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rogue-durin-16 · 3 years

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MERMAID

Summary: the sexual tension of George and Y/n's weird friendship is getting the best of their friends, so when Harry suggests a trip to the Black Lake, they become adamant about getting them together.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: fluff

Tags:

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa

Warnings: language and a bit of makeout

A/N: BITCH I THOUGHT THIS WAS A SHORT ONE??? I needed some fluff for this boy since I'm torturing him, so here it goes an idea I had half asleep in the bus, enjoy <3

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

"They're literally— her legs are wrapped around his hips— are you kidding me?!" I whispered-shouted in desperation. "This is unbearable!"

"Fred relax, they just need a little push." Hermione's words sounded ridiculous even for her own ears.

"I brought her here!" Harry backed me up, equally annoyed. "If that's not one hell of a push, then what is it?"

"Shush, boys." Ginny spoke, her eyes still closed under her sunglasses as she laid on her towel. "We have hours ahead of us for them to make a move."

I puffed, my eyes returning to George, whose arms were wrapped around Y/n's middle from behind, making her squeal before throwing her to a deeper part of the lake.

They would not make a move.

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

READER'S P. O. V.

We had moved to the dock in order to see the sunset better, and, now that the sun was low and the light lacking, we began to pick things up.

"Why the long face?" George questioned when he saw my gaze.

"I'd have enjoyed a night swim, if I'm being honest." I got up and went to grab my bag. "Another time I g— George!" I couldn't help but cry out when his arms picked me up and threw me into the water. "You fucking plonker!" I yelled, moving my wet hair away from my face. "This was the only dress I brought!" The lake wasn't as deep there, so I could easily stand on my feet and climb up, but I was already drenched.

George was bent over himself, laughing loudly, so he was helpless when Ginny pushed him into the lake.

As he resurfaced besides me, I couldn't help but burst into laughter at his shocked, betrayed face; it was priceless.

"Have fun you two." Ginny spoke as the rest laughed. "C'mon guys." The redhead grabbed my bag and Hermione picked George's, and soon it was just the two of us there.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" George broke the silence, crouching to dip his body underwater, protecting it for the blows of wind.

"Why?" I moved deeper into the lake, seeking the protection of the chill temperature too.

"You got your night swim."

"My dress is soaked!" I exclaimed, splashing him right in the face.

"Oi, so is my shirt!" He replied, following my lead and diving in. We stayed like that for a couple of minutes, idly swimming and floating until George stopped moving and spoke. "You know? You kinda remind me of a mermaid."

"You've seen a lot of them?" I quirked an eyebrow, giving up the swimming to stand on my feet.

"Git." He send a splash of water in my direction, making me giggle. "I mean like the one in the perfects' bathroom."

"You're not allowed into the prefects' bathroom, Weasley," I moved my hands on the water's surface, creating little waves around me. "Unlike me, you're not a Prefect, because only prats become Prefects." I quoted him in a mocking tone.

"Are you gonna rat me out, Y/l/n?" He teased, eyebrows raised as he circled me.

"I would, but I don't get anything out of it." I shrugged, sinking into the water once more until the only thing over it was my face. "Sooo..."

"Sooo..." He mocked me, making my eyes roll.

"A mermaid." George hummed, taking a look at the moon, which was shinning more than it usually would. "Is it because I'll lure you into the depths of the black lake?" I inquired, his eyes meeting mines when my hands found his underwater tugging him towards me as I stepped back, deeper into the water.

"I'd follow you without question." He dramatically replied, doing as he had said with a smile on his face until his feet couldn't reach the bottom.

"How romantic." My fingertips traveled up his forearms, reaching his shoulders as he moved even closer to me.

A wicked smile slipped through my gaze and he didn't have time to step back before I shoved him down in repay for dunking me earlier. I was quick to rush in the shore's direction, but not quick enough.

"Oi, not so fast!" He half swam half ran after me, taking a hold of my leg and pulling on it, and, given that I was standing on my tiptoes, consequently dragging me back to him. "You're a nightmare."

"I think you mean a dream." I mused, spinning to meet his gaze.

"Nah," His hands had left my legs after I catching me, and now rested on my hips. "I'm pretty sure of what I mean."

"Is it because I haunt your dreams in the night?" I laughed at my own joke, my fingertips toying with the hem of his shirt, slightly floating due to the water. "Can't sleep with the thought of me on your mind, huh?"

It was meant to be another playful tease, but by the way his hands' hold tightened ever so slightly, it dawned on me that maybe I had taken a too accurate guess.

My heart hammered against my chest as I have his shirt a tug. "If you wanna kiss me so bad, pretty boy, why don't you?"

He snorted as if I was joking; I couldn't blame him, though. We were always joking about that. "Why don't you kiss me, if you want it so bad?"

I went for a laugh and a shake of my head as a response, not trusting my voice. A particularly cool blow of wind caught us and he shivered; the temperature had gone significantly lower in the last couple of minutes. "C'mon, I don't wanna freeze to death, and we got a long way to the common room." I caught one of his hands as they left my hips and led him back to the shore. "They took the towels?!"

