, preparing all of your boyfriends' pills for them cause they're too tired to get out of bed. Someone had coughed on Steven while on his way to the museum and now they're sick with a sweltering hot fever and a horrid cough. They were constantly switching with each other because neither of them wanted to deal with the sickness and while yes, being sick without fronting is still being sick, it is still much better than actually having to experience a sick body. Sometimes you wonder why or how you had fallen in love with these two idiots.
"Will you both please just stop arguing and drink your medicine?" You demand from your very sick boyfriends who are currently quarreling with each other. A mirror was placed beside the bed where Steven was laying down on, where he is coughing every few sentences that he says to presumably Marc, as he tells him, pretty much begs him to take over for a few minutes so that he can stop feeling so bad at least a little bit. You can't hear Marc but from the way Steven is getting more and more exasperated by the second, he's probably being very stubborn and refusing to switch.
A bunch of toddlers those two are.
You run a hand through your hair and drag it down your face, letting out a groan in irritation. You’ve been by their side for hours now, making sure they’re getting enough rest and drinking their medicine and honesly, If you didn't love these two dorks, you probably would have left hours ago. But if you'd left, they'd just be arguing all day and not resting and that is the opposite of what you want these two to be doing.
After giving up on trying to get the boys to drink their pills, you approach Steven on the bed, pushing him down by the shoulders, forcibly tucking him in, and shushing him when he tries to say something about you treating him like a baby. "Please, love, just go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up." You tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Steven is quiet for a while but then sighs defeatedly and nods, knowing there's no point in arguing with you about it since he's already tired anyway. His head immediately sinks into the pillows as he relaxes and closes his eyes. You sit beside him, humming a soft tune while running your hands through his hair. His breathing slows in mere seconds.
Thank god. You were starting to get really tired of their bickering and if they were to go on any longer, you would seriously start contemplating using that neck pinch trick Marc taught you to get them to pass out already. Sighing in relief, you lift yourself from the bed and walk over to the small stove to start cooking up some soup for them to eat when they wake up.
However, as you were cutting up some carrots, you hear shuffling coming from the bed. Assuming that it's probably just Steven stirring in his sleep, you choose to ignore it and continue to cook.
But the shuffling continues and it isn't until you hear a creak on the floor that you turn your head to the other side of the room where possibly Steven is leaning against the wall trying to walk towards his desk.
Oh for the love of-
"Steven! I told you to rest, if you needed the pills you could've just-" Before you could finish your sentence, however, Steven had swiftly darted across the apartment towards you, as if he was never even sick. Suddenly there is a dagger that he had pulled out of who knows where threateningly close to your throat.
This is not Steven and you have a very good feeling that it isn't Marc either.
"Who are you?" A slight accent that isn't American nor British comes out of the man, his voice low and more gravelly than the others. Slowly, you place the knife back down on the cutting board and both of your hands come up to your chest, hopefully showing this stranger that you are now unarmed and not here to hurt anyone.
"I'm just here to take care of Marc and Steven. I'm their significant other." There is a pregnant pause after you say this like he's contemplating whether your words could be trusted or not. His eyes dart around the room. First, towards the soup on the stove, then the pills on the desk, and finally the small portraits of you and your boyfriends. He finally lets go of you, making you fall to the floor with how weak your knees felt after all that.
"God fucking damn it those idiots." The stranger says, the accent coming out of his mouth (your usually american and british lovers' mouth) is something that would probably take a while to get used to. It surely took you a while to get used to Marc’s accent. The man drags his hand across his face and takes one deep breath before dropping down to the floor right next to you. "I'm very sorry about that." He leans sideways against the kitchen counter, a charming smile making its way up to his face. You notice that it's different from the way the other boys smile.
There's still a bit of confusion floating around in your head, way too many questions that you just can't seem to form the words to ask him. So instead, you just nod. "I can't really forgive you for threatening my life like that." You can still feel the blade close to your neck, merely only centimeters away from cutting it open and bleeding to death. You rub at the spot to get rid of the phantom feeling and steady your breathing. It's fine. You're not in danger anymore. Plus, you have a feeling this new guy wouldn't hurt you. His posture is no longer tense, now relaxed, and frailer considering the body is still very sick and the dagger was thrown across the room a few seconds ago. Whether it's because he trusts you or if it's because he's too weak to start anything right now, he doesn't look like he would hurt you.
"Care to explain why you suddenly attacked me though?" You dare to ask, to which the man laughs and then coughs violently into his arm. Out of instinct, you reach out to him but stop yourself. He may have the face and the body of your boyfriends but he is still a potentially dangerous and untrusting stranger.
Eventually, the coughing does stop and now he looks as tired as Marc and Steven did before. You can't help the clenching feeling in your chest at the sight of him. As if he can feel your pitying gaze, he turns to you again, his smile now softer. "I'm very protective of them. Thought you were a stranger. Plus my mind was all bleary so I couldn't think straight. Sorry." He apologizes again, this time you can't help but feel bad for him. You don't know why you suddenly trust this man after he'd almost slit your throat open but the care and love were so evident in his tone of voice and it warmed your heart to know that there's someone else close to them to care about those two idiots.
So you return his smile and nod, before getting up to your feet and offering a hand to him. He looks at it incredulously as if he's never seen a hand before. It's adorable but also kinda stupid for him to be this untrusting of an empty hand.
"Come on, get up. You're still sick and in need of rest. Plus I still need to finish that soup." You tell him, waving the hand in front of him for him to take.
He eventually does and you help him up to his feet, letting him lean on you when he nearly falls at the sudden dizziness erupting in his head.
"What's your name by the way?" You ask him as you slowly guide him back towards the bed. He coughs once into his hand and his face turns to look at you, the smirk back on his face before he responds:
"Jake Lockley, a pleasure to meet you."
-
"Can you promise to keep this a secret?" Jake asks you as you were scooping up another spoonful of soup to feed him. He insisted he didn't need to be fed by you but when you saw him shake as he held the bowl, you pretty much forced it out of his hands and started feeding him. You just wouldn't want soup all over his sleeping pants, that's all.
He flinches at the glare that you give him for even asking that. Keeping something as big as this a secret from your boys? No, absolutely not. Why would he even dare suggest that?
You voice these thoughts to him as you place the bowl of soup on the bedside table and he shakes his head. Jake turns his body so that he's facing towards you, staring deep into your eyes. He moves forward and grabs your now empty hands, holding them tightly in his. The feeling of his calloused palm against yours makes your cheeks flush.
"Please. I swear I'm only doing this to protect them." He practically begs, your hands that are clutched tightly in his are starting to hurt with how tight he's holding them but not enough to be unbearable. You want to refuse. Marc and Steven deserve to know after all. They shouldn't be kept in the dark like this.
But when you open your mouth to tell him no, his head drops into your lap, his face now hidden in the fabric of your clothing, and his hands are still not letting go of their tight grip on yours as he lets out another quiet plea. "I just don't want them to know yet. Please." His voice is slightly muffled but sounds genuine enough for you to let out a defeated sigh. Damn him and his pleading voice.
"Fine." You respond. Jake's head immediately snaps up from its former position, his eyes that are staring into yours shine with adoration. You're taken aback by how that look makes you feel. Oh no. Not doing this again.
You shake the thoughts from your head and then clear your throat. The puppy eyes are simply only effective cause they're the same as your boyfriends'. That's all. There's nothing more to it.
Quickly, you take your hands away from Jake's, placing them back on your lap. "I promise to not tell them." His face beams up with joy and it reminds you a little bit of the way Steven would look whenever you pay attention to one of his ramblings and gosh does that make your heart go weak. You regain your composure though after mentally slapping yourself and focusing on the task at hand. "But you will tell them soon, right?" You ask him. "It just doesn't feel right to be lying about all of this."
