#I am down tremendous for this woman in the most respectful way possible

[eve-was-framed]

this was genuinely healing to see

[angstfactory]

His respect level for her, dropped tremendously. "Right," Jesse nodded along to her words, in disbelief she would even try to peddle bullshit in his face like that. "It's all jokes. Has no bearing whatsoever. I just made it all up in my head." If Kara wanted to act like her opinion of him wasn't as some shady, lowly person that wouldn't cheat on card games, that was her business. He saw everything he needed to that night, when it was her first and only assumption towards his character. And Jesse would bet all that he owned -- which wasn't much -- that everyone in this town, even the people that called him friend, wouldn't come rushing to him first on anything. He wasn't someone they could rely on.

It didn't matter if that was how Jesse cultivated his image and attitude. They were all supposed to see through that bullshit, right? If they actually cared? Shit, he was still here. A year in, he stayed.

Kara didn't quite manage to look away fast enough. Or maybe he had just been watching her too closely. Some of that defensiveness deflated away, the scowl at his brow smoothing some-- was she.. Jesse thought for a second he surely had to imagine the way her eyes had brightened up suspiciously, like the woman was close to breaking. But as she stared away, he could tell some nerve had been struck true somewhere. Her jaw looked set -- body stiff. Every cue the man himself would have if he was working to keep emotion inside and not have someone else witness it. He'd never seen something like that from her before, wouldn't have believed it possible because Kara acted tough and unaffected all the time.

Yeah, he was hurt. But somehow, hurting her hadn't made him feel any better. In fact, it made Jesse feel worse. Guilt puddled within, just piling on top of all the other crap he wasn't sure how to work through. At this point, it was better he get the hell out of town for their benefit, too. She'd been right, anyway. He was a cheater. How could he be mad about the fact she picked that up? The man could hardly figure out his own contradicting feelings -- they seesawed back and forth, sometimes wildly so. They always had. He'd always been a person with intense emotions and they could often come out in bursts. Jesse was very much someone who could hardly control what came out of his mouth, most times, before his brain could catch up and comprehend the consequences of it.

Jesse stood there, uncertain how to handle the moment. Her upset had startled him right out of his own meltdown. He'd just been angry. He'd been ranting. He'd been tossing out all kinds of shit, he couldn't even remember it all at this point. Tossing everything but the kitchen sink. When it all came right down to it, Kara wasn't his problem. Not really. It could have been any one of them, being collateral damage. And this was just typical Jesse, doing typical Jesse things -- he pushed people away. Especially the ones he cared about. Before they got the chance to do anymore damage to him. He was fucked up enough as it was.

"I can't," Jesse finally said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I can't talk without being an asshole," he went on, sighing, "because I am an asshole." He stared down at the ground, idly kicking aside a random rock. "I could see your cards in the reflection of the picture behind you." Finally, he looked back up to meet her gaze. "So, you're spot on, detective. I'm a cheater, and an asshole. Now you don't need to waste your time, on someone you know doesn't deserve it." This wasn't an apology, no. But it was some attempt to at least point out that he was nothing but a giant hypocrite, and he knew it. He was giving her the out.

Kara watched him as he went on his rant with a blank expression on her face, lips parted just slightly as if she were going to respond but didn't quite know how to. Was he harping back on that damn card game again? "Yeesh, Jesse. You can't take a little joking? A little playful banter? It was just a stupid game. I'm a sore fucking loser, like you said. Calling you a cheater in a stupid card game has no relation to what I think of you as a person. Everyone gets riled up in stupid games, it doesn't mean anything. And I most certainly didn't say any of the rest of that shit, nor do I believe it." But she didn't think he was talking about her anymore. Or if he was, he certainly had some shit perceptions of her, too. These words that he shot at himself were things that were buried deep down that had come up to the surface. Clearly she wasn't the only one that had some insecurities that had surfaced with the demons.

Then he turned the angry words on her, and she froze as he advanced on her. Accusing her again of not caring about him, of not being here for him when that was the furthest from the truth. Sure, they weren't exactly close, but Kara still did consider him a friend. She cared enough to show up at his stupid junkyard to make sure he'd made it through the weekend okay because she knew it had been tough on most everyone. And in response to her coming here to check on him he was calling her some lowly, horrible person who would come here for what? Some sort of personal comfort instead of care for him? Yeah, she clearly came here to be comforted by his terrible thoughts. She clearly came here to use him. Because that was the kind of person she was.

No. She was just the gum on the bottom of his shoe that he decided to stomp all over.

She couldn't stop the tears that suddenly welled in her eyes at the words, turning her head away from him and looking off into the distance to try and suck the emotion back down, so that he wouldn't see it. She didn't cry. She wasn't a crier. Why did this shit keep bubbling up?

And this? This wasn't just some demon talking, drugging up childhood trauma. No. This was Jesse, aiming daggers at her. For what? What had she done that was so terrible to him? She'd only ever tried to be a friend. Sure, she hadn't wanted to fuck him. But that wasn't friendship. Was that all he'd wanted her for? Now that he'd been rejected and had his little feelings hurt because he couldn't get her in bed, he was going to show his monstrous true colors? No...she didn't really believe that, either. He was hurting. And hurt people hurt people.

"I came here because I was worried about you, and that's all. Clearly I was right to be worried, because you're not okay." She rubbed the back of her hand against her nose, sniffing as she finally looked back at him. "And no, thanks for asking. I'm not okay either. But I don't use people to make myself feel better. So when you're ready to talk and not be an asshole, let me know."

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

The Viscount’s fiancee [Anthony Bridgerton x Reader]

Title: The Viscount’s fiancee Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader Word count: 3k Published: 7 March, 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Summary: [x] Being engaged to the eldest Bridgerton brother makes you the happiest person alive, occasionally so much so that it makes you act as though you were a foolish child. But all that giddiness is about to disappear upon your findings.

Bridgerton Masterlist | Masterlists

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Viscount, Anthony Bridgerton was known for many reasons. The Bridgerton family was wealthy and highly respected in the ton. Many mothers wanted to marry off their daughters to one of the Bridgerton brothers, but of all Anthony had the worst standing. He was dashingly handsome, very prominent and certainly well educated, but his reputation as a rake preceded him.

When the news of your engagement surfaced, even Lady Whistledown wrote of you with a great deal of respect namely as the woman who tamed one of the wildest Bridgertons. You just laughed it off, but deep down you felt somewhat proud. You have been friends from a very young age and since your families have had a long and close relationship, it was inevitable to grow close to the siblings. In your teenage years, however, you fell for the man’s charm and humour, even his brooding moments. Although his proposal came as a surprise, knowing your relationship was always stranded at the stage of a friendship, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked for your hand in marriage, the amount of pure happiness you felt made you feel like you were walking above the clouds.

Hurrying down the stairs, you held onto the side of your dress before attempting to fall face down, but your clumsiness seemed to be greater as you accidentally let your dress fall on one side. Your own foot tangled up in the hem of your dress and the weight of your body pulled you dangerously close to the ground. In fear, you closed your eyes, heart pumping dangerously against your chest, anticipating a painful and loud landing, However, before you could have encountered the most embarrassing moment of your life, a strong arm locked around your waist, pulling your back against a hard chest. At first you didn’t dare to open your eyes, you squeezed them shut, afraid of your saviour’s identity, but the significant cologne reminded you of one very important person.

Turning around in his arms, you opened only one eye, peeking up at your hero. He wore an adoring, lopsided smile as he shook his head disapprovingly. You scrunched your nose as you opened your other eye and rearranged your expression into an innocent smile, trying to mask your embarrassment.

“I take it you were in a haste to see me?” he asked, his deep voice holding a humorous tone. Indeed, his arrival sparked such curiosity in you that you couldn’t possibly wait a second more to slow your steps and descend down the stairs as though a lady should. You have barely spent a couple of hours apart, but there you were missing him endlessly, involuntarily bringing out a giddy little child within you. The love you felt for him couldn’t have been more obvious and whilst you attempted to act less transparent, it never seemed to work. Anthony wasn’t an oblivious man, nor were you the best actress of the ton.

“I was simply heading to the drawing room,” you replied nonchalantly, trying to convince him that for once his presence didn’t affect you as deeply as he already knew.

“I’m quite certain the drawing room is upstairs,” he huffed playfully. Indeed, the previously mentioned room was upstairs and making yourself look as though you were a fool didn’t seem to help your case.

“I was thirsty,” you quickly added, hoping to stop Anthony from questioning you any further.

“Should you have called the maid, she would have brought the drink to your room,” he added, his smirk growing slightly, enjoying your foolishness.

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you called his name in a warning tone, earning a heartfelt laughter from the man, knowing you have reached your patience. Although you have not been married yet and only announced your engagement a week or so ago, you were very close to one another, hence the reason his arm around you for longer than appropriate didn’t seem to bother you nor him. Your father loved the eldest Bridgerton brother greatly even though he knew of his reputation, therefore he didn’t mind finding you alone with him, but he never failed to mention keeping a distance until you were married.

“I apologise, but you were never a good liar,” he chuckled at your failed attempt to mask your love for him.

“I know, I’m well aware of it. But exposing me is very unfair,” you pouted in the least lady-like manner. Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you steadied yourself on the stairs, Anthony’s arms leaving your body cold after his warm embrace.

“Why is it unfair?” he furrowed, slightly confused about your words.

“Because you know I love you. You know I love you very much,” you replied with a saddened expression as you started heading down the stairs. “It’s not funny when I clearly know I am making a fool out of myself in front of you,” you shook your head, disappointed in your own behaviour. Whilst you knew Anthony cared for you dearly, you always felt as though your feelings were deeper, stronger. Sometimes foolish thoughts ran across your mind, ones that tried to convince you Anthony didn’t love you the way you wished he did, that he might have only loved you as a friend from his childhood, someone he was used to being around.

Anthony quickly headed after you, grabbing your wrist as gently as he could, halting your steps as he turned you around to face him. “What are you talking about? I love that foolish, careless personality of yours,” he said, his tone slightly confused. “Have I done something to you?”

“I know being straightforward about such a subject is meant to be rude, but you have known me for years, Anthony. I need to know something, and I would like you to answer honestly, please,” you almost begged the man as he stood in front of you, his eyes wide in surprise, your seriousness unfamiliar to him.

“I’m always honest with you,” he added.

“Thank you,” you let a small faux smile spread across your face as you heaved a deep sigh, collecting the courage to ask your question. “Are you marrying me because my father asked you to or was it you who asked him for my hand?” you questioned, knowing he never talked about the arrangements between him and your father. You always felt safe and secure around him and falling for him happened from one day to another, it was inevitable for you. But for him, you couldn’t decide when and what changed. At once, he appeared in the drawing room with a bouquet of red roses and kneeled down in front of you, proposing to you, promising happiness forever. You were too happy to question his intentions then, but as the days passed as though your insecurities resurfaced, you couldn’t possibly think about anything else, but the reasons behind his sudden interest in you.

You furrowed at the long silence, tears collecting in your eyes at the realisation, chest weighing a ton. Anthony didn’t speak, he didn’t confirm it verbally, but you understood. The engagement wasn’t his idea to begin with and it all started to make sense. He never tried to kiss you, touch you in secret, he never tried to act as though you were lovers. Knowing it was inappropriate shouldn’t have stopped him, his time as a rake wasn’t a secret after all, he was a passionate man.

Gulping loudly, you took a step back, removing your wrist from his hold. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he spoke up finally, his voice filled with guilt.

“Should you have told me, I would have understood and stopped making a fool out of myself,” you replied, your unshed tears finally escaping down your cheeks. Heavy weight settled in your chest, your air seemingly stuck in your lungs, suddenly the mere thought of Anthony caused you tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain.

“You misunderstand, I-” he tried to explain himself, but you didn’t give him the chance to and cut him off.

“But do I?” you asked with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes as you fought against the loud sobs trying to escape your lungs. “You have accepted my father’s request to marry me! I never wanted to feel pitied, I never wanted to feel as though I could only marry out of an arrangement. I confessed my feelings for you, Anthony,” you sobbed loudly. Anthony reached for you to hold you, but you pushed his arms away and took a step back. “Do you understand how terrible it is to realise that the man you love pretended to be interested in you because of a mere agreement? Anthony do you realise?” you emphasised your words, but instead of speaking his mind, he stood in front of you gaping silently as though he wanted to say something, but not a word nor a sound left his lips. “Please, I’m begging you, leave now,” you whispered in a weak tone. Attempting to look less of a pitiful woman than you already felt as you walked around Anthony’s stunned figure towards the garden.

“I can’t leave. Please listen to me,” he turned around, calling you after a moment of silence, but you pretended to be deaf to his words. “Please!” he hurried after you as you exited the mansion, the warm rays of the sun warming up your body. The door closed behind you loudly, but within a second Anthony followed you out to the garden. “You must listen to me. It’s a misunderstanding,” he tried to convince you.

“No, it isn’t,” you replied in a firm tone, not wanting to hear any excuses from the man you made a fool out of yourself for.

“You completely misunderstand,” he tried to explain himself once again, but you didn’t let him continue. His excuses were more painful than the thought of him having no feelings for you.

You stopped in your spot, turning towards the eldest Bridgerton brother with a stern look on your face. Anthony hasn’t seen much anger from you throughout the years, but the pain you were harbouring in that moment scared him. He never meant to hurt you, he wanted a chance to explain his side to you, but the look across your usually happily glowing eyes now held darkness.

“Talk to my father, Mr. Bridgerton. I wish not to marry you anymore,” you clenched your jaw, your tone holding pure disappointment against the man who you loved so dearly. “Should you want to continue with the marriage, I will make your days miserable from your very first, to you very last,” you whispered the last part of your sentence, warning the man of your wrath.

“I will not break the contract!” he replied firmly without hesitation in his voice. “I need you to listen to me carefully,” you were about to stop him, his words angering you even further, but he didn’t let you interrupt him. He was determined to explain himself. “I’m quite certain I had a choice in the matter, I could have very well said no. You have been my friend for as long as I can remember, and I treasure our friendship. Do you really take me for a man who would want to hurt those he loves intentionally? I don’t love you as a mere friend I grew up with. I love you as a man loves a woman, as a husband loves a wife. I intended to ask for your hand in marriage, but your father seemed to be quicker than I could have even asked.”

“Why should I believe you?” you asked, voice softer, heart filling with hope. You wanted to believe him, his words made you hope, feeling foolish once again, but words didn’t mean as much as actions.