"Don't worry," the ginger said, taking off this drenched tee to wring it out. "We'll kill them later." He assured me, throwing the clothing back on as I wringed the hem of my dress. "C'mon, love." This time it was him taking my hand to lead the way.

We walked in silence, cracking a joke or two as we made our way to the castle. Finally reaching the stairs of the boat house, we began to climb them.

"Oi." George gave my hand a tug, his eyes scanning our surroundings. "You heard that?"

"Stop it." I chuckled, playfully bumping his chest before attempting to pull his hand to resume our walk; he had been pulling the strange noise card the whole walk. "C'mon—"

"Shhh!"

"I'm not gonna fall for it." I climbed off one of the steps to meet the ginger. "I'm cold so—" and then I heard it. "What...?" My gaze left the boy to scrutinise the darkness over his shoulder.

"Told you." He whispered, prompting me to come closer to him with a squeeze on my hand.

"You've been joking about that the whole time!" I scolded in an equally quiet tone.

"Who said I was joking?" the eyes of us both fixed at the bottom of the stairs trying to discern something.

"You think we should go check...?"

"Darling, I think that's the worst idea you've ever had." He responded. "It could be anything— we're out here at night."

"Yeah, but we're almost in the castle." We had come incredibly closer, partially because of the unnerving feeling that something was watching us, but also because of the wind that hit our still very wet clothes.

He seemed to think for a moment before turning back to me. "Walk before me." He instructed, already pushing me upstairs. "I'll keep an eye behind us."

The paranoia in my mind increased as we went up— we were outside the castle, it truly could be anything, and I didn't exactly enjoy the idea of George at the back.

That noise again.

I huffed, frustration and fear growing inside me.

"Don't worry." George, who until now had been at least three steps behind me, rushed up, holding my waist and giving me a gentle squeeze. "It's probably nothing, alright?"

"Walk by me." I requested, in a mutter.

He seemed to understand the nature of my plead and his hands left my waist so he would be able to fall into step with me. "Can't take your eyes off me, huh?" He successfully lightened up the mood, but right when I was about to tease back, the damn noise sounded again, this time making us jump. "What the hell..."

"That sounded close." I pointlessly observed. George groaned when he went to grab his wand and realised it was in his bag, most likely in the common room already. "Running to the boathouse is very tempting." I joked, leaning on him with my eyes still looking for the source of our fear.

"Blimey, Aurora!" we had to refrain our yelps when Professor Sprout's voice ended the tense silence we had fallen in. "Didn't think I'd find you here."

As the Professors seemed to descend the stairs and consequently come closer, George and I shared a panicked look. In a rush of adrenaline, I tugged him to the edge of the stairs and made him jump out to the raw rocks with me right after him; we made it just in time for Sinistra and Sprout to walk down the place where we had been an instant ago.

GEORGE'S P.O.V.

Y/n peeked over the rail to see the two women chatting, following their path without any sign of suspicion. With a sigh of relief, her eyes fell on me, crouched besides her with a hand on the stone rail to steady myself. I raised my eyebrows, surprised at her resolution, and then proceeded to chuckle, which earned me a kick on my leg.

"Shut it." She warned me with a smile of her own.

Silence fell among us once again, and, when she stood up, propping herself on the railing, my mind decided it was a good time to stare.

She was always a sight for sore eyes, but now with the moonlight reflecting on her hair and skin, she seemed to glow. Her dress, though it was meant to be flowy, had stuck to her torso due to the water, and hugged her curves in the most delightful way. Oh what I would give for her to realise I wanted to hold her tight in a different way as she allowed me to.

"I'm gonna pretend you're not ogling me." She informed me, her eyes still fixed on the path our Professors had taken. I only smiled to myself, standing up to jump back to the stairs before offering her both my hands.

"C'mon darling." She took them in hers before climbing up the railing and jumping down in front of me.

Her words had been echoing in my mind during the whole walk.

-If you wanna kiss me so bad, pretty boy, why don't you?-

Did she mean it?

"What is it?" She questioned with a confused smile, staring at me. "What?" She repeated, but my mind was somewhere else.

My mind was at the lake, where her hands had roamed over my bare skin several times; where I had held her against me in nothing more than our bathing suits; where we had been left alone and she had found a thousand different reasons to take my hands or pull me closer; where her tone had dropped as she said those words at mere inches of my lips.

"George," she snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "we gotta go."

Not yet, I thought, taking a step towards Y/n that felt like a leap of faith. Though she took a step back, her hands held my forearms, taking me with her just like she had done moments ago at the lake.

And just like it had happened before, her eyes lured me into drowning, and I followed without question.

The kiss was as deep as the black lake, my hands finding the rail behind her for some extra support —I had become weak on the knees, my legs feeling as if they were about to give out—, and her hands going from my arms to my chest without pulling away from my body.

The synchrony of our lips was unbelievably perfect, sending shocks through my whole body.

My lips detached from hers to pepper kisses down her jaw to her neck.

"George..." My name came up of her as a quiet moan and I felt dizzy, not noticing the moan that came out of my own mouth. "George," she called again, this time with a more steady voice, clearing her throat before pushing me away with her hand on my chest.

