#GOD HOW I WISH THEY GAVE US MORE OF THESE TWO AND THEIR COHABITATION

[stormyoceans]

the way tattoo is so rough around the edges and has no idea what to do when faced with aran's overflowing emotions and tears (even the fake ones) but whatever gentleness he possess, even if it might not look like much to others, he's always willing to give

[luxmaeastra]

"| just - I wish I knew what the Changelings wanted? What are they looking for? What could they be looking for to tear about Daglan and Valg lands apart?"

Violet's hands clenched, feeling Calaena, Lucien, Estelle and Alura watching her.

Zimri looked to Xaden but didn't respond. Violet frowned and stood.

"Whatever you're hiding, Xaden this is where honesty comes in -"

"They're protecting me."

Orsus looked up from the floor, where they sat skimming the journal. Violet stilled, her heart pounding.

"I - what?"

"These specific Changelings feed on energy, life right? They're looking for the Wyrdkeys, they were made from my flesh. Your Wyrdstone can only give them so much energy. But the Vennin, these specifically Den of Changelings want more - they want an eternal source of it, which they'd get from me."

The played with a bit of string through their fingers

"The Wyrdkeys were connected to the Wyrdgates. Wyrdgates were made of my bones. I'm old Violet, I am eternal and they've been searching for me for a long time. Everyone has. I -"

"You don't need to tell her Orsus."

Xaden's voice was soft, steel. Orsus ignored him, leaning back against the wall.

"Magic was everywhere once. We had different realms once, but the first Gods got greedy. They tore me apart and cobbled together one world when their war destroyed the others. It pushed the three races, Daglan, Valg, and llken into one world. It forced them all to cohabitate - and they hate it. I was broken down and collared. I was made into their weapon. Honestly they've all used me, Fae too. They've all left an imprint on my soul."

They looked at their hands, tracing the lines on their palms.

"23 years ago the Daglan took more from me than I could handle. They were staving off their own mortality, Sebastian and Natalia still killed them in the end. Wyrdkeys, the gates they all came from me. I can't die but I can become so weak that it feels like what I suppose death would. Sebastian hunted the Wyrdkeys down to give back to me to eat. Natalia did the same with the Wyrdgates. It gave me enough energy to trust them. But no one else knows what they did, so they're all looking for me - and till they find me this will keep happening. They won't stop till they have me and suck me dry and do it again and again."

//Orsus wants friends! Really for your muses. I just needed to put people who knew.//

The revelation, the truth that was revealed. Their words filled the area, the tale they recounted of a time long ago. Back before many of them were born, back before many of them even knew what was going on. Alura’s eyes were fixed upon the gathering of the young, quietly watching over them as she fixed the leather strap upon the breast plate of her daughter’s.

She had remembered the day when Natalia had come back with another children, she remembered when she had told her about the newest addition to their family. It had been a surprise, one which she had tried to make sense of, but now it all came to light. The truth was laid before her, finally the secrets of that time all those years ago were coming to light.

Honestly she respected her friend for what she had done, for how hard she had worked to give them the life they now had.

“It doesn’t matter if you are the reason,” Celaena’s voice cut through the silence that now hung, those who hung on their every word. “No matter their reasoning and their wants, it doesn’t mean we should just let them.” After all, was there not enough changeling blood currently right there. One section did not dictate what the rest of them wanted, they were not all one giant hive. No, they were their own independent families, they had their own independent wants.

She moved to pull her dagger from the nearby target, shoving it into the concealed sheath before she turned and faced them. “You have foxes, wolves, both two different changing families who are on your side. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t see sense in fighting.”

[justthehiddleswrites]

Destiny Has Other Plans | Loki x OFC | Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x OFC

MASTERLIST IS HERE

Summary: When Loki goes to ask his father for permission to marry, he is shocked to discover his destiny has already been made for him.  He is already betrothed to Sjofn, the daughter of the King of Vanaheim.  An arranged marriage to bring the two kingdoms closer together and strengthen the bond.  Never mind that Sjofn and Loki can’t stand each other.  

After The Battle of New York, Loki is sent to live at Avengers Tower as punishment for his misdeeds.  But it doesn’t mean he has to like it.   A year later, he has adjusted to life on Midgard but has avoided any romantic or emotional entanglements, still bitter over his lost love.  Dr. Alexis Randall is skilled at helping others fix their relationships as a couple therapist, but can’t help her own love life.  A chance encounter with Loki in a dive bar has life altering consequences for both of them.  Now, Alexis and Loki must figure out a way to co-habit without killing each other in the process, plus navigating impending parenthood and other roadblocks along the way.

This Chapter: Loki will do whatever it takes to find out what is wrong with Alexis. 

Warnings: Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Smut, Angst,  Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of law enforcement, Oral Sex, Cursing, Vaginal Sex

Taglists are Open, please let me know if you wish to be added.

-

Alexis groaned as the medics lifted her onto the gurney, but she didn’t wake.

“Take care with her!” Loki snapped at them, rushing to Alexis’s side, grabbing her limp hand. “She is pregnant.”

The medics shared a glare fully prepared to inform him they knew how to do their job when Tony caught their eye and waved them off. Best not to make Loki any more angry than he was. At least not until they sorted Alexis.

“Of course, sir.” The taller of the two nodded at Loki. “We are heading down Dr. Cho. I assume you are riding down with us?”

Loki nodded and followed them to the elevator. The eyes of every Avengers followed the three of them along with the gurney and willed the elevator doors to ding close. The moment the doors closed, Tony spun around to face the room.

“Okay, everyone has exactly three seconds to explain WHAT THE HELL is going on?”

The room exploded into conversation as people pointed fingers and yelled accusations and theories. Steve, Tony and Bruce cornered Thor to pump him for the “full story.” Nat sat quietly off to the side, worried about Alexis. A loud whistle cut through the din. Everyone turned to face Clint.

“They’re in a relationship.” He stated with no facial expression.

Tony blinked at him. “Well, yeah, a weird baby daddy, cohabitating thing. We all—”

“No, I mean they are in a romantic relationship. They are sleeping together. If you ask me, they’re in love with each other.” Clint huffed. He stepped forward to come toe to toe with Tony. “They know about you and Banner’s bet.”

Bruce blushed and flailed. “There’s no bet. I don’t know what you are talki—”

“When are you going to learn? I hear everything that goes on around here?!” Clint slammed his hand against the sofa. “I was in the vent when you made the bet. We decided to teach the two of you a lesson.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“Me, Loki, and Alexis. They pretended like they were on the outs, breaking up to get even with you two meddling.” Clint crossed his arms.

“So is this fainting spell just part of an elaborate prank to get back at Tony and Bruce?” Steve piped up. “I should have done Loki would pull some sort of shit like that.”

“It’s no joke.” Thor finally joined the conversation. “I know my brother better than any of you. That was genuine fear in Loki’s eyes. Whatever is ailing Lady Alexis is no prank.”

Everyone stared at Thor in shock, confusion, and anxiety. Nat snapped out of her daze.

“I’m going down there.” She stomped off towards the elevator. Clint caught her elbow.

“Nat. Give them space. Give him space.”

Her mouth fell open. “But I can…” she protested.

“No, you can’t. There is nothing you can do down there but be in the way.” Clint continued.

“JARVIS!” Tony yelled into the air. “Send hourly updates on Dr. Randall to all the Avengers.”

“Yes, sir.” The clipped British accent responded.

“Thanks, Tony.” Nat gave the group a small smile.

Tony’s own brain was running fast, but he kept his worries to himself. He clapped his hands together.

“Alright with that sorted, they get on with the day. The world isn’t going to save itself.”

With hesitant motions, the rest of the team moved along. Clint disappeared to wherever he disappeared to. Bruce headed with Tony to the labs while Nat and Steve headed to the training facilities to work off some excess energy. Thor headed off to his quarters, too concerned over his brother and Alexis to get much else done.

-

Dr. Cho relegated Loki to a hard plastic chair off to the side as she examined Alexis. Loki paced instead. He could see everything that was happening through the clear glass panels separating the examination room. Things did not appear to be going well by the expression on Dr. Cho’s face. Three hours later, Dr. Cho came out to update Loki.

“There is nothing physically wrong I can find with her, Loki.” Cho sighed.

“And the baby?” Loki wrung his hands.

“Strong heartbeat, moving around. Do you want to know the sex? I did an ultrasound.”

Loki’s brows rose. He hadn’t thought about knowing the sex of the baby. His eyes darted to Alexis’s lying on the hospital bed. Hooked up to tubes and machines, eyes closed. It was a punch to his gut.

“We haven’t discussed it. I will wait until she wakes up to decide, if that is alright with you.”

Helen nodded. “Of course, Loki. I am still waiting on a few lab results to come back, and then I am sending them off to a few specialists. I would suggest going back to your apartment where you can be more comfortable. I will make sure JARVIS alerts you of any changes in her condition.”

“If it is all the same, I will just stay here.” Loki widened his stance as if Dr. Cho would attempt to forcibly remove him from the medbay. If it were any other circumstances, she would point out the 180 turn of events since the last time Loki was here with Alexis.

“I can only offer you a hard plastic chair.” She gestured at the standard issue chairs throughout the rooms. “And strong coffee.”

Loki gave her a sad smile. “I have been in worse situations. With far less pleasant company.”

Dr. Cho smiled back and then nodded before walking away to analyze all of Alexis’s results. Loki pulled a chair close enough to Alexis’s bed to hold her hand and sat down as his fingers weaved in with hers.

“Please wake up, darling.” Loki pleaded. The only answer he got was the steady beep of the machines monitoring all of Alexis’s vitals.

-

“Brother…” Thor rocked Loki by the shoulder. Loki’s long frame crunched up on two hard plastic chairs. His arm tucked under his head to act as a pillow. Nothing about his posture looked comfortable. After several hours of no changes in Alexis’s condition, Loki dozed off.

“Brother… wake up.” Thor shook him more forcefully this time. Which rewarded him with Loki snatching his wrist with his quick reflexes.

“Must you continue to wake me, Brother? Leave me in peace.” Loki groaned as he unfolded himself, joints cracking and popping. “Why are you even here?”

“It’s almost midnight, Loki. You never came back. I came to check on you.”

Loki glanced out to the window to confirm that it was indeed the middle of the night. He gave Thor a wry smile. “Well, as you can see,” Loki gestured up and down his body. “I am alive and well, so leave me be.” He waved Thor away.

Thor sighed and spun a chair backwards to sit near Loki. “While you may be alive, you are clearly not well, Loki.” He spied his brother’s hand intertwined with Alexis’s. “Barton told us.”

Loki’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t lose her, Brother. I love her.” His voice hoarse and cracking. “And our child…” Loki’s head dropped to the bed.

Thor reached over to comfort Loki, not knowing exactly what to say. “Lady Alexis is strong. How else could she have endured all these weeks living with you?”

The two gods chuckled at Thor’s joke. “Very true. I have not been on my best behavior.” Loki added.

“And now?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“I have definitely not been on my best behavior.” Loki smirked.

“You were always one for mischief when it came to your lovers.”

Loki’s mood darkened, thinking back to Sigrun and his father. And the events leading him here. Alexis and his unborn child. He wondered where he would have ended up if he had agreed to the arranged marriage and Odin’s meddling. Loki imagined miserable in a completely different way than he was now.

“You were right, Brother.”

Thor’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Loki gave another thin smile. “About love being worth the trouble.”

Thor chuckled and smiled. “I have not always been the best at telling you, but I have only wanted the best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I am. I was. I am?” Loki questioned. “I don’t even know anymore.”

Thor stood and offered his hand. “Go upstairs, Loki. Eat and sleep in your bed. I will stay with Lady Alexis for the rest of the night.”

Loki’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you, Thor.”

The two embraced and Loki wearily rose and left the medbay to sleep and eat before the next day. Once he left, Thor settled his oversized body into one of the undersized chairs. He stared at Alexis’s still body, her breathing shallow and even. The only sound was the constant beeping of the machines.

“I imagine you to be some kind of witch.” Thor spoke to Alexis. “Because it would take powerful magic to tame the beast that is Loki’s heart.”

-

Three Weeks Later

Alexis was still in a coma, and Loki was no closer to any answers why.

“What do you mean there is nothing physically wrong with her?!” He bellowed at Dr. Cho. “She is in a coma!” Loki jabbed a finger at Alexis’s room.

Tony arranged to move her to a more private area of the medbay and set up a second small bed in the corner since Loki refused to leave. Meals appeared from thin air. Although he suspected Nat was to blame. Even Steve came down to offer what little comfort he could. Loki now stalked the floor. Tony moved all non-essential personnel to another part of the Tower after getting several HR complaints.

“I don’t know what else to tell you. Her vital signs are stable, as are the baby’s. She is just asleep. By all accounts, she should be awake.” Dr. Cho explained.

Loki flipped a table, sending his dinner flying around the room. Helen took several steps back.

“UNACCEPTABLE!” Loki screamed.

Alexis’s machines rang an alarm, and the screens flashed. Helen rushed to the machines while Loki grabbed Alexis’s hand.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Shouldn’t you be apologizing to me?” Cho piped up while she checked some printouts.

“Apologies.” He said with an eye roll. “What happened?”

“Her vitals spiked and then dropped. Triggering the alarms.” Helen glanced over at him with a grim expression. “They are stabilizing.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed. “What else?”

Dr. Cho sighed. “They are stabilizing at lower levels. Whatever is keeping her unconscious seems to be for lack of a better word… draining her.”

Loki stormed out the medbay without another word.

-

Thor was just getting ready to relax for a meal in his apartment when Loki burst through the door without bothering to knock.

“Do you mind, Loki?” Thor rose to face his brother. “I am about to eat.”

“I need to go to Asgard.”

Thor stared at Loki. “I don’t think that is a…” Thor then realized what happened. “What is going on with Lady Alexis?”

Loki collapsed onto the back of the couch. “In simple terms, she is dying. And no one can help her here. She needs our healers. I need to go to Asgard.”

“You realize Father is in Asgard.”

Loki gazed up at him, his eyes rimmed with red and sunken in surrounded by dark circles.

“I am well aware of the implications of my return. But if you were in my place, if your love was slowly dying from the inside out, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to save her?”

Thor sighed. “We can leave within the hour. I will inform the rest of the team of our departure while you make arrangements for Alexis to travel.”

Loki nodded and Thor headed for the door. Loki grabbed his arm. “Thank you, Thor.”

Thor covered Loki’s hand with this own and squeezed. “I am sure the healers will be able to help.”

“I hope so.” Loki replied glumly. “Because I am out of options.”

-

They were greeted by not only Heimdall but Frigga as well when they stepped back onto Asgard.

“Loki!” Frigga rushed to his side. Alexis’s body slumped against his chest while Loki cradled her in his arms. She noticed the roundness of Alexis’s belly. “I see what the fuss is about now. Let us get her to the healers. We can catch up later. Thor, the Allfather requested your audience.”

Thor nodded and took off towards the palace as Loki and Frigga whisked Alexis to the healers.

-

Loki paced outside the doors of the healing chambers while Frigga sat with him, reading a book.

“You will wear the floor out.” she commented with a smirk.

“Just another thing for Odin to blame me for. The replacement of the palace floors.” Loki sneered.

Frigga ignored Loki and pressed on with other things. “She’s pretty. How did you meet?”

Loki spun around to face her. “Do you care? Does it matter?”

Frigga set her book down on the chair as she stood to face Loki. “It matters when she is carrying my grandchild.” Frigga reached up to cup Loki’s cheek. “It matters when she has also is carrying my son’s heart.”

Loki gazed at his mother with wet eyes. “I—”

The doors opened and Loki’s mask fell back into place.

“You can come in now.” The attendant announced. Loki pushed past her.

Alexis laid out on the stone slab. Three attendants hovered over her. One operated the Soul Forge while another took notes. A third injected something into Alexis’s arm.

“What are you giving her!? She is—”

“We are well aware of her condition.” The head healer spoke. “I must admit it stumped us at first. But once we calibrated the Soul Forge for Vanir physiology, it was clear what was going on.”

“Which is exactly what?” Loki blinked as his brain processed the rest of what was said. “Wait, Vanir?!”

Frigga’s eyes darted between her son and the healer, ready to step in if necessary. The healer, oblivious to what was going on, continued explaining.

“In the second trimester, Vanir babies’ magical abilities manifest, feeding off the mother’s energy. The injection masks the magic until birth. She will need to continue taking it once a week until she delivers.”

Loki stumbled backwards. “Will she—”

“Recover? There should be no lasting effects to her or the baby. Except maybe a wicked headache and increased appetite.”

Loki allowed a few tears to fall onto his cheeks. Frigga grabbed his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you.”

Frigga cleared her throat. “Perhaps we could have the room for a few moments?”

The attendants nodded. “Of course, my Queen.” Everyone shuffled out of the room with a rustle of fabric. Loki made no move until the heavy doors closed behind him with a thud. Loki collapsed against Frigga.

“I take from your response, you were unaware of Alexis’s lineage.”

Loki gulped. “She never mentioned it.” He kneeled besides Alexis, the color returned to her cheeks. “You are going to be fine, my love. We have much to discuss when you wake.” Alexis groaned. Loki kissed her cheek. “It’s time to wake up.”

Frigga smiled at the sight of her son so fully devoted to someone. And the prospect of a grandchild. Her first grandchild. She would be lying if she said Loki was her first guess of the son to give her a grandchild first.

Alexis’s eyes fluttered open. “Loki… where am I?”

Loki’s tears wetted her skin as he sobbed. “Home. My home.” He smiled at her. “I thought I had lost you.”

She blinked a few times to adjust to the light. “Home? The Tower?” She noticed they were in a massive room with stone walls. “Where are we?”

Loki helped her sit up. “On—”

The doors slammed open and Odin strolled in, followed closely by Thor. “—Asgard and you will be leaving presently.”

Loki stepped in front of Alexis. “She will do no such thing. She is sick.”

“She does not belong here, Loki. And neither do you.” Odin responded cooly.

Loki nodded. “Still as inflexible as always, Father.”

“Loki, this is your Father?” Alexis peeked from around him.

Odin’s eyes caught Alexis, and he froze, the blood draining from his face for a moment before the mask of indifference fell back into place. But Loki and Frigga caught it.

Loki narrowed his eyes. “Father, what have you done?”

[takoyakitenchou]

engagement, t-30 minutes (sorina)

this is my big gratitude and happy holidays for @royaldragonsevgisi15 because she kept me from overdosing on caffeine and is highkey the only reason i slept during finals week

pretty much an erina reflection. in which erina and souma are on their way to some celebratory gala they had no idea was a thing until hisako called them the morning of

“We’re going to be late,” Yukihira Souma said for the seventh time in the last ten minutes.

“Shut the fuck up and let me be a woman,” replied the god tongue as she applied finishing touches to her lipstick, one hand planted firmly on the vanity to keep her from headbutting the immaculately spotless mirror. Erina couldn’t seem to remember ever cleaning up the area after that one time when she accidentally dropped her eyeshadow palette and caused a bonafide explosion, but someone — namely, the redheaded chef she was cohabitating with — had squared shit away. It was like magic. She’d leave her clothes (and pretty much everything else, to be honest) strewn about to the point where it looked like she’d made it a point to distribute her room around the condo, but she’d come home to find everything freshly laundered, ironed, and put away.