"I know." Jake sighs, rubbing at his temples and massaging the area to ease the pain of his aching headache. "I know, it's just that I haven't figured out how to tell them without freaking them out." He rests his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. "I've done some things that they might not agree with."
Oh. You remember Marc and Steven telling you stories about them passing out in life-threatening situations and then waking up with people either dead or passed out around them, with their fists covered in blood. When asked, both of them refuse to admit who was at fault. It seems that they were both telling the truth. None of them did that. It was all just Jake. Somehow, this doesn't make you scared of him. He was only protecting the loves of your life, after all, even if you don’t agree with his way of doing it, you still appreciate it.
"I'm sure they'll understand." You say to him. You don't really want to give in to the voice that's telling you to hold him close. You don't. But right now Jake looks so much like a sad kicked puppy, with his head hung low and his fingers fiddle like he doesn't believe the words that you've said to him and you have this very strong and irresistible urge to pull him in for a long and comforting hug. You don't know if it's because the face you're looking at right now is the same one as your boyfriends' or if it's because of this stupid and conflicting feeling lying in your heart that you're sure to talk to Marc and Steven about soon cause there's no way you're not telling them about this.
Ah fuck it, it doesn't matter.
Giving in to your urges, you pull him into your embrace, holding him close to you and rubbing circles along his back to comfort him. You can feel Jake going tense for a second, definitely not expecting that from you, before he relaxes into your touch as he wraps his own arms around you. The hug might have looked awkward with the way you were both sitting on the bed but it's still pleasant, it feels safe, and it's everything Jake could've ever asked for.
The two of you hug for a while, settling into each other's arms without any conversation needing to be had. You stay like that until he falls asleep, probably exhausted after everything and you gently lay him down on the bed, tucking him in and by reflex, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
-
For the whole time that they were sick, Jake was the only one fronting. When asked about why that is, Jake's response was:
"Ask them when they remember the last time they were sick and were awake for more than half a day and they wouldn't know. That's cause I'm usually the one taking care of the body when we're sick." He had explained one night while downing the necessary pills for his recovery. Jake winced as he felt them go down his throat. "Once we're healthy enough, Marc or Steven are going to wake up and think they'd just slept through the days."
True to his word, when they've finally started to get better, Marc finally wakes up one bright morning, looking around at his surroundings and scratching at his head. You smile at the adorable sight and can’t help but to give him a quick kiss on his lips, morning breath be damned. He asked you what time and day it was as he always does when he wakes up, his eyes widened in shock. He faces the mirror beside the bed and asks Steven if he had been awake at all but by the look on Marc’s face, you can tell that Steven had told him that he wasn’t. Marc turns to you, clearly confused. "How did we even sleep for two whole days?"
When Marc asks this, you start to contemplate just telling him about Jake. You didn't want to lie to them. It wouldn't feel right for you to keep this all a secret from them cause Marc and Steven deserved to know. But it also wouldn’t be fair to Jake if you broke your promise.
Damn it.
It's real stupid of you to have grown so attached to Jake despite only meeting the man once and even knowing that you probably wouldn't be seeing him any time soon. It’s even stupider to lie to your boyfriends about this whole thing just because you wanted to keep a promise. But you had already promised and somehow, you trusted him with this.
So, you just press a kiss to Marc's temple and then hurry off to the kitchen, telling him that you’re getting him some soup. The thought of warm food in his belly is enough to make Marc forget about his question from before.
It’s fine.
Jake will explain it to them soon enough.
#moon knight x reader#jake lockley x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader#moon knight#marc spector#jake lockley#steven grant#moon knight imagine#jake lockley imagine#marc spector imagine#steven grant imagine#moon knight x you#jake lockley x you#steven grant x you#marc spector x you#gender neutral reader
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The Wrong Lifetime — Ten // Wanda Maximoff
chapter nine | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter eleven
author’s note: okay so this was supposed to be published yesterday but (if anyone cares lol), basically, i finished my last year of uni two days ago and so yesterday was the first official day i had that i didn’t have to do work, so i spent the whole day playing video games 😂 but it’s here now, so i hope you liked it!
Approaching Y/B/N's study, my annoyance returned when I remembered how he acted only an hour before. I didn't bother knocking as I let myself in, seeing him loosening his bow tie and looking out the window.
"What the hell was that?" I snapped instantly.
He sighed, yanking his bow tie off and throwing it to his desk. "What was what?"
I crossed my arms to contain my frustration. "You know what, Y/B/N." He continued to play dumb, so I watched him with a frown. "Why are you so against me getting published? I thought– I thought you'd be proud of me. It's all I've ever wanted."
With a scowl, he looked the other way. "I'm the writer, Y/N, not you."
His words created an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach. Jealousy was a disgusting look on him, one I never wanted to see.
"No," I said, uncrossing my arms and staring daggers at him. "You're not the writer. I am. You only got noticed because of me!"
"Shut up!" he shouted, finally meeting my eyes. "You don't get to do this! It's not about you!"
"Yes, it is!" I shouted right back. "For once, it is about me, Y/B/N! Because this is my chance to do something I love."
He rolled his eyes, getting riled up all over again. "And that's another thing. Why the hell are you putting silly ideas into my fiancé's head about making money? Are you trying to make me a fool in front of my in-laws?"
I squeezed my fists together, narrowing my eyes. "They aren't your in-laws."
"Oh, you know what I mean!"
He didn't deserve Wanda. He couldn't. She was too good for him.
"Sorry that your masculinity is so fragile that you can't let your fiancé do something she's passionate about," I said through gritted teeth.
He glowered down at me. "You need to butt out."
I smiled bitterly. "Maybe if you didn't start on Pietro for no reason, I would."
He scoffed. "Please. That man is only trying to get into your pants."
I don't think I'd ever wanted to strangle my brother as much as I did right now. Did he really not believe in me? He couldn't accept that maybe I'd earned this on my own accord? Thankfully, unlike him, I could contain my emotions and managed to swallow down my anger.
"You know that's not the case," I said with a dangerously calm voice. "You should talk about your soon-to-be brother-in-law with some respect."
Y/B/N sighed, moving to sit at his desk. I followed him with my eyes, unable to recognise who he was. I hadn't dubbed him for the insecure type, but I was being proven wrong many times tonight.
"I don't want to do this right now," he said quietly, sinking his head into his hands.
I uncurled my fists, fed up. "It's already been done."
He looked up, but I didn't wait to see his face. Maybe he wasn't the brother I thought he was.
—
"Honest opinion," Wanda said, before revealing herself from behind the curtain. "Nice or ugly?"
"Nice."
She smiled brightly, twirling around in the dress she was trying on, before going back behind the curtain to change into another one. She'd invited me over to hers to hang out, which meant watching her try on a bunch of new dresses and getting excited over each one. I wasn't complaining.
"So, that first book," she picked up from our previous conversation as she changed. She was referring to Y/B/N's first published book. "That was really you?"
"Yep." I pulled my legs up onto the lounge sofa and leaned on my hand, elbow propped on the back of the seat. "I mean, it got edited of course, but the initial manuscript was mine."
"Wow," she commented. "That must have really sucked to hear everybody praise it when it was actually yours."
"It did indeed."
She came out from the curtain wearing a dress that wasn't particularly nice looking. It had a baggy torso and slim legs, making Wanda look very unflattering. And that was saying something – she could pull off anything.
"Nice or ugly?" she asked, hands on her hips.
I squinted, tilting my head and trying to think if I should lie or not. Her blue eyes peered down at me intimidatingly and I knew I couldn't find it in myself to lie to her.
After a moment, I released a breath. "I'm sorry, love, but it's kind of ugly."
She chuckled, giving me a knowing smile. "Good. This was a test. Means you're paying attention."
"Wow. You think I'm just sat here for fun?"