"Something wrong?" I inquired, trying to get a grip on myself. "Did I—?

"No— I'm very much enjoying this," She assured me. "but a moment ago we were scared shitless because—"

That noise.

Whatever that was, it was nearly in front of us. That time, along with that weird noise, something like whispers were heard.

We both yelped when Harry's Cloak of Invisibility was thrown to the ground before us, revealing three grinning idiots, them being Fred, Ron and Harry.

"On Merlin's beard..." My cheeks started to burn and I felt the imperative need of hiding my face. "What are you doing?"

"We needed to see if you'd finally make a move." Ron explained.

"We even bet on where would it happen." Harry confessed, making my cheeks go even redder. "Now we owe Ginny money." He grunted. "Ugh, you were so close on the lake, I almost won."

"For a moment there, Georgie," Fred was biting back a laugh. "I thought we would witness you two shagging." Ron grimaced at the thought. "Poor Harry panicked and threw the cloak down."

"I'm gonna murder y'all." Y/n jumped in, nearly as mortified as I was. "I finally got him to kiss me and you go and kill the mood! Why don't you piss off so we can do it again?"

Fred got the memo thanks to Y/n's death glare and they rushed upstairs, my twin brother whispering a quick 'congrats' as he passed by me.

"Well that wasn't like I expected our first kiss to go." She confessed, letting out a laugh at the sight of me. "You're as red as a beetroot."

"Shut up." I bumped her arm, a grin twitching the corners of my lips. "So you want me to kiss you again?"

"Of course." Her arms wrapped around my neck, bringing my closer. "If possible, without involving voyeurism." I snorted, tugging her hips to mines before leaning on to kiss her again.

Little did we know that Hermione and Ginny, ever the smart and subtle ones, were watching from the top of the stairs.

#george wealsey imagine #george wealsey x reader #george weasley #george weasley x y/n #george weasley x reader #george weasley x gryffindor!reader #george weasley x you #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #george weasley fanfic #george x reader #george x reader fluff #george weasley aesthetic #harry potter and the triwizard tournament #harry potter fanfiction

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danwhobrowses · 3 years

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Minor F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Rant - Ross is NOT the Worst

So I’ve hit a little breaking point here. We all know that Friends is iconic, reruns on loop are a huge part of many people’s downtime

But recently, everyone seems to get on Ross Geller’s ass

I think most of it is because it’s easy to pick on him, he’s neurotic and has a tendency to whine and be stubborn. The ‘We were on a break’ debacle still gets argued today - and they were on a break, Rachel even clarified ‘a break from us’, and it’s not like he went to the bar with intention to sleep with someone AND he was 100% right about Mark.

Here’s the thing though, everyone says ‘Ross is awful’ But every one of the Friends are awful, that’s the point, they are all flawed people who try to grow in a way where they get stability. Some may say ‘yeah, but Ross is the worst’ but to that I ask...is he? He’s certainly not great, being snobby, self-loathing and fragile in his masculinity

But let’s consider what the others have done Note: This is not a ‘Why XXX Deserves More Respect’ post, so I’m not all out defending Ross here, I’m just pointing out that his fellow Friends are not as pristine as made out

Phoebe - Phoebe’s past itself is layered in mystery and violence, at some point she stabbed a cop and she mugged a kid Ross, so we will glance over that as her having a past, but I don’t think Ross ever impersonated a police officer, a literal crime, and only got off because the officer was attracted to her. She also implies to be a bigamist since she was married to the ‘gay’ ice skater and also implied to have been married in Vegas, believing that it only counts in Vegas. She also immediately dates her identical twin sister’s ex-fiancé when he broke up with her which is a little bit sketchy, and off-handedly bullies Ross and Chandler, finding times to mock and undermine them. Not to mention the fact that she kissed David while dating Mike, and she also stole a kid’s cat thinking her mother’s soul was in it.

Monica - Equally if not more neurotic due to her OCD, Monica has that destructive side to her too. She sabotaged Rachel’s chances with Jean Claude Van Damme out of jealousy, she dated her ex’s son and she bet away her and Rachel’s apartment in the heat of competitiveness. While an accident she was also reckless with Ben and hit his head and her marriage to Chandler apparently mattered little when she flirted with Celebrities on the roof party. Monica’s hands may be the cleanest of the six but she is not without her faults.

Chandler - Perhaps the most neurotic and self-sabotaging, Chandler is partly responsible for a few of Ross’ relationships falling apart; letting slip that Ross had feelings for Rachel, making Ross write a pros and cons list between Rachel and Julie and taking him to a bar after the break - not to mention telling Ross not to be honest about it and erase all evidence of sleeping with the Xerox Girl, Chloe. He also leaves Ross’ son on a bus - who he took mainly to pick up women, kisses Joey’s sisters and then doesn’t recognize which one he kissed, toys on Rachel’s boss Joanna twice, kisses Joey’s girlfriend, steals several cheesecakes he doesn’t pay for and tells a kid he’s adopted, which is pretty damaging stuff. He also almost runs out on his wedding with Monica, and in an attempt to prank Ross says he has sex with Dinosaurs, and then that he’s dead. His fear of commitment also made him toy with Janice for the early seasons of their on-off relationship.