“Would I ever lie to you? I certainly didn’t mention the agreement, but regardless of that detail, my feelings are genuine,” he hesitantly stepped closer to you, hoping you wouldn’t turn and run away from him. As you stayed still, he dared to continue. “I have never lied to you and I don’t intend to start now. Should you question my intentions, I understand, but that will not change my feelings for you,” he took another step closer, your firm stance lighting a slight hope within him, but the fear across your face made him cautious.

“I wish nothing more than to believe you, but I confessed my feelings for you, and you have said nothing,” your voice hitched as you tried to stop your loud sobs from escaping. “I was a fool for you, but not once did you try to hold me, kiss me, make me feel as though I meant more than a mere friend, as though I was a woman in your eyes,” you replied as your eyes filled up with tears, glistening as you gazed at Anthony. His scoff surprised you, his unexpected reaction making you confused.

“I wanted to. I want to. I want to hold you, kiss you, touch you, I want to wake up beside you,” he heaved a heavy sigh, biting his bottom lip. “I’m trying to be a gentleman, but you are not helping my situation. Do you think it’s easy for me to sit beside you, hold onto your hand and smile as though I was an angel? I’m not an angel,” he groaned almost painfully. “I wish nothing but to pull you against me, pamper your neck with kisses, ran my hands across your body and taste your lips on mine” the passion behind his words, the low, dangerous tone he used to speak to you left your cheeks flushed, your lips parted in surprise. His eyes were dark, determined, his whole posture dominant. “I wish I could turn it off and on, because it makes me mad how much I want you,” he added as he took another step closer, forcing your back against the cold wall of the mansion. You couldn’t possibly focus on anything, but the feeling of his chest flush against yours, his darkening eyes watching you eagerly, his irregular breathing slightly tickling your lips, your stomach twisting into a knot.

Shaky breaths left your lungs, voice nowhere to be found. You wanted to stand on your tiptoes and attach your lips to his. You wanted to know the feeling of his mouth against yours, the taste of his lips. Those couple of inches between you never felt more unnecessary.

“My lord,” you spoke in an uncertain tone, whispering those words you barely ever said to him. “Show me how much,” he swallowed heavily as the words left your lips, his jaw tightened as though he was in physical pain from trying to control himself. Involuntarily, but he leaned closer, his hot breath lingering above your parted lips. “Please,” you added in a whisper, placing a hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with the tip of your thumb as you licked across your lips in anticipation.

As though that was the last piece of thread holding him back, he broke under your spell, wrapping his arms around your waist and closing the gap between your longing lips. There was no hesitation in his movements, he leaned down to meet your lips as though his life depended on your kiss.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss, awakening thousands of butterflies in the deepest part of your stomach, fluttering, flapping their wings, sending your heartbeat into a dangerous speed, weakening your knees. You couldn’t possibly imagine the feeling of being kissed, you weren’t experienced in that matter, but your body reacted involuntarily to Anthony as though you have been craving for something you have not known.

Anthony’s hand wandered up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, even though you didn’t realise it was possible. His lips felt soft against yours, addictive, completely capturing your whole being. He didn’t need words to convey his feelings. The way he held you in his arms, his body engulfing yours, keeping you safe from anything or anyone who could possibly hurt you, his actions spoke for themselves.

He hinted a small peck on your swollen lips, before he left another and another, making you smile in content.

“Should you question my intentions again, I will have to repeat that,” he chuckled, slightly out of breath. Your eyes wandered to his lips, eagerly wishing for him to repeat his actions, wanting to feel his inviting lips on yours.

“I’m unsure of the right answer,” you breathed, attention completely captured by his plump lips. The dazed look across your face made him laugh loudly, throwing his head back, not being able to contain his happiness. His laughter brought a content smile across your face as you watched the man you loved in a blissful moment, his mere laughter filling your chest with a warm feeling.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked as his laughter died down, however, his lopsided grin didn’t disappear.

“I wish to say that I do, but-” once again your gaze found his lips, vivid memories of them attached to yours clouding your mind. “then you would not repeat- that,” you breathed in uncertainty, cheeks feeling hot in your embarrassed state.

“Would you like us to repeat that?” he chuckled with a mischievous smile. “Would you like me to kiss you once again?” he asked, slowly running a hand down your arm, leaving goosebumps after his trail, before linking his fingers with yours. No words could possibly leave your lips, an uncertain nod was the only sign of your agreement. He smirked proudly at your stunned expression as he started off in haste towards the back of the mansion, lightly pulling you after himself. You frowned at his actions, feeling oblivious as to what he was planning, before he gently shoved your back against a hidden wall, wrapping an arm around your waist, stopping his movements for a second. “I love you and I want you,” he whispered against your lips with shaky breaths, but a loving and warm smile on his face. “I will show you how much on our wedding night, but until then,” he smirked, before meeting your lips half-way, stunning you for a second, before you melted your body with his, wanting to feel him as much as you could for now.

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[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

Seokjin tells his therapist he might have a little crush on you

kim seokjin x reader warnings; this drabble takes place during a therapy session but it entails a light hearted conversation words; 1,773 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

“It definitely seems like a crush, Seokjin,” Mrs. Shin nodded, the slightest of smiles lifting her lips as she looked across at him, her glasses perched a little way down the bridge of her nose. She was teasing him. He knew her well enough by now. He’d been having a session a week for the past three years. 

Admittedly at first he’d been sceptical. It was policy at the company. With such a stressful and demanding position he needed to have someone on hand to talk to regularly, just in case it all became too much, so he was unable to turn it down even if he had wanted to at first. He’d never been one for talking about his feelings, choosing to deal with them himself. He wasn’t a fan of sharing, not wanting to be a burden or risk unloading his troubles onto someone who didn’t really want to hear it but didn’t have the heart to tell him. He was still like that now in ways, but he figured this was Mrs. Shin’s – Chaewon’s – job, so she had to have a passion for it, right? Helping people… 

And helped him she had. He didn’t know where he’d be if it wasn’t for her. She’d been there for him tremendously over the years, especially with his divorce and the strains of being apart from Arin. He was a busy man so these visits couldn’t be in person most of the time, usually done over phone call, sometimes video, but today he’d felt like getting out of the office. Taking a long lunch to confess something he hadn’t even had the balls to tell Namjoon, his best friend of twenty years. 

See, the thing was, he had found himself in a bind. It had been two weeks since he’d backed out into your car. Two weeks since he’d embarrassingly taken it upon himself to take said car and pay his mechanic to fix the damage. Two weeks since he’d last seen you, waving you off at the subway station he’d driven you to, and two weeks since he’d been unable to stop thinking about you. He had it bad, and he had no idea if he was deluding himself or not. I might have a little crush, had been his opening line, and it made him want the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

He groaned quite loudly (definitely dramatically), throwing his head back. “But it sounds so juvenile.” 

He wasn’t in high school. He was a near forty year old man, with a child. Crushes were for teenagers. In fact, the last time he’d had one he’d been in 9th grade. Moon Dabin, the daughter of one of his father’s friends. It hadn’t ended well, his feelings left unrequited which he feared was happening this time around too. Not that they were feelings per se. That would be foolish. He didn’t even know you properly. This was just an… attraction? 

“Well, what else would you call it?” Chaewon chuckled, now not even bothering to try and hide her amusement. 

“I have no idea.” He admitted. “I’m just…” he trailed off, feeling like an idiot having to say the words aloud. “I’m just very attracted to her, and I feel this sense of…” – another pause as he tried to think of the correct word – “admiration towards her?” 

That didn’t seem right, or it sounded weird, something like that. You were dedicated to your job. The parent teacher meeting had made it obvious just how much you loved teaching. You also had this… tenacity about you. You were feisty, scrappy. He felt out of his depth around you, but oddly relaxed at the same time. He respected you. Not that he didn’t respect everyone, but well – God, what was going on with him? He liked you. It was plain and simple. It didn’t matter if you were virtually a stranger. 

“I just like her.” 

“What do you like about her?” Chaewon pressed, smiling innocently. “You know, other than her face.” 

Seokjin shook his head with a slight chuckle. “She just has this way about her.” You made him laugh. You made him awkward. You made him flirty, as embarrassing as that was to admit. “I mean, I’ve seen her a grand total of three times but each time has been…fun.” 

The older woman in front of him raised an eyebrow. “Fun?” 

“Different.” He explained with a nod.  “There was something there, possibly.” He didn’t want to delude himself after all. “I think we built up some kind of rapport.” 

“You mean you were flirting.” 

“Possibly.” That word again. “I mean, it’s been a long time since I tried, so I may have been doing it very wrong.” 

Chaewon stifled a laugh as she shrugged. “Well, if she was flirting back.” 

“I don’t know if she was.” He replied unsurely. “She was kind of annoyed at me, because I wouldn’t let her pay me back for the car but I think it was in a playful way.” He paused, thinking some more. “She let me give her a ride to the subway so she can’t think I’m that bad, right?”

Chaewon hummed in consideration. “Maybe it beat getting lost.” The look of horror on his face made her laugh. “I’m just kidding, Seokjin.” She didn’t give him time to reply, lacing her fingers together as she viewed him. “I say, why don’t you ask her out for dinner.” 

“D-dinner?” He more of less spluttered, his shirt collar now feeling dangerously tight against his neck.  “Like some kind of date?”

“Mm hm.” 

He shook his head, “I can’t.” He was adamant. “It just seems… I’m not – I haven’t dated in a while, and besides, she’s Arin’s teacher.” It would be completely unprofessional. He couldn’t. 

“Not for long though, right?”

Seokjin pursed his lips. “Correct.” Damn him for being too easy with the information he’d already handed out. Chaewon had been pushing him to date for the longest time. She was loving this, the chance perfect. 

“I’m too busy.” He insisted, but he knew it was an excuse. “What with work and Arin living with me now. It’s just not very plausible.” 

“I’m sure you can make time for one little date. Unless…” Chaewon paused to look at him pointedly, “you’re holding out for more?”

“No!” His exclamation was loud. “I just… If things – Never mind,” he ended with a groan, flustered now. His face felt hot. His ears too. 

Chaewon sighed gently. “Seokjin, you deserve some time for yourself too. I think dating will do you some good.” 

There she went again. 

“It’s been what, two years?” Seokjin answered her question with a nod, knowing what she was alluding to. “Don’t you think it’s time to put yourself out there?” 

He hesitated. Deep down he knew she was talking sense. While not exactly minding the fact he was single, a companionship sounded nice. A romantic one at that. But who would want a divorced father? He wasn’t exactly a catch now was he? 

“What could go wrong?” Chaewon prompted, sensing his reluctance. 

“What if she’s married?” 

He may or may not have already looked for a ring that Saturday afternoon you’d dropped off his car… Was that a strange thing to do? He hadn’t seen one, but that didn’t mean anything. 

“Then she’ll simply tell you that and you’ll have to get over your little crush.” 

If you were married, he’d feel like such a fool getting his hopes up like this, and if you weren’t, chances were you were already in a relationship. “What if she’s not interested in going for dinner?” He figured they were valid concerns. He hadn’t asked out a woman in near a decade, and even then it wasn’t comparable because he had known Nana was interested already. 

“Again, she’ll let you know,” Chaewon smiled. 

“Do you think she might be interested?” The thought of getting turned down would not only dent his ego, but he’d be extremely disappointed too. He really did like you.  Maybe getting another woman’s perspective would do him good. “You know, from what I’ve told you,” he added. 

Chaewon’s smile grew, gaze casting downwards as she began to tease him. “Well, with the rapport you’ve built up, and the way she was annoyed at you but playfully, then maybe.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his fingers back and forth along his jaw. “Shit, you’re setting me up for failure.” 

“I don’t think I am,” she said, shaking her head to turn serious. “From what you’ve told me, and granted she’s single, I think you’re in with a fighting chance.” 

Seokjin liked the sound of that. “So you don’t think she’s still holding a grudge against me?”

“For what, stealing her car?”

“If you want to call it that.” He didn’t even try to fight it today. He already knew Chaewon’s views on the matter. She’d been appalled to find out that he’d just gotten his mechanic to tow away your car like that. Of course, he understood his mistake now, but back then he was blindsided, hellbent on sorting out the mess he’d caused.  

“I guess possibly she can hold a grudge and be attracted to you at the same time,” Chaewon replied almost cryptically, but Seokjin was too distracted by the latter half. He hoped you were attracted to him, just as much as he was attracted to you. 

“That reminds me,” Chaewon clapped her hands suddenly, gaining his attention back. “We should probably use some of this session to go over that impulsiveness you sometimes struggle with.” 

Psychoanalysing himself did not sound like fun right now. Not when he had to make a decision about asking you out for dinner or not. Maybe he needed that impulsiveness right now… 

“However, from the look on your face, I see you want to keep talking about Y/N.” 

The sound of your name made him grin. It was such a pretty name, suited you well. Maybe he could do this. Date. It didn’t have to be a big deal. It didn’t have to be scary.  

“Chaewon, do you think I’m ready to start dating?” He asked in all seriousness, as if he didn’t know her answer. 

“I have been saying it for months now, yes,” his therapist nodded, but her voice was gentle. She understood his hesitance, she knew him very well. 

“Right,” he murmured, lowering his head feeling a little bashful. 

“So,” she nudged softly, “you better hurry, or you’ll be all out of chances. You did say the summer fate is tomorrow, didn’t you?” 

Shit. He definitely told her too much. 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed.  © floralseokjin 2021

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[im-the-punk-who]

Hi! I’m new to the fandom and I’m simply curious (not trying to start a feud or anything), why don’t you like Steinberg?

Hello dear anon! And welcome to the fandom! 

Oof. That’s a question. xD 

I’m going to try and stay as uh. neutral as possible. Because I’ve already written the post I know I failed but, the intent in answering this is also not to start a feud or hurt anyone’s feelings. 

Okay, so I got fairly negative in this chilis tonight, so I want to start by saying that even in light of the opinions I’m about to express, Black Sails is one of, if not my number one, favorite TV shows of all time. Certainly in recent memory - I’ve been hyperfixating on this show for 18 months with no sign of stopping, and I have a tremendous amount of respect for everyone who worked on the show - even Steinberg. (The one exclusion is Michael Bay, he can go twist.)

AND I think Stienberg is an incredibly talented writer. Black Sails is one of my favorite shows because it does such a wonderful job of weaving stories, creating characters, and melding things in a way that is both unexpected and makes sense narratively. I have changed as a person because of the show, and they will have to pry James McGraw and Thomas Hamilton from my cold dead knives-attached-to-them hands. None of what I’m going to say is meant to detract from that.