Erina snapped shut her makeup bag. “Well? How do I look?”

“Fucking gorgeous,” he said breezily, and gave her a calculated kiss on top of her head, avoiding all areas that could have potentially been part of the reason why he’d been waiting for the last four hours.

“I already knew that,” Erina said as they emerged into the chilly Seoul evening. Thankfully, her insightful boyfriend had had enough sense to pick out her heels for her before she even got to open the shoe drawer. Souma took her hand as they got into the backseat of the stretch limo that had been sent to fetch them, most likely because those people didn’t trust the two chefs to show up of their own accord.

Exactly a week ago, they’d received the call they’d been waiting for since they’d decided to open a restaurant together. Probably before. Maybe it was when she first let go of his hand; maybe it was the first time she’d ever told him she loved him. Words were a delicate subject between them; they always seemed to encompass both worlds they straddled. There were no distinctions between those crossed paths. That time back in second year when they’d talked through the whole night on the roof of Nakiri Mansion just to watch the sunrise… the romance in the air had been too much for her.  She’d buried her face into his chest at the embarrassment when he’d pointed out that they were pretty much reenacting a shoujo manga, and then she’d realized that she was literally hugging Yukihira Souma of all people.

Then the world stopped turning and she told him she loved him.

It had been an accident, but she didn’t take it back because they both knew she loved him, and perhaps more importantly, they knew he loved her. Time stopped then; nothing was too fast. It was damn near two year’s worth of repressed feelings between them, to hell with taking it slow or not knowing what love was. Shut the fuck up. It was love.

She’d broken his heart so many times. Erina knew that if he’d truly had the choice, he’d have chosen her over Fountainhead, over Origin, over anything and everything else that the limited world could possibly offer to someone infinite like him. So she’d decided for him, and she regretted the decision every day for the next… how many years? Seven years that they’d spent apart.

It had taken them much longer to fall back into familiar patterns this time around, because she needed to hear that he loved her before she could justify the reason why looking at him made her see stars. A whole year for her to work up the courage to tell him that she had always loved him and would never stop loving him. But in truth, she’d told him in so many ways over the decade that was their love story. 

It was that thing about words — between them, words were nothing. It was the subtle actions, the gestures and eyebrow raises and the facades they’d both carefully constructed in an attempt to allow the other to move on. But, of course, they wouldn’t keep up the masquerade forever; that wasn’t how it worked.

Erina’s I love you was the ten years she’d spent wishing she could turn back time to that day after the graduation ceremony when they were at a standstill, unsure of how their paths would diverge, and throw herself into his arms and hug him until they were both desperate for air and even then she wouldn’t let go.

And then. Last week, they’d done it. Their pillow talk had led to Genesis, and they’d claimed their ultimate prize. Three Michelin stars, and they were worth so much more than all the stars they’d earned on their own, simply because it was them that had done it. It was no longer you and I; it was us.

“You know, I love you,” Erina said as she felt Souma wrap an arm around her.

“I love you, Nakiri Erina.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride, both of them smiling gently at the memory of all the unspoken confessions between them. But it was of no importance — they were together now and that was all that mattered.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Toy Box

Summary: Whilst helping Belle pack her things prior to her moving in with him, Gold is introduced to some interesting items in a box in her bedroom. 

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: Fun with toys. 

Rated: E

The Toy Box

It was only once she was in the process of packing up her belongings that Belle realised just how much work went into moving in with someone. 

When Gold had asked her if she would like to live with him, Belle had said yes without any hesitation. She already knew – and Gold already knew – that she loved him, and she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Cohabiting was just the first step towards the realisation of that dream. She already spent so much time in his house that she practically lived there anyway. 

Even now, surrounded by packing crates and bubble wrap, with all her stuff strewn across every surface, Belle didn’t regret it. She just wished that it wasn’t so time-consuming. It felt like she’d been at this for days already.

Making decisions about what furniture to keep and what to sell had been easy, since most of her large items were second-hand and bought for cheapness rather than any sentimental reasons. She was lucky that Gold had more than enough space in his house to hold all her books, so no agonising decisions needed to be made there.

No, it was just the process of packing and tidying that was so all-encompassing. 

Belle left the boxes of books for the moment and went over to her closet, beginning to fold her clothes into their waiting suitcases and stack her shoeboxes next to the door. Gold would be arriving in a few minutes, along with Dove in the van, to take the first load of boxes away, and she wanted to have something to show for all of her packing efforts. She’d been at it since early morning and it didn’t feel like she’d achieved anything at all. 

She picked up one shoebox and smiled before lifting the lid and peeking inside. This box had not contained shoes for a long while. This box was home to far naughtier items. Belle’s grin widened at the thought of her toy collection now being housed under her boyfriend’s roof. 

He wasn’t a complete stranger to the things in the box, but she had not had as many opportunities to try out the different items as she would have liked, and now she would have so many more chances to explore with him. Belle opened the box fully and took out her bullet vibrator, turning the purple silicone this way and that, and thinking of all the fun she could have with it, watching Gold come apart and beg for mercy.

A string of anal beads was the next thing out of the box. She’d never used them with Gold before, and she wondered what his reaction would be. 

She didn’t have to wait to find out. The van had pulled up outside the library, and Belle could hear Gold calling up the steps. 

“Belle, love? Are you there?”

“I’m in the bedroom. The front door’s unlocked, come on in. Dove can take the boxes in the kitchen.”

A few moments later, Gold poked his head around the door, giving the room a onceover. 

“I have to say, it looks like a glitter bomb exploded in here, except with books instead of glitter.”

“I know. I should have just taken the books off the shelves and put them straight into the boxes, but I kept getting side-tracked.”

“It seems you’ve got side-tracked again.” There was no admonishment in his voice, just amusement. “Somehow, I don’t think that those are the kind of beads you wear round your neck as statement jewellery.”

“Oh, they’d make a statement, all right.” Belle looked down at the string of beads draped over her fingers, and then back up at Gold, a little smirk creeping over her face. “I could teach you where you’re supposed to put them, if you want.”

Gold raised his eyebrows, clearly in two minds, but Belle saw the moment that she won him over, a smirk of his own appearing at the corner of his mouth as he stepped into the room fully, closing the door behind him. 

“I think that would be an excellent idea,” he said. Although the words were conversational, there was a husky tone in his voice that was anything but, and the first frisson of excitement ran through Belle’s veins as she heard it. Yes, she was definitely going to have a lot of fun introducing Gold to the contents of her toy box. 

She stood from her position kneeling in the bottom of the closet, casually tossing the beads and a bottle of lube onto the bed before smoothing down her skirt demurely.

“Are you going to give me any enlightenment yet?” Gold asked. Belle came over to him, playing with the knot of his tie and loosening it a little. 

“Well, we should probably wait until Dove isn’t in the apartment with us.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I know you like it when I’m loud.”

Gold gave a huff of mingle amusement and arousal. “Yes, yes I do.”

Belle undid his tie completely and pulled it off, tossing it down onto the floor. She probably shouldn’t be adding to the mess of everything that needed to be packed, but it was all going to end up back in Gold’s house anyway, so the need to get him as undressed as possible as fast as possible outweighed the other concerns. 

“Honestly,” she said. “I can’t believe you’re still wearing a three-piece suit and tie whilst helping me move.”

“It always pays to look one’s best.”

“You won’t be looking your best when we’re through.” Belle slipped her arms around Gold’s neck and pulled him in for a long kiss. “You’ll be looking very thoroughly fucked.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Gold’s voice was a low growl. and it made Belle’s stomach flip-flop in anticipation. She wrestled him out of his jacket and had just begun work on his waistcoat buttons when there was a discreet tap on the bedroom door. 

“Mr Gold, I’m taking the first lot of boxes over to the house now. Just call when you’re ready for me to return.”

Belle waited until she heard the front door close behind Dove before resting her head on Gold’s shoulder with a groan. “Oh my God, he so knows what we’re doing.”

“Well, at least he’s got the courtesy to leave us alone whilst we’re doing it. So…” Gold’s hands came around her back and swept down to cup her ass, squeezing her cheeks through her skirt. “Are you going to show me where you should wear these very interesting beads then?”

He pulled the zip of her skirt down, pushing it off her hips, and Belle stepped out of it, kicking it off to the side. She looked up at him with a smirk. “You know, I think you’ve got a very good idea about that yourself. You’re not as innocent as you make yourself out to be, you know.”

It was the work of a few moments to get the rest of their clothes off, the fact that they were supposed to be packing and moving lending a sense of urgency to the occasion, and Belle pulled Gold over to the bed, flopping backwards and bringing him down on top of her. 

If there was one thing that Belle loved the most about sex with Gold - however hard it might be to pick just one thing - it was his thoroughness. Even during the most hastily snatched of encounters, he always took the time to make sure that she was gasping in pleasure by the end of it. Today was no different as his lips trailed down from her mouth, over her neck and breasts, tugging on each nipple in turn and making her cry out. She could feel him beginning to twitch and harden against her thigh, and she wondered how long he would be able to last. When it came to giving her the best orgasms of her life, he could hold out for a remarkably long time. 

She was already wriggling beneath him when he finally pulled away, sitting back on his heels and smirking down at her as he reached for the lube and the beads, other hand slipping between her thighs to pet at the wet heat beginning to show at her entrance.

“Now, my love, I think it might be best if you turned over.”

Belle was happy to oblige, rolling over on the sheets and wiggling her bum at him, looking back over her shoulder as he pressed a kiss to each cheek. The lube was colder than she was expecting as he squeezed it out over her skin, and he laughed at the jerk of her hips against the sensation. 

Then his fingertips were rubbing at her asshole, massaging in the lube before pushing inside by tiny degrees, achingly slow as he worked her up. It wasn’t the first time they’d had anal sex, but it wasn’t something they did regularly. Belle wondered if she could turn the tables at some point in the future, hopefully soon, and the thought sent a fresh new wave of arousal washing through her veins just as Gold pulled his fingers out of her, making her groan. 

She closed her eyes, hearing his chuckle. “I think you’re ready to wear these beads now.” The first one pushed inside slowly. “Is this ok?”

Belle nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. That’s great, keep going.” She could hear him squeezing out more lube, and then his other hand was snaking between her legs and into her cleft, finding her clit and pinching gently. Her hips bucked up, the angle of the beads changing inside her as she rubbed up against his hand, squealing as the second bead pushed up inside. She could feel herself beginning to sweat, the damp prickling at her skin in the small of her back. 

“Oh Belle…” It sounded like Gold was just as short of breath as she was. “Oh Belle, I can’t lie, this view is wonderful.”

She craned her neck, looking over her shoulder towards him. His cock was bobbing proud in front of him, the tip flushed red and leaking.

“Yeah, mine’s not bad either.” Her hips jerked again, nudging her clit against his fingers once more. “Come on inside,” she gasped. “I want you to feel it too.”

His hand slipped away from her clit and a moment later, she felt him pushing into her vagina, and she heard his low moan as he began to move, feeling the beads in her ass from inside her. 

“Oh God, Belle…”

Gold’s pace was getting quicker and quicker, his rhythm erratic, and Belle could barely think straight for the indescribably sensation of having his cock and the beads in her at the same time. Just one more little push would take her over the glorious edge, and she reached down to touch her clit, screaming unashamedly as she came. Gold followed her over just a moment later, and for a while they just lay quietly, both of them panting heavily in the wake of the intensity they’d just experienced. 

“Do you think I should take these out now?” Gold tapped at the string of beads, sending an aftershock of pleasure through Belle’s body. She shivered and nodded, groaning as he pulled them out as slowly as he’d put them in.

“You know,” Belle began, rolling over and stretching out beside Gold, “I think that was just what I needed to relieve some of the stress of packing.”

“Hmm.” Gold glanced over at her. “You know, we have all weekend to get you moved. It doesn’t matter if we don’t get finished tonight.”

Belle grinned, knowing exactly what he was thinking as both of their eyes alighted on the innocent-looking shoebox.

“So, what should we try out next?”

[randomoranges]

amnesia au part 150

--

It was a perfect September day – still warm during the day, but cooling off in the evening. As was their new bi-monthly usual, Jacques and Étienne went out for lunch at a local diner close to home. Jacques had found out about this family run place when he had first moved to Trois-Rivières, many years ago, and it had become an instant favourite. It was a small, quaint place, served hot dogs, hamburgers and poutines and was appreciated by all who came here. He liked taking the kids here and sometimes even came with just Suzette and ever since Étienne was staying with him, he had extended the invitation to his brother. It gave them a chance to catch up away from the rest of the family and some quality brother time.

“Alright, spill, what’s on your mind? You’ve been fidgety all day,” Jacques said after he took a bite of his burger. From across the wooden picnic table, Étienne gave him a small, sheepish smile and stole a fry from him. Jacques didn’t say anything about it and made sure his brother could reach out for as many fries as he wanted. It was good to see his appetite returning.

The first time they had come here, Étienne had barely managed a handful of stolen fries and half a can of iced tea. Little by little, his food intake had increased and Jacques was more than happy to let Étienne eat as much of the shared poutine as he wanted to and have all the fries his heart desired.

“So, I’ve been thinking, I think I’d like to go back home – soon...” Étienne finally told him. He spared his brother a glance and Jacques was surprised by the news. He liked having Étienne around. It would be strange to see him go, even though he always knew that eventually Étienne would leave, but if his brother was thinking of heading home, then that was also a good thing. It meant he was healing.

“Oh? Did you have a date in mind?”

“In a month or so? Maybe after Thanksgiving? If that’s okay with you and you don’t want me out sooner,” He joked and Jacques rolled his eyes at him and flicked the bottle cap of his own soda at him.

“You know we don’t mind having you over – you’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you want.”

“I know – and really, thanks again for literally everything.”

Jacques reached over for his hand and gave it a warm squeeze, “Of course – you’re family, but you know the kids are gonna miss you like crazy.”

“I know,” Étienne pouted, “I’m gonna miss them too! If you think you’ve got your hands full, I’d be more than willing to take one or two with me,” He grinned at his brother and Jacques laughed at his antics.

“Jokes put aside though, d’you have a plan, for when you go back?”

Étienne was quiet as he munched on another fry, “I’m not sure yet – I mean, I gotta keep up with physio and therapy, but I guess I gotta see if I can get cleared to work – or start working... that’s what I keep getting stuck on – what do I do when I get back? Everyone works or has families of their own – there are a lot of hours in a day when you can’t properly function...” He sighed a bit at that. He was still working on his list with Dre. Labonté and he knew there were certain things he could do. Work wise, if he got the clear, then he could hopefully start on some small project and build up. He didn’t need to get involved with multiple projects all at once, but one at a time sounded feasible.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, you always do,” Jacques reassured him with a kind smile.

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss hanging out like this with you, believe it or not,” Jacques added after a lapsed moment of silence. “Reminded me of when we were kids,” His brother smiled softly at that. “I remember when you were little and you’d come and sit in my room, when you were tired of playing with El,” Étienne laughed at the memory. There had been so many of those instances.

“Yeah? And I somehow remember you not being very thrilled when we had to room together once El and I got too old to share and Sam moved.” They exchanged a look at that, straight faced and all, before breaking out in matching grins.

“I had finally gotten my own room! Sam had finally left! I had space! And then my annoying kid brother had to come and crash in. How would you have felt?”

They’d had this discussion thousands of times before and Étienne knew his brother was kidding around with him. Jacques had been mildly put off at his loss of freedom, but he’d adapted and they’d cohabitated nicely. Jacques had even said he’d been a better roommate than Samuel.

“At least you were a boy. I had to share with El for twelve years.” Jacques gave his hand a sympathetic pat.

“And I had to share with Sam for close to fifteen years, so there.”

He had a point on that.

“Still, you fucked off to here after you were done with Cégep, so really, El and I won in the end and got our own rooms.”

“Which you didn’t even properly appreciate since you moved out, like, two years later.”

“The commute to school was garbage and it was getting awkward bringing anyone home to sleep with.”

“I’ll give you that much.”

“I still remember that summer I came over to see you and you introduced me to Suzie,” Étienne started, smiling softly. It had been right after Jacques’ first year of university. He was staying here, since he’d gotten a summer job. Étienne remembered their parents being a little disappointed Jacques wouldn’t be coming home for the summer break. Étienne had been feeling restless and had decided on a whim to go and visit his brother. The change of scenery would do him good and he’d figured they could go out, pick up, and do whatever for a week or two. But then he’d arrived and his brother had been tongue-tied and shy and it had made Étienne suspicious.

“You were such a goner for her already,” He teased and it was amusing how Jacques’ cheeks coloured slightly, even after all these years. “I still remember getting to your place in the morning and you’d gotten the dates mixed up. And you were such a dishevelled mess. I was about to tease the hell out of you, but then Suzette came out of your room wearing your shirt and I swear to God I thought you were gonna die on the spot.” Étienne laughed richly at the memory. Jacques had tried stammering out some wild excuse, but Étienne had simply clapped him on the back and then introduced himself to Suzette, before stepping out for a smoke to give them both some time to straighten themselves out.

“From that first day I knew you were gonna marry her,” Étienne looked back to his brother and shook his head, amused. Even after all these years, four kids and their own ups and downs, Jacques was still head over heels for her. If ever there was a poster couple for love... it was them. He’d looked up to their relationship for so long. Had wondered how it was possible for anyone to be so much in love. Spending the summer with them now, it had reminded him of that and at times, he’d even been a little jealous of what his brother had.

“Yeah, well, speak for yourself, kiddo, you weren’t exactly smooth with Edward either,” Jacques’ eyes widened and he apologised for bringing him up, but Étienne assured him that it was fine. Edward had been part of their lives for a long time, it was only normal that he’d come up in their stories. Plus, he was getting better at this.

“Go on, pray do tell, how was I not the epitome of smooth? I thought I had it under control,” He challenged and Jacques cackled. In his opinion, Étienne had been far from smooth.

“Look, before Edward you’d barely even brought anyone home. There was Geneviève when you were in high school, right, that was her name? You went out with her for two years? Went to prom with her?” Étienne nodded at that, “And then there was Marc-Antoine when you were in Cégep.” Étienne remembered them both fondly. Had it not been for Marc-Antoine moving out to the middle of nowhere for university, they might have still been a thing, and Geneviève was still a friend he spoke to regularly. “Other than that, you never brought anyone home or told us about anyone you were seeing, unlike Sam who brought everyone home from guys he met the night before to those he’d been seeing for three plus months.”

Étienne groaned at that. Samuel really was the worst when it came to bringing “significant others” home. Their parents had always been very encouraging, but Étienne wished they had set the foot down for anyone who hadn’t been in the portrait for at least two consecutive months.

“Anyways. When you brought Edward home that first Christmas? Before you were dating? I knew he’d show up again.”

“How – we weren’t even dating?”

“Because, if you bothered bringing someone home it meant they were special and important to you. That you really liked them. Plus, you kept on giving him the most stupid moony looks at him whenever he wasn’t looking at you. It was really pathetic, if you really want to know.”

Étienne flicked the bottle cap back at him. “I was not pathetic and I wasn’t giving him moony looks.” He defended, even though he knew it was a lost cause.