Joey - I mean, let’s just set aside most of the bachelor stuff, Joey has courted a few taken women, for instance his ex Angela who he wrapped Monica into helping so she could date Angela’s then-boyfriend too, he also slept with Kate while both were dating other people. Outside of dating he also attempted to sabotage one of his students for a part in a show, he abandons Chandler on a highway when he rightfully shows doubts about this movie gig and is too stubborn to admit that Chandler was right, he also threw Ginger’s wooden leg into a fire and bolted and like Chandler lost Ben, contributed to sabotaging Ross with the list and took Ross to a bar during the break. He impersonates a Doctor to get personal information on a patient for Phoebe, tries to steal an award he claims in someone else’s stead and tried to steal his childhood toy from a baby! Joey’s personality is the only thing that really makes people look past his flaws.

Rachel - people say Ross is the worst, but I’d contest that Rachel is far more destructive than Ross, especially towards Ross himself, the on-off relationship of the two had often caused Rachel to be conniving and borderline sociopathic towards him. Most of Ross’ non-Rachel relationships are sabotaged by Rachel - the most direct sabotage being convincing Bonnie to shave her head so she could appear the more attractive option - she invites conflict even without thinking about whether she actually wants to be with Ross, she also does this to Joey. She acts really hostile to Ross’ partners, Julie especially - even Ross was less aggressive towards Mark than Rachel was to Julie, the same can be said with Charlie too when Joey was dating her but not to the same extent as Julie. After kicking Ross out of her office for trying to do a romantic gesture on their year anniversary she instigates the ‘break’, and then immediately let Mark, the focal point of their core argument leading to this break, into her apartment even though she had to know it’d hurt Ross - which it does since this action also causes Ross to spiral further into sleeping with the Xerox girl. After that in Barbados, she was petty enough to immediately after breaking up Ross and Bonnie write an 18 page front-and-back waiver just to justify herself as in the right to date Ross again, in the aftermath of that she also dates a college student just to spite Ross - before Ross then dates a college student and Rachel then dates Elizabeth’s dad. No list of Rachel’s constant sabotage of Ross’ relationships would be complete without mentioning that time she went to (and successfully achieved to) stop Ross and Emily’s wedding too, Ross was legitimately happy and Rachel went to London, professed her love, realised how stupid she was being, and then still won the day. Rachel also demonstrates a lack of independence and petty jealousy of others, seen when out of jealousy for Chandler and Monica getting engaged she tries to booty call Ross twice, the second time getting her pregnant. She also tends to play victim even when she’s in the wrong; when Vegas happened, she painted Ross as a gay heroin addict for the annulment which spirals into Ross having the third divorce he wanted to avoid, she would also later reveal that she remembers suggesting they get married too. She also tries to lump blame on Ross for getting her pregnant even though the video proves that she came onto him and throws Ross under the bus with her father when confronted on why she is not with Ross despite having his baby.

Obviously, in spite of this people will sympathize with Rachel because Barry cheated on her and then went on their honeymoon with the person he cheated on, Maid of Honor Mindy, and because they would also feel that Ross cheated on her too. But Rachel was not above cheating herself: she had sex with Barry knowing he was engaged to Mindy, she would also be Mindy’s maid of honor for that wedding, on top of that she also convinced Ross to let her go on Ross and Emily’s honeymoon, the same thing she was mad at Barry for doing - meaning she was a hypocrite as well. Outside of Ross, Rachel also intentionally conspired to make Chandler and Monica uncomfortable for keeping their relationship secret, she dates her assistant Tag and breaks up with him on her birthday simply because he didn’t fit into her ‘plan’, she stole Monica’s perfect baby name and immediately agrees to marry Joey just so she wouldn’t be alone after having Ross’ baby. In the final episodes she also agrees to a job in Paris without considering how this’d affect Ross, the father of her child who already had to barely see his other son, when she intended to take Emma with her.

As entertaining the characters are they are, by design, not flawless; many times being vengeful saboteurs, having tendencies to be hostile, jealous, unfaithful, judgmental, hypocritical and compulsive liars, with each reaching maturation points at different points in the show (if at all) only in later seasons when they settle down.

While this does include Ross in having his fair share of unlikable moments, I have always felt that it’s unfair that Ross becomes the ‘easy target’ especially when in my opinion Rachel is worse but forgiven mostly because she’s the pretty face and Ross looks like David Schwimmer.

#friends #ross geller #monica geller #chandler bing #phoebe buffay #rachel greene #joey tribbiani

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joemuggs · 5 years

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PERCEPTION OF DOORS

Was reminded by a conversation yesterday about the art of the club door person, and dug this out, which I wrote for the Amsterdam Dance Event annual back in 2014.