I will also say that a lot of these issues are not particular to Steinberg and are in fact a systemic problem with American TV + Film. And I’m not leaving Robert Levine out of my criticism, it’s just that Steinberg had the biggest hand in the pot(he wrote a full half the episodes) and a lot of what I’ve heard as far as talking about the show comes from Steinberg. So, he gets the brunt. But it isn’t that I think Steinberg was the only problematic element of the show. 

Also, these are all my opinions and are colored by how I interact with my fandoms. I am not only a fandom veteran, but I work and pretty much live in the entertainment industry. I work in indie film and theatre and am surrounded by artists and creators of all walks of life, like, constantly. I know what is possible, and when I see something that can be improved, I want to note it because it is important to me to always be striving forward. Like Miranda says about Thomas, this isn’t out of malice, or out of hate. It’s because I genuinely love this show, and I love entertainment as a whole, and I think in order to get to a better, more inclusive industry we have to have hard conversations and look critically at the media we consume, and it is frustrating to me to time and again see the same faces in the room. 

But if that isn’t your cuppa, that’s fine! Fandom isn’t meant to be stressful and if all you want to do is watch a show about gay pirates that is your tomato and I applaud you. Have at it you funky motherfucker.

OH! One more. At some point I’m going to talk about Silverflint. When I do, it is NOT meant as a ‘you shouldn’t/cant ship this’ or ‘this pairing is bad’ or any negative attack on the people who ship that pairing. My criticisms in this post are exclusively about what it means for Steinberg as a writer and Black Sails’ representation of gay and mlm men. While it’s not my cuppa, this is a sail your own ship blog. 

OKAY! SO! 

My main criticisms of Steinberg & Co boil down to:

The homozygosity of the writers and directors shows a complete lack of desire to include marginalized people in the writing of a show that is about them. Which leads to:

The centering of white men while choosing a historical setting and time period that was in fact dominated by people of color and specifically a black woman, 

The gratuitous inclusion of violence against women, particularly sexual violence, and again, that the female characters are often sidelined for the central male characters. 

SO.

Black Sails is a show centered around queer, female, and black leads, and yet there were only two non white-male directors (one bi-racial man and one white woman) and only 7 female writers - one of whom was Latina. The entire rest of the major creative staff was white men. I’m not going to comment on sexualities but none of the writers or directors are out as queer according to a quick google search. 

Let me reiterate the important bit there. 

In Black Sails, where the last two seasons specifically feature around a real, actually-happened-in-history event that shaped black history in the Caribbean, there was not a single black writer on the entire show. 

This is the main difference between inclusion for inclusion’s sake, and actually centering marginalized voices. Black Sails has a ton of gay, POC, and female rep in front of the camera but practically zero representation behind it, which leads to storylines and implications that Steinberg and his writers, as white men, simply would never realize.

It’s like why Silver and Miranda never realized the true reasons James was waging war on England. They just did not have the life experiences to realize they were missing a piece of the puzzle, and so they filled in their own without even realizing they’d done so. 

Because no one in the room of Black Sails was a part of these marginalized identities, nuances get lost or mistranslated, motivations get muddled through a white man’s gaze(or a straight person’s) and implications that someone within those communities might think is obvious won’t even come up.

And again, because there were no writers or directors of color in the last two seasons (the biracial man directed episodes 2x02 and 2x04 - WHICH MAKES SENSE IMO) the entirety of the historical lore that the show bases itself on in its latter half is filtered through a white man’s lens. And so there is no discussion of how changing something changes the meaning, how leaving someone out or changing their role to be more minor might affect people for whom that is their heritage. How the entire story they’re telling might change with one simple exclusion or addition.

So, how does this relate directly to Steinberg, you ask? Well, simply, because it was his show. 

Steinberg(and Levine) were involved in every major decision about the show, from its conception, to the script, to choosing the writers and directors. They chose how they wanted the show to look, to think, what stories to tell and how they wanted to tell them. Their decisions(and the biases that formed those decisions) are woven into the show.

And look. I don’t for a second believe any of this was willful or malicious. I don’t think that John Steinberg and Robert Levine sat down one day and said ‘you know what would make the gays really angry? If we locked the only two canonically gay men up in a prison camp.’

But the decisions that were made in the show were based in ignorance in a way that shows more than just simple negligence or laziness(especially given the attention to detail in everything else). The things they leave out or change in the Maroon War plotline for instance are not small details easily missed. They are big, giant waving flags. They are things that are irreplaceable to still have the same events and stories and tell them respectfully. 

It shows an insane amount of privilege to, for instance, write a show airing during a time when the Black Lives Matter movement was at the forefront of the American conscience, include black characters and black storylines, and yet not include a single black voice on their creative team. 

In a show that centers a gay man’s love and his journey in attempting to process the horrible things done to him and his lover because of it, we are given just forty minutes of the entire show dedicated to their relationship - and just fifteen of those minutes actually feature the lover! 

(Relatedly, the entirety of the gay romantic rep is two kisses, and a forehead touch. That’s the entirety of your gay intimacy representation. And yet there are in the first two seasons alone - because that’s all I’ve clocked so far - something like twenty seven minutes of scenes involving a naked or half naked woman. Five minutes of that is explicitly wlw sex.

Again, I just want to reiterate this because it’s important in recognizing bias. 

There is fully twice as much female nudity in the first two seasons, as the entirety of the time the two gay characters have together on screen. )

Steinberg is a perfect example of how a lack of understanding why the diversity you are representing is important, matters. I dislike Steinberg because he, just like every other straight white cis man I have known, profited off of marginalized voices without including them or creating with them in mind.

Art does not exist in a vacuum. You cannot create something - especially something as back breakingly, intensely a labor of love as Black Sails - without putting several pieces of yourself into it. But those pieces color your narrative. They will expose things about you that you don’t even realize. And it’s in these places we are weakest, and why a diverse group of writers with a diverse group of experiences can help a piece be stronger. But for whatever reason, John Steinberg thought that he could make art with only people who looked and thought and experienced like him. 

The lack of representation behind the camera in Black Sails was evident in front of it and yet Steinberg is out here getting to pretend like he created the most inclusive groundbreaking show that ever existed. It is important to me, personally, to acknowledge that. And that it kind of makes my skin crawl in the way all media made by straight white (cis)men makes my skin crawl. I wish I didn’t have to feel that way about my favorite tv show just because it was created by a man of privilege, but here we are.

SO. I hope that helped? Feel free to take what you want and leave what you don’t! 

Below the cut is a more in depth look at things that I think show what I’m talking about, but that up there ^^ is the gist. <3 |D

SURPRISE!

The Maroons and the Maroon War

So the first thing I want to point out is that the Maroon War was a real thing that happened. It lasted ten years, and resulted in the most substantial victory the Maroons ever achieved against the British. Not only that, there was in fact a KICKIN’ badass female leader of the maroons named Queen Nanny, who is to this day honored as a national hero in Jamaica. While they weren’t able to drive the British out, the outcome of this war led to a mostly self-governing Maroon population in Jamaica from the mid 1700s on. This was a long term fight that had a very tangible and real outcome, even if it didn’t end in the destruction of colonialism. 

And what is this war turned into in Black Sails? A white ‘madman’s revenge’  that is doomed to failure after six months.

That, my dear pirates, is a problem for me. (And those familiar with my brand of spiceyness know that I do not ascribe to the ‘Flint is a Madman’ trope, but that IS what Steinberg ascribes to, what he seems to have written the show thinking.) 

There was no narrative reason to include the Maroon War in the narrative of Black Sails. The Maroon War didn’t happen until a decade after the Golden Age of Piracy, and aside from Silver’s wife being a black woman there is no mention of Silver ever having contact with them. To me, this feels like the choice of a showrunner who found a cool historical event and saw a chance to up the stakes of their white male heroes while getting in some sweet sweet POC rep. 

Except that they then took the major events of the Maroon War and gave them to their white characters, Flint and Silver. 

Here’s the thing. If you’re going to take a piece of culturally important history and use it for your show, you NEED to have sensitivity writers. You need to have people who are at least familiar with those events and who care about them to do them justice. Have an expert come in and read your script or go over your ideas. Or just like. Hire a black writer. Hire ONE black writer. As a treat.

The important Maroon figures, Nanny, Cudjoe, and Quao, all get sidelined or ‘sexified’ and then used as plot points for the white characters. Nanny gets split into two women - the older mother queen and Madi, the young naive warbent visionary. Quao(Mr. Scott is the closest, or Kofi possibly) gets killed off because the writers realized they didn’t exactly have a place for him in their writing. Cudjoe(Julius) gets a few scenes and one good speech but his entire role in the war gets given to Silver. And THEN. That sexy Queen Madi figure gets used as emotional bait for Silver and then has to learn he has betrayed her and destroyed the hope and freedom she had wanted to bring to her people. 

Gross, pirates. Gross.

Anne Bonny/Max/Mary Read - a heads up, this section includes a semi in-depth discussion of both Max and Anne’s sexual assaults. If that bothers you, the paragraphs talking about that begin with a ***

COOL NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT LESBIANS. Words my 20 year old self would never have imagined coming out of my mouth. 

Specifically, I want to talk about Max, and Anne, and their backstories both involving extreme sexual trauma at the hands of men. And then Mary Read and the once again sexification of female characters.

(Actually while I’m here another criticism I have of Steinberg is that his writing does not seem to recognize how queer people existed in the past - again, likely because he didn’t have any gay historians to be like ‘actually buddy that doesn’t make sense also why is Anne not dressing as a man? If you want to fuck with anything and insert modern day terminology and ideas into this show, make her non binary and REALLY piss off the hetties.’)

(This same ficitonal gay dramaturg who is definitely not me has also questioned John Steinberg repeatedly about where Mary Read is, unsatisfied with the answer ‘well we wanted her to be hot so we made her a sex worker and then had Anne have to rescue her but then we realized it would be weird not to include her actual character so we gave her a five second cameo at the very end of the series and also made her like 13.’)

Anyway! So my main point in bringing up Anne and Max is the sexual trauma they are exposed to in the show, particularly being that they are the two primary wlw in the show, who Steinberg has said he views as being completely gay, and what THAT whole unexamined idea looks like. 

***Max. My dear Max. There was literally no reason to have her be repeatedly r*ped(and for the love of god there was even less reason to make it that gratuitous and graphic). Max being assaulted like that did not add anything to the gravity of Eleanor’s betrayal. The traumatic event was being tossed aside by Eleanor, and that could have been just as emotionally damaging without the sexual assault. And the only reason for her to be continually assaulted was to bring her and Anne together. 

***The reason imo that Max’s r*pe plot was added was because it was the only thing these white straight men could come up with that felt emotionally damaging enough to them. The act of betrayal itself wasn’t enough, the act of being thrown away, of having a lover put your life in danger because of her own ambitions wasn’t enough, they needed her to be r*ped to really drive home the point. 

***Anne, on the other hand, is never shown being sexually abused, but we are given an explicit account of her own traumatic history and how Jack saved her from this vile beast who was passing her around to his friends.

But here’s the thing pirates - that never happened. According to every account we have of Anne Bonny, she chose her husband, and married him against her father’s wishes. They were probably relatively happy until her husband started being a pirate spy and Anne started cheating on him with Jack. 

And yes, when they were found out. Her husband had her beat. That’s not fucking cool, and if they really wanted to go the damsel in distress route they still could have had Jack ‘save’ her from that. But at no point was she sexually abused by her husband(at least not in any accounts I’ve read.) 

You know who did likely sexually abuse her or at least manipulate her and Mary for his own benefit? If you guessed our Rat man Jack Rackham, you would be correct, because when he found out about Mary and Anne’s (supposed, but probably real) relationship, it’s implied he extorted both of them into fucking him to keep their secret from the crew. 

The addition of sexual abuse to Anne’s past isn’t done to be true to her character and was in fact explicitly untrue. Now of course I don’t know the reasons why they chose to do this, but I can guess. Just as with Max, the most traumatic thing a male writer can think of for a female character is for them to be sexually abused.

And the most disturbing part of this to me? The parallels it has to the real world of why straight men think lesbians exist. These characters who would be called man haters in present day are given these incredibly traumatic man-centered histories. It brings up something very uncomfortable in me about particularly wlw sexuality being viewed as a reaction to trauma at the hands of men. It’s just gross, I dont like it, and honestly there is no fucking excuse for it besides a room full of white straight men writing this bullshit. A room that Steinberg chose, because they fit his ideas.

In Fact heck, the women of Black Sails in general

***I honestly struggle to think of a single female character who I think was treated fairly in Black Sails. Miranda and Eleanor are killed for taking sides and not understanding their partners, Madi is betrayed in the worst way possible, Max is given a pseudo empowering ending but has that fucking terrible start. Idelle ends off fairly well, but tied to a man she may or may not have any actual feelings for, in what is essentially a political marriage. And Anne has her entire identity tied to a man who will be dead in two years as she is robbed of any agency whatsoever without him. (Oh, and the whole r*pe thing. And also her support for Max’s r*pe or death until she started having fee-fees. Who wrote this stuff. >_>)

Even though the characterization of each and every one of these women is PHENOMENAL - and again I will repeat that I absolutely LOVE these characters as they exist in a vacuum. I think they are well rounded, real, feeling people given motivations and drives and FEELINGS and they SHOW THEIR ANGER and i LOVE THEM. 

But the show punishes them for it. Miranda is essentially fridged to move Flint’s storyline along, and to make room for Silver. Eleanor is killed for the emotional damage it will cause Rogers. Madi is placed at the center of a conflict she explicitly says she is willing to die for and then not only is her entire cause taken from her, but when she tells Silver to fuck off he - in possibly the most predictable white man move ever - says ‘no i will stay until you change your mind. I will never leave you. I don’t care about your choice in this matter, I will wait forever for you. I’m your biggest fan. I’ll follow you until you love me. papa, - paparazzi.’ 

And I touched on this before, but I want to talk in more detail about what is possibly my hottest take to date, the sexification of Mary Read and Queen Nanny, as they are presented in the show. 

Max is to Anne what Mary Read is, historically. She is the lover that Jack Rackham discovers with Anne, and then he joins them in their bed. They form a triumvirate that upholds Jack at the expense of the women. But for some reason, Steinberg didn’t want to just include Mary Read as an actual character. For some reason he needed to make Anne’s love interest a sex worker who was in need of saving (and who, coincidentally, we never see working the brothel after she becomes lovers with Anne, because she is now a madam. :) Gross.)