“Whatever you say, but I’ll have you know that when you did bring him back as a boyfriend, it was even worse. But it was also sweet – the way you made sure to introduce him to everyone in the family and how you included him in the conversations or explained a back story to some anecdote. I could tell he meant a lot to you, even if you didn’t know it yet...”

“I was just looking out for him! You did the same with Suzie.”

“I know, that’s why I knew he’d be around for a while.”

Étienne could tell that his cheeks were burning up but he did his best to ignore it and stole his brother’s pickle off his plate as retaliation. Jacques laughed and let him be for now.

--

PREVIOUS: CXLIX

CURRENT: CL

NEXT: CLI

[lowbrowanthro]

Maud Wood Park: Forgotten Feminist, Proto-Anthropologist, Bad Bitch

In the summer of 2018, I spent three weeks in the Library of Congress researching twentieth-century women political leaders (think suffragettes, early legislators, etc).

Mostly I skimmed workshop pamphlets and stared, unblinking, at indecipherable handwritten correspondence. But one woman in particular had me rapt.

[Extremely Stefon voice] Maud Wood Park’s story has everything - suffragette drama, a trip around the world, and a secret (second! Post divorce! That scandalous queen!) marriage that *definitely* disappointed her dad.

(Photo from: https://www.radcliffe.harvard.edu/schlesinger-library/collection/papers-maud-wood-park-in-womans-rights-collection)

Born in 1871 in Boston, Maud Wood Park was a no-nonsense activist ahead of her time. I call her “forgotten” even though she’s well-known to scholars of women’s suffrage (NERRRDS), because she’s largely left out of public school lessons featuring big names like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Yet her work as a lobbyist with the National American Woman Suffrage Association and as the first president of the League of Women Voters made her a centrally important figure in the struggle for American women’s suffrage.

(Maud pictured 4th from the right. Photo from: https://www.radcliffe.harvard.edu/schlesinger-library/collection/papers-maud-wood-park-in-womans-rights-collection)

Even more interesting than her activism (lol sorry, women’s rights) was her personal life.

Maud did her own damn thing - she chose not to have children, eschewed religion, traveled around the world without a male escort, and never stopped fighting for women’s rights. She married her first husband after meeting him in college (she went to Radcliffe, A.K.A. ~Lady Harvard~ because She Smart And She Fancy), and then divorced his ass when she was 35. Two years later, she ~secretly~ married Robert “Bob” Hunter Freeman.

(Above: Bob and his bowler hat. Photos from the LoC collections)

Bob was ~an actor~ and theatrical agent (yes Maud, I feel you, who among us has not pined for a sensitive artistic type). They both traveled so often for work that they were never able to officially, publicly settle down and cohabitate. Instead, their marriage remained secret to all but a few close friends, and they met clandestinely in hotel rooms during Maud’s lecture circuits. They also shared a robust (there are SO MANY LETTERS, you guys) correspondence. Many of their letters focus on their interpersonal drama and semi-tempestuous but deeply-loving relationship, and you bet I read all that shit. 

They had serious differences and disagreed constantly. Bob gave Maud shit about her temperament and lack of religion, and she gave him shit about his lack of logic.

In the 1915 letter to Bob below, Maud openly and unrepentantly admits to being a stone-cold bitch (my heroine..!), describing herself as “a cold, hard, self-contained, self-centred, ambitious and extremely critical woman.”

(Maud’s a Slytherin. Obvs.)

Maud knows herself. Maud accepts herself. Maud does not care about your feelings.

Bob, on the other hand, was a total Hufflepuff. In the funny 1915 letter below, Maud writes to him about how much her “man-hating” spinster friends love him, seeing him as more of a womanly kindred spirit than a man. Their high praise even inspires her to (grudgingly, poorly... Maud is all of us) embroider Bob’s initials onto some handkerchiefs, even though she “hadn’t done anything of that sort for over 20 years.”

Ah, ~True Love~ :’)

(Above: Maud and Bob, basically)

Maud was an independent thinker, and her lack of religious belief troubled Bob at first. She explained her outlook on life to him in a 1908 letter: 

“I feel a sort of responsibility to myself and to others, irrespective of God’s existence or non existence. I think it is the effect of my keen perception of the rights of all other living creatures, black, white or brown, animal as well as human. It explains my passionate democracy and my sense of outrage at the injustices that women have to bear. It does not rest on love of God or recognition of Him; not even on love of men, but rather on the craving of my whole nature for justice. It’s the best thing in me, my only effective weapon against my egoism.”

Clearly, humanist ideals fueled her activism at a time when many involved in social reform movements held beliefs rooted in Christianity.

(Above: the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, for example! Photo from: https://sites.google.com/site/orangewomenstemperanceunion/background-on-women-s-christian-temperance-union)

Maud was also kind of an amateur anthropologist - she traveled around the world to study the conditions of women in various cultures. 

Funded by a wealthy sponsor who supported her work for women’s rights, she struck out on a two year journey in 1909 to investigate women’s lives in far-flung locales including Singapore, China, India, Australia and New Zealand, New Guinea, Bhutan, and elsewhere.

(Above, postcard of Chefoo, China, circa 1908, from: https://www.hippostcard.com/listing/street-in-chefoo-china-postcard-c1908/16726374)

Her views reflect the times and an understanding of universal womanhood that’s been deconstructed by postcolonial feminist scholars, but she recognized the importance of cultural differences.

Before women could even vote in the U.S., Maud was going around stressing the need to understand the various ways women lived around the world.

Rather than just exoticizing foreign tropical locales, she described their complexities. Maud talked about the widespread poverty in Chinese villages in the wake of nineteenth-century British imperialism and described India as “huge and enormously complicated” in a February 9th, 1920 letter written on a train from Darjeeling to Calcutta, for example.

She exhibited an anthropological curiosity (even if she lacked a little tact), writing this detailed description to Bob on June 18th, 1909:

“This afternoon I did get off by myself in a rickshaw in a town I never heard of and poked around for an hour in unimaginably dirty and crowded streets. The Yang-tse-Kiang is a beautiful broad river, but almost deserted on the banks except for occasional cities of large towns where the foreign “Concession” is nearly opposite the landing. If we can we get away from the Concession in these places and into the Chinese town, usually enclosed by a wall. There indeed everything is different: muddy, smelly, narrow streets, swarms of men, some children and fewer women, (those who are well-to-do stay in the “Inner Apartment”) endless little dingy restaurants half on the street where the cooking is all in plain sight, ramshackle one-story houses leaning against each other in order to stay up at all. Most foreigners are disgusted and flee as soon as possible, but I enjoy it all and want to go poking up every lane and into every courtyard.” 

Maud also recognized the pervasiveness of Western culture way before scholars started theorizing about “globalization.” In 1909, she wrote:

“Fate seems always to pull at my skirts and drag me back to the surroundings of the inescapable West. It’s marvelous how pervasive that is out here in the Orient – the trace of the West. –I begin to believe that there isn’t a village in Asia where you can’t buy bottled waters and find at least one Englishman. I may have to go to central Africa to get the unadulterated East; and even there I suppose I’d find T. Roosevelt or his remains.”

I choose to believe that she would have made a good intersectional feminist activist and anthropologist had she been born a few decades later.

Maud stressed that women deserved freedom above all in both her personal and professional life. She lobbied for women’s rights tirelessly both to legislators and to Bob, who started out skeptical but was eventually won over. 

In the 1915 letter below, Bob wishes Maud success and writes that he’s come around in favor of women’s suffrage once and for all, finally convinced “of something which perhaps should always have been obvious, but wasn’t.”

(That’s f***ing right Bob, get it together)

Maud Wood Park - world traveler, legislative expert, and even playwright - was a fierce feminist. She seemed to foreshadow the third-wavers of the future. In a 1912 letter (one of her many extended arguments with Bob), she considered the future of the women’s movement and women’s ultimate place in society:

“I resent so bitterly the arrogance of men who attempt to say that what men want is the measure of what women should be – or the added insult of attempting to interpret Nature or the Creator for women. Certainly if there is any record of what nature intended it is to be found in the powers that she has given women. If a woman has a beautiful voice it seems likely that nature meant her to sing, etc., etc.

The moral of all this is – don’t spend any more time or words or ink in trying to show what women were meant to do. Spend your energy in giving women themselves a chance to show what they were meant to be.”

Amen.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 14: Loose Ends

Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Nothing, I Think Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Sofie, Fritjof, Andsvarr Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Mystery Arson, Pushy Senile Professors, Loki Forgot The Rules Summary: The Horse Returns!

A tent in the encampment had burned down in the night. No body was found, so it was hoped no one was inside at the time, but every single thing within had been reduced fully to ash, or little lumps of melted metal and glass.

For as intensely and completely as the tent had burned, the fire hadn’t spread at all. It was a small miracle within the tragedy. The plot was cleaned up, and a newcomer set up their tent in its place.

No one came forward as the owner of the tent.

Sofie made sure to greet the new campers, offer them assistance and guidance. She also made sure to quietly confront Fritjof on the way back.

“I know nothing more than anyone else.” He insisted. “Some people don’t know how to fireproof their tents. It happens. With all the fires around here, it should have happened sooner.”

“Doesn’t anyone know who that tent belonged to? They might have tried to hurt _____. I know you don’t like her, but-“

“I no longer have anything against her. She is chosen. So be it. She spoke the truth before. So be it.” That last was delivered bitterly. Most of Fritjofs friends had left the camp after Heimdall and Loki’s brief appearance a month ago. Gone home to do some soul searching or find something else that catered to their exclusionary beliefs. The few that remained from ‘that side’ of the camp had mostly withdrawn to figure themselves out. For once, they were quiet.

But Fritjof’s tent was near to the one that had burned, and it was hard to believe that he didn’t know who it belonged to, when he made a habit of interrogating everyone who came to the camp about their faith.

“They might have left with the others.” He suggested. “Some proved faithless, and left everything behind.”

“But not you.”

He shrugged. “I was tested. But the gods are here. It doesn’t matter anymore what shape they have taken this time. They are real, and they are here once more. The wisdom of our ancestors will return to us. That’s the important part. Isn’t it?”

Sofie nodded. “I think so too. Here, come help me distribute apples to the newcomers. They’ll want to know what we have seen.”

                                                                                *****

 “You’ve found the animal? Where?” Loki asked the stablemistress.

“Wandering the fens. Some children found her while they were out berrying. She’s lucky to be in one piece, but she seems to be fine. Full of berries, most likely.”

You would want to know that the horse had been found, and in good health as well.

“Was anything else found?”

“No, I’m afraid not, your highness. She was still wearing the same tack she left with, but nothing more than that.”

“Oh well. At least we have her back.”

Two probable dead ends. At least there had been no loss. The horse had returned, and the burned tent had caused no harm. He would be venturing out later with a handful of Einherjar to look over the things that had been found at the crime scene.

Your injury was healing significantly faster than usual for a human, due partly to the advancement of their medical facilities, and due partly, he was almost certain, to his touch. The more he had carefully stroked your back, the more the pain seemed to recede, the more you had curled up on yourself-probably in relief.

He had bid you to rest, and given Ansdvarr a few friends to help watch over you, making sure there was food for you when you woke.  You seemed so subdued. It must be the amount of energy it was taking to heal yourself. He waited until you were asleep to take his leave. He just wanted to be sure.

He met his small entourage just outside the city, and they all traced their way across the idyllic landscape, to the little copse of trees. The remains of his ill-fated picnic were still strewn about the area, though some small animal or another had made off with the food.

Loki instructed one of the Einherjar to gather things up, then he followed the sergeant in charge of investigating the area to what she had found.

“There are two areas of interest, your highness. This is the first.” It was little more than a blanket draped over a low branch to create a simple shelter. A small bag full of food wrappers and an empty canteen were the only other items.  They didn’t look Asgardian in origin.

“These are all Midgardian in make.” The sergeant confirmed. “It seems some mortal was making camp here, but from the debris blown into the tent, I’d say they haven’t been here for a few days. At least as long as it’s been since you brought your woman out here.”

“She’s not my woman.” Loki said quickly. You would probably take offence at that. “She is a guest. We are watching over her due to a magical anomaly. You were shown her hand with everybody else.”

“Ah. As you say, your highness. Forgive my assumption. But this is not the only thing out here. This way.”

She led him all the way to the other end of the patch of trees, to another tent. This one was more spacious, and far from being a hasty shelter, was properly set up and staked down. It was well camouflaged, and inside were a variety of things.

More interestingly, there appeared to be a mix of Asgardian and Midgardian items. The tent was clearly Asgardian, but the blankets and pillows were from Earth. It all came together to form a sordid picture.

“Hm.” Loki said. This probably should have been expected.

“Indeed.” The sergeant agreed. “It appears to me that this is evidence of one of our people and one of theirs…cohabiting. At least occasionally.”

“It’s not illegal…”Loki said.

“I wonder if perhaps it should be.” The sergeant mused. “Mortals are…well, they are mortal. They are fragile and short-lived. All such unions are doomed to a sad end.”

“All things die.” Loki said simply.

“Of course, your highness. But we don’t even allow them within the city. Even this relationship is kept secret, hidden away from the eyes of others. What happens when it eventually bears fruit? What happens to those children? Where do they live? Do we keep them away from one of their parents? Sire, I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

“Calm yourself sergeant.” Loki said. “We have been ready for this since my brother first set foot on this planet. Beyond that, the king and I, as well as the entire council, have been planning and debating for this very eventuality. And it is inevitable. They are too much like us for these unions not to develop.”

“Have you grown fond of them, your highness?”

Loki gave her a long, flat stare.

“Er, forgive me.” She said, fidgeting. “That is not my place.”

“My feelings on the matter are meaningless in comparison to what is best for the people. If there is nothing else here…?”

“Not that we have found.”

“I say we leave everything where we have found it. Set someone to watch this area and report any activity. Everything has been recorded? Good. I want a copy delivered to me, and I wish to be notified first with any new information.”

Returning to his horse, he noticed that the dishes had been placed back in the basket, his discarded cloak and blanket folded neatly, and secured to his saddle. He could see your blood on the blanket. It made him want to tear it. Even if the stain could be cleaned, he probably wouldn’t ever use it again, nor would he want you to wear his old Sleipnir cloak again, even though he’d had it altered for you. It would be bad luck to let it touch your shoulders once more.

Perhaps he really should teach you what a pauldron was.

                                                                                     *****

 “Look, I’m sorry, but he’s not here.” Andsvarr told the old skald instructor. “You’re going to have to wait until he comes back. Did you have an appointment?”

“Yes.” The old teacher huffed. “Some youngster tried to tell me it’d been cancelled for some trivial investigation, but I’ve had this planned for months, and my whole class has been waiting as well.” He gestured at the small gathering of people behind him, each holding a notebook and an instrument.

“Oh. But he’s still not here. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“You could let us meet with the Midgardian woman. She’s part of the lesson plan. My students need to become familiar with mortals; their flaws and virtues, so that they might properly write them into verse.”

“We definitely cannot do that, milord.” The supplementary guard interjected. “We have strict orders to keep anyone from seeing her. She is convalescing.”

“Wait.” Andsvarr said. “If you’ve been planning this for months, how can _____ be a part of the lesson plan? She’s only been here for one month and a little more.”

The instructor glared at him, crossing his arms. “Are you sassing me, young man?”

“No sir. Only doing my job.”

“Well so am I. And if you don’t let us in, I’m going to take my complaints straight to-“

“To me, Beli?” Loki said. “I am right here. What have you to say to me?”

“Ah, your highness! Just who I wanted to see! We had an appointment.”

“Which was regrettably cancelled due to an unfortunate assault against a guest of the Crown.”

“-And I have brought my class all the way here to meet with your mortal visitor.”

“Who is resting after her injury.”

“And these smart fellows won’t let us pass!”

“On my orders.”

“And so I was just telling them-what?”

“My specific orders, Beli. No one other than myself or the king can come in here. Your appointment was cancelled. That means it cannot happen today. Because someone tried to kill our only human. And now she must stay in bed and rest.”

Poor old Beli. He’d been one of Loki’s teachers, for music and sagas. He’d been Thor’s teacher, and Heimdall’s and Frigga’s. He seemed like he’d been around since the dawn of Asgard, yet he was as inflexible as the golden spires, and seemed unable to fathom that plans could change.

The door behind them all opened, and you peeked out.

“Aha!” Beli said. “Behold class: a human!”

You shrank back.

“No, no, come out young woman. It is a woman, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Loki said through gritted teeth. “I believe I have indicated that several times.”

You slipped into the hallway, obviously intrigued by what was going on, looking around at all the instruments.

“So loud out here.” You whispered. “Is something wrong?”

“She looks sick.” One of the students said.

“Well, what did you expect? She got stabbed.” Said another.

“It’s just a stab.”

“Not for a mortal, it isn’t!”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Loki said. “Go ahead and go back inside. I’m sending them along now.”

“Now, just a moment!” Beli said. “Since you’re both out here right now, why don’t we-“

You took that moment to collapse. A gasp rose from the gathered students, which quickly became clapping as Loki easily caught you.

“Beli. Esteemed teacher. Let us compromise. Your appointment is…postponed. Good afternoon.”

Loki scooped you effortlessly into his arms. You were so light. You would always seem light, no matter how much you did or didn’t weigh. He swept into his rooms, kicking the door closed behind him, leaving poor Andsvarr and his friend to take care of the musician class.

He laid you down on your sparse little bed, noticing with alarm the coldness of your skin. This wasn’t just because of your injury, or the energy it was taking to accelerate the healing.

“I was gone too long, wasn’t I?” He said mournfully, gathering you up into a sitting position next to him. He’d been miles away from you, for almost the whole day. He should have known better than to do that! You were injured; the detrimental effects of the link between you clearly reacted harshly and more swiftly when you weren’t healthy in the first place.

“Gone too far away, and for too long. Oh, you poor thing.” He wrapped one arm around you to hold you up, tenderly stroking your back. Had it been frightening, feeling the incapacitating sickness creep up on you again? He’d barely noticed it.

You shuddered in his arms, so he wrapped the blankets around your shoulders.

“Well, we’ve found out some possibly interesting things, but nothing solid, I’m afraid. We will find who did this, however. I promise you justice.”

You shivered again, but remained quiet. Loki wasn’t even sure you had heard him. He laid you back down, tucking you in and waiting until your breathing became slow and even before leaving your room.

These simple little acts of care were reassuring to him. He had cared for an entire kingdom for several years, he could do the same for one mortal woman. He could do this.

[coeurdastronaute]

Essays in Existentialism: Atlantis

Removed from the city, but too close for comfort, they heard the dull hum of muffled machinery. The city was just a spot of glowing opulence in the distance behind them as they trekked out to the very edges of the country. Just beyond the western canyon, past the sentinel-like Black Mountains, new machines, heavy and cumbersome monsters, squatted on the virgin soil of their forefathers. The machines blindly groped through the dirt, searching for something, upturning reefs and caves, leaking foul-smelling chemicals and exhaust like a cloud through the area.

For the longest time, the heir watched the large machine, observed the cable moving and the drone that came to adjust the tubes and wires when they get caught somewhere as the machines whirred and thundered along. For two days she stalked them, debating what was to come next.

Much like the thinker, she sat on the edge of the cliff and peered at the device the size of a great white, twirling her spear absently while her mind worked at the problem at hand. Never one for too many words, she did not waste them debating like her accomplices, nor did she listen too much to what they said. Instead, she ran through all of the lessons of her training, all of the things imparted upon her, and she tried to decide as rulers are meant to do.