She didn't respond, but an amused smile was on her lips as she headed behind the curtain to change yet again. It was quiet as she was changing, before she spoke up again.
"You know when we first met? And you showed me around your room?"
"How can I forget? You thought I was jealous of my brother," I quipped with a smile.
I could imagine the eye roll she was giving me. "That was before I knew you wrote half his stuff."
Stifling a laugh, I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Okay, go on."
She sighed. "I told you how I fell in love with that first book. How I fell in love with the words. And the person who wrote those words.”
"I remember."
She reappeared from behind the curtain, this time wearing a stunning floral blue sundress. It fell off her shoulders, revealing cream-coloured skin and a well-defined collarbone. I smiled softly, overwhelmed with admiration for the beautiful woman before me.
"I'm glad it was you," she said, and I suddenly remembered we were in the middle of a conversation.
Her eyes sparkled brightly as she smiled my way, and then her words sank in and my heart fluttered with adoration.
"Me, too," I breathed out.
She held my gaze for a second longer before looking down at her dress, pressing her hands over it. "So. What do you think? Nice or ugly?"
I raised my eyebrows with astonishment. "Wanda, you look absolutely beautiful."
Her shoulders relaxed as her eyes flickered to mine. "So, I should keep it?"
I spluttered, "Duh!"
She laughed, before approaching me and sitting beside me. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she pulled her legs onto the sofa and sighed contently. I wrapped an arm around her, resting my cheek on her head.
"I'm glad you'll finally get the recognition you deserve, milaya (darling)," she said, lifting her hand to intertwine it with mine over her shoulder.
With an entertained smile, I held her hand firmly. "Maybe, love. I haven't said yes."
"Oh, you'll say yes."
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, revelling in the warmth her body created as it pressed to mine. We had no concerns that somebody would catch us since nobody was home and the servants knew not to bother us.
"So, what was the book actually about?" she asked, playing with my fingers.
"Huh?"
"The book," she repeated. "I've heard Y/B/N's take on it, but what about yours?"
At the mention of my brother, I rolled my eyes. We still hadn't spoken since our argument and I wasn't exactly in the best place with him right now.
"It doesn't matter," I mumbled into her hair.
She used her elbow to nudge me gently in the stomach before grabbing my other hand and wrapping it around her waist.
"I like hearing you speak," she said softly. "And I love the way your mind works."
My cheeks flushed at the compliment, but I appreciated her words. She always had such an effect on me and I'd come to only care about one opinion nowadays – hers.
"Okay, I guess..." I sighed, subconsciously pressing my fingertips to hers. "The book is about a man who loses his wife to his own ignorance, right?" She hummed in agreement, so I continued. "Y/B/N always talks about how it's about a man failing to appreciate his wife, but that's not how I intended for it to be perceived."
Interest piqued, she sat up straight and turned around to face me, leaning her head on my chest and looking up with curious eyes. I smiled down at her, pressing a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up adorably.
"It's supposed to be about the wife discovering that she's her own woman and that she doesn't need her husband to be okay," I continued, holding her gaze. "It was her own self-discovery that pushed them apart, as well her husband's stupidity."
Wanda's lips curved into a gentle smile. "I like that interpretation a lot better than his."
Licking my lips, I breathed out through a smile. "You're biased, dear."
Her eyes flickered to my lips. "Maybe."
I chuckled before closing the gap between us, connecting our lips in a short, sweet kiss. She relaxed against me before smiling as we pulled away.
"Ya lyublyu vas (I love you)," she whispered.
I always loved when she spoke in her native tongue. She sounded so at peace when she did and it warmed my insides.
"I love you, too," I whispered right back.
She grinned, carefree, before turning to lean on my shoulder again. I held her, enjoying the silence that formed between us. Her presence was always enough and I never wanted anything more. But I knew Wanda and I knew that she couldn't stay quiet for too long, so something was definitely up.
"What are you thinking?" I asked quietly, not wanting to startle her in case she was too deep into her thoughts.
She sighed. "It's stupid."
I smiled. "I doubt that."
It went quiet and I assumed she didn't want to share, but then she played with my fingers again as she spoke.
"I was wondering what it would be like if we were able to get married," she murmured. "With the dresses and walking down the aisle and the rings."
I laced my fingers through hers, the thoughts having crossed my mind at times, too. It was nice to think 'what if', but it was also a dangerous game.
"The wedding cake would have to be chocolate," I played along, not wanting her to think she couldn't talk about it.
She snickered, loosening up in my arms. "Of course. And the colour scheme would have to be red."
"Definitely," I agreed, knowing she wouldn't have it any other way, "...it could be somewhere small but comfortable. Surrounded by nature, maybe."
"Yes. With flowers all around us and the sound of birds tweeting in the trees."
A comforting smile crept on my lips as I closed my eyes, imagining it in my mind. What a beautiful day it would be.
"I'd force Pietro to be the ring bearer," she added as an afterthought, and I laughed, chest moving up and down with her on it.
"He'd hate that," I pointed out.
"Exactly," she said with a mischievous hum.
I rolled my eyes playfully. "What about afterwards? Where would you want to live?"
She scrunched her face up before settling with, "Somewhere remote. Away from people. Maybe a nice cottage somewhere."
Nodding in agreement, I said, "We could have a beautiful garden in the back. I'd do my very best to make it perfect for you. And you could paint whatever you wanted there."
A considerate smile tugged at her lips at the thought. "Yes! And we could get a pet. I've always wanted a pet."
"I guess we could... what pet do you want?"
With no hesitation, she said, "Chickens."
I looked down at her, quirking a brow. "Chickens?"
Looking up at me, she stared like it was self-explanatory. "They're cute and they lay eggs. Think about it. Fresh eggs for breakfast every morning."
God, she was so cute. I smiled, squeezing her hand. "Chickens it is, love."
She got excited as she tugged on my hand. "You can finally get a study of your own!"
"And you can get your own studio," I added, making her grin.
"And I'd keep it sparkling clean."
I laughed, shaking my head. "Don't lie, Wanda."
She rolled her eyes, though wore a humoured expression. "Okay, maybe not..."
"You can keep it as messy as you want," I promised her, as if it was actually going to happen and we'd get what we wanted.
The dream was so vivid in my mind that it could have been a memory. Wanda and I living together, peacefully and without hiding... if only we weren't in the wrong lifetime.
"I like to pretend that you gave this to me," she said after an unsettling silence fell upon us, raising her left hand for me to see. She wiggled her ring finger, the silver band and emerald gem glinting in the light. "It makes me feel better."
I swallowed hard and forced a smile, intertwining my fingers in hers and bringing them to my lips to kiss gently.
"Technically I picked it," I reminded her to lighten the mood, but it didn't work.
A sad smile appeared on her face. "Maybe in another lifetime, we could have met in a world that allowed this."
My smile faded into a frown at her words. Like I said, considering the 'what if's' was a dangerous game, and we'd already played too much of it.
"You're going to marry my brother soon," I said quietly, the realisation hitting me. "This– us, will have to stop."
She sat up and turned to face me, eyes looking between mine as she shook her head. "It doesn't have to."
I rested a hand on her cheek and she leaned into it, kissing my palm. I savoured the feeling of her lips against my skin.
"What we're doing isn't fair on either of us," I said reluctantly, afraid to say what we'd avoided for as long as our relationship lasted.
She frowned. "I'd rather have you like this than not at all."
My heart ached because I knew she was being genuine, and the truth is, I felt the same. But that brought me to our next dilemma.
"It's not fair on Y/B/N either."
She tensed her jaw. "The world doesn't want us together, Y/N. They're the ones who forced us to be like this."
"Like what?" I asked with knowing eyes. "Cheaters?"
Her eyes glossed over and it broke me to see her so hurt.
"Is it really cheating if I never wanted to be with him?" she asked with a shaky voice. "If I'm only acting out of duty? If I never loved him?"