And Madi. My dear sweet fucking Madi who didn’t fucking deserve any of this bullshit send tweet. 

So, historically, Queen Nanny was the Queen, spiritual advisor, and the military tactician of the Windward Maroons. She would have filled both Madi and the Queen’s character roles(and Flint’s, but who’s counting. A BLACK GAY LEAD? Inconceivable. I digress.) But, I guess, because they were wishy-washing with Silver’s sexuality or felt they needed to give him a female love interest because of Treasure Island, or because they were leaning a bit too hard into the gay shit and needed to backpedal, they took Queen Nanny and split her into a character who is for all intents and purposes powerless in the war and Madi, who is young and naive and does not have any real world experience outside of the Maroon camp.

Because that’s sexy, or something. They could have had the Maroon Queen be a fucking badass lady who works and fights alongside Flint and Silver and one ups them and teaches them shit and has her own ideas about where the British can stick it, but instead they made her into the perfect caricature of a female monarch, letting the big strong men handle the dirty work or something. Because white male power fantasies. 

Just let women be powerful and not nubile and let them have character arcs over fucking thirty and let them be CENTERED in their own. fucking. narratives. 

God damnit Steinberg.

James Flint, mlm extraordinaire

Oh, my love. My most amazing child. The light of my life. My purest cinnamon roll. 

~~And now we’ve come to the dreaded Silverflint criticism part of our programming. Please please know and remember this isn’t a criticism of people who ship Silverflint. As I said up top, Your Tomato Is Not My Tomato and that’s cool. Please don’t take this next part as an attack on Silverflint as a fandom ship.~~

My criticism of Steinberg as it relates to Flint is related to:

What a romantic/sexual relationship with Silver being the basis of the tension and plot means for Flint in particular as a gay or mostly mlm man. 

Refusing to confirm Thomas and James being alive at the end and honestly the whole finale in general but like I’ll try and focus.

The major problem I have with Silver and Flint being coded as in love with each other is the implications there in terms of gay men’s relationships to other men. 

From every corner, men are inundated with the idea that any close relationship between them must be gay. That intimacy cannot exist unless there are sexual feelings involved. That a relationship cannot be close, deep and soul shattering and life altering, unless one guy secretly(or not so secretly) wants to bone the other dude. That two men cannot value each other as partners or friends or truly know each other unless they are gay.

Seeing both of the meaningful relationships Flint forms with other men be sexually coded feels a bit the same way as Anne and Max’s sexual assault plotlines does vis-a-vis being wlw. (Even with Gates, Flint never spoke about Thomas or his plans - Silver is absolutely the closest person to Flint besides Thomas and Miranda.) And this is just as true for Silver. Having both Flint and Madi - the two people he trusts - both be people he’s in love with also just feels. I don’t know. 

It feels like a confusion between male intimacy and male love that is so so familiar to me as a gay man I could choke on it. Where they wanted these men to have a deep and really lasting connection, but could only figure out how to do it if they were in love. Friendship wouldn’t have been enough - only romantic and sexual love is enough for the gay man(or men, at all).

Just because it isn’t queerbaiting doesn’t mean it’s good rep, and I would have liked to see truly deep male friendships that did not center on sexual attraction - particularly for Flint as a confirmed mlm(and Silver too, if you’re counting him. The same arguments for why I dislike Flint being paired with Silver are also true in the reverse.) 

Even if both Flint and Silver were confirmed mlm I still would have LOVED to see a platonic relationship between them. In fact I would have loved that EVEN MORE. Men! Who fuck men! Not needing to fuck each other to be important to one another! Who made this. Very delicious. 

But because there weren’t any queer writers on the show, writers who understand this kind of struggle that gay and mlm men face, they thought ‘oh, let’s also have them be in love with each other. More gay rep is better gay rep, right?’ False. THOUGHTFUL gay rep is better gay rep.

Okay and here’s my last thing. The fact that Steinberg refuses to say whether or not the explicitly mlm men are alive at the end of the show - that the words he specifically uses are ‘up for interpretation’ is. Fuck, it’s gross, okay? It’s fucking gross. 

I have been around enough men, enough people in power, enough people with leverage who also know how to play the field, to know that when someone wants a group’s support but does not agree with them, their go to phrasing is that it is ‘up for debate’ or ‘up for interpretation.’

Say the gays are alive. Steinberg refusing to acknowledge the reality of the ending of his show to maintain his own sense of artistic integrity is what, honestly, really sets me off about him and I don’t care if this is a nuanced take.

Like yes, death of the author. I honestly don’t care if he thinks they’re dead or alive. What I care about is that he thinks he can get away with being clever and leaning hard into a story is true/untrue’ - doesn’t realize what the implications of that are, and didn’t when he was writing, and didn’t have anyone else in the room who would think about it either. 

ANYWAY. So this is....my long drawn out explanation for why I do not like Steinberg. Uhhhhh tune in next week for more of my totally unpopular opinions!

[t100ficrecsblog]

three thoughts about raven reyes (& 1 thought about Murven endgame)

ONE

I loved Raven Reyes from the millisecond she showed up on screen. I started watching from the very first episode of t100 but I got truly invested once she showed up and that has never changed. She’s so complicated but at the same time her motivations are simple to figure out if you consider her past and what it was like for her to grow up on the Ark. This might get me some shade but I don’t think a lot of fandom understands Raven at all, and that makes me sad (and also angry lbr). She’s one of the most forgiving characters on this show, she wears her heart on her sleeve and you never have to guess where you stand with her. Raven can be tremendously kind and understanding but she can also tear you down and make you feel small if she disagrees with your choices. I happen to think this is one of her strengths. She deserves so much happiness even though she thinks she doesn’t. It’s not even remotely a stretch to say that she may very well be my favorite character of all time. -JENN

A beautiful, iconic genius. I love how from her introduction, there’s no problem she can’t handle or won’t approach. She’s Raven Reyes and she’s a badass with an amazing mind. Yes, she faces challenges, as all these characters face, but she has such a tenacity when it comes to approaching them which I really love. I think it’s been so great to see this character, played by such a great actress, during the years of t100. -RYN

i find she’s often overlooked for how much representation she brings to the show. she’s not necessarily underrated, but just not appreciated enough for how much she can mean to people. raven reyes is a woman in stem, a woman of colour, and a woman with a disability. on top of that, she is so kickass and kind and funny and beautiful and strong - she isn’t reduced to tokenism, she is an integral part of the show. i love raven reyes and lindsey morgan for the comfort and inspiration they give so many people. -ELLE

TWO

Her strength is something that I think is both one of the most powerful and interesting parts of her character. Her season four arc really broke my heart, in the best way since I love pain, but I absolutely loved that she chose to live. That she fought back against every odd and said “screw that” and powered on. She does struggle, yes, she feels pain and experiences loss and everything else that all the characters face, which I think is important, to show that she isn’t unbreakable. She also confronts those struggles by continuing forward though, and doing what she can for herself and her people. -RYN

despite what canon says, i think that she has always been morally gray in her actions. she took extreme actions against grounders in season one. she wanted to turn murphy over to the grounders in season two. she was pretty complacent in the nightblood experiments in season four. she helped with the flame in season five. in season seven, she wants murphy and emori to keep up the prime act. she’s complex and contradictory and realistic and human. -ELLE

For Raven, family is everything and once she counts you as hers, she’s not letting go without a fight. She felt this way about Finn, which I hated at first, but I have come to appreciate their relationship more and respect her feelings for him as her family even after what he did. She’s willing to do anything for her family, including stay behind alone in space, facing likely death like when it meant getting Spacekru back to Earth safely. We see the devastation she takes on when she loses family and how it haunts her and also influences her actions. This outlook is still going strong in s7 when she fights to bring Echo back to herself and throws being a family in Bellamy’s face when she feels that he has betrayed them. I don’t think anything motivates Raven more than family. -JENN

THREE

Thinking about regrets I’ll have that we likely won’t see for Raven, I think it’s particularly traumatic that Finn, Sinclair and Abby all died right in front of her while she could do absolutely nothing about it. All three were her family and I think the helplessness & guilt that she felt regarding their deaths (and to an extent Monty & Harper too, based on what she says after learning of their deaths) really plays a big role on who she has become over the seasons. I wish canon took a deeper look into that but I do think Lindsey does a particularly good job at showing devastated emotions (sob) so at least I got that. I am truly turning myself into a pretzel to cross my entire body that Raven gets her happy ending, but I will add the caveat that it better make sense for her & not be some bs last-minute move that ruins her character either. -JENN

We love color symbolism!! I love Raven’s red jacket and the repeated red symbolism we get for her. Not just because, of course, it ties with Murphy’s symbolism as well (I see you red jacket patch, I see you), but also because I think it shows her character so well. I enjoyed it so much when they brought the jacket, or one like it, back this season, and think it shows how all the character arcs, but specifically hers, are circling back and connecting them to who they were in season one to who they are now. Hopefully, this circling will include satisfying conclusions for her and the others. -RYN

raven reyes is the only one who should be allowed to call murphy a cockroach. with anyone else, it bothers me, but with (the) raven, it’s fine. i think that’s just because of the development they’ve have. it was a title born out of hatred, but it has since evolved into an inside joke for the pair, and it’s even a bit of a mantra. i know a lot of people disliked the “go be a cockroach” line in season seven, but to me i think it was her way of saying (in a high stress situation) “i need you to survive, like you always do” á la season four’s “go. survive” and “that’s what cockroaches do, right?” lines. every cockroach needs a raven. -ELLE

what’s your ideal ending for Murven?

I feel like there’s two viewpoints I’m torn between - what I want to happen vs. what’s appropriate for the story. IMHO the ending for them that’s appropriate for the story is that they die together. It’s a huge part of their dynamic that canon has set up since early s2. If the show does it well, showing that Raven & Murphy actively choose not to leave each other or it’s a scenario where it’s inevitable and they sort of peacefully accept it and perhaps do something heroic at the end, then as sad as I’d be, I’d also probably love it and would completely accept it. And then I’d write reincarnation fic or something, LOL! But what I want to happen - oh well, in that case - I’d like them both to survive and have maybe a hint or two that the option of them being together is there. Personally I don’t need them to be romantic canon in the end if we can at least leave the ending up to interpretation but I would sell my soul for them to kiss onscreen at least once. I don’t care how or why just let me have it!! -jenn

a quiet life in sanctum. i think after all the danger and pain they’ve experienced, they deserve a nice peaceful life. my ideal would be them being together, living in a cute little cottage style house. raven would take over the machine shop, getting to tinker around all day. murphy would work at the bar/kitchen, getting to chat and joke around with people all day. they would come home and talk about their days or hang out with their friends, never without some playful teasing, and then they would fall asleep together - peaceful and happy. -elle

Okay, this is more than simply just sad, but my ideal goal is a final, important moment between them. I have been theorizing and predicting a possible Murphy death since really the season started, and I’m scared to admit I feel like it is heading there. So, while I think it’s gonna break my damn heart, I want Murphy to have a true hero’s death (if he does have to die which I am not down with or excited about but what I feel is indeed coming) and a final important moment with Raven, who I feel with pretty intense certainty will live and (hopefully) lead a very full and happy life. It’s not a perfect ending, or the ending I would’ve written for them, but this is where my ideal meets my acknowledgement of canon meets haha. -ryn

it was an absolute delight to interview these three Murven writers! you can find ryn @animmortalist on Tumblr, or here on AO3. you can find elle @hopskipawayon Tumblr, or here on AO3. you can find jenn @easilydistractedbyfanfic on Tumblr, or here on AO3. all three of them are working with @t100fic-for-blm, request a fic written by them there. <3

[bbyx]

ripple effect - part three

Summary: During her fourth year at Hogwarts, (y/n) Deauxville falls for none other than Cedric Diggory. But it's not easy when you have to deal with protecting your family's fortune, keeping your father's illness a secret and having two of your closest friends catch feelings for you.

Pairings : reader x cedric, reader x draco, reader x harry

With help from some of the Ministry's interns, your tent was finally up. It was lilac purple with a beautiful satin finish. Walking inside always took your breath away just because of the sheer size of the tent. It smelt brand new and didn't have that homey feeling like the Weasley's tent but it would do for a couple nights.

(y/n) plops down on the bed. She opens up and rereads the letter that Minister Fudge had sent her father two months ago. You had started reading your dad's mail and answering for him since he was no longer capable of doing it himself. Your father had a very formal way of writing so it had been easy enough to imitate his handwriting to answer the Minister's letter.

You open the creamy beige envelope and pull out a sturdy white letter with gold embellishments. It reads:

Dear (f/n),                                                                                                                  I hope this letter is finding you in good health. I've heard that you have recently been traveling Europe in search of new properties. Barty and myself were wondering if you would be so kind as to join us for a meeting during the Quidditch World cup. The time is nearing and we must finalize the deal.  Looking forward to seeing you,                                                                                                                                Cornelius

You tried remembering what you wrote in the answering letter. It went something like this.

Dear Cornelius,                                                                                                         I am currently in Romania for business and I unfortunately will not be back in time for the Quidditch World Cup. However i've left my daughter (y/n) in charge of my business affairs while I am away and she would be delighted to join you. Barty and yourself can finalize the deal with her.  Wishing you the best,                                                                                                                                             (f/n)

Your father had started a real estate company when he was twenty four and it had grown into one of the most successful businesses in the wizarding world and in Britain. You assumed that the Minister and Barty Crouch wanted to buy a property but you didn't know anything further. It was a very secretive affair and you had searched your father's files extensively but there was no mention of this mysterious deal anywhere. You were essentially going in blind.

The meeting was going to be over dinner in the Minister's box during the Quidditch Match. (y/n) had time to kill so she walked back to the Weasley's tent.

You arrive just in time to see the Weasley twins and Ludo Bagman betting on the games.

"Personally I have to agree with Mr.Bagman, my money is on Bulgaria winning" You tease and the twins shake their ginger heads.

You hear sirens that signal the stadium has opened. You head over with your friends. The inside of the Quidditch stadium is just as breathtakingly festive as the outside. Red and green coats everything, it is filled with headshots of various Quidditch players and drunken voices singing national anthems.

"Blimey how far up are we dad!" Rom complains.

"Well, put it this way, if it rains you'll be the first to know." You turn towards the familiar cold posh voice. Lucius Malfoy.

You had grown up with the Malfoy's and practically spent half your childhood at their house. Narcissa has become a second mother to you after your own mother's death. (y/n) had her suspicions that her parents and the Malfoy's were hoping their children would get married but (y/n) cringed at the idea. It wasn't that you didn't like Draco but your relationship was more like cousins. He was like that one favourite cousin everyone has that makes all family gatherings fun. But you couldn't stand the snobby facade Draco put on whenever he was around other people. Like now.