“Tonight,” he decided as she led her friends back to the city. “We rid ourselves of the surface tonight.”

“The King said to wait.”

“The King is protecting our home from the threat above,” Roan tightened his jaw, still slightly bitter to be left behind yet again. “We will take care of this ourselves. It is our way.”

“You may avoid jail time for disobeying the King,” Anya grinned as they made their way back toward home. “But I think I’m about two exploits and a few years past his forgiveness.”

“The treaty is clear on this,” the heir’s cousin argued, his words growing more agitated, as he was known to be. “Those primitive air-breathers  are not allowed to mine without explicit permission from the King.”

“We breathe air,” she reminded him.

“You know what I mean. Those vile creatures don’t care about anything. They deserve everything Neptune does to them.”

“The gods are never wrong, but they suffer often for the actions of a few.”

“Not often enough,” he snorted. “Let them all drown after what they try to do to us, dumping trash, oil leaks. And then, to think that the King bows down to their laws is atrocious.”

Quiet as they made their way back, Lexa nodded politely to the guard who opened the door. The argument took a pause as the water drained from the entry chamber. She heard their words rattling around in her ears, and she knew already, deep down, what the proper choice was supposed to be, the one her father would have picked, the one that some of those who still ascribed to the old way of thinking wouldn’t understand. She was not pure enough in their eyes, and this wouldn’t help any.

Like children, they bickered and she pinched her eyes over the bridge of her nose, exhausted by it.

“Enough,” she said as they reached heightened volume levels. She didn’t have to yell. Her voice carried itself. “My father’s word is law. We will make him aware of what has happened when he returns, but for now, nothing is to be done except monitoring. We have bigger enemies right now than those things.”

“And if they pass the territory line?” Roan challenged, standing tall and firm.

“We do what we always do,” Lexa sighed.

“I’m going to sit at that line and wait,” he decided, stalking away, bitter at his own lineage. “Those air sacs are going to ruin us, and you’re going to let them.”

“Well, that went… exactly as I thought it would,” Anya nodded to herself as she watched his form disappear around a corner. They heard a crash a bit later, the inevitable tossing of his helmet fueled by his own disgust.

“I understand his dire need to protect us, but he doesn’t want to cohabitate. He wants war. He wants the old ways.”

“Your father would be proud of how you’re thinking.”

“My father would tell me to keep a better eye on Roan,” Lexa sighed, tugging off her own helmet as they walked down the hall. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t let Roan worry you too much.”

“On my list of worries, he is surprisingly low lately,” she assured her friend, gripping her forearm and squeezing with a small smile.

“Let me know if you go out,” Anya offered. “No sneaking again. Your father will have my head. And I know I joke about that, but one day he’s going to be pretty serious.”

“One day,” Lexa teased.

The Castle was her home. She knew every inch of it. Every entrance, every tunnel, every room, like the back of her hand. She knew the streets, the lands, the houses, the buildings of her city because it was her duty and she felt it in her bones. She felt all that it was in her blood.

Too many thoughts rolled around in her head as she made her way down the hall, toward the library. Up above, on the surface, her father was busy with larger threats, all of which many on the council, many in the palace, many in the city did not understand or care to acknowledge.

Lexa made it three minutes in the library before her body was too anxious and she moved to the sparring room, stopping near the entrance to say her words to the statue at the front.

All too soon, her body overpowered her mind, blanking it out as the muscles moved and flexed and stretched. It was easy to sweat, to feel the salt, to return it back to the world, as it was what she was made of, what built her.

“Another trip to the edge of the border?” A soft voice interrupted her movements, though they did not stop them, merely brought her back from the edge of solitude.

Lexa finished her form before she stilled and tried to catch her breath. The practice trident eventually dropped as she grinned and met her mother’s eyes.

“Any word yet?”

“He’ll be back soon, I’m sure,” she promised, twirling a practice trident around in her hand gracefully. “How is the Eastern front?”

“Busy.”

There was always this nagging part of herself that she wanted to be like her mother-- fierce, loved, beautiful, passionate, kind, loving. She was adored by all and feared by just as many. There was something to her soft smile and her quietness that just left her a mystery in the best kind of way. Lexa rarely felt like any of the things her mother was, and yet she always sought to be more like her than her father, which most people would never see. Both her parents were regal, but her mother was perfection. Her father would eagerly agree.

“Don’t worry about it too much. Your cousin hasn’t come to see your father’s way of thinking of the outside world.”

With a little flourish, the queen weighed the trident before giving it a nice heave across the room and into a dummy.

“Father said you were the best with a trident.”

“Taught him everything he knows,” she chuckled, her smirk all mischief. “But he taught me that the hardest thing to do sometimes is nothing.”

“He says patience isn’t a virtue I possess, but one that a good ruler does.”

“No one has patience. You just have to know when to do something and when to do nothing.”

With a huff, Lexa sat down and toweled the sweat on her shoulders and neck. She had studies and she had a cousin she had to watch, but more than that, she was awfully worried about her father.

“There’s so much happening outside of here, and no one cares. And now with this,” Lexa shook her head and met her mother’s eyes. “He’ll never let me experience land.”

“You’re needed here. Your duty is here.”

“I know,” she flexed her jaw.

“I think you know what that means you have to do.”

“I’m not going to get him. There’s a storm heading south.” The queen gave her a look and she knew she’d lose. “If he wants to sit out there, it’s his problem.”

“Lexa.”

“I’m a princess. I shouldn’t have to--”

“Lexa!”

As soon as she started the sentence, Lexa regret it. She wasn’t allowed to say things like that. So she snapped her mouth shut and she nodded again before standing.

“I’ll go,” she finally decided.

“You have to learn to temper your anger.”

“I’m not angry. Just annoyed.”

“Men have a tendency to do that.” The queen picked up another trident and smiled to herself, familiar with her daughter’s tempestuous moods. “You’re next to take over, Lexa. Your father had a hard enough time being from land. He’s protecting you.”

“I know. I wish he wouldn’t.”

“One day he won’t be able to, and you’ll think of this moment,” her mother promised sagely, earning an exhale and smile from her daughter. “You know where you went wrong today?”

“Waking up.”

“Not enforcing your will against Roan when he went back out. You knew he could cause trouble, and still you let him.”

“I know.”

“Try to make it home in time for dinner, love.”

There were certain things that Lexa was raised with that weighed on her heavily. They followed her around as she set out in search of her cousin, as she moved through the familiar walls of her home and past the familiar faces of the fellow Atlanteans she grew up knowing and learning.

Her mother was fiercely supportive of her father’s methods of uniting the land and sea, though his initiatives were slow to gain favor at home. Lexa grew up with that awe of being untrusting of the surface dwellers, while at the same time struggling with her father’s desires. They protected their own, they protected their home, they protected each other, and that was all she knew.

Still, some part of her wanted to know more, though her father wouldn’t allow it. The king would come home and tell her about some of his exploits, but for the most part, he could not risk the world knowing her, not until he deemed it ready. She was to know Atlantis and become its protector and ruler, without the imposition of his birth, and she understood the love he tried to install in her. She was to be distrustful of the world above, but not as much as her cousin.

“Storms coming in from the channel,” Lexa muttered as she finally found him back on their lookout. “Looks bad.”

“You are just as weak as the king,” he shook his head. “You’re here to bring me back.”

“My father is putting his life on the line for them, and for us,” she corrected. “Don’t forget who you are addressing, dear cousin.”

“For them, not for us.”

“Weakness was leaving you out here because I just didn’t want to deal with you, but if now is the time that I finally do, then so be it.”

Lexa didn’t budge as he moved closer, standing up along beside her, glaring and malicious from his crooked nose and small, black eyes to his pointed jaw and angular cheeks. He was every bit a product of the old guard, the very active voice of the city which vied to rid the planet of any outsiders from the land. He was rarely quiet, but he was often louder when her father was not around to keep him in line.

Now it was up to the princess, the rightful heir, the true inheritor of the crown of Atlantis.

“Daddy isn’t here, Lexa,” Roan reminded her, shifting his stance slightly.

“He isn’t,” she grinned and twirled the spear behind her back. “But my mother was the one that trained me.”

“If you want them to love you, you have to protect them.”

“From you.”

Chest to chest, weapons clutched tightly, they stared back at the other, waiting for a movement, for a reason.

“You can go back to the palace now,” Lexa finally managed. “Or I can have you arrested and held for treason.”

“What treason? I haven’t moved past the line your father drew in the sand,” he sneered.

“For disobeying the crown of Atlantis, which I represent.”

Above the waters churned and the currents shifted with the impending storm. The machines stopped their movements and the wires danced in the distance. Lexa felt all of it happening because she was attune to it all, she was more connected she was made of more salt than Roan could even imagine.

She watched him debate for a few seconds before the waves grew violent and a wire snapped and an explosion erupted above them.

“The sea knows its enemies,” he smirked and brushed past her. “And she has her own revenge for outsiders.”

Despite the swirling and mess happening above, despite the machines shifting because of the storm, Lexa hovered and watched Roan dart back toward their home, and for a moment she was almost disappointed she didn’t get the chance to finish it. There was a nagging part of her that new the gentle peace between them wouldn’t remain for much longer.

With Aquaman now a hero to the world, with the world shrinking into itself and getting to know the others that lived in entirely different galaxies, the future was speeding toward them, crashing into them like a barge with no lighthouse.

She should have gone home, but there was the outside world, right above her. Even with a storm, she wanted to see them. Unlike her cousin, Lexa was just curious about what her father kept away.

With an apprehensive, and slightly guilty, look back in the direction of her home, Lexa swam up toward the rocking boats and the choppy waves of the surface. She made it halfway before an explosion pushed her back and nearly blinded her.

In all directions, debris began to sink toward the bottom, wires whipped and fire burned, illuminating the darkness above. Wide-eyed and still infinitely curious, Lexa finally breached the top, to see what it all was about.

Her father was a legend, her grandfather and his and his and his were all myths that were worshipped by those on land. They were worshipped because they helped to calm the sea and save those who respected its well-being, who paid homage and who only wanted to exist. It wasn’t until she saw the bodies floating, did Lexa understand what that all meant.

The final ship that was just starting to smoke and tip was full of people yelling. Lexa hovered and watched them. She caught the large red cross on the side of it and inherently understood it. It hadn’t been there an hour ago, and must have been blown off course because of the storm.

The explosion didn’t take her off guard this time, and she ducked her head and waited. She kept coming upon bodies and watched them sink. The ocean would have its due.

The rain pelted and the waves grew so high and intense that she dove down and surveyed the wrecks, grateful that they were gone, and Roan didn’t have a chance to start any problems. Lexa believed in their gods, and was rewarded for it.

Lexa made a final note of the debris that would need cleaned and the bodies that would need returned, an act of goodwill that she hoped the land would appreciate. She would wait until the anger was washed away, and they would clean the border of their lands.

With a final glance at the churning, Lexa turned back toward home.

But a flash of red shot up into the sky and she tried to follow the point of origin to a pair of kicking legs.

Cautiously, she approached.

Wet and barely holding on, blood tinging the waters, the burned and wounded woman clung to a half inflated life raft. The flare gun still smoked in her hand before she lost consciousness and began to slip into the water.

Unsure of what she was doing, Lexa caught her, tugging her back above a few huge waves. Carefully, she pressed her fingers to the pulse point on her neck and found her alive.

Her grandfather’s grandfather was once revered for helping the land-walkers. He walked among them himself, just as her father walked among them. There was no staying away.

The choices were bleak; she could let her die or she could save her. Either way, she’d be hit with something, but one choice would leave her free of the feeling of murder.

With a sigh, she took off her helmet and placed it over the bleeding girl’s face, making sure it was snug.

“I hope you’re worth it.”

There was no answer, just the crash of thunder and the roar of the sea.

NEXT

[ngakpakonchokdorjetsondonmystic]

Ambattha Sutta

Ambattha Sutta

Pride Humbled

Thus have I heard. Once the lord was touring Kosala with a large number of monks, some five hundred, and he came to a Kosalan Brahmin village called Icchanankala. And he stayed in the dense jungle of Icchanankala. At that time the Brahmin Pokkharasati was living at Ukkhattha, a populous place, full of grass, timber, water and corn, which had been given to him by king Pasenadi of Kosala as a royal gift with royal powers.

And Pokkharasati heard say, "The ascetic Gotama, son of the Sakyans, who has gone forth from the Sakyan clan, is staying in the dense jungle of Icchanankala. And concerning that Blessed Lord a good report has been spread about, ‘This Blessed Lord is an Arahant, a fully enlightened Buddha, perfected in knowledge and conduct, a well-farer, knower of the worlds, unequalled trainer of men to be tamed, teacher of gods and humans, a Buddha, a Blessed Lord.’ He proclaims this world with its gods, Maras, Brahmas, the world of ascetics and Brahmins with its princes and people, having come to know it by his own knowledge. He teaches a Dhamma that is ending, in the spirit and in the letter, and he displays the fully perfected, thoroughly purified holy life. And indeed it is good to see such Arahants."

Now, at that time Pokkharasati had a pupil, the youth Ambattha, who was a student of the Vedas, who knew the mantras, perfected in the Three Vedas, a skilled expounder of the rules and rituals, the lore of sounds and meanings and, fifthly, oral tradition, complete in philosophy and the marks of a great man, admitted and accepted by his master in the Three Vedas with the words, "What I know, you know; what you know, I know." And Pokkharasati said to Ambattha, "Ambattha, my son, the ascetic Gotama, son of the Sakyans, who has gone forth from the Sakyan clan, is staying in the dense jungle of Icchanankala. And concerning that Blessed Lord a good report has been spread about, , "This Blessed Lord is an Arahant, a fully enlightened Buddha, perfected in knowledge and conduct, a well-farer, knower of the worlds, unequalled trainer of men to be tamed, teacher of gods and humans, a Buddha, a Blessed Lord.’ Now you go to see the ascetic Gotama and find out whether this report is correct or not, and whether the Reverend Gotama is as they say or not. In that way we shall put the Reverend Gotama to the test."

"Sir, how shall I find out whether the report is true, or whether the Reverend Gotama is as they say or not?"

"According to the tradition of our Mantras, Ambattha, the great man who is possessed of the thirty two marks of a great man has only two courses open to him. If he lives the household life he will become a ruler, a wheel-turning righteous monarch of the law, conqueror of the four quarters, who has established the security of his realm and is possessed of the seven treasures. These are, The Wheel Treasure, the Elephant Treasure, the Horse Treasure, the Jewel Treasure, the Woman Treasure, the Householder Treasure, and, as a seventh, the Counselor Treasure. He has more than a thousand sons who are heroes, of heroic stature, conquerors of the hostile army. He dwells having conquered the sea-girt land without a stick or sword, by the law. But if he goes forth from the household life into homelessness, then he will become an Arahant, a fully enlightened Buddha, one who draws back the view from the world. And, Ambattha, I am the passer-on of the Mantras, and you are the receiver."

"Very good, sir" said Ambattha at Pokkharasati’s words, and he got up, passed by Pokkharasati with his right side, got into his chariot drawn by a mare and, accompanied by a number of young me, headed for the dense jungle of Icchanankala. He drove as far as the carriage would go, then alighted and continued on foot.

At that time a number of monks were walking up and down in the open air. Ambattha approached them and said, "Where is the Reverend Gotama to be found just now? We have come to see the Reverend Gotama."

The monks considered Ambattha and thought, "This is Ambattha, a youth of good family and a pupil of the distinguished Brahmin Pokkharasati. The Lord would not mind having a conversation with such a young man." And they said to Ambattha,

"That is his dwelling, with the door closed. Go quietly up to it, go on to the veranda without haste, cough, and knock on the bolt. The Lord will open the door to you."

Ambattha went up to the dwelling and onto the veranda, coughed, and knocked. The Lord opened the door, and Ambattha went it. The young men entered, exchanged courtesies with the Lord, and sat down to one side. But Ambattha walked up and down while the Lord sat there, uttered some vague words of politeness, and then stood so speaking before the seated lord.

And the Lord said to Ambattha, "Well now, Ambattha, would you behave like this if you were talking to venerable and learned Brahmins, teachers of teachers, as you do with me, walking and standing while I am sitting, and uttering vague words of politeness?"

"No, Reverend Gotama. A Brahmin should walk with a walking Brahmin, stand with a standing Brahmin, sit with a sitting Brahmin, sit with a sitting Brahmin, and lie down with a Brahmin who is lying down. But as for those shaven little ascetics, menials, black scourings from Brahmas foot, with them it is fitting to speak just as I do with the Reverend Gotama."

"But, Ambattha, you came here seeking something. Whatever it was you came for, you should listen attentively to hear about it. Ambattha, you have not perfected your training. Your conceit of being trained is due to nothing but inexperience."

But Ambattha was angry and displeased at being called untrained, and he turned on the Lord with curses and insults. Thinking, "The ascetic Gotama bears me ill-will" he said, "Reverend Gotama, the Sakyans are fierce, rough spoken, touchy and violent. Being of menial origin, being menials, they do not honor, respect, esteem, revere or pay homage to Brahmins. With regard to this it is not proper that they [behave in such a manner and] do not pay homage to Brahmins. [He is complaining that they do not honor the rigid "caste system" of India. –BIONA webmaster] This was the first time Ambattha accused the Sakyans of being menials.

"But, Ambattha, what have the Sakyans done to you?"

"Reverend Gotama, once I went to Kapilavatthu on some business for my teacher, the Brahmin Pokkharasati, and I cam to the Sakyans meeting hall. And at that time a lot of Sakyans were sitting on high seats in their meeting hall, poking each other with their fingers, laughing and playing about together, and it seemed to me that they were just making fun of me, and no offered me a seat. With regard to this, it is not proper that they do not pay homage to the Brahmins." This was the second time Ambattha accused the Sakyans of being menials.

"But, Ambattha, even the quail, that little bird, can talk as she likes in her own nest. Kapilavatthu is the Sakyans home, Ambattha. They do not deserve censure for such a trifle."

"Reverend Gotama, there are four castes: The Khattiyas, the Brahmins, the merchants and the artisans. And of these four castes, three – the Khattiyas, the merchants, and the artisans – are entirely subservient to the Brahmins." This was the third time Ambattha accused the Sakyans of being menials.

Then the Lord thought, "This young man goes too far is abusing the Sakyans. Suppose I were to ask after his clan name?" So he said, "Ambattha, what is your clan?"

"I am a Kanhayan, Reverend Gotama."

"Ambattha, in former days, according to those who remember the ancestral lineage, the Sakyans were the masters, and you are descended from a slave girl of the Sakyans. For the Sakyans regard to king Okkaka, to whom his queen was dear and beloved, wishing to transfer the kingdom to her son, banished his elder brothers from the kingdom – Okkamukha, Karandu, Hatthiniya, and Sinipura. And these, being banished, made their home on the flank of the Himalayas beside a lotus pond where there was a growth of teak-trees. And for fear of contaminating their stock they cohabitated with their own sisters. Then King Okkaha asked his ministers and counselors, "Where are the princes living now?" And they told him. At this, King Okkaha exclaimed, "They are strong as Saka trees, these princes, they are real Sakyans!" And this how the Sakyans go their well-known name. And the king was the ancestor of the Sakyans.