Realising I'd saddened her, I moved forward and pulled her in for a hug, running my hand down her hair and to her back. "Sorry... I didn't mean to make you upset."
She sniffled and I felt her tears soaking my shirt. "Don't talk like that... I don't want to lose you."
I swallowed hard, nodding into her shoulder. "I don't want to lose you either, Wanda."
But I knew that deep down, we couldn't hold onto everything we wanted to in life. Deep down, she must have known that, too.
—
"...and this is where we write up the contracts. It's where we'd write up yours if you say yes."
Pietro grinned cheekily as I gave him a knowing look. He was showing me around the publishing house – a proper tour, not just me lurking around on the few visits I'd been here for Y/B/N – with hopes of convincing me to sign a contract with him.
"Pietro, you said you wouldn't be biased," Wanda warned, and I gave her a grateful smile as Pietro chuckled.
"I'm sorry, I can't help it," he apologised, though he definitely didn't mean it. "I just really think you'd be a great fit here, Y/N. I already have editors willing to work with you based on the few pages they've seen of your work."
I raised my eyebrows, startled. "Wow, seriously?"
He nodded. "Most definitely. As I told you the other night, you're talented. And with my help, you can be successful, too."
A smile fell on my lips uncontrollably. A real editor wanted to work with me. Woah.
"I'm gonna get some coffee," Wanda said, squeezing my shoulder. "I'll get you both some, too." She wagged a finger towards her brother. "Don't pressure her whilst I'm gone."
He raised his hands in defence. "Okay, calm down, sestra (sister). I'll be fair."
She lowered her finger, shot him a final look, then smiled at me before leaving for the café next door. I chuckled at how cute she was and how much she cared before returning my attention to Pietro.
"I won't pressure you," he said to me, perching on the edge of an empty desk. "I just want you to know that you'd be well looked after here. I wouldn't let anyone talk down to you, nor treat you with disrespect because you're a woman. I don't condone that here."
I relaxed at his words, offering him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Pietro. That really means a lot."
He returned the smile before his gaze moved over my shoulder. Smile fading, he cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away. I turned around, curious to what had caught his attention, and then I saw Y/B/N standing in the doorway, looking around for something. His eyes eventually fell on me and he perked up before heading our way.
I hadn't spoken to him since two nights ago after dinner. He'd actively avoided me, too and I wasn't complaining, having still harboured an unexplainable anger for him. What was he doing here?
"Y/N, hey," he said awkwardly, stopping before Pietro and I. His eyes flickered to Pietro before he asked me, "Can I speak with you?"
Instinctively, my jaw clenched and he seemed to notice as he shook his head quickly.
"Not to argue," he clarified. "Just to talk."
His eyes were pleading and I couldn't find it in myself to deny him. He was my brother after all, we couldn't argue forever. Nodding wordlessly, I smiled apologetically to Pietro before following Y/B/N to a quiet side of the room. My eyes ran along the many employees working away at their desks before falling to my brother before me.
"What is it?" I asked, maybe a little too harshly, but there was no going back now.
He frowned, eyes flittering around nervously. "I want to apologise for my behaviour the other night. I shouldn't have acted how I did."
I hugged myself as I shifted my weight between my feet. "Okay."
"You were right," he continued, finally meeting my eyes. "You deserve this. You've always been there for me, helping me with my writing when I needed it. I should have reacted better, but I let my jealousy get the better of me."
My mouth opened, surprised at his apology.
He offered me a sad smile. "The truth is, Y/N, we both know you'll be the more successful of us both. And you'll be so preoccupied with your own writing that you won't be able to help me anymore. And it was selfish of me to think that first, but I did. And I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. I'm your big brother and I should've been better."
Chewing on my lip, I let go of waist and straightened up, nodding slightly. "I– thanks. Thank you. For telling me that."
His shoulders relaxed as he nodded. "Also, you were right about what you said about Wanda. And I'm going to apologise to her first thing."
My expression softened at the mention of the girl who'd only ever been good to us. "She's seriously talented, Y/B/N."
"I know."
I nodded, stepping forward and resting a hand on his shoulder. Looking between his eyes, I only saw regret and I knew he was being genuine with his apology.
"You're forgiven," I told him with a small smile, before pulling him in for a quick hug.
He returned it and I felt relieved to know he was supportive. I didn't see a reason to not accept Pietro's deal now... everybody I cared about was okay with it.
"Wanda is here by the way," I told Y/B/N when we pulled apart. "She's just getting some coffee for us."
He nodded and we returned to Pietro, who gave me a concerned look. I smiled reassuringly and he relaxed before looking to my brother with a smile.
"Hey, Pietro, sorry for what I said last night," Y/B/N was quick to say. "It wasn't cool. I know you're not like that and I shouldn't have even thought it, let alone said it."
Pietro was one of the chillest people I'd met as he offered his hand out to my brother. "No worries, mate. Bygones."
They exchanged a handshake before my brother glanced to me.
"She's really good," he said to Pietro. "You'd be lucky to have her here."
My face heated up as Pietro nodded in agreement. The two of them looked to me with proud smiles and as uncomfortable as I felt with the attention, I was grateful to have their support.
"I know," Pietro said. "All she's got to do is say yes."
"You haven't said yes yet?" my brother asked with disbelief, before slapping me on the arm playfully. "Y/N! This is your chance!"
"And it's a big decision!" I reminded him.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but then I caught sight of Wanda over his shoulder and perked up. She smiled my way but then noticed Y/B/N's presence and proceeded with caution.
"Hey, I got you both a coffee," she said, giving Pietro his and handing me mine, but her eyes were searching mine with worry.
My hand brushed hers as I accepted my coffee and I squeezed it reassuringly. She seemed to believe me as her lips twitched into a small smile before looking to Y/B/N.
"Hey," she said to him quietly, biting her lip.
He glanced to me for encouragement and I gave him a subtle thumbs up. This seemed to help as he wiped his hands on his trousers before looking to Wanda hopefully.
"Hey," he finally spoke. "Please can we talk in private for a moment?"
She nodded, humming in response, and followed him to talk.
"Match made in heaven those two," Pietro said sarcastically, and I tried not to laugh, but damn was it funny.
"Look, I think I've made a decision," I said after a moment, feeling my heart speed up at the realisation of my next words.
"Oh? And what is it? Will you let me publish you?" Pietro asked, quirking a brow and watching me with an excited smile.
Well, there was only the future to look forward to now.
I grinned. "Yes."
#wanda maximoff au#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x you#scarlet witch#scarlet witch imagine#elizabeth olsen x you#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen imagine#marvel#mcu
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Hey, it's Fay!
Happy 700 bestie!!!! You know what time it is? Time for your milestone Ushijima fic! (I did take some inspiration from your pet name tag)
You and Ushijima are coworkers. You're not that close. You've got a pretty professional relationship, but he laughs whenever you make a joke and sometimes he'll bring you a drink when he knows you've been working hard.
And yeah, it's no secret, he's extremely handsome. He's solid and well-built under the work shirts that hug tight over his broad chest and shoulders. At the end of the workday, you might catch him with his sleeves rolled up, tie loose, biting his lip in concentration as he looks over some papers. You have a little workplace crush on him, but that's all it is, its never going to come to anything.
You're staying late one day looking over your work for the hundredth time.
"Oh." A deep voice says from the door to your office. "I thought I was the last one here." You look up to see Ushijima, brow furrowed.
You look at the clock on the wall. "Oh, god, it's later than I thought. I'd better get going."
He nods. "I was just leaving. I'll walk with you."
You gather your things and shoot him a smile as you walk past him to the elevators.
"So." He starts. You stop and turn to look at him. "Do you... have dinner plans?"
"Not really, why?"
He runs a hand through his hair in a reflexive gesture. "Well I just- I just thought maybe you and I could grab something to eat."