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If you want a clear view of how clubland operates, why not ask its guardians? The men and women who stand at the doors – whether to take money, pick and choose who gets in, or act as enforcers of rules – are the first and last people clubbers will see in their night out, and are uniquely placed to assess what makes the clubbers themselves tick. They are the interface between club, clubber and promoter, and able to provide a (more-or-less) sober overview of what goes on. But frequently, too, they are the filter: they are the one person more than anyone whom by their choices, defines the nature of the crowd on a given night. As such, they are not just list-tickers, cash-till operators or hired muscle, but are a vital cog in the club's cultural machine, a part of the club's personality. And plenty of them are as big a music lovers as the promoters or DJs too. So from London to New York, Glasgow to Pretoria to L.A., we present the past, present and future of these essential sentinels and unsung heroes of the night.

BIG FRANK

Big Frank, aka Faafaga Samuelu, is a true Los Angeles legend. The imposing Samoan-American was a school friend of underground hip hop DJ/producer Kevin “Daddy Kev” Moo, and they threw parties together from Junior High onwards (“I was the muscle, he was the brain,” laughs Frank; “a perfect combination”). But Frank was also a hardcore gangbanger in his late 1980s / early 90s adolescence: “I remember him showing me a sawed-off shotgun in 8th grade while we were riding the bus to school,” says Kev, nonchalantly. Frank served serious jail time in the late 90s, but when he came out, Kev was there, happy to team up again.

Kev founded the legendary Low End Theory – hub of the psychedelic, electronic “L.A. beat scene” that spawned artists like Flying Lotus, Gaslamp Killer and co – in 2006, but by 2011 it had become so popular, hosting the likes of Thom York and Erykah Badu, that their host venue's bouncers were shaking down clubbers for bribes to get in. This was the moment when Frank's demeanour, reputation and willingness to turn up with an AR-15 assault rifle came into their own, and perhaps unsurprisingly the previous security stepped aside without any trouble to make way for him to take over on LET's Wednesday nights.

Since then, LET's reputation as a friendly spot has only grown. “Being the familiar face of the club,” says Frank, “is great fun and oftentimes just lots of funny. And if you're coming to us, you'll be more comfortable if you feel like you know the guy at the door – and a cool farewell at the end of the night helps as well!” Now in his 40s, he is happy to be a cool head, mainly in the background: “I have different reasons for being in the scene still,” he says; “What's still there is the love for music, but now my desire to be in the crowd is gone. The times of getting fucked up and bumping rap at a back yard party is long gone. What makes me happy, though, is the presence of the forty-somethings and even older folks that attend our club. It helps me feel like our push to progress the music is appreciated. As if all this time in the scene produced something that my generation can be proud of – not just slangin' and gang bangin'.”

In South Africa, house music means more to people than almost anywhere else on earth. And Tebogo “JR” Modiba knows this more than most – his laid-back House 22 parties in Pretoria are an oasis of sophistication and unity in a society still riven with violence and harsh divisions. He ended up working the door there by default: “House 22 started an purely by-invite-only underground deep house joint,” he explains; “so as the founder, I had to work the door in order to overlook the invitations myself. Over time, we have opened up to the general public, but we still keep a close eye on disruptive elements who might not understand and appreciate the underground deep house culture.”

Like all the best doormen, though, he's not just there to filter people out. “The door is the most important part of the business,” he insists. “That's where punters, especially first timers, should start experiencing what the atmosphere of the club is like. All of that depends on how the doorman welcomes them and treat them.” In fact, his biggest problems are cops (“those fellas have serious anger issues, especially when they see people having fun while they are working – and they're the biggest tax collectors too, [taking money] to allow you to operate without interrupting your business with constant inspections, or to protect your patrons from being harassed”) and the weather. One time the mainly-outdoor House 22 venue was hit by tennis ball-sized hailstones, causing a near stampede for cover, which JR was able to only just keep from becoming mass panic.

All his efforts lead to a club where passion for music rules – and so it should, when JR's own love for house still drives everything. At the drop of a hat, he will reel off favourite DJs' names– Vinny Da Vinci, Christos, Glen Lewis, Jimpster, Atjazz, Ralf Gum, Andre Lodemann, Andy Compton & The Rurals, Lars Behrenroth, and Louie Vega – and those of beloved festivals that inspire him like Sónar, ADE and Southport Weekender. And you just know there's no bullshit when he says: “I don't think I am ready to live without my house music, the club life and the people I have met and we became one house music family. Not any time soon.”

JAY CLOTH

London gay scene institution Duckie is more than just a club – as “Purveyors of Progressive Working Class Entertainment”, its team have created a multi-headed beast with art events, talks and exhibitions worldwide. But Duckie's soul resides in its bacchanals every Saturday night at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, still presided over by the same team that founded it 19 years ago: producer Simon Casson, radically eclectic DJ duo The London Readers Wifes, compere Amy Lamé and “box office artistes” Father Cloth and Jay Cloth. Jay is extraordinarily proud to be on the door - “Duckie is unlike any other London Club and IS gay culture to me,” he says, though cites inspiration from a motley lineage of misfit clubs past like The Bell, Marvellous, Daisy Chain, Lippy and anything involving cabaret monster David Hoyle (née The Divine David).