"Father and I are in the minister's box. A personal invitation from Cornelius Fudge himself."

"Don't boast, Draco" Lucius says while nudging him with his cane. " There is no need with these people."

You rolled your eyes so hard it felt like you could see the back of your skull.

"Ah miss Deauxville, I believe you'll be joining us in the Minister' box." Lucius says in a respectful tone.

You hated how he talked to your friends like they were lower than you. Lucius nudges Draco with his cane and Draco immediately offers you his arm. You look back at the trio and mouth help me as you take Draco's arm.

"Have fun" Hermione says sarcastically.

The Minister's box is filled with house elves carrying trays of little delicacies and wizards and witches dressed in overly formal clothing. You immediately felt underdressed in your sweater and tennis skirt. But to your delight you could see the sweat glistening off their skin, after all it was still mid August.

A curly haired blonde woman in a ridiculously tight plum dress and green glasses walks over to Mr. Malfoy.

" Ah Lucius, darling, I see Draco has brought his little girlfriend along." She sneers at you, clearly not recognizing you. However you knew exactly who this was, Rita Skeeter, a slimy idiotic gossip columnist with worms for a brain.           " Hope she enjoys this once in a lifetime opportunity to dine with such fine people."

You feel a hand on your shoulder.

"Miss Deauxville, so glad you could make it. The Minister would like to talk in his private room."

Rita Skeeter's face blanched when she realised you were a Deauxville and you follow Barty Crouch through a curtain into a smaller room with a round table and a huge window.

Seated at the table was Minister Fudge, you took a seat just as the team mascots stepped out on the field. The beautiful Bulgarian veelas danced on the field while the Irish leprechauns bounded with their gold, this angered the veelas who in turn transformed into demon-like bird creatures. The teams stepped out on the field, national anthems were played and the snitch was released.

"Well let's get this over with quickly so we have a chance to enjoy the game" You say.

Cornelius Fudge starts.

"Yes, yes well as I'm sure your father mentioned, the Ministry would like to lease a property for a couple months."

Just then Percy walks in holding a stack of papers.

"Here are the papers you asked for Mr.Crouch." He says importantly.

"Ah thank you Weatherby. You may go now."

You almost choke trying to stifle your laugh, earning a glare from Percy as he leaves. Mr Crouch hands you a stack of papers.

" The contract." He simply states. You're too distracted to notice the house elves bring the meal to the table.

You take your time to look it over for any loopholes. Normally your father would have his team of lawyers draw up his own contracts but this would do.

"You want to lease lot number 637? The two acres in the Black Forest, next to Hogwarts? You're sure?"

"Yes" The Minister replied looking uncomfortable.

"There are a few modifications we would like to do to this property." Barty Crouch cuts in.

"What kind of modifications?" You ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Well first we would like to cut most of the trees off"

You squawk.

"What! You realise that property will lose all value without the trees."

"Indeed but the ministry is prepared to compensate you for the trees and any fire damage." Mr.Fudge adds.

"Fire damage! What on earth are you planning on doing there!" You blurt out, you're voice rising several octaves.

" Miss Deauxville, we would tell you if we could, trust us it would make this so much easier, but unfortunately you are still a Hogwarts student and therefore we regretfully have to keep our lips sealed."

You decide to let it go. After all your father had done plenty of suspicious deals before he fell ill.

"How much are you offering?"

"370 000 galleons for eight weeks" Barty answers. You knew that property in the middle of the Black Forest was essentially worthless because of the aggressive centaurs that lived around it. They were offering a lot more money than expected so you quickly grabbed your pen and signed the contract. The two other men did the same. You got up to shake their hands and left the room.

(y/n) sat next to Draco and Lucius Malfoy for the remainder of the game. They made small talk but she couldn't focus on anything other than that property in the Black Forest.

Why the hell would the ministry be so eager to lease that dump? Why would there be fire damage? Why cut all the trees? Questions were swarming your mind like bees.

You look up when you hear the tremendous cheers coming from all the Irish fans. The game was over. You smile to yourself.

Those bloody Weasleys predicted it. Krum caught the snitch but Ireland won.

Both teams came up to the Minister's box to shake his hand. Everyone got up and clapped when the Irish team proudly walked in. The Bulgarian team stomped in with it's sulking seeker Victor Kum leading them. You started shaking hands with people you barely recognized just trying to get out of there as fast as possible. You shake Viktor Krum's hand and give him a warm smile, after all the guy had just lost the biggest game of the year, and he gave you a smile that never completely reached his eyes. Suddenly a bright flash blinds both of you. When you regain sight you see Rita Skeeter standing there with a camera.

"Beautiful photo" She says with the phoniest widest smile.

You finally join the Weasley clan and Cedric Diggory around a campfire later that night after the Malfoys had insisted that you have dinner with them.

"Where were you? I was getting worried. I mean. We. We were getting worried" Harry says quickly. The others give him strange looks.

"Stuck at a dinner with the Malfoy's." You sigh "If anyone mentions politics or the stock exchange one more time I will slit all your throats ok?" They all laugh and explain that they're playing truth or dare.

"Give me a dare! Give me a dare!" Ginny pleads.

"That's not how it works Ginny, you have to get picked." George explained.

"We've been playing for an hour and nobody's picked me !" She whines.

"Fine, eat this" Fred says, handing her a candy.

She pops it in her mouth and her tongue starts to swell enormously. She runs to find Mr.Weasley.

"She asked for it." Fred says, throwing his hands up.

They all keep playing, (y/n) not really paying attention. She was distracted by the Minister's words: "we would tell you if we could, trust us it would make this so much easier, but unfortunately you are still a Hogwarts student and therefore we regretfully have to keep our lips sealed."

"Cedric, truth or dare." George asks, smirking.

"Dare."

"Very well, your dare is to go ask one of those veelas on a date." He says pointing to a group of breathtaking creatures. You feel a pang of jealousy as Cedric gets up. Instead he comes and sits next to you.

" (y/n), how about a date?"

"Sure" You smile and turn red as George gets up, flailing his arms around..

"No no no. I said a Veela."

"George, are you a bloody idiot, everyone in Great Britain knows (y/n) is a quarter Veela." Hermione says.

Fred and George look at you puzzled.

"Really?" Asks Fred.

"Can you do that cool demon bird shit?" George looks at you suspiciously.

You laugh. "No! It would be kinda fun though if I could. But no, I can't turn into a bird or enchant men into falling hopelessly in love." You say making dramatic hand gestures.

" I don't know about that" Mumbles Harry. You shoot him puzzled looks.

As the night goes on the group keeps talking and playing various games. Your eyes start to feel heavy.

"I think I need to go to sleep." You mumble.

"You can always sleep with me." Fred purrs. Ron hits him with the back of his hand. Cedric's jaw stiffens as he glares at Fred. He looks like he's about to say something when Hermione cuts him off.

" I'll walk you back to your tent (y/n)"

You agree and say goodnight to everyone. As you're walking back you hear screams and see dark figures with masks levitating and torturing a muggle family. You and Hermione run towards the forest where you catch up with Ron and Harry. Ron trips. Lumos Hermione whispers and a bright glow appears on the tip of her wand.

You spot Draco leaning calmly against a tree close to you.

"Better go Hermione, unless you want to show everyone your underwear, if so stick around it would be tremendously funny" He sneers while gesturing to the levitating family.

How can he be so freaking calm when people are literally being tortured less than fifty feet away?

Harry and Ron start defending Hermione and question Draco about his parent’s whereabouts. Meanwhile, you're stuck in a trance watching the family of muggles being tortured and feeling helpless.

"Have it your way, Potter" Draco grins maliciously. "If you think they can't spot a mudblood, stay where you are"

Anger ripped through your body at the sound of those words and you were about to tear his vocal cords out and jinx him within an inch of his life when someone gently squeezes your hand.

"(y/n), let's go." Cedric says, his eyes pleading.

[letterstoleia]

Important Lessons Learned from Gabby and Brian

As an author and advocate for survivors of domestic violence, I’ve learned a lot about the predictable patterns of unhealthy relationships. After years of personal experiences, research, and outreach, I’ve learned to recognize the tell-tale signs of abuse. I am not a licensed therapist, social worker, police officer, or minister. So please understand I shared my thoughts as 3 a.m. musings. When a few people asked me to make the post public, I agreed, reluctantly. I had no idea this message would resonate with so many people. I've worked back through the original post to explain a bit better how I'm feeling. I realize not everyone will agree with me, and I respect all opinions and views. All I ask is that we engage in respectful discourse on all sides. Thank you all.

In recent days, the tragic events involving Gabby Petito and Brian Laundrie have given us a lot to learn. This case is still under investigation, and I can only make assumptions based on the textbook patterns of abuse I’ve witnessed too many times to count. I also recognize that multiple families are grieving, and I have tremendous empathy for everyone involved. However, many survivors will resonate with at least some of the following insights, and I’m hoping we can use this tragedy to shift the way we as a culture approach the complicated issue of domestic abuse.

Let’s examine 30 important lessons this couple teaches us:

1. Followers on social media saw a smiling, happy couple, full of love and wanderlust, setting out for a cross-country adventure while documenting all the joys of young life. In many cases, targets become very good at smiling through the pain.

2. When the public was shown body camera footage captured by Moab City Police officer Daniel Robbins, (who pulled Laundrie and Petito over after the 911 call on August 12), some viewers assumed Petito was suffering from mental illness and Laundrie, while nervous, was the steadier of the two.

3. Other viewers assumed both partners were equally at fault—the old “it takes two” myth that doesn’t really apply to most abusive situations.

4. Some people even assumed Petito was the abuser and Laundrie was the victim.

5. These three assumptions probably crossed everyone’s mind as a possibility (they did mine). Healthy minded people tend to give others the benefit of the doubt, especially when someone is being accused of a negative act. Also, we can all understand that mental illness is a difficult situation and can tax even the kindest most gentle of souls (and the people who love them). Unfortunately, in many cases, this thought pattern leads us to assume the victim is mentally ill or that the victim is to blame for an altercation.

6. “Victim blaming” can happen even in the worst cases of abuse because we don’t see the longitudinal story unfolding. What we don’t see is that the target has managed to keep things together until she reached her threshold, at which time we may see her crying, yelling, or breaking down emotionally. By exhibiting those behaviors, many might assume the target is “crazy,” and it’s natural for us to feel as if the more stable person is more trustworthy.

7. If we listen carefully to Laundrie’s conversation with the officers, he even laughs and says, “She’s crazy.” (17.09) Then he dismisses it as a joke. Of course, he’s already put this claim in the officers’ minds (and by the nonchalant way he says it, many might assume it’s not the first time he’s said these words.)

8. So while viewers (and officers) start wondering if perhaps the target is “crazy,” the abuser plays the part of the poor, patient partner who has to deal with this irrational person. In the video, Laundrie mentions Petito’s anxiety and her OCD, painting her as an unstable partner. (Please note: I’m not at all justifying any physical violence against either party. No one should intentionally harm any other person. Period.)

9. A typical abuser would be skilled at convincing people that he’s innocent, while in fact he’s been acting very differently behind closed doors, pushing his target to this point intentionally and feeding on her emotional break. Many abusers LOVE to see evidence that they’ve hurt their target. They LOVE to see their target in pain. For this reason, “breaking” the target is usually the goal from the start. In cases of abuse, it may take an abuser hours, weeks, months, or even years to break the target, but he won’t stop until he gets that reaction, and then he’ll point the finger and say, “See? She’s crazy. I’m just trying to keep her calm.” And then he’ll do it again. And again. And again.

10. As a result, some people will buy into that false narrative. Even the target can be brainwashed to doubt her own truth. Which may be one reason we see Petito making many excuses for Laundrie’s behavior and taking the blame for everything.

11. In contrast, we see Laundrie blaming Petito, insisting he never hit her and saying he was just trying to keep her calm. He’s charming. He comes across as the loving and loyal partner. He’s joking around with the officers and even gives one a fist bump in the end. All the while, his fiancée is at risk of being charged with domestic assault and possibly spending the night in jail.

12. Later, we’ll hear the 911 recording that (it seems) the responding officers were not fully informed of at the time: “I’d like to report a domestic dispute.” The 49 second audio recording continues as the caller says, “The gentleman was slapping the girl.” When the dispatcher asks him to confirm that the man was slapping the girl, the caller responds, “Yes, and then we stopped, they ran up and down the sidewalk, he proceeded to hit her, hopped in the car, and they drove off.”

13. But long before the 911 call was made public, many survivors could already see through the spin playing out on the video footage. They easily recognized the “red flags” because these cycles become the norm for victims of long-standing abuse. Many targets eventually become conditioned to believe everything the abuser does is her fault. Covering for the abuser, accepting all the blame, trying harder to make the abuser happy—this warped reality becomes the only truth a target knows.

14. Also, it seems clear that Petito doesn’t want her fiancé to be in any trouble. She’d rather pay the price and protect the man she loves. And because she probably believes he only acted this way because of her mood/behaviors/anxiety/OCD/job, she doesn’t want him to be blamed. This is also the norm in abusive relationships.

15. Many experienced and well-trained officers see right through this typical pattern. Others buy the cover-up story. And, sadly, because some officers are also abusers, some side with the abuser even when they know exactly what’s going on. Throughout the video, we get the sense that Officer Robbins senses there’s more to the story.

16. I credit the police in Petito’s situation, especially Officer Robbins. The four responding officers (two of whom were park rangers) remained calm, they separated the couple, they interviewed them individually, they split them up for the night, they consulted the domestic violence shelter … many would say they did everything right considering the information they had at the time.

17. I imagine the officers involved may be suffering from tremendous guilt and wondering if they could have prevented Petito’s death, but I want to give credit to the officers in this case. While it’s easy to look back and say maybe they should have handled things differently, knowing what we now know, I was impressed with how well they treated both Laundrie and Petito (and, sadly, I was thinking how rare it is to see that level of respect and professionalism in most cases of domestic violence, particularly in the South where I’ve been most involved with survivors’ stories.)

18. After Petito was reported missing, many people expressed shock in response to the Laundrie family’s refusal to cooperate early in the investigation. Petito reportedly lived with the Laundrie family for more than a year. Anyone can see that this family will do anything to protect their son, even at the cost of an innocent young woman who was a real part of their family and soon to be their daughter-in-law. While most of us can certainly understand parents wanting to protect their son, most would agree they crossed a moral line when his fiancée went missing.