The two of you step into the elevator and the doors shut on the office. You don't want to make any assumptions. Coworkers got dinner all the time, it didn't have to mean anything. "What did you have in mind?"
He's silent. "I didn't really think it through this far."
That startles a laugh out of you. "Well there's a great pizza place near-"
The elevator jerks and you lose your balance, you fall into Ushijima and the two of you fall to the ground, you on top of him. It doesn't feel very awkward, or even strange. It's a weird thing to thing but you kind of fit like this, in this position. If he notices that you're using him as a mattress he doesn't say anything, he's too busy staring up at the lights, which have gone red. "The elevator stopped."
His eyes flicked back to you and you became increasingly aware that you were lying on top of him. You scrambled to roll off of him so that you were on your back next to him. "Sorry, Ushijima-"
He wraps a large hand around your wrist "Call me Wakatoshi. Please."
"Okay." You turn to smile at him. "Wakatoshi." You pull your phone out of your pocket and hold it above your head. "I've got reception."
The call with emergency services is short and unremarkable, and you come out of it with the news that you're going to have to wait at least an hour.
Ushijima, standing against the back wall,, lets out a dark chuckle, then a switch flips and he's laughing. He laughs with his whole body, his shoulders shake, he throws his head back, revealing the long line of his neck. He's infectious, suddenly the two of you are laughing and you have no idea why.
He's still laughing, he holds out a hand as if to steady himself, and it ends up on your shoulder, you feel the warmth of his touch, the gentleness of his hand. "I'm sorry, its just. I finally get up the courage to ask you to dinner, and you almost say yes. And then the elevator just breaks!"
That sets you off again, you're just thinking about how ridiculous this all is. You're both leaning on each other because you're both laughing too hard to hold yourselves up.
As the laughter winds down, something strikes
"Why did you have to get up the courage to ask me to dinner?" You say, slowly piecing out the answer in your head. Hope rises brightly in your chest.
He looks at you, neither of you have moved away. "I like you. A lot. I think you're amazing, and I know that you probably don't feel the same way, but-"
You grab him by the tie and pull him closer to you, halfway through the motion, he surges forward and your lips meet. He's so gentle. His hands find either side of your face. You tilt your head, press your lips together a little harder and he takes the direction, kissing you a little rougher. You nip at his lower lip and the sound he makes, a low growl, runs down your whole body, you feel it in your fingers, you feel it in your toes, you feel it pooling warmly in your stomach.
The two of you come up for air. Wakatoshi "I'm sorry."
You lean your foreheads together "why the hell would you be sorry for that?"
"This wasn't how I planned it, I was gonna take you to dinner, tell you all about how I felt.
You shrug. "I don't need it. I like you. I really do. Have for a while actually."
"Really?"
You smile. "I can't count how many times I've thought about you, about this. Every time you'd bring me something to drink, or smile when I said something stupid."
"What did you think about?"
"Well, mainly this," you lean up to place a slow, deep kiss on his lips. "And other things."
"What kind of other things?"
"Lots of things." Your hands reach down to unbuckle his belt. "You, earing me out under my desk..." you palm him through his boxers and he gasps. "Ripping those goddamn work shirts off you..."
You feel him hardening under your palm. He clears his throat. "I have. Um. There's a condom in my wallet." He rustles around in his pocket and retrieves it.
You lean your head back and raise an eyebrow as you take the foil square from his fingers. "Hoping for the best this morning?"
He shrugs. "I'm an optimist."
You step back and away from him, he moves to follow but you shake your head and push him backwards. He frowns, confused, but moves where you put him. You lean back against the side wall of the elevator. "Strip."
His eyes go dark with lust, and he wastes no time in ridding himself of his shirt and slacks. He stands there in his boxers.
"All the way."
He pulls them off and his cock springs free, hard and so much bigger than you'd expected.
"Jesus christ." You say before you can stop yourself, and he smiles.
"I know. You don't have to-" he moans into your mouth as you roll the condom on and stroke him slowly.
"Get on your back," you command. "I'm going to ride you, is that alright?"
"Yes!" He clears his throat. "Yes."
Your hand closes tighter around his cock and he whimpers. "Yes...?"
"Yes ma'am."
You could get off on those two words alone. He sits on his discarded clothes and looks up at you, he reaches under your pencil skirt to feel the fabric between your legs. "Oh." He says "you're wet."
He moves the fabric aside to slide a rough but tender finger across your folds.
You gently move his hand away and pull your panties off under your skirt to afford him better access. His hands find your hips, and he rolls up the skirt, leaving your legs bare. "Come here, baby," and he pulls you down toward him.
Together, you line each other up, and when you sink down onto him, you feel like he was made for you. You feel so full. You move apart and then sink together again. "Oh god. Ushi- fuck. You feel so good -toshi, oh!"
You roll your hips and he tosses his head back with a cry. You pick up the pace, and the sound get louder and more intense.
"Toshi," you moan. "I'm close."
His hand comes between you to circle your clit. Your feel yourself clenching around him with a shout, and him bucking up into you, coming, only moments later.
You collapse on to him, letting yourself appreciate how good it feels this time.
"So. That's a yes to dinner?"
You laugh and feel his heartbeat against your chest. "That’s a yes to dinner."
(I hope you enjoyed this! Congrats again!!! You deserve all this and more! (P.s. seeing my name on the masterlist made my heart so happy. I saw it and I thought I was hallucinating. I'm really happy to have made such an impact on you))
FAAAYYYYYYY!!!!!!
i think you can read my mind because i’m such a whore for the coworkers to lovers trope i think i’m going to go insane. and i had to physically set my phone down at that “yes ma’am.” i swear to god you are going to be the death of me.
thank you so much and of course you’re on the list! people (((mostly me!!!!))) have really liked everything you’ve sent in so far and i know i definitely don’t want to lose these so onto the masterlist they go :) god damn. idk what i did to deserve such high quality content in my inbox but i am GRATEFUL.
#ushijima wakatoshi PLEASE COME OVER#fay anon :)#it’s 6:22 am and i need for go back to bed but i had to scream about this before i did#haikyuu smut#haikyuu x reader#ushijima smut#ushijima x reader
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The Way Out is In: Barry Miles Interviews George Harrison M.B.E. [IT 19 May 1967]
George Harrison: If you could just say a word and it would tell people something straight to the point, then you take all the words that are going to say everything, and you'd get it in about two lines. Just use those. Just keep saying those words.
Miles: Like the 'Hari Krishna' chants, except there the meaning of the words gradually fades away anyway.
GH: That's right. They get hung up on the meaning of the word rather than the sound of the word. "In the beginning was the word" and that's the thing about Krishna, saying Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, so it's not the word that you're saying, it's the sound: Krishna Krishna Krishna Krishna Krishna Krishna Krishna and its just sounds and its great. Sounds are vibrations and the more you can put into that vibration, the more you can get out, action and reaction that's the thing to tell the people. You see it's all very obvious, the whole thing of life and all the answers to everything are in one divine law, Karma action and reaction. It's obvious: everybody knows that if they're happy then usually the people around them are happy, or that people around them happy make them a little happier; that's a proved thing, like "I give to you and you give to me"; they all know that but they haven't thought about it to the point of every action that they do. That's what it is with every action that you do, there's a reaction to it, and if you want a good reaction then you do a good action, and if you want a bad one, then you punch somebody. But that's where it is at. Just that one thing. That's why there is the whole scene of heaven and hell; heaven and hell is right now, right at this moment. You make it heaven or you make it hell by your actions...it's just obvious, isn't it?
M: People don't realise all of the possibilities, they don't realise how much they are in charge of the reality of their situation.