"Now King Okkaha has a slave girl called Disa, who gave birth to a Kanha [dirty, black] child. The black thing, when it was born, exclaimed, "Wash me, mother! Bath me, mother! Deliver me from this dirt and I will bring you profit!" Because, Ambattha, just as people today use the term hobgoblin as a term of abuse, so in those days did they say Kanha. And they said, "As soon as he was born, he spoke! He is born a Kanha, a hobgoblin!" That is how, in former days according to those who remember the ancestral lineage, the Sakyans were the masters, and you are descended from a slave girl of the Sakyans."

On hearing this, the young men said, "Reverend Gotama, do not humiliate Ambattha too much with talk of his being descended from a slave girl: Ambattha is well born, of a good family, he is very learned, he is well-spoken, a scholar, well able to hold his own in this discussion with the Reverend Gotama!"

Then the Lord said to the young men, "If you consider that Ambattha is ill-born, not of good family, unlearned, ill-spoke, unable to hold his own in this discussion with the ascetic Gotama, then let Ambattha be silent, and you conduct this discussion with me. But if you think he is well born, of a good family, he is very learned, he is well-spoken, a scholar, able to hold his own, then you be quiet and let him discuss with me."

"Ambattha is well born, Reverend Gotama, of a good family, he is very learned, he is well-spoken, a scholar, able to hold his own. We shall be silent, he shall continue."

Then the Lord said to Ambattha, "Ambattha, I have a fundamental question for you, which you will not like to answer. If you don’t answer, or if you evade the issue, if you keep silent or go away, your head will split into seven pieces. What do you think, Ambattha? Have you heard from old and venerable Brahmins, teachers of teachers, where the Kanhayans came from, or who was their ancestor?"

At this, Ambattha remained silent, and the lord said,

"Answer me now, Ambattha, this is not the time for silence. Whoever, Ambattha, does not answer a fundamental question put to him by a Tathágata by the third asking has his head split into seven pieces."

And at that moment Vajrapani the Yaksha, [This god is also called "Indra." He is ready to make good on the mytho mentioned above. The old gods are supporting the new religion. Vajrapani also appears as a Bodhisattva in later Mahayana Sutras.—BIONA Webmaster] holding up a huge iron club, flaming, ablaze and glowing, up in the sky just above Ambattha was thinking, "If this young man does not answer a proper question put to him by the Blessed Lord by the third time of asking, I’ll split his head into seven pieces!" The Lord saw Vajrapani, and so did Ambattha. And at the sight, Ambattha was terrified and unnerved, his hairs stood on end, and he sought protection, shelter, and safety from the Lord. Crouching down close to the Lord, he said, "What did the Reverend Gotama say? May the Reverend Gotama repeat what he said!"

"What do you think, Ambattha? Have you heard from old and venerable Brahmins, teachers of teachers, where the Kanhayans came from, or who was their ancestor?"

"Yes, I have heard it just as the Reverend Gotama said, that is where the Kanhayans came from, he was their ancestor"

Hearing this, the young men made a loud noise and clamor, "So Ambattha is ill-born, not of a good family, born of a slave girl of the Sakyans, and the Sakyans are Ambattha’s masters! We disparages the Ascetic Gotama, thinking he was not speaking the truth!"

Then the Lord thought, "It is too much, the way these young men humiliate Ambattha for being the ancestor of a slave girl. I must get him out of this." So he said to the young men, "Don’t disparage Ambattha too much for being the ancestor of a slave girl! That Kahna was a mighty sage [Known more commonly today as Krishna --BIONA Webmaster.] He went to the south country, learnt the mantras of the Brahmins there, and then went to King Okkaka and asked for his daughter Maddarupi. And Okkaka, furiously angry, exclaimed, "So this fellow, the son of a slave girl, wants my daughter!" And put an arrow to his bow. But he unable either to shoot to arrow or to withdraw it. Then the ministers and the counselors came together to the Sage Kanha and said, "Spare the King, Reverend Sir, spare the king!"

"The king will be safe, but if he looses the arrow downwards, the earth will quake as far as his kingdom extends."

"Reverend Sir, Spare the king, spare the land!"

"The king and the land will be safe, but if he looses the arrow upwards, as for as his realm extends the god will not let it rain for seven years.

"Reverend Sir, spare the king, Spare the land, and may the god let it rain!"

"The king and the land will be safe, and the god will let it rain, but if the king points the arrow at the crown prince, the prince will be completely safe."

"Then the Ministers exclaimed, "Let King Okkaka point the arrow at the crown prince, the prince will be perfectly safe!" The king did so and the prince was unharmed. Then king Okkaka, terrified and fearful of divine punishment gave away his daughter to Maddarupi. So, young men, do not disparage Ambattha too much for being the ancestor of a slave girl. That Kahna was a mighty sage."

 Then the lord said, "Ambattha, what do you think? Suppose a Khattiya youth were to wed a Brahmin maiden, and there was a son of the union. Would that son of a Khattiya youth and a Brahmin maiden receive a seat and water from the Brahmins?"

"He would, Reverend Gotama." "Would they allow him to eat at funeral-rites, at rice-offerings, at sacrifices, or as a guest?"

"They would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they teach him mantras or not?"

"They would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they keep their women covered or uncovered?"

"Uncovered, Reverend Gotama."

"But would the Khattiyas sprinkle him with the Khattiya consencration?"

"No, Reverend Gotama."

"Why not?"

"Because, Reverend Gotama, he is not well born on his mothers side."

"What do you think, Ambattha? Suppose a Brahmin youth were to wed a Khattiya maiden, and there was a son of the union. Would that son of a Khattiya youth and a Brahmin maiden receive a seat and water from the Brahmins?"

"He would, Reverend Gotama."

"He would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they allow him to eat at funeral-rites, at rice-offerings, at sacrifices, or as a guest?"

"They would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they teach him mantras or not?"

"They would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they keep their women covered or uncovered?"

"Uncovered, Reverend Gotama."

"But would the Khattiyas sprinkle him with the Khattiya consecration?"

"No, Reverend Gotama."

"Why not?"

"Because, Reverend Gotama, he is not well born on his fathers side."

"So, Ambattha, the Khattiyas, through a man taking a woman or a woman taking a man, are senior to the Brahmins. What do you think, Ambattha? Take the case of a Brahmin who, for some reason, has had his head shaved by the Brahmins, has been punished with a bag of ashes and banished from the country or the city.  Would he receive a seat and water from the Brahmins?" 

"No, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they allow him to eat at funeral-rites, at rice-offerings, at sacrifices, or as a guest?" 

"No, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they teach him mantras, or not?" 

"They would not, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they keep their women covered or uncovered?" 

"Covered, Reverend Gotama."

"What do you think, Ambattha?  Take the case of a Khattiya who, for some reason, had his head shaved by the Khattiyas, has been punished with a bag of ashes and banished from the country or the city.  Would he receive a seat and water from the Brahmins?" 

"He would, Reverend Gotama."

"Would they keep their women covered or uncovered?" 

"Uncovered, Reverend Gotama."

"But that Khattiya has so far reached the extreme of humiliation that he has … been banished from the country or the city.  So even if a Khattiya has suffered extreme humiliation, he is superior and the Brahmins inferior.

"Ambittha, this verse was pronounced by Brahma Sanankumara:

"The Khattiya’s best among those who value clan;  He with knowledge and conduct is best of Gods and men."

"This verse was rightly sung, not wrongly, rightly spoken, not wrongly, connected with profit, not unconnected.  And, Ambattha, I too say this,

 "The Khattiya’s best among those who value clan:   He with knowledge and conduct is best of Gods and men."

(End Of First Recitation-Section]

"But, Reverend Gotama, what is this conduct, what is this knowledge?"

"Ambattha, it is not from the standpoint of the attainment of unexcelled knowledge-and-conduct that reputation based on birth and clan is declared, nor on the conceit which says:  "You are worthy of me, you are not worthy of me!   For wherever there is a giving, a taking, or a giving and taking in marriage, there is always this talk and this conceit … But those who are enslaved by such things are far from the attainment of the unexcelled knowledge-and-conduct, which is attained by abandoning all such things!"

"But, Reverend Gotama, what is this conduct, what is this knowledge?"

"Ambattha, a Tathágata arises in this world, an Arahant, fully-enlightened Buddha, endowed with wisdom and conduct, Well-Farer, Knower of the worlds, incomparable Trainer of men to be tamed, Teacher of Gods and humans, enlightened and blessed.  He, having realized it by his own super-knowledge, proclaims this world with its Devas, Maras and Brahmas, its princes and people.  He preaches the Dhamma which is lovely in its beginning, lovely in its middle, lovely in its ending, in the spirit and in the letter, and displays the fully-perfected and purified holy life.A disciple goes forth and practices the moralities; he guards the sense-doors, etc.; attains the four jhanas. Thus he develops conduct.  He attains various insights, and the cessation of the corruptions…And beyond this there is no further development of knowledge and conduct that is higher or more perfect.

"But, Ambattha, in the pursuit of this unexcelled attainment of knowledge and conduct, there are four paths of failure.  What are they?  In the first place, an ascetic or Brahmin who has not managed to gain this unexcelled attainment, takes his carrying-pole and plunges into the depths of the forest thinking:  " I will live on windfalls."  But in this way he only becomes an attendant on one who has attained.  This is the first path of failure.  Again, an ascetic or Brahmin, being unable to live on windfalls, takes a spade and basket, thinking:  "I will live on tubers and roots."…This is the second path of failure.  Again, an ascetic or Brahmin, being unable to live on tubers and roots, makes a fire-hearth at the edge of a village or small town and sits tending the flame…This is the third path of failure.  Again, an ascetic or Brahmin, being unable to tend the flame, erects a house with four doors at the crossroads thinking:   "Whatever ascetic or Brahmin arrives from the four quarters, I will honor to the best of my strength and ability."  But in this way he only becomes an attendant on one who has attained to unexcelled knowledge and conduct.  This is the fourth path of failure.

"What do you think, Ambattha?  Do you and your teacher live in accordance with this unexcelled knowledge and conduct?"   "No indeed, Reverend Gotama!  Who are my teacher and I in comparison?  We are far from it!"

"Well then, Ambattha, could you and your teacher, being unable to gain this, go with your carrying-poles into the depths of the forest, intending to live on windfalls?"  "No. Indeed, Reverend Gotama."

"Well then, Ambattha, could you and your teacher, being unable to gain this, live on tubers and roots, … sit tending the flame, … erect a house …?"  "No, indeed, Reverend Gotama."

"And so, Ambattha, not only are you and your teacher incapable of attaining this unexcelled knowledge and conduct, but even the four paths of failure are beyond you.  And yet you and your teacher the Brahmin Pokkharasati utter these words:  "These shaven little ascetics, menials, black scrapings from Brahma’s foot, what converse can they have with Brahmins learned in the Three Vedas?" – even though you can’t even manage the duties of one who has failed.  See, Ambattha, how your teacher has let you down!"

"Ambattha, the Brahmin Pokkharasati lives by the grace and favor of King Pasenadi of Kosala.  And yet the King does not allow him to have audience face to face.  When he confers with the King it is through a curtain.  Why should the King not grant audience face to face to one on whom he has bestowed a proper and blameless source of revenue?  See how your teacher has let you down!"

"What do you think, Ambattha?  Suppose King Pasenadi was sitting on the neck of an elephant or on horseback, or was standing on the chariot-mat, conferring with his ministers and princes about something.  And suppose he were to step aside and some workman or workman’s servant were to come along and stand in his place.  And standing there he might say:  "This is what King Pasenadi of Kosala says!"   "Would he be speaking the King’s words, as if he were the King’s equal?"  "No, indeed, Reverend Gotama."

"Well then, Ambattha, it is just the same thing.  Those who were, as you say, the first sages of the Brahmins, the makers and expounders of the mantras, whose ancient verses are chanted, pronounced and collected by the Brahmins of today – Atthaka, Vamaka, Vamadeva, Vessamitta, Yamataggi, Angirasa, Bharadvaja, Vasettha, Kassapa, Bhagu 21  – whose mantras are said to be passed on to you and your teacher:  yet you do not thereby become a sage or one practised in the way of a sage – such a thing is not possible.

"What do you think, Ambattha?  What have you heard said by Brahmins who are venerable, aged, the teachers of teachers?  Those first sages, Attaka, … Bhagu – did they enjoy themselves, well-bathed, perfumed, their hair and beards trimmed, adorned with garlands and wreaths, dressed in white clothes, indulging in the pleasures of the five senses and addicted to them, as you and your teacher do now?"  "No, Reverend Gotama."

"Or did they eat special fine rice with the black spots removed, with various soups and curries, as you and your teacher do now?"  "No, Reverend Gotama."

"Or did they amuse themselves with women dressed up in flounces and furbelows, as you and your teacher do now?"  "No, Reverend Gotama."

"Or did they ride around in chariots drawn by mares with braided tails, that they urged on with long goad-sticks?"  "No, Reverend Gotama."

"Or did they have themselves guarded in fortified towns with palisades and barricades, by men with long swords …?"  "No, Reverend Gotama."

"So, Ambattha, neither you nor your teacher are a sage or one trained in the way of a sage.  And now, as for your doubts and perplexities concerning me, we will clarify these by your asking me, and by my answering your questions."

Then, descending from his lodging, the Lord started to walk up and down, and Ambattha did likewise.  And as he walked along with the Lord, Ambattha looked out for the thirty-two marks of a Great Man on the Lord’s body.  And he could see all of them except for two.  He was in doubt and perplexity about two of these marks:  he could not make up his mind or be certain about the sheathed genitals or the large tongue.

And the Lord, being aware of his doubts, effected by his psychic power that Ambattha could see his sheathed genitals, and then, sticking out his tongue, he reached out to lick both ears and both nostrils, and then covered the whole circle of his forehead with his tongue.  Then Ambattha thought: 

"The ascetic Gotama is equipped with all the thirty-two marks of a Great Man, complete and with none missing."   Then he said to the Lord: 

"Reverend Gotama, may I go now?  I have much business, much to do." 

"Ambattha, do what you now think fit."  So Ambattha got back into his chariot drawn by mares and departed.

Meanwhile the Brahmin Pokkharasati had gone outside and was sitting in his park with a large number of Brahmins, just waiting for Ambattha.  Then Ambattha came to the park.  He rode in the chariot as far as it would go, and then continued on foot to where Pokkharasati was, saluted him, and sat down to one side.  Then Pokkharasati said:

"Well, dear boy, did you see the Reverend Gotama?"  "I did, Sir."

"And was the Reverend Gotama such as he is reported to be, and not otherwise?  And is he of such nature, and not otherwise?"   "Sir, he is as he is reported to be, and he is of such nature and not otherwise.  He is possessed of the thirty-two marks of a Great Man, all completed, with none missing."

"But was there any conversation between you and the ascetic Gotama?"  "There was, Sir."

"And what was this conversation about?"  So Ambattha told Pokkharasati all that had passed between the Lord and himself.

At this Pokkharasati exclaimed: 

"Well, you’re a fine little scholar, a fine wise man, a fine expert in the Three Vedas!  Anyone going about his business like that ought when he dies, at the breaking-up of the body, to go to the downfall, to the evil path, to ruin, to hell!  You have heaped insults on the Reverend Gotama, as a result of which he has brought up more and more things against us!  You’re a fine little scholar!"  He was so angry and enraged that he kicked Ambattha over, and wanted to start out at once to see the Lord.

But the Brahmins said:  "It is far too late, Sir, to go to see the ascetic Gotama today.  The Reverend Pokkharasati should go to see him tomorrow."

Then Pokkharasati, having had fine hard and soft food prepared in his own home, set out by the light of torches from Ukkattha for the jungle of Icchanankala.  He went by chariot as far as possible, then continued on foot to where the Lord was.  Having exchanged courtesies with the Lord, he sat down to one side and said:

"Venerable Gotama, did not our pupil Ambattha come to see you?" 

"He did, Brahmin." 

"And was there any conversation between you? 

"There was." 

"And what was this conversation about?"

Then the Lord told Pokkharasati all that had passed between him and Ambattha.  At this, Pokkharasati said to the Lord:  "Reverend Gotama, Ambattha is a young fool.  May the Reverend Gotama pardon him." 

"Brahmin, may Ambattha be happy."

Then Pokkharasati looked out for the thirty-two marks of a Great Man on the Lord’s body and he could see all of them except for two:  the sheathed genitals and the large tongue; but the Lord set his mind at rest about these. Then, descending from his lodging, the Lord started to walk up and down, and Pokkharasati did likewise.  And as he walked along with the Lord, Pokkharasati looked out for the thirty-two marks of a Great Man on the Lord’s body.  And he could see all of them except for two.  He was in doubt and perplexity about two of these marks:  he could not make up his mind or be certain about the sheathed genitals or the large tongue

And the Lord, being aware of his doubts, effected by his psychic power that Pokkharasati could see his sheathed genitals, and then, sticking out his tongue, he reached out to lick both ears and both nostrils, and then covered the whole circle of his forehead with his tongue.  Then Ambattha thought:  "The ascetic Gotama is equipped with all the thirty-two marks of a Great Man, complete and with none missing."   Then he said to the Lord:  "Reverend Gotama, may I go now?  I have much business, much to do." 

"Pokkharasati, do what you now think fit." 

And Pokkharasati said to the Lord:  "May the Reverend Gotama accept a meal from me today together with his order of monks!"  And the Lord consented by silence.

Seeing his acceptance, Pokkharasati said to the Lord: 

"It is time, Reverend Gotama, the meal is ready." 

And the Lord, having dressed in the early morning and taken his robe and bowl, went with his order of monks to Pokkharasati’s residence, and sat down on the prepared seat.  Then Pokkharasati personally served the Lord with choice hard and soft food, and the young men served the monks.  And when the Lord had taken his hand from the bowl, Pokkharasati sat down to one side on a low stool.

And as Pokkharasati sat there, the Lord delivered a graduated discourse on generosity, on morality and on heaven, showing the danger, degradation and corruption of sense-desires, and the profit of renunciation.  And when the Lord knew that Pokkharasati’s mind was ready, pliable, free from the hindrances, joyful and calm, then he preached a sermon on Dhamma in brief:  on suffering, its origin, its cessation, and the path.  And just as a clean cloth from which all stains have been removed receives the dye perfectly, so in the Brahmin Pokkharasati, as he sat there, there arose the pure and spotless Dhamma-eye, and he knew:

"Whatever things have an origin must come to cessation."

And Pokkharasati, having seen, attained, experienced and penetrated the Dhamma, having passed beyond doubt, transcended uncertainty, having gained perfect confidence in the Teacher’s doctrine without relying on others, said:  "Excellent, Lord, excellent!  It is as if someone were to set up what had been knocked down, or to point out the way to one who had got lost, or to bring an oil-lamp into a dark place, so that those with eyes could see what was there.  Just so the Blessed Lord has expounded the Dhamma in various ways … I go with my son, my wife, my ministers and counselors for refuge to the Reverend Gotama, to the Dhamma and to the Sangha.   May the Reverend Gotama accept me as a lay-follower who has taken refuge from this day forth as long as life shall last!  And whenever the Reverend Gotama visits other families or lay-followers in Ukkattha, may he also visit the family of Pokkarasati!  Whatever young men and maidens are there will revere the Reverend Gotama and rise before him, will give him a seat and water and will be glad at heart, and that will be for their welfare and happiness for a long time."