19. But perhaps it goes deeper than that. Perhaps what we’re seeing is a system of enablers who not only allowed their son to abuse Petito (which may have been a factor in her reported anxiety) but also a system of gaslighters who may have always been shifting the truth to keep Petito confused and make her believe she was the problem.

20. It’s not a far stretch to assume Petito was caught in a system of abuse. And once a target is caught in that psychological web, it’s extremely difficult to see a way out. Reality becomes flipped.

21. It’s also worth noting that Petito and Laundrie had been involved in various levels of a relationship since their teens. This is also commonly observed in dysfunctional partnerships.

22. These immature relationships work beautifully when both partners grow together and mature emotionally. But when one wants to keep the other down, naïve, and under his control … and the other is growing, learning, and maturing … it doesn’t work.

23. We hear Petito tell the officer that Laundrie didn’t think she could succeed with her travel blog (3.25). It seems clear that he didn’t believe in her and that he was trying to make her doubt herself.

24. Throughout the conversation, he implies that he locked her out of the van because she wouldn’t calm down. But when we listen to the full video, it seems he was upset because they’d spent too much time at the coffee shop with her working on her website when he wanted to go hiking. This suggests that because she wasn’t in the van when he was ready to leave, he lost his temper.

25. In the moments that followed, the altercation became physical. Reportedly, Laundrie squeezed Petito’s face with his hand, cut her down verbally, and criticized her.

26. Some would argue that this escalating abuse typically persists until the target reacts emotionally and/or physically. If this case follows the norm, Laundrie may have been trying to break her spirit, intentionally.

27. Why? Again, if this case follows the typical situation, it would likely be because Petito’s focus wasn’t 100% on Laundrie. She had found this new job she enjoyed. She was succeeding at it, and it was allowing her to connect with other people. (Remember, she’d already left her job as a nutritionist to travel around the country with Laundrie.)

28. In a healthy relationship, the new job might be considered a positive opportunity for Petito. Especially considering Laundrie admits they have very little money (not even enough to afford a hotel room to prevent his fiancée from going to jail). But in an unhealthy relationship, the abuser wants the target all to himself. And when that doesn’t happen, he can become increasingly violent.

29. Petito now had this one little piece of her life that Laundrie couldn’t control, so if we’re looking at textbook patterns, perhaps her blog angered him. Perhaps he didn’t like all the attention she was getting on social media. Perhaps he punished her for it. And then a cycle developed. Even though she was doing nothing wrong by building a new career.

30. The next thing we know, we have a missing person, a recovered body, a young man on the run, and several families destroyed. Too much grief to measure. And the truth is, it will happen again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day, until we learn to recognize and respond to abusive situations in healthier ways.

The overall takeaway?

When we see someone at her emotional end during a domestic dispute, we shouldn’t assume she’s crazy. We shouldn’t buy into the false narrative given by the abuser. We shouldn’t believe the cover-up story by the target who has been conditioned to carry all the blame and shame. And we shouldn’t assume they’re going to be okay.

Instead, we should all learn the difference between healthy and unhealthy relationships. We should learn to recognize the warning signs of abuse. We should engage in respectful, fact-based conversations about trauma bonds, abusive cycles, and emotional intelligence. We should be familiar with terms like gaslighting, hovering, love bombing, enabling, triangulating, and projecting. We should stop blaming targets and help them reclaim their truth. And we should stop repeating the age-old myths that keep targets trapped in these dangerous and all-too-often deadly cycles.

Finally, while I’ve used the most common scenario of male-on-female violence in this article, we should recognize that abuse crosses all barriers and can impact anyone regardless of gender, sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, religious affiliation, age, or socio-economic level. And we should stop assuming these situations will get better in time. Personally, I haven’t heard of one abusive relationship that became healthier. Not one. Not with therapy. Not with church. Not with prayer or forgiveness or complete surrender. When an abuser is determined to destroy his target, he will not stop until that target is erased from this world or stripped from her life. And in many cases, he’ll walk away without any consequences, often taking the target’s finances, home, vehicle, reputation, or even her children with him.

Please don’t let the next statistic be you or someone you love. For support, contact the Domestic Violence Hotline. From a safe phone, call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233) or text “START” to 88788.

[vajranam]

Virupa Teaching

The Life of Mahasiddha Virupa

By Lama Choedak Yuthok, Sakya Losal Choe Dzong, Canberra, Australia.

 Virupa was born a crown prince, the son of King Suvarnacakra (gser-gyi 'khor-lo) of the city off Vesasa in eastern India. The court astrologers predicted at his birth that he would develop tremendous spiritual powers and would illuminate the teachings. He was given the name Rupyacakra (dngul-gyi 'khor-lo). As a young child, he entered the famous monastery of Somapura in North Bengal where he received novice ordination from the abbot Vinitadeva and the Acharya Jayakirti. He mastered all the five major sciences and became a great scholar of both Buddhist and non-Buddhist doctrines. It was here that he built a stone temple in which he installed holy images of the Buddha. He established a tradition of making regular offerings to cleanse the misdeeds of his deceased parents. When the temple was complete, he offered a big celebratory feast to the whole monastic community and dedicated the merits.

Having concluded his studies there, he left for Nalanda where the Dharma was firmly established. There he received Bhikhu ordination from the abbot Dharmamitra also known as Jayadeva of Nalanda University. He was give the name Shri Dharmapala. He continued his study under the tutorship of his abbot who was very pleased with him and gave him many private teachings on Vajrayana practices in general and on Chakrasamvara Tantra in particular. The abbot left instructions in his will that Shri Dharmapala should be appointed his successor, and asked the monastic officials to show equal respect and honour to his successor as they had Dharmapala was accordingly appointed abbot of Nalanda. He supervised his predecessor's grand funeral ceremony and arranged to have the entire remains of the abbot transformed into relics which he carefully distributed amongst the various kings, patrons and monks.

Dharmapala practised Chakrasamvara diligently every night according to the secret instructions he had received from his abbot. His days were devoted to teaching and composition. Although he gave teachings on both Theravadin and Mahayana texts, he devoted most of his own time and energy to the esoteric practices of Vajrayana. He continued to practice Chakrasamvara wholeheartedly year after year. However, at the age of seventy despite so many years of faithful practice, Dharmapala was yet to experience any signs of spiritual attainment. He also had to contend with all his old diseases which plagued his body and his mind. He was saddened and frightened by the constant harm caused by Yakshas and evil-spirits. To add to his general state of discouragement and frustration, he had been having the most frightful nightmares. In one of these dreams he saw huge a fire burning at the lower end of a vallery and a flood rising from the upper end. He saw hail-storms, glaciers, icicles and icebergs failing from the sky. He saw his Guru, Yidam and spiritual friends hanging upside down, or with their faces torn apart, noses cut-off, eyes gouged out and dripping with blood.

Not surprisingly, Dharmapala interpreted these dreams as bad omens. He concluded that he must lack the karmic connection to atain realization through the path of Vajrayana in that lifetime. He decided to give up his Vajrayana practices completely. Accordingly, on the night of the 22nd day of the four lunar month he relinquished his practice of Deity Yoga, and threw his prayer beads into the latrine.

These dreams were actually indications that Dharmapala was about to achieve a major spiritual realization through his Tantric practices. But he had no way of knowing this at the time, so he completely misread the signs. He was unaware that he had already perfected the Path of Accumulation, the Path of Preparation and was about to attain the Path of Seeing. At that time his vital energy and his mind had merged in the ksa and ma syllables below the Navel Cakra. This had caused the symbolism which appeared so terrifying in his dreams. He failed to recognise the signs of what was happening to him because his abbot had died before imparting the complete pith instructions. These would have explained the drastic changes occuring in the subtle energy flows within his psychic body and clarified the dream experience.

Shri Dharmapala decided that from then on he would devote his entire time to teaching, writing and other duties for the Sangha (monastic community) instead of spending many hours a day on Deity Yoga meditation practice. However, on that very night he dreamed that the Goddess Nairatmya appeared before him in the form of a beautiful blue woman wearing heavenly silk garments, and spoke to him thus:

"O noble son, it is not good that you should behave in this manner when you are about to attain the Siddhi. Although all the Buddhas have non-discriminatory compassion, I am the deity with whom you have strong Karmic affinity and I shall bless you to quickly attain Siddhi. Go and retrieve your prayer beads, wash them with scented water, confess your misdeeds and resume your practice properly."

Then she disappeared. Dharmapala awoke feeling a mixture of regret and joy. He followed her instructions, resuming his practice early that morning. Subsequently the Mandala of the Nirmanakaya aspect of the Fifteen Goddess of Nairatmya appeared before him and gave him the four complete initiations. He thereupon attained the Path of Seeing of the First Bhumi. He now realised the true significance of his dreams. The rough dreams and visions of Yaksas were the interdependent manifestations of his mind and vital energies merging into the ksa and ma syllables below the navel Cakra. This was caused by the untying the vein knots which brought about the First Merging of Elements and signs of the vital energies of Candali heat. The unconventional experiences which appeared to his conceptual mind resulted from the re-adaptation process between the veins and the mind. As a sign of the intermediate Merging of Elements the Candali fire blazes upward and causes the Bodhicitta nectar to flow upward. Such an interdependent manifestation of internal events would be experienced conceptually by the Yogi as a blazing fire from the bottom of the valley and a flood coming from the upper part of the valley. The forceful circulation of subtle droplets in many minor veins was reflected in the dreams about hail-storms, and the icebergs falling from the sky. The Third and Final Merging of the Elements revealed the bare face of flawless transcendental wisdom. This has the effect of dissolving all attachment to ordinary appearances. These interdependent manifestations were reflected in his dreams as the torn faces of his Guru and Yidams. He came to realise that all those signs had been direct meditative experiences related to the three sequential mergings of the subtle elements within his body.

Through the timely appearance and guidance of Vajranairatmya, Shri Dharmapala had finally attained realization. From then on, he reached a higher Bhumi each day until in the early morning of the 29th of the same month he attained the Sixth Bhumi. He was now a great Bodhisattva dwelling on the Sixth Bhumi. His receipt of the four complete initiations confirmed that the continuous flow of the empowerment had not ceased. The attainment of the six Bhumis was confirmation that the lineage of the blessings was unbroken. His failure to recognise previous signs of attainment and his misinterpretation of these signs as bad omens confirmed that he had not received certain pith instructions. This enabled him to realise that the order of the instructions was not wrong. In consequence, Dharmapala's devotion to the teachings was restored and redoubled. He became confident that he would definitely attain the realization of a Fully Enlightened One, as did the Buddha. In this way he was blessed with the Four Whispered Lineages, which came to be known as the 'Instruction of the Four Whispered Lineages'.

Out of gratitude to his Guru and Yidams, Shri Dharmapala asked his companions to prepare Ganachakra feast offerings. Meat and wine were included amongst the requisite offerings substances. The other monks became apprehensive when they saw the meat and alcohol being taken into their abbot's quarters. Some of them eavesdropped at his door at night. Depending on the level of purity or impurity of their respective minds, they each saw different things going on in his own room. Some saw the abbot surrounded by fifteen women, others saw only eight. Some saw him surrounded by fifteen lamps, while others could see only eight of them. These nocturnal sightings aroused considerable suspicion within the monastic community. However, the monks dared not speak out for he was their abbot, and his reputation in the wider world was not just untarnished, it was brilliant, like the sun.

In the meantime, Shri Dharmapala had already decided that, in order to avoid any possibility of disparagement to the doctrine which might arise from misunderstandings about his behaviour, he should without delay confess his wickedness. Accordingly he left his room and went before the Buddha image. Removing his Dharma robes and setting down his begging bowl, he declared, "Ame Virupa" which means "I am wicked." Next he went off and adorned his head with flowers and leaves which he took from florists. He snatched radishes from vegetable shops, stuffing some into his mouth and others beneath his armpits. He began frequenting wine bars and brothels. His behaviour caused a scandal and it was not long before the monastic gong was beaten, signaling his dismissal from the monastery for violation of the monastic code of conduct, Virupa responded by singing joyously.

In order to benefit the Buddhadharma and also to rekindle the faith of those who had lost their faith in him, he had admitted his wickedness. After his dismissal he adopted the name "Virupa". He became very famous under this new name and his ordination name "Dharmapala" was virtually forgotten. Hence very few scholars and historians, apart from the Lamdre historians of the Sakyapa tradition, realise that it was the famous abbot Dharmapala who later became Virupa.

Virupa set off Varanasi. When he reached the river Ganges, he spoke the following words:

"I am wicked, so let me pass without touching you, as you are believed to be pure. I do not want to pollute you."

Even as he spoke the waters of the Ganges parted and there appeared before him a dry white path. He walked along the path singing joyously. Some monks had followed him as far as the river. When they saw this amazing feat, they realised that Virupa had already attained the siddhis. They begged their dismissed abbot for forgiveness and requested that he return to the monastery. Virupa forgave them but declined to return.

He wandered through the forests of Varanasi for a long time. Some sources say this went on for six years, other say six months. Because of his nakedness, his complexion turned bluish and he became frightful to behold. Peasants who saw him reported his presence to the king. Some thought he was a Hindu Yogi, while others suspected he was a Buddhist Yogi. The king of Varanasi, Govindachandala was a staunch devotee and patron of Hindu Yogis. He wanted to offer comfort to the wanderer should he prove to be a Hindu, but feared the man might bring harm to his citizens if he turned out to be a Buddhist. Accordingly, he ordered his ministers to investigate the Yogi. However, the ministers could find no clue to his identity. The king then ordered that this mysterious Yogi be brought to the palace so that he could examine him personally. On the way, Virupa indiscriminately devoured many worms, pigeons and butterflies which he then vomited up and resurrected. The king's men labeled him 'wicked'. He told them that he had no idea how he should behave since they labeled him 'wicked' whether he devoured worms or resurrected them. Virupa was finally brought before the king. The king asked him many questions, but Virupa answered not a single word. Then the king said:

"Since this Yogi has neither any of the qualities of Vishnu nor any noticeable signs of a Hindu Yogi, chain up his limbs and throw him into the river. He must be a Buddhist Yogi."