“I am very proud that Duckie is a very friendly club,” says Jay, “and the team of 'Cloths' that work the door set the tone by being as welcoming as possible to all.” As anyone who's been to the club knows, though, they may be welcoming, but you have to step up to the mark and contribute to the wild energy. Jay will turn away “stag and hen parties, anyone too obviously drunk, too obviously high, anyone rude, anyone wearing fur” and only welcome celebrity guests “as long as they are willing to pay the same as everyone else – we are very egalitarian.” “What makes me really happy,” he says, “is when the mix of people is so extreme I wouldn't want to be anywhere else on earth.” His only fear is that “around 1am some nights when the Wifes announce they are about to play their favourite record of all time, I worry the floor might give in!”

ANGELO FABARA

Anyone who thinks that garish clubwear and superstar DJ culture started with EDM should look back to early 90s New York – which truly was the best of times, and the worst of times. Clubbing was a performance then, with the self-proclaimed Club Kids creating atmospheres so decadent and sights so eye-popping that it could feel like the last days of Rome. The Limelight was the heart of all of this, and bringing some kind of order to the chaos was Angelo Fabara. Angelo was an out-of-towner, drawn as a teenager to NYC's clubs like moth to flame by the “idea of community foremost, but then the escapism it offers to young people to safely experiment with.”

He was soon part of that community. In high school he went to the Limelight every weekend, but after getting into NYU, this quickly switched to going nightly. As a face on the scene, he says, “eventually was asked to promote some nights which led to my being hired as a junior door / guestlist person under the guidance of the more veteran door people at the Limelight. I worked there for about a year and a half after which I worked at Twilo for another year at the height of rave / club music coming to NYC.” New York can be a scary city, and Angelo had to learn fast how to turn away the crazies who might later follow or lay in wait for someone who had offended them: “I worked out I needed to give them a bigger reason they couldn't come in,” he says, “like 'the venue's at capacity', rather than quipping slights at their character which I may have done when I first started.”

As a doorman, though, he didn't just have to keep the badasses out: he had to help create atmosphere. “I let in anyone I knew was a great dancer,” he says, “or had a great look: people who made the dancefloor flourish or were nice eye candy. You also had to educate people who came to the clubs to make an effort because everyone else was taking the time to look impeccably chic or coming up with a look that just added to the design and visual language of the scene at that time. If you were a suit, I wouldn't let you in, if you came as a group of guys I wouldn't let you in, if you didn't look the part you would have a harder time at the door. Much later in life, I compare it to Walt Disney who always started his stories off by making his characters literally step through a door into a fantasy world, transported to another place. I wanted to be that person that showed you through that door.”

The scene famously turned bad. “A lot of people died from drugs,” recalls Angelo sadly. “Heroin became big in the 90s, and Michael Alig murdered his club kid friend Angel, which ended the reign of Peter Gatien's clubs like USA, Palladium, Limelight, Tunnel which were the best clubs in NYC history, places with a creativity you just don't see nowadays.” Angelo stepped away from the scene, moving into culture reporting with Microsoft's 'Sidewalk' site – but he never lost his love for what had first inspired him as a kid. “I still think about how easily I made friends on the dancefloor and how so many of us are still friends today 22 years later.”

BOB WONG

Glasgow is one of the most beloved, yet notorious, clubbing centres of the world, known for the utter lunacy, in both the good and bad senses, of its crowds. So it's nice to know that its scene has a calm centre in the affable and unflappable Bob Wong, the head of security (“I prefer 'doorman' or 'steward' but that confuses people, so I usually end up saying 'bouncer',” he laughs) at the Glasgow School Of Art – a venue that has hosted everything from the most manaical techno to the heaviest dub to avant garde noise events.

Bob is a true lover of and participant in Glasgow's underground scene – indeed, in researching this article, his was the first name mentioned by every Glaswegian we spoke to. “Scots know how to party!” he says simply as explanation of why he loves the scene. “You can't beat seeing likeminded people – people of all ages, race, colour, sexuality, social background etc etc etc – switch off from their daily grind of the working week and completely lose themselves, intoxicated with their poison of choice, in the music they love and really go for it on the dancefloor.”

This no-nonsense attitude and affection for the crowds runs through everything he does. “I, and the rest of my team are there to ensure the punters have a great night, and more importantly a safe one: safe from themselves and each other when they inevitably get carried away.” And to do this he insists on a friendly culture: “I hated working with macho 'bouncers',” he continues, “who could only brag about how many fights they'd won or how many girls they've slept with – so when I finally became head steward, I made a point of having only people with a similar mindset to mine on the team, and it makes a difference to everyone.”

Has he ever been scared, surrounded by punters when they “inevitably get carried away”? “You're probably expecting a mad story here,” he smiles, “about some kinda riot or a scenario where I've been stabbed or shot at – but no... if I ever get into a situation where I'm in a fight where my life is being seriously threatened then I can honestly say I'll have failed at my job. My scariest moments have to be the occasions where drunken punters have thought it was a great idea to slide down the banister of the stairs from the cloakroom on the top floor of the Artschool – a 4 level building – and have fallen over the edge and down between the flights of stairs... Thankfully no-one ever fell past the next floor but, all the same, hearing the thud and seeing them hit the floor you automatically assume the worst when they go limp and unresponsive! Thankfully and surprisingly there have never been any fatalities in my time (don't jinx it Bob haha!), just a few fractured vertebrae...”