GH: Well that's because of ignorance; everybody is great really and has got to be great because they're going to be here until they get straight and that's it... Everybody would like to be good, that's the silly thing, everybody always likes it when they're having a nice time or when they're happy or when it's sunny, they all dig it; but then they go and forget about it, they never really try to make it nice. They think that it just comes along and it's nice if you're lucky, or if you're unlucky it's bad for you.
M:.......People act unconsciously at this level, they don't realise that they are purposely going out to stop things from getting any better.
GH: They're all ignorant, they fear new things, they fear knowledge somehow, I don't know why. Everything that I ever learned was always so great. I never thought so at the time, it was just that little bit more in your mind an expansion of consciousness or awareness. Even those of us who are very very aware are still so unaware. Everything's relative so that, the more you know, the more you know you don't know anything'....
Christ was the one washing the leper's feet so he was very, very humble, but it's not the way they're putting it down now. They feel as though God is that up there and they are that down there and they don't realise that they are God and that Christ was exactly the same as us but he realises that he was God. That's all it is, we're God too but we don't realise it....
I'm a person who's trying to live within divine law, to the best, and. it's very hard because it's self-discipline, because the more you realise, the more you've got to get yourself straight, so it's hard, you know. I'm trying and there are a lot of people who are trying, even people who are not conscious that they are doing it, but they are really...doing things for the good, or just to be happy or whatever. But then there's those other people, but you've got to have them to have this...I'm not a part of anything in particular, because it's not really 1967 and it's not half-past eight, that's still what people have said it is. So it's just a little bit of time out of the cycle. There's this Indian fellow who worked out a cycle like the idea of stone-age, bronze-age, only he did it on an Indian one. The cycle goes from nothing until now and 20th century and then on and right round the cycle until the people are really grooving and then it just sinks back into ignorance until it gets back into the beginning again. So the 20th century is a fraction of that cycle, and how many of those cycle has it done yet? Its done as many as you think and all these times its been through exactly the same things, and it'll be this again. Only be a few million million years and it'll be exactly the same thing going on, only with other people doing it...I am part of the cycle, rebirth death, rebirth death, rebirth death. Some of the readers will know exactly what I mean, the ones who believe in re-incarnation. It's pointless me trying to explain things like rebirth and death because I've just accepted that, you know, I can leave that.
M: The final death comes when the energy of consciousness reaches a point of complete unity with the universal energy flow and then ZAP, no more rebirth.
GH: But that's in that book. That is the final release of that bit of you that is God so that it can merge into everything else. ("Autobiography of a Yogi"). It's a far-out book, it's a gas. Through Yoga, anybody can attain; it's a God realisation; you just practise Yoga and if you really mean it, then you'll do it. You'll do it to a degree...there's Yogis that have done it to such a degree that they're God, they're like Christ and they can walk on the water and materialise bodies and they can do all those tricks. But that's not the point; the point is that we can all do that and we've all got to do that and we'll keep on being reborn because for the law of action and reaction; "What-so-ever a man soweth, that shall he also reap"; you reap when you come back in your next birth, what you've sewn in your previous incarnation, that's I why I'm me and you're you and he's him and we are all whoever we are. From when I was born where I am now, all I did was to be me to get this; Whatever you've done, you get it back, so you can either go on, or you can blow it.
the buzz of all buzzes
M: Are you concerned with communication?
GH: Oh, yes, of course, we are all one, I mean communication, just the realisation of human love reciprocated, it's such a gas, it's a good vibration which makes you feel good. These vibrations that you get through Yoga, Cosmic chants and things like that, I mean it's such a buzz, it buzzes you out of everywhere. It's nothing to do with pills or anything like that. It's just in your own head, the realisation, it's such a buzz, it buzzes you right into the astral plane.
Nobody can become a drug addict if they're hip. Because it's obvious that if you're hip then you've got to make it. The buzz of all buzzes which is the thing that is God—you've got to be straight to get it. I'm sorry to tell you (turning to microphone)...you can get it better or more if you're straight because you can only get it to a degree. You know even if you get it, you only get it however long your pill lasts. So the thing is, if you really want to get it permanently, you have got to do it, you know...Be healthy, don't eat meat, keep away from those Night-Clubs and MEDITATE....
The clan. The Klu Klux Klan or whatever they are. Do you know, it's stupid, isn't it, they're only little fellows who just put on their outfit, it's like we could be them, you just get your outfit and you go out with your little banner shouting at somebody like that. There was all that thing about the "Klan are coming to get us" at a concert somewhere in the States—and there were about 4 or 5 of them walking up and down, shouting, "Don't go in there...." something about that Christ thing, and there was all the kids' shouting at them and laughing at them and that and then the police came around and told them to move away. It wasn't like you imagine...people with all fiery crosses and coming to burn us. Oh yes that was silly.
M: Did you find it easy to communicate with people in India?
GH: With most of the people you just communicate you don't have to talk. There are such great musicians; it was so nice and it was really just so... straight. They have a whole thing of trying to be humble, you've got to be humble really to be yourself or to get a chance to be yourself. If you're not humble, your ego and your big cabbage head are getting in the way. There were these musicians who are all advanced students of Ravi's and he'd been giving them a lesson. We were there just to watch a bit, and he sat in the middle and sang and they all followed him and went through about two and a half hours...improvised the whole lot. He was singing—which was pretty far out. All these people playing knocked me out so much, it was so great yet they were so humble and saying "It's such a pleasure to meet you," which was horrible because I was trying to be humble there. I was there for that, not for anything to do with being a Beatle. Ravi Shankar is so brilliant and these fellows, as far as I was concerned, were very far out....with people you communicate, there is no bullshit, because they don't create it. It's not so much a game as Western thought because they're a bit more spiritually inclined and they just sort of feel...
M: Did you just realise this yourself?
GH: I felt the vibrations all the time from the people I was with. They've all got their problems but they're just happy and vibrate.
M: You didn't search out a Guru?
GH: Ravi's my musical Guru, but the whole musical thing was too much just to be able to appreciate it whether I play or not. I've never been knocked out with anything for so long. But then later I realised that there wasn't the real thing, that was still only a little stepping stone for me to see. Through the music you reach the spiritual but the music's very involved with the spiritual JBS we know from Hari Krishna we just heard.* It's so attuned to the spiritual scene, it depends how spiritual the musician is. Ravi is fantastic. He just sits there with a bit of wire and just does all that and say all that, things that you know and can't say because there's no words and he can say it like that.
M: Why does it come across best in music?
GH: Because music is sound, vibrations, whereas paintings are vibrations of whatever you pick up. If not actually an energy vibration you get from a groovy painting, but music and sound seem to travel along vibrations, you know the whole thing with mantras is to repeat and repeat those sounds...it's vibrations in everything like prayers and hymns. They don't know about this over here. Prayer is to vibrate, do the devotion, whatever it is, to whoever you believe in, Christ or Buddha or Krishna or any of them. You get the response depending on how much you need it. Those people become that because they give it out, they want it so much, they give out so much, they get back so much, it snowballs until you're Christ. You know we're back to that again. I'm not really hip to too much of the Zen or the Buddhist point of view, but you see I don't have to because I just know that they're all the same, its all the same, it's just which ever one you want to take and it happens that I'm taking the Hindu one...Be straight with yourself just to maybe save a few more people from being stupid and being ignorant. That's what we're doing here now, talking, because we've got to save them, because they're all potentially divine.
M: Does that concern you much?
GH: I couldn't cut off from everyone, because I'm still leaning on them, so if I'm leaning on them then there's someone leaning on me, only very subtly. I'm part of a structure that's going on and rather than cop out now, just at the moment, because I'm not ready, I'll wait. Maybe later on I'll get into where it's peaceful. We're already getting going, so that we'll have somewhere nice to be, because that's what it is you know, everybody should just stay at home and meditate and they'd be so much happier. That'll all come for us, because we are going to make it. "You make and preserve the image of your choice". But still we've got to communicate. We've got to be doing things because we're part of it and because it's nice. You've got to have an outlet. It's like having a big intake in the front of your head and there's so much going on, and it's going through all this, and there's a little exhaust-pipe on the back, that goes POW and lets a bit out. The aim is to get as much going out the back as is coming in. You've got to do that because for everything you get in you've got to give something out. So The Beatles, and whatever our own personal interests are, what we're doing from day to day, then that's like our little exhaust, coming out the back.