The ministers had Virupa thrown into the river exactly as the king had commanded. However, before the ministers returned, the magical Virupa had already reappeared and was standing before the king. This process was repeated many times until finally the king became convinced that the Yogi knew a magical spell to control the water element. The king then ordered all the butchers of the city to stab the Yogi. But their knives and axes became blunt as if they had been striking rock and failed to inflict even the slightest injury. Next the king's men dug a deep ditch. They buried Virupa and poured molten iron and bronze over his body. Then they dumped soil on top and let many elephants trample over it. Even after all this, he appeared before the king unharmed. At this point, the king developed great faith in Virupa's spiritual power and confessed his misdeeds. Subsequently Virupa converted all the citizens of Varanasi to the Vajrayana path.

After that he left for the south to subdue Bhimesara. On his way he asked a boatman to ferry him across the Ganges. The man declined to do so unless he would pay a fee. Virupa told the boatman that he would offer him whatever would make him happy. He asked the boatman, "Do you want this river to be large or small?" "Sometimes I like this river large, at other times I like it small," the boatman replied. Promising to give him the river itself as payment, Virupa reversed the flow of Ganges by pointing at it with a threatening gesture. The river almost deluged nearby houses and lands. The inhabitants became alarmed that their property would be destroyed. Knowing that this was due to the power of the Yogi, King Calabhadra and the villagers requested Virupa to return the water to its normal channel. They offered him all kinds of inducements, including gold, silver, cattle, grain and flowers. In response, Virupa burst into song. With a snap of fingers he restored the river to its normal channel. He gave all the offerings he received to the boatman. The man refused the gifts. Instead, he touched Virupa's feet and asked to be accepted as a disciple. The boatman, who later became known as Dombi Heruka, is said to have been a fortunate disciple with ripen Karma suited to liberation by way of the 'sudden path'. Virupa accepted the boatman as his pupil and the two set of for the south, leaving the villagers to collect the abandoned offerings.

The pair reached Daksinipata near Bhimesara and entered the house of a wine-seller named Kamarupasiddhi. They asked for some wine and the wine-seller responded by asking whether they could pay for it. Virupa replied, "Serve me until I am satisfied, then I will pay whatever you want." The wine seller, who was highly skeptical, asked, "But when will you pay?" Virupa drew a line on the floor with his dagger and said, "I will settle the bill when the shadow of this house reaches this line." The wineseller served the two men but Virupa used magical powers to restrain the 'day star' from moving along its usual course. He demanded more and more wine and drank until the tavern was dry. Much time passed but the shadow of the house got no closer to the line. The tavern-keeper was obliged to import wine from the taverns of eighteen great cities to fulfill her part of the bargain.

Although to the amazement of all the tavern-keepers, Virupa drank more than five hundred elephant loads of wine, there was no indication that his thirst was quenched. In the meantime, the town of Daksinipata was plagued with continual daylight and everyone lost track of time. All the inhabitants were exhausted, crops withered in the fields, lakes and rivers began to shrink and no one had any idea of the order in which events had occurred. Unaware of Virupa's magical powers, the king ordered his ministers to investigate what was stopping the sun. When he found out that all this was due to the power of the Yogi, the king requested Virupa to let the sun resume its course. Finally Virupa assented, on condition that the king adree to settle his bill. Then he released the sun. By then it was mid-night of the third day after he had stopped the sun.

Virupa became known as one who had not only parted the waters of the Ganges on two occassions but had also halted the sun in its course for three days. His fame spread far and wide. Meanwhile he continued his journey to subdue Bhimesara in the south and to find Krishnacarin, a future disciple who it is said was a suitable candidate for the 'gradual path'. Bhimesara was ruled by a Hindu king named Narapati who was a devotee of five hundred Yogis with plaited hair. They worshipped at a massive Shivalinga and at an image of Mahadeva which had been installed by a previous king named Bhayasena. They sacrificed ten of thousands of buffaloes and goats every year. Virupa arrived among them and wrote many eulogies to the Shivalinga in Sanskrit. The king was greatly impressed with his scholarship. He asked him to become the leader of the five hundred Yogis, an offer which Virupa found difficult to refuse.

During the regular worshipping ceremonies the Yogis bowed down to the image of Mahadeva and made flower offerings. While this was going on, Virupa would pull out a volume of the Prajnaparamita text which he kept tucked in his hair, and pay homage to it. He never bowed to the image of Mahadeva. The Yogis became suspicious and reported this behaviour to the king. Instead of paying heed to their allegations, the king accused the Yogis of jealousy. "He is such a great scholar and master of the Vedas. It is impossible that such a man does not pay homage to Mahadeva, the king of the gods. You must be jealous of him," the king replied. However the Yogis kept on reporting Virupa's behaviour until at last the king decided he must observe the truth himself by attending one of these ceremonies personally. When he did, Virupa paid his homage to the Prajnaparamita text as usual. The king was amazed. He addressed Virupa, saying, "Why are you not bowing down to the image of Mahadeva?" "Why should I?" replied Virupa. "He cannot bear my homage." The king then said, "There is no one more powerful than he in the whole desire realm. Why do you say he cannot bear your homage? You must show your respect." "Since I have no choice but to do what the sinful king demands of me, you must forgive me," Virupa said to the image. As soon as he placed his hands together to pay homage and said, "Namo Buddhaya" (I pay homage to the Buddha), one third of the gigantic image cracked to pieces. When he said, "Namo Dharmaya" (I pay homage to the Dharma), two thirds of the image cracked and when he said, "Namo Sanghaya" (I pay homage to the Sangha), the entire figure crumbled into pieces and fell to the ground.

The king was shocked. With a mixture of fear and faith, he requested Virupa to restore the statue. Thereupon Virupa instantly restored it and placed upon a black stone image of the Great Compassionate One, Avalokiteshvara. He then said to the king, "The statue will remain intact so long as no one removes the image of Mahakarunika. Should anyone remove this, this statue will instantly crumble to bits." Then he left. Amongst the five hundred Yogis was one who was dissatisfied with the behaviour of Tirthikas (heretics). Having witnessed Virupa's wondrous qualities he developed deep devotion to him and became his disciple. This was Krishnacharin of the East who, although never previously a follower of the Buddhadharma, now decided to enter the path.

Virupa and his two disciples, Dombi Heruka and Krishnacharin, wandered further into the south to a district ruled by devout Brahmins. They reached a place where there was a huge image of Shiva, which stood one hundred and twenty feet high. It had been built by King Jomgi. It was known as 'Tambrapratima'. It had three faces, six hands and was made of bronze. This shrine attracted hundreds of devotees who sacrificed thousands of animals in order to offer meat and blood. As the trio pushed their way into the crowded gathering at the worshipping ceremony, someone was heard to say, "There is no room for you inside. Wait outside and we will give you your share of the feast." Ignoring this, Virupa entered forcibly and commanded, "If there is no room, it is you who should get out of this place." So saying, he kicked the statue. The figure followed him, taking seven wobbly steps outside the shrine before crashing down on its face. The terrible devotees then requested Virupa not to take the image away but to leave it behind. Virupa threatened to remove it unless they gave up animal sacrifices. He said that he would leave it behind on condition that they agree to make only vegetarian offerings in future, and vow never to sacrifice any more animals. The devotees agreed, and vowed as Virupa had commanded.

In this way, all who had heard the name of Virupa placed a Buddhist image on top of their Hindu images, for fear that Virupa might come and destroy them. The very name of Virupa, Baleshvara, the Lord of Power or Yogeshvara, the Lord of Yogis, brought great benefit to limitless living beings. When Virupa saw an image of Goddess Tara placed on top of a Hindu image, he circumambulated the image which turned her face towards him as he walked. This became known as the 'Turning Face [Image of] of Tara'.

Subjugation of the Goddess Chandika

Virupa and his companions continued traveling south. They arrived at a place where there was a self-arisen image of Goddess Chandika, named Sahajadevi which was worshipped by many Hindu Yoginis. This shrine had a Trishula (a three pointed ritual knife) which of its own accord without any human intervention would pierce through the neck of pilgrims killing them as soon as they entered the shrine. The Yoginis would then make offerings of flesh and blood to the image. Virupa knew about this and had come purposely to subdue it. He instructed his two companions to remain outside and perform special breathing meditation. The Yoginis were delighted to see Virupa and asked him to bring his two companions inside with him. Virupa said that they could invite in themselves, if they wished. The Yoginis went and asked the pair to enter. But neither of them replied. The Yoginis felt the stomachs of the two meditating disciples. Excrement emerged from wherever they touched. The Yoginis concluded that the two were already dead and rotten, so left them undisturbed. Virupa had seen the Trishula knives ready for slaughter and moved very fast as he entered the shrine. He clapped his hands and the knives were instantly pulverised. Immediately the image started jumping towards onto its shoulders. All the Yoginis began vomiting blood and fainting as they saw this unexpected tragedy befall their god. "Aren't you Buddhists meant to be kind and compassionate to other living beings? Please do not do this to us," said the Yoginis when they recovered. "It is due to compassion that I am doing this," replied Virupa.

He placed a small votive stupa on top of the image and admitted all the Yoginis to the practice of Buddhadharma. At this time, the boatman Dombi Heruka, who had been with Virupa since the second parting of the Ganges was blessed to attain the realization of a Bodhisattva at the level of the Sixth Bhumi. Virupa then sent him to Rada province in eastern India to subdue an evil Hindu king named Dehara, who had a palace named Kangkana. Mounted on a pregnant tiger and brandishing a deadly snake bridle and whip, Mahasiddha Dombi Heruka subdued the king and his subjects. They were all admitted into the path of Vajrayana.

Meanwhile, Viruapa and Krishnacharin traveled to Devikota in south eastern India where an Upasaka named 'Iron-legged', sometimes also identified as the teacher of Acharya Maitreyagupta, had an image of Khasarpani which he had imported from the Potala realm. Virupa paid homage to Khasarpani and made an offering of all the activities in which he had been involved from the time of his ordination up to the defeat of Sahajadevi. The Great Compassionate One said:

"O! Noble son! You have the magical power to pulverise even Mount Sumeru. Nevertheless there are varieties of sentient beings whose karmic propensities are inconceivable, so you should cultivate great compassion to the Tirthikas instead of frightening them."

Virupa replied, saying, "There is a place called Sovanatha in the west where thousands of animals are sacrificed every year. I must first of all go there to subdue it. After that I shall do as the Great Compassionate One has order." The Great Compassionate One advised Virupa to subdue them without force using skillful means. As Virupa and Krishnacharin journeyed towards the west to subdue Sovanatha, the god had discovered Virupa's intention by means of his contaminated clairvoyance. Sovanatha disguised himself as a pure Brahmin and when he met the two travelers on the road, he asked them knowingly, "Where are you two Yogis going?" "We are going to subdue Sovanatha," Virupa replied, also knowingly. "If you are a kind an compassionate Buddhist, why do you have to subdue him?" asked the disguised Sovanatha. "That is the very reason why I need to subdue him," replied Virupa. "He is not there now. He has gone to Purvavideha, the eastern continent," Sovanatha advised. "I will also go there as I must subdue him come what may. Wherever he has gone, whether to one of the four continents or to the realms of the Brahmas, I must go there and subdue him," said Virupa. Hearing this Sovanatha became very afraid and admitted, "I am Sovanatha." He revealed his ordinary manifestation and requested Virupa not to subdue him forcefully. Virupa replied, "In that case you must establish Sangha communities and build Buddhist monasteries. On top of their doors, draw my image and make regular offerings. You can first make rice flour and vegetarian food offerings to the Triple Gem, then to me and finally to yourself if there is any left over. If you abandon the sacrifice of animals and replace that practice with the offerings I have described, I will let you remain there. If you fail to do this, I will reduce everything to dust."

Sovanatha happily vowed to do all of these things. He requested Virupa to remain in the world until the sun and moon ceased to exist and Virupa agreed. In a dream Sovanatha revealed to King Candradeva of Tishala in western India that the king must see to the accomplishment of all the promises he had made to Virupa. If the king should fail to fulfill all of Sovanatha's vows within three months, his kingdom would be conquered. Seeing this in the dream, the frightened king hurriedly arranged to give effect to all the promises. Accordingly, the king built a monastery about a half day's journey from Sovanatha in the region of Gujarat, in beautiful surroundings with luxuriant shrubs, waterfalls and flower-filled meadows. About a hundred monks were settled there. He forbade the slaughter of goats and buffaloes, and made it illegal to kill or harm any animal. With mixed feelings of excitement and curiosity, the king offered a grand reception to Virupa whose power could frighten even Mahadeva.

By this time, Virupa had give the 'Vajra Verses' to his disciple Krishnacharin, who had not yet gained realization equal to that attained by Virupa, and blessed him with this level of realization. He then asked Krishnacharin to fulfill three main tasks:

1. To subdue an evil Hindu king in eastern India;

2. To accept Acharya Damarupa as his disciple and to pass on the whispered lineage knowledge to him; and

3. To bring out the five scriptures of 'Vajra Verses' from Uddiyana in the west.

Mysterious Passing Away

There are two versions of Virupa's passing away. Some say he dissolved into a stone image, other says he became a stone image. The image's right hand was in the gesture of holding the sun while the left, in the gesture of granting supreme realization, was holding a container of gold paint capable to transmuting all base metals into gold. The gold paint was said to be the size of a medium sized arura fruit. There are several legends about this stone statue. It is said that:

1. One who approaches the image respectfully, even a small child, can reach high enough to place flower garlands around its neck;

2. One who approaches disrespectfully, even the tallest person, cannot reach high enough to place anything on the image;

3. In front of the image is a stone skull-cup which never overfills even if one pours hundreds and thousands of jars of wine into it;

4. There is a dumb boy believed to be an emanation of Vajrapani in front of the image;

5. There is a manifestation of Vajra Varahi in front of the image which appears alternately as a leperess or a dumb girl.

It is said that, at the request of a Brahmin, Virupa (who had transformed into a stone image) gave the stone paint to a Brahmin, who subsequently made a lot of gold. When the local king, heard the news, he tried to rob the Brahmin. The Brahmin hurriedly returned the gold paint stone to the hand of the image and said to the king, "Since it is not mine, I cannot give it to you. I have returned it to the hand of the owner. You can go and get it from his hand if you want it." The statue closed its fist and did not give the stone to the king. The king, frustrated in his greedy endeavour, ordered his men to cut off the hand of the image. However, the man who attempted to do so vomited blood and died immediately. Following this incident the local people became afraid that the stone image might bring them harm. They consequently enshrined the statue in gold which they obtained by pushing wires through the fingers. This became a most sacred shrine where both non-Buddhists and Buddhists would come to worship. It became known as Punyahara, the robber of merits to the non-Buddhists and Shri Balanatha, the glorious master of Power to the Buddhists. The Hindu god Kumara Karttika was bound by oath to maintain the offerings to the sacred image. This shrine of Sovanatha is said to be situated in the Saurastra district of the modern Gujarat state in western India.