#clubs #doorpersons #los angeles #new york #club kids #glasgow #ravers #low end theory #gay clubs #hip hop #johannesburg #house music

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emmaekay · 6 years

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Kotonari - Chapter I, part two

AN: I am seriously sorry for the cliffhanger that I left 1-1 on. It was as much as I had the time to actually edit and stuff. Here is the conclusion of Chapter One - Birth, which I will now warn you, ends on another cliffhanger. I think I have a problem.

Again, Kotonari is a sequel to Keiyaku, and if you don’t read Keiyaku first, you’re gonna have a bad time. Here’s the Keiyaku Master Post with all the chapters for your catching up needs.

Chapter One – Birth – Part Two

Beri wrapped the babies up once more in snug and careful bundles of the softest cloth. Twins, yes, but no such twins had ever looked so different in all her years of caring for Saiyans, royal houses and more.

The little Prince was fey and fair – his hair was the lightest lilac, his eyes were the same soft aubergine that Beri had witnessed in Bulma’s eyes during the strange ordeal that had been the antefasting battle. He was just 18 inches long, but his body was sturdy and he weighed a respectable 7.15 pounds. A stout little boy, with a voracious appetite and a boisterous voice – crying, cooing, even once growling – with soft lilac hair falling down around his ears & eyes in velveteen swirls. Despite the delicate coloring he’d inherited from his mother, it was clear that the boy got all his temperament from Vegeta.

The little Princess was just the opposite – nearly as dark as her father, and a quiet babe. The little princess would be taller, Beri thought, as she was already an impressive 24 inches long. She weighed about the same as her brother, but didn’t look nearly as rolly poly as the boy. Her hair was most properly Saiyan – a shock of black hair, rising up from her head in a distinct, sharp point.

The little prince and princess were beautiful – healthy, calm, sleeping bundles in their little bassinette in Beri’s room. Beri called them by their titles, and Daiku called them whelp or cub or princeling or little Saiyans. They both still believed that their mother should, and would, give them their proper names… soon, surely.

Beri clenched her fists at her sides after she laid the babies down once more after their halfnight feeding. She blamed herself for the way things were – what had she been thinking, leaving the estate with Bulma so close to birth? Why had she gone out after running that bath? She should have stayed right by Bulma’s side, right by the Prince’s side.

The Prince. Poor Vegeta. When Beri had burst through the door, she had thought that another miracle, like the one at the antefasting battle, was happening and she had wanted to make sure Vegeta wasn’t missing it. Instead, she’d walked in to a scene of such horror – the bathtub a bloody pool, Vegeta’s face drawn in terror, Bulma’s fair skin an ashen grey with her ki low like the last ember of a long cold fire.

She’d just run from the house, flying from the estate and up to the castle. She’d risked immediate execution when she burst through the tall glass window of the Queen’s private chamber, sending a spray of glass shards in every direction and finding her Queen’s hand around her throat. “Your son –“ Beri had choked out, and the Queen released her. “Your son and the Princess and the babies! Please, they need doctors and –“

Queen Pea threw Beri toward the chamber door. “Then get them!” And she flew out the smashed window herself toward her son’s estate. She refused to think, to entertain the fear’s nipping at the edge of her mind, to allow herself to wonder what could have sent that dressing woman into such a panic. Queen Pea stomped down her emotions, her questions, and she put a foot straight through the roof of the bathing chamber, sending stone and eaves crumbling to bits.

Pea had been Queen of all Saiyans for thirty four years - she had fought at her husband’s side against the Cold empire, she had lead troops in bloody, horrific battles. She had seen limbs severed, entrails spilled, Saiyan men and women that she loved torn to pieces and their bodies worn by Cold soldiers as badges of honor. Pea had seen horrors. Pea had seen blood.

And for the first time in her reign, she was grateful for these trials, because they prevented her from collapsing to the floor in tears and grief now. Bulma was in a pool of bloody water, laying like a corpse astride Vegeta’s legs, and she was nearly dead. Her son was frozen, clutching the two babes to his chest, tears streaming down his face in rivers that Queen Pea had thought long dry. She alighted next to the tub and gave her son a hard slap across the back of his wet head.

“How long will you sit there, Vegeta?”

Vegeta turned his face up to his mother’s, eyes wide and unblinking. “Mother, I – she just screamed and I ran in – I wanted to get you, I wanted to get a doctor but she just screamed and cried and th-“

“Vegeta.”

He stopped.

“She isn’t dead yet. Will you let her die?”

Vegeta snapped out of his shock and jumped out of the tub then, scooping Bulma’s cold and naked form out along with him. Her face pressed against the babies as they began to slide out of their little nest under Vegeta’s suit.

“Vegeta, the children!”