M: Which seems to be getting bigger and bigger?
GH: Well it's got to be but it's great, just the realisation of it all, everything feasible because its all only a dream anyway and that gives you infinite scope. You just go on and on and on until you go right rut there. The thing is we could go; there's times, I'm sure, where we hold back a lot with things like Strawberry Fields. I know there's a lot of people who like that who probably wouldn't have liked us a year ago. And then there's a lot of people who didn't like it who did like us a year ago. It's all the same really. Just some people pretend it's not happening. But they know, they simply must know. Because we're all together on this thing, we're just part of it and we'd like to get as many people who want to be a part of it with us. And if we really freaked out....
M: Do you think you're bringing most of them along with you?
GH: Well, we're losing a lot but we're gaining a lot too, I think. I dunno. But what I think, whatever it is, It's good. When somebody does something which everybody really wants to do, then it makes everyone else try a bit harder and strive for something better, and it's good. If ever we've done something like that then everybody's been there. We're as much influenced by everybody else as they are by us, if they are. It's just all a part of the big thing. I give to you and you give to me and it goes like that into the music you know.
guru and disciple
GH: The Guru and Disciple relationship is where the person has a 100% belief in the Guru and that way you put your trust in the Guru, that he's going to get you out of this mess. If you are a Christian, then Christ is your Guru, and they' re all disciples of Christ. If they are. So to put your full belief in your Guru, because it's for your own good, because you've decided that...It's just having a lot of respect for the person and it's like that with music as well...You should love your instrument and respect it. Whenever Ravi does a concert he'll put his special thing on, and get nice and clean, and washed up and get his joss-sticks going. He's very straight, he doesn't drink or smoke or anything like that and by his real devotion he's mastered the thing. By his own discipline. He's playing for 18 hours a day for about 15 years, that's why he's that good. I've got no illusions about being a sitar player, I mean it's nothing like that. I really see it in perspective because he's got about 10,000,000 students who are all so groovy playing the sitar and yet he's only got hope for one of them to really make it, so that's me out for a kick-off. But that's not the important thing you see. The thing is, that however little you learn of it, it's too much, it's too much. Indian music is brilliant and for me, anyway, (this is only personal) it's got everything in it. I still like electronics and all sorts of music if it's good but Indian music is just... an untouchable you can't say what it is, because it just is.
...Your religion, or whatever you're doing, so if your' re putting out something to make people happy and something that's a bit devotional. It's got to be. If you spend all your life in a studio; you can't last out if it's not. Stockhausen (he's the one we mention in IT, Stockhausen, he's really IT) and all the others, they're just trying to take you a bit further out or in, further in, to yourself. The way out is in. It's since the newspapers started the drug craze. That's it, you see, isn't that a bizarre scene, I mean you're the only paper that can say this because you're the only honest paper, really, when you get down to it. What I mean is, that thing about the sales, that's all they're concerned with how many... all this bullshit, on the front page how many papers we've sold today, and we're selling more than theDaily Express, hup yer. All their silly little games, all that crap. And another thing they always saying, "The Daily Mirror carried 13,000 inches of advertising—and fuck-all to read, just a lot of shit. Actually bragging about how, its stupid isn't it, it's a newspaper, anyway, we forgive them, .as always. But this is the great thing. When you've got yourself to a point where you've realised certain things about life and the world and everything like that, then you know that none of that can affect you at all because you know it's the same thing now with those newspaper people they were always writing all that, just making it up. The thing is we know what the scene is, and we know them, they're all those little fellows. They'd all really like to be happy and they try to be happy but they're in a nasty little organisation and it's great really. The whole thing of hate, anybody who hates, I feel sorry for them you know, that they are in that position and the newspapers are like that. I feel we got away from the point, whatever it was. The point was, you can print your paper, you know that they can't touch you because you know more than them and its obvious because they'd be the ones to puzzle about it. On our side of the fence there's no puzzling to it. We know what it is.
The policemen are people as well. All those nasty people aren't really nasty if they'd realise it. All those policemen can't be themselves and they've got to do that game and pretend to be a policemen and go all through that shit about what's in the book, they've got to make themselves into a little part of themselves which is a lie and an untruth. The moment they put a uniform on they're bullshitting themselves, just thinking that they're policemen, because they are not policemen. They think that they created a thing called policemen and so then they try and enforce their creation on others and say "Now we've made a thing and it's called The Police and we want you all to believe in it and it's all for your own good and if you don't look up to it you'll get your ass kicked and you'll go in the craphouse".
You just keep changing the subject onto what you think we should be talking about and I'll just talk it back out of it again onto this....to people who look at the scene negatively, then it is, and they stay in their drab world. We've got to get it back again, after the war, and get it back to how it should be—everybody's happy and smiling and leaping about and doing what they all know is there that they should be doing. There's something happening. If everybody could just get into it, great, they'd all smile and all dress up. Yes—that'd be good. "The world is a stage". Well he was right, because we're Beatles, and it's a little scene and we're playing and we're pretending to be Beatles, like Harold. Wilson's pretending to be Prime Minister and you're pretending to be the Interview on IT. They're all playing. The Queen's the Queen. The idea that you wake up and it happens that you're Queen, it's amazing but you could all be Queens if you imagined it...they'll have a war quickly if it gets too good, they'll just pick on the nearest person to save us from our doom. That's it, soon as you freak out and have a good time, it's dangerous, but they don't think of the danger of going into some other country in a tank with a machine-gun and shooting some-one. That's all legal and above board, but you can't freak out—that's stupid.
#george harrison#beatles#barry miles#counterculture#summer of love#meditation#hippies#interview#1967#1960s#sixties#60s
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(Grand)father's day
Well, it's Sunday. You promised the old man you'd come for a visit, have a special little father's day with him. It'll be nice, spending time with him outside of his study. You start things off by shuffling sleepily down to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you start up the stove. In a cast iron skillet, you lay down a few slices of thick bacon, a few rolls of sausage, and once they're starting to sizzle and fill the pan with a cheerfully popping sizzle, you crack a few eggs in the to fry in the fat. Next you add some tomato, a few mushrooms, and a strip of black pudding all together, two servings sizzling merrily away in the large pan. You pop a few slices of bread in the toaster, put on a pot of beans to cook, then put the kettle on while you wait for it all to cook up. A Full English Breakfast, his favourite. Once it's all nice and ready, you butter the toast, cut it into triangles, and plate everything up. With a newspaper tucked under your arm, you gather the pair of plates up, floating your teacups along behind you with your powers. You ascend to the second floor on foot, lightly tapping at it with your toeclaws to announce your presence. You call through the door -
grandpa! its fathers day! i brought you your favourite! breakfast in the study!
You finagle his doorknob with your hands full, using your elbow to twist it just enough to pop the latch and enter into the dim, musty room once more. He's here of course, staring long and thoughtful into the fireplace once more, which flares into life when you approach. He never seems to get tired of that trick! You set the plates down at the desk, pulling up the stiff side chair to face it.
oh come on i know you are busy but it is your fathers day breakfast, at least come over here!