"Well said, Brahmin!"

[biofunmy]

‘Friends’: 25 memorable quotes, in honor of the sitcom’s 25th anniversary

From left: Matt LeBlanc, Courteney Cox, Lisa Kudrow, Matthew Perry, Jennifer Aniston and David Schwimmer in “The One With The Rumor,” a Season 8 episode of “Friends.” (PictureLux/The Hollywood Archive/Alamy Stock Photo)

“Friends” is officially 25, which means it’s time for a super low-key birthday celebration with its dearest pals — a group that exceeded 52 million when the sitcom aired its final episode in 2004.

The Internet has talked, at great length, about what made the show special (in addition to the ways it hasn’t aged so well). But there’s no denying “Friends” made an indelible mark on our culture — and has continued to do so for new generations discovering the show on streaming networks or in syndication.

In celebration of the show’s quarter-century milestone, we’ve put together a list of some of the most memorable quotes from Monica (Courteney Cox), Rachel (Jennifer Aniston), Ross (David Schwimmer), Joey (Matt LeBlanc), Chandler (Matthew Perry) and Phoebe (Lisa Kudrow).

1. “Well, maybe I don’t need your money. Wait, wait, I said maybe!”

By the time “Friends” ended, Rachel had forged a successful career in fashion. But when we first meet her in the show’s pilot, she is heavily dependent on her wealthy father, who disagrees with his daughter’s decision to leave her dentist fiance at the altar. This line was part of the conversation that led Rachel to move in with Monica, giving way to one of TV’s most iconic friend groups.

2. “We were on a break!”

Who could forget this gem — used repeatedly by Ross — to justify sleeping with someone other than his longtime love, Rachel, after she suggested they take a break (but not break up, duh).

3. “See? He’s her lobster.”

Phoebe always knew Ross and Rachel were meant to be together.

4. “Joey doesn’t share food.”

After a date deigned to eat two of his french fries, Joey revealed his biggest dealbreaker.

5. “Hi, I’m Chandler. I make jokes when I’m uncomfortable.”

Could this Chandler Bing quote be any more on the nose?

6. “I wish I could, but I don’t want to.”

Phoebe established early on that she had no qualms about saying no to favors such as helping put together furniture.

7. “Seven!”

Monica was intense about pretty much everything — even an impromptu tutorial on erogenous zones.

8. “Pivot!”

Ross, meanwhile, was intense about moving furniture. And he over-pronounced “pivot.” If you haven’t said this at least once while moving, we’ll assume you haven���t watched many “Friends” episodes. Or you, understandably, find Monica’s brother annoying.

9. “Could I be wearing any more clothes?”

Remember when Joey expertly trolled Chandler, his sweatpants and his singular approach to intonation?

10. “It tastes like feet!”

At least Ross gave an honest review of Rachel’s abominable Thanksgiving trifle.

11. “What’s not to like? Custard: good. Jam: good. Meat: good!”

We can also appreciate this equally honest review from Joey.

12. “This is all a moo point.”

It’s like a cow’s opinion, according to Joey, who also says “supposably.”

13. “Your little Harmonica is hammered.”

Remember “The One Where They All Turn Thirty,” when Monica figured it was time to come clean to her parents about her rebellious behavior?

14. “Can’t hold her own head up, but yeah — jumped.”

Ross teasing Rachel for panicking while their infant daughter was (accidentally) locked inside their appointment is peak Ross.

15. “And I have to live with a boy.”

Poor cohabitating Monica.

16. “How you doin’?”

This list would not be complete without Joey’s signature catchphrase.

17. “Oh. My. God.”

Or the uniquely uttered catchphrase of Chandler’s ex-girlfriend Janice (Maggie Wheeler).

18. “I don’t even have a ‘pla.’ ”

You may not remember that Phoebe said this during an episode that featured a George Stephanopoulos subplot, but true “Friends” fans will always remember this example of Phoebe’s blatant and what would today be meme-worthy honesty — in response to a question about whether she had a plan.

19. “Okay, you have to stop the Q-Tip when there’s resistance.”

Chandler cut us (and an especially garrulous Joey) deep with this biting remark, which Perry cited as his favorite one-liner from his 10 seasons on the show in a “Good Morning America” interview.

20. “Oh, come on Will, just take off your shirt and tell us.”

When Brad Pitt guest-starred as Will, the nemesis of the character played by his then-wife, Aniston, Phoebe was her typically forward self.

21. “Nestlé Toulouse.”

We’ll never bake Nestlé Toll House cookies without thinking about Phoebe and her French grandmother, whose French name we “Americans always butcher.”

22. “They don’t know that we know they know we know.”

When Phoebe and Joey found out Monica and Chandler were secretly dating, things got kind of complicated.

23. “You can’t just give up. Is that what a dinosaur would do?

It’s unclear if Joey actually understood what Ross did for a living.

24. “Come on, Ross, you’re a paleontologist. Dig a little deeper.”

If ever there were a roast of Ross Geller, Phoebe would be the obvious host.

25. “I got off the plane.”

As in the show’s pilot, Rachel made a pivotal (hi, Ross!) decision in the series finale: She got off the plane.

Read more:

The ‘Downton Abbey’ cast wants to take you back to a more innocent time — 2012

Taylor & Kanye: How two superstars, four words and 15 seconds of TV influenced a decade of pop culture

Sahred From Source link Entertainment

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2AJ2AmF via IFTTT

[miss-m-calling]

Fandom 5k letter

Requests:

Adult Wednesday Addams -- Wednesday Addams

American Gods (TV) -- Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney

Cabin Pressure -- Carolyn & Arthur & Martin & Douglas

Moonlighting (TV) -- David Addison/Maddie Hayes

Dear writer,

Hello and thank you for writing for me. I’m very excited to read whatever you come up with.

I do give more or more detailed prompts for some of these canons than for others – that’s not because I want some more than others, but only because for some I get lots of ideas, for others I’m more “waves arms all over the place give me more of XYZ I love in canon!!” I hope whatever I put down sparks your creativity, and feel free to reach out through the mods if you have any questions! My likes and DNWs are all the way on the bottom of the letter.

Without further ado…

Requests:

Adult Wednesday Addams

Wednesday Addams

Genres: Action/adventure, Canon-style plot, Humor, Slice of life, Worldbuilding

I belatedly discovered this webseries, and it resurrected (see what I did there?) my love for Wednesday and how the Addams Family canon runs on the endless possibilities of this loving, happily eccentric family being 100% true to themselves and the world just having to deal with it. The show was everything I never knew I wanted till I watched it, the perfect blend of Addams-macabre and cozy slice of life with bonus Wednesday navigating the world alone, without always knowing her family will back her up, and it made me crave more of adult Wednesday’s mini adventures in LA. For this canon, I’m good with gen or, if you want to write that, more of Wednesday’s adventures in dating guys who really aren’t up to the challenge, and you can absolutely have Wednesday interact with OCs I haven’t listed as part of a pairing. I’m keeping the prompts pretty short, just to (hopefully) pique your creativity, as I expect I will love any way you make these or any similar scenarios play out:

-Wednesday goes to IKEA

-More of Wednesday’s interactions with the nice interns at her receptionist job. Maybe they invite her out to happy hour, or to the beach or a club. Or maybe we get to eavesdrop while they shoot the breeze on their lunch break, possibly over barbecue-chicken pizza from CPK.

-More of Wednesday’s gigs. She already babysits and walks other people’s dogs, what else might she do for extra cash that would be both really common and seemingly ill-suited to Wednesday, except she totally makes it work for her? Cat sitting (especially if the cat belongs to someone incredibly rich whose house is full of secrets – and expensive things for the cat to knock over), driving an Uber/Lyft, becoming an AirBnB host, catering/server, working the late shift in a New Age/occult supply store where none of the woo is real…?

-Or, alternately, Wednesday finds a career that is perfect for her, in which she can have success and respect. What ever could that be and still fit into the non-Addams world?

-Wednesday tries speed dating

-Or, she runs into Brian a.k.a. chains guy (I cackle with glee every time I rewatch the bit when he tries to kiss her at the pet store) a third time – how does it not go quite as he wanted or expected this time?

-Wednesday’s family comes out to sunny, plastic, image-conscious LA to visit her and make sure she’s doing alright. She gives them a tour of the city, and LA will never be the same again.

-Wednesday takes an evening class, or goes back to school part time, or enrolls in an online degree program

-Wednesday takes a road trip, alone or with her apartment mates/colleagues/Brian/strangers she met for carpooling purposes. Bonus points if you work in real roadside attractions, or tourist traps, or famous sites/landscapes.

-It’s Dia de Muertos, and Wednesday goes out to celebrate and soak up the atmosphere. It may or may not live up to her expectations.

-If you wanted to get a bit meta and/or enjoy playing around with different formatting, what does Wednesday’s Tumblr/Twitter/Facebook/Tindr look like? Or, Wednesday gets tasked with updating company social media at her receptionist job, and she does it with her own special flair.

American Gods (TV)

Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney

Genres: Action/adventure, AU - canon divergence, Canon-style plot, Character development, Getting together, Smut, Worldbuilding

Let me preface this by saying how much I appreciate that you are willing to write for an ongoing canon! I love this pairing, and while most of my prompts are basically the same ones I’ve used in exchanges before S2 (which I am watching) started airing, let me assure you that I am 1000% fine with your fic getting jossed, or including a divergence from what we already know or how things happen in canon. You can work with the canon -- or as much of it as we have by the time you’re done writing -- or diverge in a way that works for your story. Really truly honestly it’s all fine since you are writing for an active canon, and I really truly honestly appreciate you wanting to tackle this! Canon divergences and canon-flavored-if-not-entirely-compliant stories are my jam, so please don’t feel anxious as the canon keeps unfolding, nor pressed to keep up with S2 if you can’t or don’t want to watch it right now. (I tried to keep S2 spoilers to a minimum in my prompts, but there are some spoilers.)

So *clears throat*

I ship it. Yes I do. They had me at “gimme-my-coin-dead-wife”-flicks-him-into-wall. The snarky road trip was the best thing I never knew I wanted until it happened, and I adored every second of it. They’re both such assholes and so fascinating, even if they start to mellow toward each other a bit toward the end of S1, and all the gods/magic/resurrection stuff swirling around them begs to be explored further. Also I love love love how their dynamic is about equal parts spikiness, pathos, and humor (they’re funny! and the canon doesn’t shy away from putting them in ludicrous situations), and it weaves seamlessly between those three. Plus she’s half his size yet can and does beat him up with literally one finger, and then there’s the angst of he having killed her, feeling really guilty about it, and then bringing her back.

Please give me either missing scenes from the road trip (if you can work in a divergence, that’s great - for example, I like Salim, but if you want to have him boot Sweeney and Laura to the curb and go off on his own, or Sweeney to boost his taxi before Salim catches them, or whatever else to have those two alone, go for it!), or a S1 divergence (instead of going to Ostara, they go where? to see whom? about getting Laura resurrected) or something about these two post-S1/during-S2:

-Laura discovers (how? you decide!) that Sweeney gave her back the coin after their accident – whatever happens next, some punching may be involved.

-Wednesday’s big war finally comes, and “don’t you dare die on me, you asshole” is a line either Sweeney or Laura (or both) might say to each other.

-Laura asked “What does Wednesday have to lose?” and the answer is…? (Yes, give me that sweet poetic justice. One possibility, though not remotely the only one, but as of S2E3 Laura is technically a god-killer...)

-On a similar note, Wednesday told that luckless cop that Sweeney had been against the big gods’ war from the start, and while Wednesday lies, Sweeney definitely seems to be participating out of a sense of obligation and lingering guilt over the war he ran from long ago, rather than lust for a good fight or even a dominant death wish. What if he decided to hell with Grimnir and his war and his having Sweeney kill random people? I’m guessing Sweeney too drank three glasses of mead so he can’t back out without dire consequence - but he does have a fierce, dead woman in his corner.

-They go to some as-yet-unnamed old god (feel free to bring in whatever mythology you want) in order to bring Laura back to life. Between Sweeney’s mouth and temper, and Laura’s mouth and temper, it doesn’t go well. Now one or both of them are in big magical trouble with a pissed-off deity and have to get themselves/each other out of it.

-Things happen and Laura finds herself in the position to throw Sweeney under the bus but also help/save him, and while he knows it’s only karma, he can still be pissed about it - how do they navigate this?

-Laura gets fully alive again, but traces of her (un)dead state remain – what are they, how does she cope, what price did she/he/they have to pay for her resurrection, and how does their relationship change? I’d especially be curious how it would work if they’re already a sorta-maybe-item and *then* she’s alive again and it’s weird in a new way.

-For reasons I’ll leave up to you, Sweeney and Laura have to stay put in a single place for a while and end up essentially cohabiting, regardless of what their relationship is at that point. Take “cohabiting” as literally or as creatively as you want -- in any case, I’m sure it will be marvelously disastrous and amazing.

-Slight or major AU from the opening of “The Ways of the Dead”: Laura has hitchhiked with Sweeney instead of going off in a huff with Wednesday, or she otherwise gets to New Orleans sooner, and she and Sweeney tear up the town together. Gimme bar fights, carnival shenanigans, backstage craziness with the Christian rock band (Sweeney seems to have a backstage pass on a lanyard around his neck when Laura finds him)… Maybe they even cross the paths of some loa and it doesn’t get all angsty (for what it’s worth, I think the reason the sex magic didn’t bring Laura back to life was because she couldn’t accept the truth(s) revealed during the astral-plain sex – see how she defaults straight to “this is all Wednesday’s evil plan” the morning after – not because the loa fucked them over as Sweeney said). They were actually getting along nicely in those first couple of scenes, only ribbing each other a little while still being their grouchy selves, before they got to Le Coq Noir. I wouldn’t have minded seeing some more of that.

-All the old gods hide their true appearance to an extent. A situation arises in which Laura sees Sweeney’s true, or at least old, self (I’m thinking of his surprise!poignant monologue about when he used to be a king, and the glimpse of him in full Celtic warrior mode in the S2 teaser). Or Wednesday’s war ends in victory, meaning the old gods again get belief, worship, and sacrifices. How does Laura, the ultimate skeptic even when she’s on the other side of the mirror, react? How does this new knowledge and new reality change her opinion of/attitude to Sweeney? Or to flip that around, if Sweeney were again relevant and believed-in, would that actually change his bad attitude and fix his issues (my guess is it would be complicated)?

-The power of names: for all his “dead wifeing,” there comes a time when Sweeney (has to) call her by her actual name, and that’s a tricky moment for them to navigate. Or, Mad Sweeney is almost certainly not his actual name, since true names have great magical power and so must be kept secret; Laura discovers or learns his name, from someone else or from himself; what does she do with that knowledge? Or, Sweeney gets to say “cunt” in a situation (sexual or otherwise) where, not only does Laura not peel his lips from his gums, but she finds that she can’t object, even though she knows that he knows that he’s getting away with it.

-So far in canon, it’s pretty clear that Sweeney has a lot of complicated but sincere feelings for Laura. But Laura is still pretty focused on Shadow (or rather her idealized vision of Shadow and what their relationship might yet be), whom she seems to equate with her own lost-maybe-to-be-regained life, although she’s starting to soften toward Sweeney as she realizes he’s doing things for her that are not all about getting his coin back (and her sparring match with Wednesday in “Muninn” may finally force her to accept that her relationship with Shadow died alongside her and Robbie on that road in Indiana). Tell me the story of how Laura stumbles her way to starting to feel more complex, maybe kinder or softer, really annoying for her blunt-force-trauma-personality things about Sweeney and about the notion that her dynamic with him is different from the way she tended to use men for her convenience without really letting them in in the past. Also I’m pretty sure that even if they felt the same – or sorta in the same ballpark – about each other, their relationship would still run on a lot of conflict, and I would so be here for it.

-On that note: in “Munnin” it also becomes clear that Laura has, without realizing it herself, started to rely on Sweeney. The “I trusted you” line made me think, whoa she’s too mad to catch herself doing it but this is huge for Laura, and the fact that she goes off with Wednesday (!) basically because she’s mad at Sweeney because she thinks he’s prioritizing his debt to Wednesday over her… Yeah, I would like to see that explored some more and/or to see Laura and Sweeney get to a point where they trust each other and rely on each other, and know it and accept it, however difficult the getting there and being there may be for them.

-And since I’m on the subject of Laura, you know how she’s not actually an abrasive bitch all the time to everyone? And when she is, the people on the receiving end of it sometimes richly deserve it, and anyway it’s refreshing to see a female character who doesn’t bother flirting and accommodating others for the sake of social harmony? As much as I enjoy watching her rip into people (ahem, Sweeney), I also love it when she acts differently, like her genuine interest in getting to know Salim and her joy in seeing him again in S2, or her running passive-aggressive battle of wills with Wednesday, or even her general disaffection and numbness in “Git Gone.” Her beginning to feel sympathy for Sweeney and her anger and disappointment when she feels let down by him are a part of that, and I’d love to see all that explored more. Nuance! Give me all the nuance and seeming contradictions in both Laura and Sweeney’s characters!

-My perfect AG spinoff would basically be Sweeney and Laura tooling around America, looking to get her resurrected (whether they succeed or not is up to you), stealing ever more ridiculous vehicles, arguing/fighting and having those pesky moments where vulnerability and genuineness creep in – and fucking. So yessiree I’d be down for porn, including “it’s technically necrophilia/zombiesex” porn.

-All the petty, ridiculous ways in which Sweeney’s bad luck manifests itself make me laugh (can’t help it, won’t even try), and I’m down for more variations on that theme.

-If you wanted to throw in some worldbuilding, maybe something exploring living death. Magical bargains. What kind of favor did Sweeney do for Ostara that would be worth her bringing someone back to life as repayment? What other powers might Sweeney have (he doesn’t seem on a par with someone like Wednesday and Ostara, nor is he really a god, more a mythological being/kinda-deified former-mortal)? How long can a dead wife keep going before she’s “soup”? What other superhuman abilities might dead!Laura have? Can the dead do magic? What even are the rules governing and the limits of different beings’ magical abilities?

If it helps your inspiration, you can find some of my meta and lots of tag-burbling about these two here. I have read the book though I remember it only in bits and pieces, and while I prefer the show characters and the fact that they get thrown together, you can use or riff on book material if you want. With reference to one of my DNWs, for this canon, describing Laura’s physical decay is totally fine. Also, Shadow/Laura don’t interest me except as a part of Laura’s backstory (so if your story wants to include Laura figuring out or having already figured out that pinning all her hopes on Shadow to make everything right is unrealistic, unfair, and not how it works – by all means, go for it!), and Shadow/Sweeney interest me not at all.