He tossed Bulma to his mother, a morbid hot potato, as he caught the little ones before they slid out of his suit entirely. He had never felt so clumsy, so ill-equipped, so stupid. He followed his mother silently out of the bathing chamber and into the bedroom he shared with Bulma. He watched, a thousand miles away, as his mother laid Bulma’s body onto the plush mattresss, dumbly pressing his children to his chest.

“Vegeta, bring something warm and cover her body.”

He moved robotically to a pile of clothing Bulma had tossed over a couch in their room. His mother gently stepped next to him and attempted to take one of the twins, to free his arms a bit. He found himself growling, snarling at his own mother as his grip on the child intensified. His ki began to flare out around him – he was losing control.

“Vegeta, let me help you,” his mother attempted to reason with him. To calm him. He crossed his arms over the children tucked once more securely into his suit, power radiating from him in waves as he continued to snarl wildly.

Then, suddenly, he stopped and fell to his knees – eyes hollow and closing. Queen Pea dropped with him, cushioning the impact for her grandchildren and removing them from their father’s desperate grasp. She looked up and into the eyes of her King and husband, still lowering his arm from the impact his elbow had made with the base of her son’s skull.

“Take them,” she said, standing fluidly and handing both the babes to their grandfather. “Your son was on the verge of losing himself, Vegeta.”

“My son? No, that’s your son. He inherited his wild, emotional side from you.” The King bounced the little royals in his arms. “Your father’s a madman, isn’t he, little warriors?”

“Tch.” Queen Pea rolled her eyes and pulled a few articles of clothing from the couch before heading over to the bed to bundle Bulma up against her nudity and the now drafty house. She dressed the girl’s unconscious form before piling the blankets over her. “The doctor?”

“Beri is rousing every doctor, nurse, medic, doula, serving woman and mother in Asket awake as we speak. I’m sure a host is inbound now.” The answer came from Daiku, standing unexpectedly in the doorway. “I felt her fear, and found her frantic, but she explained the situation... so here I am.”

“Daiku.” The King raised a brow in greeting. “What services does an arena warrior offer the crown at their medical need?”

“Not a medical one, sire, but one of honor. I came to collect Vegeta, who will be a nuisance at best and a liability at worst, as the doctors attempt to heal his woman.”

“He’s…” the King faltered.

“…resting.” Pea finished, “and even if he were not, he wouldn’t leave with you, Champion.”

“I propose a mission to distract him, and to heal her. The doctor that your highness the Queen sent for, the one with knowledge of the Saiyan Gemini who refuses pod travel? I propose that I take Vegeta to find, collect and return with the man. He and I are strong, fast flyers and can have the doctor back here within the day. His last transmission came from the city of Caarte, which is a week’s journey by foot.” Daiku glanced at the blue haired fair form on the bed. “I do not think we have a week.”

“Astute.” The King commented.

“And, I fear, correct.” The Queen admitted. “As it is, life supporting measures will have to be undertaken, and I doubt my body can sustain them for a week.”

“Your body?” The King bristled, “Absolutely not, Pea. I forbid it.”

“Oh, you do, do you? Fool.” The Queen’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing in anger. “Who else will I entrust my precious Princess-daughter to? Who else has the ki to sustain two lives? Who else has the knowledge? Shut your mouth and never again presume to forbid me anything.” The Queen spat, hackles raised and claws out.

Daiku looked away nervously – no one liked to watch a married couple fight, but nothing could possibly be worse than watching your King and Queen in a marital spat over the dying body of your Princess as your Prince is passed out on the ground. “Shall I… take Vegeta and leave?”

The King sighed. “Yes, take him and make for Caarte. Best he should come to in the air and already on his mission.”

“And when he awakes, what should I tell him of the Princess Bulma’s condition?”

Queen Pea sat on the bed next to Bulma and took her hand. She breathed deeply, wrapping her own power in glowing bands around the sleeper’s form until she glowed faintly with the golden tint of the Queen’s ki. As power wrapped around them both, the Queen’s hair changed from raven black to finest gold, eyes changing from darkest ebony to brightest sky. There was no exertion, no uncouth exhibition of power – just her dignified sigh, her steady breathing, and a golden light that filled the room.

“Tell him,” the King began, “that his mother is using her secret power as the legendary Super Saiyan to link her ki and her lifeforce to Bulma’s – as life support until a healer can be found.”

Daiku’s eyes were wide, nearly falling out of his head in awe.

“Y-yes, my King.” Daiku bent and hauled the Prince up over one shoulder.

“And Daiku?” the Queen called, as the man made to leave the room. He paused, looking back over his shoulder at the radiant, golden Queen. “Perhaps this discovery you’ve made can be treated as need-to-know information?”

“I’ve made no discovery, my Queen.” Daiku said. “I will return with the doctor as quickly as possible.”

---

And so, when Beri returned to the estate, the King handed her the babes and bade her take them home with her to look after until their mother awakened or their father arrived home, whichever happened first. And although Daiku had arrived home with the little green doctor a week ago, Vegeta was not with him and Bulma was still not awake.

#Kotonari #vegebul au #vegebul #vegeta #bulma #vegebul fanfiction

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