He makes no moves from his firewatching vigil, so you roll your eyes and push him over there directly, leaving him standing behind his desk, looking at the pleasant tendrils of fragrant steam rising from his plate. He doesn't sit - never has been one to sit for anything but the fanciest meals. But you do sit, tucking into the hearty meal with a soft smile on your face. You don't go to the trouble of a Full English very often, but it is good. You can see why it's his favourite. He doesn't seem very hungry - he scarcely seems to want to touch it - but you can tell from the twinkle in his eye that he appreciates it all the same.
are you gonna finish that bacon and sausage? no? okay thank you grandpa! hehehe, i know, you dont want to mess up your mustache. it looks very nice today! so sharp, so smart!
You snag his uneaten meats, munching them up, as well as one of his little mushrooms. While you eat, you figure he'd like to hear any new news. You were just here the other day so there's not a ton new, but you can touch on it all the same. It's sweet of him to take interest in his granddaughter's life, after all! You look up at the old man in his Stout Dignity, offering a small smile while you speak.
hmm? no nothing super exciting has happened this week, honestly. just did some more gardening and stuff, you know i love to do that! yes grandpa i make sure im armed. no i dont think every earthworm has a chance to grow - yes i read dune, those dont actually exist or if they do the worms in my soil are not precursors to sandworms!! pffft!
How silly of him, to even think that your garden worms could become shai-hulud.
other than that, ive mostly just been playing this game with some friends! no like an online one! it is called mine craft and it has you... well, mine ores and craft things out of them! theres lots of adventure, monsters to fight, and more! yes im well armed ive got a magic bow and sword! i might be one of the better strife combatants on the server honestly. i run around on a horse named hubble, exploring for resources and building tunnels and quarries and supplying people with stuff! its really fun, id only ever played it alone before recently. you might not like it though, theres no guns! just bows and crossbows. maybe some could be modded in though! or shoot fireworks at people!
He seems interested, though a dourness seems to befall him when he hears there's no firearms. Maybe it's not a good idea, he'd probably kill all the cute non dog animals. At least he seems tickled by your horse's name. Always naming things for scientists, it's the Harley way. You put your fork and knife down, stacking his half full plate atop your empty one to do away with them both - a quick zap of dishes into the sink. You down your tea, then do the same with the cup. You rise up, looking up at the towering old gentleman.
so tonight is a werewolf night so i dont have aaaaalll night unless you really wanna see me go full furry and cavort around like a loon, but i thought you might want to spend some time together outside today? i set up a little shooting range so i can show you my marksmanship! wanna go see how im doing? im on my sixth prestige level on riflekind so you could say im pretty good!
Grandpa doesn't seem averse to the idea. He always wants to make sure you're well armed, well prepared, so showing your prowess is likely to be a good activity! You loop your arms around one of his, green lightning dancing around the two of you before the scene suddenly shifts to a spot outside in the fields. The fruits of your gardening labour, both figurative and literal, sprawl out in all directions to the edges of the ship. The Breeze ruffles through your hair and the looser bits of Grandpa's expeditionary outfit, the smell of flowers and vegetation in the air. Dotted here and there, you've set up little dummy copies of monsters - a papier mâché ogre here, a clay swarm of imps, little rudimentary robotic underlings bobbing and weaving as targets. You can tell Grandpa is surveying the targets, his grip on the Blunderbuss tight. But they're not his to destroy, they're yours. You draw out a stopwatch, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. It's quite a stressor, showing off your skills to your Grandfather. Okay, you're ready. You click the starter....
Strife.
Your spring into action, your GIRL’S BEST FRIEND deploying from within your specibus and into your hands. You fire a volley of pinpoint-accurate shots into a swath of imps, each one perfectly removing the heads in a spray of fine dust. You YOUTHROLL as if avoiding a barrage of attacks, stopping on a knee to switch to the GREEN SUN STREETSWEEPER and eviscerate a mechanical lich. You swap through your rifles one by one, blasting apart the targets you've set up, each shot dead in the middle of the bullseyes painted on them. You slide, you run up a tree and jump off to shoot upside down in midair, you rifle butt a basilisk. For a grand finale you light the papier mâché ogre ablaze with a green sun flamethrower to soften it up, then swap to your LITTLE BUSTER guitar-rifle to first ventilate it, then pummel it into cinders with the base of the instrument. You let out a little cheer and stop the stopwatch, dancing on the spot in celebration. You check the timer. 1:34.62. Just over a minute and a half, not bad. You bound back over to Grandpa, a big grin and a light sheen of sweat on your face. You gesture out over the dust of your destruction, other small bots already scurrying out to collect the destroyed targets, the spent casings.
voila!! howd i do grandpa?? not a bad time for all those baddies, if i do say so myself! do you like the bass guitar? it shoots .45s and also grenades from the headstock and its good for bashing with too! it dual-classes as an axekind weapon too, haha... i converted it from a regular old classic rickenbacker myself!
You hold up the LITTLE BUSTER for his perusal. He looks on with what feels like an air of appraisal, as if inspecting your craftsmanship. You stay quiet for a long moment to just let him see, before he seems satisfied. A glint of approval, what might be interpreted as a smile behind your grandfather's dense moustache. He's never been good at praise, but you can tell he's proud.
haha, thank you for coming out and watching, grampa. it means a lot to get to show you that, and all this too! do you like how the gardenship looks? ive been up to my eyebrows in dirt making it all cute! look over there, you can see rip van maple, just growing and growing! technically its only a few years old but the growth acceleration puts it at like three hundred!
You spend the next hour or so pointing out nearby points of interest, talking about the care and maintenance and upkeep of your garden, your robots, even the dogs. As if conjured by the utterance of his name, Becquerel appears, curling up at his master's feet like he's prone to. You scratch between your direwolf sized hound's ears and sit down against him, still quietly talking to grandpa.
so how has work been going in there, grandpa? oh, right i know, business trade secrets, cant discuss them! still i hope you are not working too hard in there. you always seem so lost in thought... maybe looking out the window once in a while instead of into the fireplace would give a fresh perspective! shhh i know it is the favorite spot but still! you might even see me running around from in there, haha...
You sigh, looking up at the imposing figure above you. The wind rustles his mustache, and he stalwartly gazes off into the middle difference. Maybe, he seems to think. Maybe he'll try it out. You can tell he must be getting tired though, time to get back to work. You lightly grasp his shirt hem, and Bec returns all three of you to the study. This time his perch does seem to be near the window, overlooking the grape vines and the little bench you built for Rose, just offset from the pane to spare himself the excess light and the ominous silhouette in the window. You pull a little box from your sylladex, a gift for your beloved Grandpa. You can tell he's too lost in thought to pluck at all the lavish ribbons and paper you've wrapped it in, so you unbox it for him. Within he finds a few Artifacts - the skull of a monster that you put onto his mantlepiece immediately; a bottle of his theoretically favourite Cognac, which you put on a shelf next to a few similar bottles of brown alcohol. Clink. And last but not least, a loud Hawaiian shirt with a computer woven into the threads. It's bright, it's garish, it's absolutely nobody's style. You set this neatly folded on his desk, where he can deal with it at his leisure.
okay grandpa, i know you gotta work... thank you for coming out with me today! it was nice to spend time with you... ill come visit again soon, okay? i love you soooooo much grandpa!! happy fathers and grandfathers day!!
You hesitate, then scurry over and hug the old man, clinging tight to his sturdy frame. A single tear runs down your cheek and musses his khaki attire, but it's only a small watermark. You gaze up at the lofty gentleman, ears angled backwards for a moment, wishing he'd return your affection now and then. But it's alright. It's tough for old men full of machismo to show their love. You know he cares from the wistful look in his eyes. You hold onto his hand for a moment, squeezing gently, then depart. As you go, you hear the soft chime of a wardrobifier, perhaps triggered by the teardrop. You look back, and he's wearing the shirt you got him. With a soft smile you slip from his study and close the door behind you, murmuring one more time -
happy fathers day, to a wonderful grampa...
#whoops a day late))#had to spend time with actual family irl))#long post#solo writing#solo rp#drabbles#death cw/#guns cw/
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