My one canon-specific, really strong DNW for this pairing is this: I’m not into Laura being Essie’s reincarnation/descendant or – as fanon suggests and canon hints she may be – some sort of reincarnation of Sweeney’s wife from back when he was a king in old Ireland. Reincarnation/“new love looks like old love”/“lost love found again” plots bore me, and I don’t enjoy ships that hinge on characters being somehow destined to be together. Characters having agency is my jam as much as canon divergences are. Or if your fic really needs to go there, please please please don’t dwell on the Laura-Essie-Sweeney’s-wife-of-old thing, a brief mention would be more than enough. I’m certain Laura would have neither time nor patience for the notion that Destiny Fate and All That Jazz threw her together with ginger minge, and even if it were technically true, she’d still want this relationship to work on her terms – and Sweeney obviously has a problem with Laura’s cheating, her relationship with Shadow, her personality (though he also recognizes they’re alike in many ways), and all that maps onto his anger and sadness over becoming irrelevant over time, so it’s not just about Laura. So yeah, let them be their own (grumpy, spiky, dysfunctional) people, and let Laura’s dynamic with Sweeney not be shaped solely by his past and his issues.

Cabin Pressure

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey & Arthur Shappey & Martin Crieff & Douglas Richardson

Genres: Action/adventure, Canon-style plot, Humor, Slice of life

I just want more canon-y stories with their loopy humor and their weird yet loving family dynamics among the crew. Shenanigans in mid-flight or in the tedium which precedes and the tiredness which follows them. Someone smuggles (knowingly or not) an exotic animal on-board, legal, security, medical and/or slapstick chaos ensues. A mechanical, passenger- or smuggled-goods-caused problem arises and is solved during a journey. More games played on board GERTI. Playing around with a specific destination, like in many episodes, would be a plus. If it helps inspire you, my favorite episodes in terms of tone and content are: Douz, Gdansk, Johannesburg, Limerick, Ottery St. Mary, Uskerty, and Xinzhou.

For this canon, I prefer gen with maybe, if you want to go there, some Douglas/Carolyn on the side. That’s a ship I always thought had potential – they understand each other very well and trust each other... some of the time, but they’re both also snark-masters, tend to look down on anyone not as smart or quick-witted as they (Arthur being the sole – occasional – exception), and are really good about keeping their defenses up against other people. But I requested the gen group, and I definitely want the gen group – please don’t feel pressed to write the ship, that’s just a wild suggestion I threw out there.

Moonlighting (TV)

David Addison/Maddie Hayes

Genres: Action/adventure, AU - canon divergence, Canon-style plot, Established relationship, Getting together, Humor, Mystery/procedural, Slice of life

I osmosed tons about this show over the years but didn’t get around to watching it myself till recently. And then I loved it much more than I thought I would! Yeah, sure, some of it’s dated, and some of it’s ropey in terms of how the characters interact ( all the casual sexism and battle of the sexes stuff are very 80s indeed), but the chemistry! the banter! the funny! the shiptease! Gimme!

I tried to come up with lots of prompts, but ended up with a list of stuff I love about the show – and would love to see in fic – with some prompts mixed in. Hope it helps! Basically, give me as much of the show’s “flavor” as you can, and I’ll be happy.

My two DNW requests for this canon would be: please ignore everything that happens post-S3 (so if you want to write Maddie/David in the aftermath of their resolving their UST, please go ahead with the canon divergence of your dreams, I bet it’ll be a million times better than canon), and please don’t have secondary characters (Agnes and Herbert, or Maddie and David’s relatives and exes) hijack the story. They can be in it, but I really do want a David/Maddie story, despite the canon sometimes sidelining them due to behind-the-scenes shenanigans.

Prompts/likes:

-all the banter, wordplay, innuendo, puns, comic repetition

-arguments – those long, explosive, funny, overlapping, always hilarious fights they have

-breaking the fourth wall – yes, please. In canon, they often seem to know they’re fictional characters but ones that exist in the real world, with studio lots and such. Do they now know they’re characters in a fanfic of fictional characters that also exist in the real world, or something even more mind-screwy?

-David calling Maddie “blondie blond” – it just makes me laugh – and Maddie calling him “Addison” when angry but “David” when worried or when shit hits the fan

-random cultural nods – off the top of my head, canon referenced Spanish poetry, objectivism, American realist drama, Dr. Seuss, Shakespeare, of course all the Hollywood tropes and genres; go high or low culture, go famous or obscure, even if I don’t know the reference, I want it! Ditto if you decide on a plot that parodies and pays homage to a cultural landmark story (The Silence of the Lambs? Much Ado about Nothing? A Hitchcock movie? Something else?), I’d love it!

-speaking of: I love the pun-tastic episode titles referencing everything under the sun

-all the canon-era detail which both takes me back and jars me with how much things have changed: people smoking in public buildings, seeing someone off at the boarding gate, dial and push-button telephones, VHS rentals, no cellphones/internet, all the 80s fashion and permed hair… Throw it in just for kicks or weave it into the plot (e.g., they’re following someone and only have a paper map and their own faulty sense of direction to help them)

-casefic – I love the silly plots (and chases! All the chases!), which often combine really gruesome outcomes or real violence with slapstick. I’d be especially tickled if you wrote a plot that starts out silly and seemingly innocent (e.g., they get “hired” by a kid who lost their homework) but ends up deadly serious, or vice versa

-I also love the flashes of really dark humor, usually provided by David snarking about plot developments, though my favorite example remains the intro to S3E1, with David assuring his sick mother that they’ll sweep the Emmys, and then they lost big time and we see a title card saying that the mom died on Emmy night. What can I say but: ROFL

-Maddie and David are really pretty terrible detectives, but they always manage to solve the mystery – or a solution falls into their laps – and I’m here for it

-Blue Moon almost never seems to take on actual paying clients – what else might David and Maddie do for much-needed cash? Bodyguards, extras on a movie, professional consultants on a movie (probably a really shlocky, C-grade production being filmed in the middle of nowhere), dance marathon, talent contest…

-all the shippiness before the UST becomes RST – in canon they slow-danced in a bar, they slept side by side on a plane, he’s snuck into her house multiple times when he was in trouble, etc. etc. etc. The sky’s the limit!

-maybe they get together in a different way than in canon and/or they have a relationship that departs from canon? Or how about if they resolve the UST as they do in canon, but then find a way to be both partners and lovers, without getting so wrapped up in what they each think the other one should be that they spoil everything? Basically, could they be mature enough to have a relationship that works for them both, or be friends with benefits, or hell even break up but remain each other’s most important person (and maybe still have sex occasionally)?

-tropes – the canon plays with so many tropes, you could too! Some suggestions: there’s only one bed, undercover as lovers/married/client and bodyguard, waking up married, any variation on Lady and the Tramp you can think of (including David having to pretend he’s a class act while Maddie has to play the slob, for a case or because of a situation with their families or…), they get zapped by a mad scientist they’re surveilling and swap bodies, etc.

-road trip! Oh the possibilities...

-playing Twenty Questions or another game during a boring stakeout, and personal revelations come spilling out

-Maddie’s experience as a model proves key to cracking a case, whether you want to make the whole story a riff on the world of fashion (The Devil Wears Prada parody, anyone?) or use that as a surprise plot point

-they get tangled up (again) in international espionage and go on a globe-trotting adventure, either chasing a MacGuffin or being chased – basically, get them out of Los Angeles and their relative comfort zone, and send them Indiana Jones-ing all over the world

-the show often makes 80s-typical mean jokes about Russia and the Cold War – what if a case took Maddie and David to the Soviet Union in its last years? Give me all the culture clashes, David being obnoxious and Maddie trying to be diplomatic, all the vodka, chases down frozen streets and over the frozen Neva River, dodging the KGB, sneaking around behind the scenes at the Bolshoi or Kirov Ballet and winding up on stage…

-when they visit a “rough” dive bar in S1, there’s a whole scene of David teasing Maddie to show tough-girl attitude, and she quips that she can’t wait till he has to accompany her to a high-society event. Um, yes please!

-they attempt to date like a regular couple, and stuff keeps getting in the way – whether they go to the opera/ballet and a fancy restaurant, or a basketball game and out for beers, or they try a quiet dinner and a movie at home (or all of the above!), canon-like complications keep interrupting. But then again, the ridiculous way they work is what brought them together in the first place. Bonus points if the fish-out-of-water partner ends up getting into the other one’s date-activity of choice, while snarking all the way.

-David has been to Maddie’s house multiple times – including to sleep over, both platonically and not – and they’ve both crashed at the office, but what little we see of David’s place, it seems to be a bachelor pad/hovel with a large yet mysteriously unfurnished living room. Maddie visits David/comes to spend the night/hides out with him from villains, and shenanigans ensue.

-canon often resolves the clash between David’s opportunism, happy-go-luckiness, and cockiness, and Maddie’s gentle idealism, worrywartness, and romanticism, by having David “win.” That can be funny, but what if the plot gave Maddie the right a bit more?

-I’m honestly not that into smut for this pairing - a fade to black, something implied, something referenced, innuendo, maybe brief flashes (heh) of what the characters think about/imagine/remember work much better with the canon’s overall tone, I think.

Likes:

I love pre-canon, canon, post-canon, canon-divergent, and missing-scene stories. I love character-driven and plot-driven stories equally, and I love fics which mix humor and angst/serious business when appropriate for the canon.

I love stories about characters at work and play, group dynamics, family dynamics (including constructed families), professional partnerships, friendships, alliances, rivalries, intimate couples (new lovers/first times as well as long-term/established couples), UST-ridden couples who are not just UST-ridden but connected in other ways too, etc.

I love irony, snark, humor as well as angst arising from the characters rather than the plot crowbaring it in, linear, non-linear, and 5+1 stories, hopeful endings, happy endings, bittersweet endings, worldbuilding, spiky characters who keep their jagged edges and spikiness in adversity as well as when their lives are going well, square-peg-in-round-hole characters, characters who are their own worst enemies as well as those who can get over themselves when the occasion calls for it, characters with conflicting values which may or may not be reconciled/resolved, characters who treat each other with respect and as equals even if they hate/annoy/can’t stand/love to dislike each other.

I especially love workplace stories (this can mean anything from an actual workplace/casefic/procedural setting to anything that revolves around the canon world in which the characters live) in which the characters are competent and dedicated to the job, and while they may not be exactly friends and they may well irritate one another, they still manage to rub along to get the job done and maybe even grow to care about one another (much to their surprise and sometimes reluctance/discomfort). Or, if they can’t get along, show me why not and what’s preventing them from finding common ground.

In terms of ship dynamics, I love (where it fits the characters) banter, competitiveness or antagonism shading into attraction (this tension need not be resolved), oh-god-why-did-it-have-to-be-you-what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this, bickering yet loving couples, faithfulness, characters who are serious about their romantic interests, characters who think they are much better at flirtation than they actually are, characters forced to work together only to prove much more compatible than they initially assumed, fics which mix an exploration of characters’ professional and everyday lives with shipping. A dynamic I cannot resist is shipping a couple who are incompatible in some important way (they are ideological enemies, cop and criminal, spies from opposite sides, one betrayed the other or they betrayed each other), and while they love and want each other they’re also not willing to change sides or surrender/compromise their identity for the other’s benefit, and how they might (or not) make their relationship work anyway.

I don’t have any very specific likes for smut, other than smut fitting the characters – show me how their canon dynamics spill over into the bedroom (or other place of congress). I also like sexual scenarios that subvert expectations a little and surprise the characters themselves (e.g., the person who’s usually quiet or more passive taking charge, the more aggressive person goes with it possibly snarking or commenting on it as long as they can). And I like sexual scenarios that contain an element of competition, antagonism, oh-god-this-is-a-bad-idea-but-we’re-going-for-it-hammer-and-tongs, not wanting to admit feelings or show vulnerability except oops it happens anyway, whether the characters acknowledge it or not, or just people getting way more into it or being more affected by it than they thought they would. When it fits the characters and their canon dynamic, you also can’t go wrong with we-both-wanted-this-for-forever-and-now-we-both-know-it-so-here-we-go-diving-in-headfirst. For het and/or slash, oral, vaginal, anal incl. pegging, manual (ifyouknowwhatImean) – it’s all good. You can go as veiled or as explicit as you like, but please avoid excessive medical jargon – I don’t find a lot of mention of “penis” or “clit” sexy.

DNWs:

MPREG, A/B/O, knotting, D/s, kinks, incest, underage, genderswap/genderbent characters, xeno, non-/dub-con, torture and abuse (this and non-/dub-con can be mentioned if the story needs it, but please don’t dwell on it in loving detail or subject any of my requested characters to it), dwelling on bodily fluids (mentions of gore/blood and come are fine), toilet humor, character bashing, issuefic, gender/sexuality/race/ethnicity/religion/ability/identity headcanons, unrequested ships, soulmates and soul marks, major character death (unless it’s canon), serious illness or injury, pregnancy and children, holiday or wedding setting/theme, secondary characters shipping the main pair like it’s their job, reference to RL current events, 1st/2nd person POV, AUs which have nothing to do with canonf

[hepaidattention]

Picture

Inspired by Ed Sheeran’s song, “Photograph”.

In which Daisy makes Fitz remember parts of his true self with the power of friendship. And Jemma. 

Daisy had been caught.

She beat the crap out of those Hydra guys in the elevator, though.

Daisy didn’t know what to expect. She came to Hydra base, knowing it wasn’t safe, but she had to. The way Jemma looked - those sad puppy dog eyes, knowing Fitz was there, trapped.

Ever since Jemma had been on the Framework and Hydra radar Daisy hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse of Fitz, not to mention even speak to him. How were they supposed to get him to remember if she couldn’t even talk to him for five seconds? And they needed Fitz. At first it was just a preference, but now they were stuck in the Framework, and no one but Fitz can help them out. He knows the technology. He created it. Or, helped. He was their only chance.

And now she was being dragged away by May’s men. Daisy begged her, hoping she could get a hold on her real emotions. Daisy knew better however - but May had time. They didn’t need May like they needed Fitz.

Daisy just wanted her mentor back.

They were dragging her to The Doctor’s torturing chamber. Daisy expected this. Daisy planned this.

It didn’t mean that she wasn’t terrified.

“May,” Daisy pleaded one last time. “Please. It’s me. You trained me. I wouldn’t be who I am today if it wasn’t for you. Please. It’s Daisy.”

May said nothing. Daisy could tell she was thinking she’d gone nuts, though.

Fitz walked in, rather rushed. He looked frazzled, his mind somewhere else. “Why did you call me in here? I was in the middle of-”

May pointed at Daisy. Fitz’s eyes followed.

He groaned. “What did Skye do?”

May shrugged. “She ticked off the Director.”

Fitz eyed May, almost as if that wasn’t a good enough answer. “So what am I supposed to do?”

May started for the door. “Get answers. She’s resistance.”

Fitz looked at Daisy now. His eyes were dark, empty. But there was something behind them, looking at Daisy with such … pity. Did he feel guilty for having to hurt her? Did he care about her?

Daisy was strapped to the chair, ready to be tortured. This was her plan. She just needed to get to Fitz before the Doctor started his tests.

“Fitz,” Daisy said in such a hasty breath.

He looked up at her, cutting his eyes. “You keep calling me that.”

Daisy scoffed. “Yeah, because it’s your name.”

Fitz was setting controls, turning knobs. She could’ve sworn he was stalling. “You never called me Fitz before.”

Daisy raised a brow. “What else would I call you? The Doctor?”

He looked at her fully, his face confused. “You act like you don’t remember.”

“Remember what, Fitz?”

He chose not to answer that particular question. “You called me Leo.”

Daisy raised a lip in disgust. “You hate that name.”

He watched her. “That’s why I prefer the Doctor.”

“Why not just go by Fitz?”

He didn’t answer. Daisy sighed. She needed to start making him remember, before he did something that real Fitz would regret. “Fitz,”

“So is this what the resistance does? Wipes you of your memories?”

Daisy furrowed her brow. “What? No, Fitz,”

“Because the Skye I know wouldn’t call me Fitz, or forget about May rejecting your request of cohabitation with Ward. Or the reason we fight for Hydra, day in and day out.”

Daisy sighed. He was smart - always had been. He probably knew she wasn’t normal Skye the day she showed up as Daisy. “That’s because I’m not the Skye you knew, Fitz.”

He didn’t laugh, he didn’t look mad, he just watched her. “Did you enjoy killing Skye, then? How’d you do it? Gun, or your powers?”

“What? No, Fitz, I’m not an Inhuman-”

“Really? Because your blood work says otherwise.”

Daisy’s eyes shot down at that metal straps. He was taking her blood and scanning it this whole time.

“Well something else that blood test should tell you is I am the same person, biologically. But my name isn’t Skye, Fitz, it’s Daisy Johnson. A name you know. You were the first person to ever catch yourself, if you tried to call me Skye. You never once said it without apologizing. You accepted me as the new and improved person I was before anyone else did.”

“You know,” he stepped up to her, no glass containment separating them. His hands were behind his back, his suit so sharp she could get a paper cut. The way he looked at her - she just wanted old Fitz back. “Something I hate more than Inhumans is mind games. So do yourself a favor and shut the hell up.”

Daisy wasn’t sure if he was getting sensitive because she was triggering something, or he was really just a jerk here. No matter what, she couldn’t give up.

“Fitz,”

“Stop calling me that. Fitz is my father.”

That threw Daisy through a loop. Father? Fitz’s father hadn’t been in his life since he was a child. What the heck did AIDA do?

“You mean your emotionally abusive, lousy excuse for a dad father?”

Fitz looked at her appalled, but said nothing.

“You hate your dad, Fitz. C’mon, we used to have long chats about our crappy childhoods without a father figure. You used to always tell me how much it hurt when Jemma lacked communication with her parents because you wish you had that.”

She did it. She pulled out the J word. Daisy just hoped it worked.

It didn’t.

“What the hell are you going on about? Have you gone completely bonkers?”

“Fitz, c’mon. You can’t tell me that not one part of you remembers the team. SHIELD.”

Fitz looked down at his feet, then back at her. “I remember SHIELD being the reason I lost my mother. I remember it being the reason Inhumans roamed around, carelessly murdering innocent people. I was SHIELD, yes. And I left, joined Hydra, because Hydra wanted to help. Help keep the world from the plague of scum like you.”

Daisy’s breath hitched. His eyes so dark, his words dripping with poison. Daisy didn’t care. This wasn’t Fitz.

“That isn’t what really happens, Fitz. You know that, somewhere, deep down. Your mom’s alive and happy in reality - worried for her sons safety every day he works for SHIELD. In real life you thrived in the Academy. You thrived in SHIELD. You and Simmons have saved lives and changed lives, because of what you’ve done to help SHIELD. You’re a hero in reality. Not this. Never this.”

He glares at her, but the the sparkle in this eye gives Daisy hope.

She had to mention Jemma again. It was her last chance.

“You’re better than this, Fitz. I know that, you know that, Jemma knows that. She’s so scared for you - so freaked that you’re going to be stuck like the royal jerk you are now because we don’t know how to get out. She wanted to come, you know. Got in the car and everything, until I convinced her we needed her help with Radcliffe.”

He was listening. He didn’t look angry, he didn’t look disgusted. He just … watched her. Blank faced and all.

“Only, in reality Fitz, I kept her from coming because I didn’t want her to see you like this. Because I knew that her seeing you like this would kill you. Because it would kill her. She had to fight your freakin LMD, Fitz. He tried to turn her into one of them while basically proposing to her. That destroyed her. Having to see your face while stabbing you, trying to tell herself it wasn’t really you. I couldn’t let her come and see you like this - so screwed up in the head. Torturing people, acting like a stone cold killer. I mean, you might as well have Darth Vader music on every time you walk into a room! What the crap, Fitz? That’s not you!”

He took a step back, his face twisted into a confused expression. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his brain processing. That was the Fitz she knew. He was fighting. He wanted out.

“Jemma?” He finally muttered out, looking at her with watery eyes. “She’s here?”

A grin burst over Daisy’s face. “Yes, Fitz. She came to save you from this crap show.”

“And I… you…” he sighed. He clearly was unsure of everything right now.

“You jumped through a freakin space rock for her. Twice.”

His eyes glimmered. That was Fitz. That was their Fitz. “She’s safe?”

Daisy nodded. “For now.”

Her straps released. She looked at him with a relieved face. “Thank god,”

“Take the fire exit.” Fitz gestured to the hall. “Less security cameras.”

Daisy grabbed his hand, “C’mon then,”

He jerked his hand from hers. “I’m not going with you.”

“What? Fitz, Jemma and I can’t get out of this hell without you-”

“I can’t leave.” Fitz sighed. “The Director has made sure of it.”

Daisy furrowed her brows. “The Directors AIDA, isn’t she?”

Fitz didn’t respond.

“We’ll figure you a way out, c'mon-”

“If I leave with you they’ll track me to wherever we go.” Fitz shook his head and sighed. “I’ll get you two killed.” He took in a deep breath. “So, I go by Fitz?”

Daisy gave him a broken smile, nodding. “Jemma’s favorite word.”

“Tell her … I remember her. If nothing else, I remember her.”

Daisy smiled. “We’re coming back for you, Fitz. I promise.”

He shook his head, his brow so furrowed in confusion. “I … I belong here, Daisy. This is my home.”

“No, Fitz.” Daisy pulled out a picture from her pocket, tucking it into Fitz’s hand. She came all this way, putting herself through possible torture, just so she could give him this. If she wasn’t a romantic Daisy didn’t know what is. “It’s not.”

And Daisy was gone.

Fitz opened his hand, seeing the picture she folded up for him to see.

It was a picture of Jemma.

Jemma Simmons.

Biochemist.

Love of his life.

Fitz’s eyes clamped shut, two personalities fighting within him. He gripped the picture tightly before gently placing it in his pocket, knowing she’s out there, trying to save him.

And she would. If Fitz knew anything, it was that she was going to save him.

From what, he had yet to know.

His phone rang. It was the Director.

“Hello?” He answered, his voice showing evident irritation. “No, I couldn’t get anything from her.” He blinked. “She’s been taken care of. You don’t have to worry.” A smirk formed on his face as he said, “She’s no longer a threat.”

He paused. A lump formed in his throat. She wasn’t on his side, was she?

Flashes of the Android AIDA crossed his mind.

He blinked.

She was AIDA.

“No, she said nothing to me about the resistance woman. Only, she did mention a name.” Fitz gripped the picture in his pocket. AIDA was the threat. AIDA was why he was here.

She didn’t love him.

He never loved her.

She used memories he had of Jemma, and replaced them … with herself?

It was twisted.

It was vile.

She was twisted.

She was vile.

He swallowed, answering her question on the other end of the phone, “She called her Jemma.”

[miniskirtday]

AMA response

AMA Question: I've been with my man for five years, but he won't marry me based on his belief that marriage is a sham. But I grew up wanting to get married (no little bastards, solidarity, etc.) is there cognitive dissonance between the two of us or am I buying into something archaic? I'm genuinely asking for advice. Did I screw up by moving in with him? We are still childless, but very much in love, and do want kids someday. Is marriage a necessary part of a happy, healthy familial unit? Hasn't the institution itself been corrupted by the state, and "gay marriage"?

Response: I’m quite open about my Christian belief, so I don’t think most of what I will say will surprise anyone who reads what I post. I’m also very vocal in my attempts to encourage spouses to have a better relationship w/ one another; emotionally, intellectually, sexually, & spiritually. So.. this is an interesting question.

I will start w/ this, just because something is a socially accepted norm, doesn’t mean it is good.

The statistics on cohabitation before marriage don’t carry a lot of hopeful news. Not for either of those involved, nor for any kids the relationship brings about. Just about every scientifically vetted studies has negative opinions on cohabitation. One of the most positive reports I have seen lists a long list of cohabitation facts that are quite low w/ a few highs. The summary, however, doesn’t look good in this particular case.

Living together is considered to be more stressful than being married.

Just over 50% of first cohabiting couples ever get married.

In the United States and in the UK, couples who live together are at a greater risk for divorce than non-cohabiting couples.

Couples who lived together before marriage tend to divorce early in their marriage. If their marriage last seven years, then their risk for divorce is the same as couples who didn't cohabit before marriage.

Cohabiting couples had a separation rate five times that of married couples and a reconciliation rate that was one-third that of married couples.

Cohabiting couples are more likely to experience infidelity.

Compared to those planning to marry, those cohabiting have an overall poorer relationship quality. They tend to have more fighting and violence and less reported happiness.

Cohabiting couples earn less money and are less wealthy than their married peers later in life.

Compared to married individuals, those cohabiting have higher levels of depression and substance abuse.

“Those who live together with the goal of marriage are not at risk, just those without a clear direction about commitment.”

https://www.thespruce.com/cohabitation-facts-and-statistics-2302236

Our [the U.S.A at least] current social view of marriage is pretty abysmal. In the last 100 years the church has failed BADLY at setting an example for what a healthy married relationship should look like. The media pushes boundaries to provoke & entice for entertainment, not realism, which has created a false sense of what marriage should be. Society has gladly accepted the lie that divorce is no big deal & should be considered whenever a couple has a disagreement that they don’t want to work through. Worse, one bad side effect of the feminism movement has been a deterioration of marriage; raising children is looked down upon & many men are terrified at the imbalance of the courts against them. Add to it the insanity of public-opinion of recent governmental laws & marriage isn’t very appealing [regardless of your opinion of right/wrong, the level of bickering & hate from EVERY view point has been unpleasant for all involved].

So for a non-Christian, what appeal does marriage have? Honestly, I don’t know.

That is, after all, the point of the attack on marriage in the last few decades. To devalue marriage & disrupt the traditional family values.

Then what is the appeal of marriage for a Christian?

First, it is a reflection of Christ & the church. That is the point of the Ephesians 5 verses that are often quoted at weddings. Verse 25 explicitly states “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,” & then tells husbands that Christ is their role-model for having a good relationship w/ the wife!

Second, a Christian marriage is a perfect example of a law that gives liberty & freedom. Many think of laws as a governments way to restrict what a citizen can do. However, scripture tells us that God’s law gives us freedom [James 1:25].

Daniel M. Doriani says in his commentary on James: The law [of God] is liberating because it is so perfectly suited to human life. We thrive within faithful, committed marriages. A man thrives when he knows he does not need to wonder, “Does my wife still love me?” A woman has peace when she need not wonder, “What if my husband abandons me? Should I nurture my career, just in case?” What freedom men and women have when they know their spouse is unconditionally committed to their marriage.

This is one of the things that causes so much stress in cohabitation couples. There is no commitment to stay in the relationship, so both sides constantly have a worry or concern that the other side will leave & possibly hurt them in the process.

Third, a Christ-focused marriage sets an example for the children. It isn’t hard to find people who have come from broken homes & see how messed up their life is. For every one that you can find that turned out well, you can easily find a dozen that didn’t. As someone who identifies as a “Traditional Wife”, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I advocate strongly for a solid traditional family unit to raise children in.

Here are my blunt answers to your questions:

- Is there cognitive dissonance between the two of us or am I buying into something archaic?

Getting married for the sake of getting married, is probably not going to end well. Getting married because you want to build a life together w/ that person in a committed relationship till death-do-you-part is still absolutely worth it.

- Did I screw up by moving in with him?

My opinion, yes. You are giving away a lot of what makes marriage special w/o getting the stability & peace of mind that both of you need for a solid, lasting relationship. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t hope. It’s always a good time to do the right thing. God can restore any & all brokenness from any relationship at any time.

- Is marriage a necessary part of a happy, healthy familial unit?

There are plenty of examples of people who have raised a happy, healthy family in some odd situations.  But it is also quite easy to find thousands of examples of some really screwed up, unhappy people who were raised in non-traditional environments where marriage was not held in high esteem.

- Hasn't the institution itself been corrupted by the state, and "gay marriage"?

The world corrupts all it touches. But neither the state nor “gay marriage” has any say in nor impact to the vows that we took before God. It is a commitment to your spouse & the world should never have a say in it.

I hope this helps & I wish you the best!

[cwebberphotography]

  Ask me if I’ll miss India and I’d say yes. I’ll miss India because back home old people don’t double ride bicycles, people who look like the general picture of God, with a big white beard and bright white clothes don’t ride scooters with a huge smile. Old ladies here feel comfortable enough to squat on the sidewalk if they need to take a pee. Strangers greet you with their chosen name of God, and yoga is everywhere. Interacting with cows and dogs and pigs daily has given me a clearer look at being a vegetarian. I won’t miss the fact that last night it was 30 degrees at 2 a.m. Or all the ants that have walked into my keyboard and never came out, probably lost in the matrix of the mother board, the giant wasps or the horns and traffic in general.

I’ve been bitten by ants, mosquitoes, pushed by bulls, barked at by dogs, cohabited with geckos and spiders, had a monkey land on my dinner table and now a large Gray langur has intimidated me into running from my dinner. And after I gathered my wits and tried to scare him off I was scarred mentally and physically when he jumped and scratched me with his fangs showing making growling sounds.  After that I was afraid to go out my front door, then slowly started hanging out on the roof again. But not before finding a strong bamboo stick and starting to learn some defensive moves from YouTube.

In a way I’m grateful that monkey jumped on my head, he kind of knocked some sense into me. It’s my last few days here and one of the things I was hoping to do in India was learn some self defence. I was letting the days drift away, not adhering to my own advice of ending as strong as you start. Yoga was getting kind of boring to be frank. Now I can combine my roof time with some stretching, mindfulness, pushups and bo staff training. The first day I was able to do a two hand wrist spin and now I’m getting faster at it and not dropping the staff as much.

When he jumped at my head it was a wake up call to what Nature is capable of. I assumed monkeys would be more scared of us than we are of them. And I underestimated his hunger, this guy was not cute enough to beg and probably just as tired of the heat. I saw him come down out of the tree and march along the edge of the roof, thinking maybe he was on his way somewhere but he came straight to me. He did not hesitate to bear his teeth and growl, no asking at all, then jumped, using my head like a skipping stone to land behind me causing my plate to hit the ground. And I was out of there, far enough away to watch him eat my dinner which was really just raw cauliflower with some salt and chilli powder on the side.

He made me wish I had doused the veggies with chilli powder. He made me think of revenge and how stupid that would be. He made me mistrust monkeys and see how fragile our existence is without cooperation. He gave me a scare of potentially having rabies, which is fatal! How insane is that?  It takes just two weeks to die from it, and although he probably didn’t have rabies it was not worth the risk to ignore the blood coming from my arm.

Diseases are different here, polio is still a hot topic and every year diarrhea and pneumonia kill millions of people.

After asking around it was decided that I’d get an injection right away. I walked to the only doctor I know since the hospital was closed on Sunday. This is a clinic which used to be a dog food store and is now half a dog food store, half a clinic and a little bit of a health food store. The doctor there is young and I’ve met him a few times over the last month. He suggested I get the course of five injections, they are 320 rupees each, so a fraction of what it would cost me in Canada.

I went home to debate the idea of being injected in India and after reading about the symptoms and final end to what rabies can do to a human I ran back and said lets do it. This clinic is just like any other store on the main strip, it is a big room with a garage door that opens to the road. There is a counter and behind it sits the doctor facing the street. Outside are cows and horses walking by or standing in the road, motor bikes driving on either side, dirt, garbage, things burning, people selling food, all sorts of commotion.

He takes the needle out and puts it into the container which is full of dead rabies virus and tells me to sit down, the only seat is a step ladder at the top of a stairwell…So as he is fiddling with the needle I’m looking out at the street and watching people stop and see what he’s doing, looking back at me. Also I’m texting my friend in Toronto telling him exactly whats going on and the doctor comes over to my left shoulder and as I press send he just jabs me with it, no cleaning of the surface no OK this might hurt and I look over at him like what the fuck!? And he’s saying something to me, you can hold the cotton ball here right? So I do and he goes back to his seat and starts writing out instructions and dates for me to come back. Immediately I have to put my phone away because the light from it is bugging me out and darkness is creeping in from the sides of my eyes. I sit up straight and breathe deeper and think this cannot be happening, I’m going to pass out!  No, I can control it, I won’t pass out. Nope, I look over at him and he’s saying something about me being fine but I can’t hear anything and can only see whats directly in front of me, which is one of the employees. I make eye contact with him and shake my head. Then step down from the seat and crouch on the ground and look around, sweating, deaf, wondering whats going on. After a couple minutes I’m OK to stand up and lean on the counter as he explains when I’ll have to come back for more…Then I leave, feeling slightly better that at least I’ve done something to combat any chance of rabies, just in case.

The second time was much better, and we’ve become friends since then. I’ve been invited to hang out there any time, and he often asks his customers if I can photograph them. He said there is only one other guy in the area with the same camera and he charges 1000 rupees for three photos. He introduced me to his wife and some friends, it’s been a good experience overall…

Sometimes its hard to leave your house especially if you have moustache for the first time, a scarf around your head thats been soaked in cold water to keep you cool and a walking stick you’re practicing bo staff spins with.  After a long day in the heat I was lying in bed when outside became dark a few hours too early. So went to the roof and saw a sand storm kicking up, and the sky turn grey and black. After the sand settled I went down to the river to watch the show.

The clouds were the ultimate what the fuck, I’d never seen anything like it before, a hundred little flames, turned into swirls over the mountain, as the sun coloured them dark orange mixed with black. Then pushing into blue at the edge of the clearing sky were what looked like a huge row of  teeth, extending into their roots. I sat in awe for hours as the wind pushed me from all sides. At one point as lightning was striking over the mountains looking to my right, along the path by the river a sadhu stops as wind picks up his flowing fabric wrapped around his waist and he does a Marilyn Monroe, holding his skirt down in the wind.

Earlier that day I took a walk to find some upma, my favourite South Indian breakfast. Just about 2 km away from my apartment, in the direction towards the main town, far away from any tourists. As I was walking a sadhu on a motor bike offered me a ride, I talked to him and considered it but declined, two more steps and I found the Madras Cafe. The food was OK, and the bill for umpa and tea was 105, I gave him 110 and he gave me a Kit Kat bar as change.

Later I found a better staff, started twirling it and dropped it in the sewer by mistake. So I bought a bottle of water to wash it off. Then explored the alleys of the main city, took photos, and then came across a fabric shop and remembered I have two weddings to attend this summer. So I selected some material and got measured and in two days I’ll have a custom kurta.

After I ran out of money I walked home taking photos, talking to strangers, mostly sadhus. Seems like if you don’t shave and carry a stick you’re more approachable. Maybe they see a little of themselves in me. I know sometimes I envy their lifestyle. Eating from ashrams, sleeping where ever they want, what else do you need? I don’t think they have a retirement plan.

Walking through the bus stop as I always have to, a large group of people sit on the gravel hill cooking and eating their lunches. Men and women and children all dressed in amazing colours and cloths huddle in groups. A few of them are standing around the water pump washing their hands, pigs run among them. To my right on the highest gravel hill a group of men stand out in their striking white outfits with red turbans, bare feet, squatting or sitting cross legged, beards and grey moustaches, passing a chillum around. Weed smoke clouding all around them.

On the morning after my mischievous monkey mayhem I wake up early to find a stick and see the sun rise. I walk to the roofed sitting area by the river and look out, the sun has risen but not above the mountains. The green trees all around the elevation are glowing with yellows and orange. And the river rushes below, down where the bodies are burned. Sitting quietly when three people come with their cell phone playing Hindi music. I react and almost get up but decide to stay for what I came. To see the sun peak over the range. One guy starts doing push ups, elevated ones then on his knuckles then tries to get into pull up position but he’s too heavy and short. Then he gets his friend to take lots of photos of him flexing all the while dumb rap music is coming from his phone. I spot a stick and leave.

Going down into the funeral grounds was kind of creepy. There were kids playing by the river and people working in the early morning hours before the heat sets in. There are lots of old clothes and artifacts laying buried in the sand. The stick I saw was much too big and soaking in a dirty puddle. On the way back I found a bamboo staff and as I ascended the stairs the most golden light shined back behind where I was with the muscle man. This time I look up to a kaleidoscope of colours. A bus must have dropped off a bunch of Indians and they were all dressed in saris of flowing flowery colours standing straight up in the wind. All waiting for a security guard to guide a family of geese from the field to the water.

I found a strip of cloth and wrapped it around the split end of my new stick and made it into a custom handle. Took a few swings with it and started home as the 6 a.m. sun rise started to heat up the day once more.

Passing the empty grounds with the sun rising from behind, to my left is a tarp with maybe 20 indians sitting cross legged in the centre. Next to them is a tractor with a big cage on the back with all their bags packed on top. Then a couple dogs fucking, pigs fighting over garbage, one massive pig is laying in the sun against a pile of stones while someone pees next to it. I walk a little further and there’s another big truck bus thing with Indians pilled all over the inside and outside climbing down for their day by the Ganges.

Walking up the alley as the golden hour turns into day another small kid is taking another shit into the gutter while his mother watches. She stands in the middle of the lane, dressed in purple and gold one hand on her waste the other on her head, he is shy but concentrating. I look at her briefly and then down as I pass. Then I take my stick home and my place is covered in little monkeys. I look up as one is checking out the jump from the fence across the lane onto my roof, where they drink water from one of our water tanks. I hope it’s not the one that leads to my shower but theres no one to ask…I look up as he’s peeing and pooing at the same time. He looks down at me and then away.

One in 1,342,512,706 Ask me if I’ll miss India and I’d say yes. I’ll miss India because back home old people don’t double ride bicycles, people who look like the general picture of God, with a big white beard and bright white clothes don't ride scooters with a huge smile.

[berestweys]

#GOD HOW I WISH THEY GAVE US MORE OF THESE TWO AND THEIR COHABITATION#AND ALSO OF TATTOO IN GENERAL#im just constantly rotating him in my mind like a microwave he's sooooo#like he's such a survival of the fittest and a screw them over before they screw you over kinda guy#all he knows of love is bleeding under someone fist to protect the few people he can allow himself to care about#because he can't have weaknesses or he won't survive#but he's also the one who invents and fixes things#who picks up trash and turns it into something different (maybe still trash maybe not)#he has these moments of extremely awkward and yet deep gentleness#and he thinks rosé proposing to jack was 'kinda cute'#he is teaching aran to survive and that aran /is/ capable to survive by himself#while aran is bringing out this softeness buried within him#AND I JUST NEED ARAN TO PROPOSE TO HIM BECAUSE THAT MAN WANTS TO BE ROMANCED AND NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

the way tattoo is so rough around the edges and has no idea what to do when faced with aran's overflowing emotions and tears (even the fake ones) but whatever gentleness he possess, even if it might not look like much to others, he's always willing to give