The Dating of Virupa

Aryadeva is said to have been a disciple of Nagarjuna in the latter part of Nagarjuna's life. Virupa said to be have been a disciple of Aryadeva. The Chinese Buddhist Canon holds that it was an oral tradition among the Lamas that prior to his expulsion from Nalanda, Virupa wrote a commentary on Aryadeva's "Catusataka". It is also stated in numerous historical Lamdre texts that Virupa was a disciple of Asanga. Asanga lived 900 years after the Mahaparinirvana of the Buddha to one hundred and fifty years of age. Shantaraksita, who came in the 8th century, is said to have been a disciple of Virupa.

According to Lamdre sources, Virupa came to the world approximately 1020 years after the Mahaparinirvana, which is about 476 AD. This is 80 to 100 years too early to be accurate since he was in his late seventies when he left Nalanda and met Dombi Heruka. Notwithstanding the difficulty in determining the exact lifespan of Virupa (who made at least three appearances in this world) it is important to attempt to date his first appearance with the relatively limited data available. It is estimated that the meeting between Virupa and Dombi Heruka occurred between 630 and 635 AD soon after Virupa left Nalanda. This suggests that Virupa was born around 565-570 AD. He would have lived until early in the 8th century, as he was also a teacher of Shantaraksita. This was his first appearance. He came for the second time as the Yogi Siropa. In that life, he subdued Nyimacharka, a wild elephant which destroyed trees, villages and cities in central India. According to Taranatha in the work attributed to him entitled the "Seven Instruction Lineages", Virupa's third appearance took place in the bed room of an Iranian king:

'At a later time, in the eastern land of Gora, a king of Iran awoke to find a Yogin beside his bed-head. The Yogin was thrown into the river time after time only to return on each occasion. He was thrown into fire but he did not burn. When he was struck by various weapons, they shattered into pieces instead of hurting him. He was forced to drink six khals of poisons and was guarded by many people a whole day and night. Having witnessed that the Acharya's health and complexion became even more splendid, they knew he had attained the Siddhi, and they asked him who he was. "I am Virupa," he said. There also he gave instructions to some fortunate people, whose mere utterance of oath out of their reverence to him, caused many of them to attain the ordinary siddhis. During his stay of approximately four months in Bhangala, he made himself available to all, personally seeing anyone who wished to approach him. Thereafter (I) do not know where he disappeared to, although it is about this time he went to China. Virupa is reputed to have appeared on earth on three occassions and all three have been discussed.'

The Lamdre sources are not clear about his third appearance. Some say he came specifically to re-subdue Bhimesara in the south, while others believe that he is yet to come. It is said that Acharya Dharmakirti, King Ashoka and Yogisvara Virupa are the three most remarkable beings who propagated the teachings respectively through debate, military power and magical power. As H. E. Chogay Trichen Rinpoche concludes in his book:

In summary, just as no-one has paralleled logician Dharmakirti's ability to uphold the teaching through skill in debate, nor King Ashoka's ability to uphold the teachings through power, Virupa's ability to uphold the Dharma through magical power is unequaled.

The Identity of Virupa

A large part of Virupa's story concerns his demonstration of magical powers after he attained Siddhi. The Lamdre hagiography lists all Virupa's names, whereas other texts such as "Caturasiti- siddha-pravrtti" fail to do so. The problem of the historical identification of Dharmapala has resulted from this inconsistency in the sources. Since he had more than two or three names, it is difficult to solve the problem unless we know when his childhood and ordination names ceased to be used and when he became a siddha, and adopted different names. Merely counting him as one of the eighty-four Mahasiddhas and narrating a few magical and legendary accounts is insufficient for a full historical understanding of his life. One must bear in mind that he was not known as Virupa until his late seventies, at which time he was expelled from Nalanda monastery. We must ask who expelled him and who succeeded him.

Dharmapala was originally a Pandita of the Yogacara Cittamtrin School, a viewpoint which is reflected in his commentary on Aryadeva's "Catursataka". However, when he attained the Path of Seeing (the First Bhumi of enlightenment), it is argued by Lamdre scholars that he must already have gone beyond this earlier view and realised the Prasanghika Madhyamika view of emptiness. Virupa himself wrote abot this realization in the following Doha:

Having uprooted oneself from self-grasping, one is victorious over the troops of evil; Owning to the self-disintegration of the grasping onto objects, one is entirely liberated from Samsara and Nirvana.

Unaware that Shri Dharmapala had become the sidha known as Virupa late in life, many scholars dealing with his life have failed to identify him with the Mahasiddha. Dharmapala's family background is referred to in the records of Chinese travelers and he appears as the abbot of Nalanda in Vidyabhusana's work (although the author claims to have based his version of the story on the Chinese traveler's records). What is important, however, is that Hsuan Tsang refers to 'a mountain monastery' where Dharmapala was admitted after he left home. The Lamdre sources confirm that it was the Somapura monastery in the south where Dharmapala was first admitted before he went to Nalanda. Scholars who rely entirely on the Chinese sources do not seem to understand the significance of who it was who ordained Dharmapala and gave him that name. This is an instance where we should not undervalue the traditional oral histories of Lamdre which were passed down from generation to generation. According to Taranatha, Shri Dharmapala took ordination from Acharya Dharmadasa, a name which might easily be a mistranslation of Dharmamitra, who ordained Dharmapala according to the Lamdre sources. Since Taranatha has little to say about Dharmadasa it is not clear whether he was a Pandita of Nalanda or not and his identity remains in doubt. It is plausible that there might have been more than one Pandita of Nalanda with the name Dharmapala. However, the much talked about Dharmapala of the Chinese travelers and the Dharmapala referred to by Taranatha was in fact Shri Dharmapala, who later became known as Virupa.

What became of abbot Dharmapala if he did not become siddha Virupa? There is an important and often overlooked reason for contemporary silence on this subject. At the time, the monks who had regarded Dharmapala as one of the great luminaries of Nalanda would have been reluctant to advertise the fact that he had become Virupa, particularly to students in the cloistered atmosphere of the monastery. We should remember that Virupa's reputation as a Mahasiddha was not yet established. Attitudes towards his transformation were, to say the least, ambivalent and this is particularly so within the monastic community. It is clear that the monks of Nalanda disapproved of his Carya practices of Tantric realization and this was the reason they expelled him when he adopted the name 'Virupa'. Virupa's refusal to return to the monastery later on when requested to do so by the monks who witnessed the parting of the river, may well have contributed to their reticence on the subject of his eventual whereabouts.

There appears to be no record in the Lamdre histories about who assumed the abbotship of Nalanda after him. Neither is there information about his main disciples in Nalanda. This is curious, considering that he taught there until he reached the age of seventy. It is not plausible that such a renowned scholar and abbot of prestigious Nalanda had no successors. Praises to Virupa by Sachen and Sakya Pandita indicate that he had hundreds and thousands of Sthavira disciples. Historically his behavioural change and the vast differences between his activities as abbot and as a Siddha may have created a divisions amongst his followers which widened the gap of misunderstanding.

Virupa's two main Tantric disciples, Dombi Heruka and Krishnacharin appear not to have known who succeeded their teacher at Nalanda. We know, of course, that neither Dombi Heruka nor Krishnacharin became Pandita of Nalanda. Lamdre histories lack details of Virupa's earlier life and his Sutra and philosophical disciples. It is possible that Shilabhadra, who was Hsuan Tsang's preceptor, may have been Dharmapala's successor. Vidyabhusana places him at Nalanda in 635 AD. However, Sarat Candra Das, who lists the names of several teachers of Hsuan Tsang, does not mention Shilabhadra.

Vinitadeva and Dharmamitra are described in the Lamdre histories as Dharmapala's teachers at Nalanda. Jayadeva is said to be another name for Dharmamitra, a name he may possibly have received after defeating Tirthikas. It is likely that it was Dharmamitra who gave Virupa the name 'Dharmapala' since the abbot traditionally gives part of his name to the disciple during Bhiksu ordination. Taranatha argues that although Virupa is also known as Shri Dharmapala, he is not be confused with the Sthavira Dharmapala, who was the abbot of Nalanda. Hence Taranatha not only identifies two separate individuals, but also regards them as contemporaneous. Taranatha shows no indication of knowing about the Lamdre records on Virupa, nor does he appear to remember that he had elsewhere mentioned the expulision of Virupa from Nalanda by the monks. He states, "While studying in the monastery of Nalanda, he once went to Devikotta." Taranatha's assumption that Virupa traveled back and forth between Devikotta and Nalanda proves that he was unaware of Acharya Dharmapala's dismissal from Nalanda. Since there is no record to prove that he returned to Nalanda after the dismissal, Virupa's trips between Devikotta and Nalanda are unlikely to have occurred after his expulsion. If, as is claimed, the "Seven Instruction Lineage" was in fact written by Taranatha ten years before he wrote the "History of Buddhism", he would not have contradicted what he had written in his earlier work. Could it be that the author of the "Seven Instruction Lineage" was a later Jonangpa scholar passing his or her work off as being that of Taranatha himself?

The absence of any reference to Dharmapala's dismissal in either the Chinese sources or Taranatha's "History of Buddhism" leads support to the view that Dharmapala and Virupa were two separate entities. The author of the "Seven Instruction Lineage" must have learned about Dharmapala's dismissal somehow, probably from the Lamdre sources. There is no indication in his "History of Buddhism", that Taranatha had even heard of Virupa's ordination name Dharmapala. There is no reason, of course, to suspect deliberate suppression on the part of Taranatha, as might be the case with Shilabhadra and his followers. It appears that Taranatha simply knew nothing about it. Taranatha does not omit mention of Shilabhadra as a scholar of Nalanda, but he does not bame him as successor to Acharya Dharmapala. It is interesting that Taranatha makes mention of the short duration of Dharmapala's period as abbot. However, he fails to offer any reason for this. According to him, Jayadeva became the Upadhyaya of Nalanda after Dharmapala. Since he mentions Jayadeva as Shantideva's and Virupa's teacher, Taranatha's Dharmapala is not Shilabhadra's teacher. Although Taranatha deserves some credit for identifying Jayadeva, I personally believe it is a mistake to say that "Jayadeva became the Upadhyaya of Nalanda afer Dharmapala." It is apparent that the name 'Dharmapala' was more popular than the name 'Virupa' in the annals of non-Tantric Buddhist masters.

The uncertainty as to whether Dharmapala was dead or had merely retired when Hsuan Tsang arrived, suggests the possibility of a 'conspiracy of silence' by the monastic community, and particularly by his orthodox disciple, Shilabhadra. Why would Shilabhadra not tell Hsuan Tsang what had happened to his teacher, Dharmapala, if he had succeeded him? It is unlikely that Hsuan Tsang would have failed to describe the passing away of his grand-teacher if he had known the details, when he went to such great pains to describe every single monument he encountered and even made notes of the number of families he saw in a town as he traveled. On the other hand, why would Shilabhadra not mention the details of his teacher's death or retirement?

We should recall that the Nalanda monks, Shilabhadra mong them, had failed to persuade Dharmapala to return to their monastery. Shilabhadra was an elderly and some might say ambitious Pandita by the time he met Hsuan Tsang. It would be logical for him to have kept silent on the subject of his teacher's later life. To reveal what happened may brought discredit not only to Nalanda but to himself by possibly impugning the reputation of the man who had been his teacher. At the very least, such a story would have formented controversy and possibly doubt amongst foreign students. If Shilabhadra lived up to his name, it seems likely that he was a monk of upright moral conduct. It is likely that he was amongst those who failed ti understand Dharmapala's unorthodox behaviour or realise that he had attained Siddhi. He may well have been foremost of those who expelled Dharmapala. He had little to gain from either side by drawing attention to his earlier relationship with Dharmapala. To those who disapproved of the former abbot's transformation, he might appear somehow tainted by his close acquaintance. To those who were supporters of the Tantric master Virupa he would have appeared as disloyal, if not personally at least by association. He would also appear to have lacked discernment for not understanding that Virupa had realised Siddhi. The word "retired" has a better connotation than "expelled" and is thus a more skilful choice of words. But there is no evidence that the concept of retirement existed in those days. It appears more likely that Dharmapala's tenure as abbot was expunged from the records, so to speak.

Since the Chinese travelers failed to report anything about Jayadeva in their travel records, Sankalia (a contemporary Indian scholar) appears puzzled to find Taranatha's reference to him. Taranatha appears to be correct in mentioning the existence of a teacher named Jayadeva. This is corroborated in the Lamdre sources. However, one would have thought it unlikely that Jayadeva was Dharmapala's successor because he was in fact one of his teachers. There is the possibility that, if Jayadeva was still alive, he assumed some of Dharmapala's teaching duties after the latter was expelled. In which case Taranatha may have been correct in his assertion that Jayadeva succeeded Dharmapala. This would indicate that Jayadeva was not another name for Dharmamitra as stated in the Lamdre sources, but that they were two different teachers of Dharmapala. Taranatha adds further confusion hen he writes, 'He preached the doctrine at Vajrasana for over forty years and succeeded Shri Candrakirti as the Upadhyaya of Shri Nalanda.'

It is clear that Dharmapala was one of the most influential abbots of Nalanda. The disagreement about who succeeded him may have derived from a narrow assumption that there was only one abbot or upadhyaya in a great monastic institution like Nalanda. Judging from the number of Panditas responsible for teaching in other institutions like Vikramalasila, it stands to reason that Nalanda would have had many assistant abbots or Panditas under one main abbot. If this were so, all of the suggested successors may have held similar positions.

Perhaps there are several reasons why the Lamdre sources have remained silent regarding Dharmapala's successor in Nalanda. Firstly, Lamdre was an exclusively esoteric lineage of Vajrayana Buddhism. This being the case, there would have been little interest in discussing non-esoteric matters within the literature. Furthermore, it is unlikely that the enlightened Virupa would have had any interest in recounting mundane details of his earlier life to his Tantric successors. Secondly, Dharmapala never returned to Nalanda after his eviction. The assistant abbots probably tried to magnify their own importance after the expulsion of their abbot, rather than focusing attention on him. Thirdly, the successors at Nalanda had to keep the matter secret, since they had failed to recognise the sings of his enlightenment until after the expulsion, and then failed to persuade him to return. They had the added motivation of avoiding scandal, confusion and misunderstanding amongst new students, particularly foreigners like Hsuan Tsang. They would not have foreseen the problem of future historical confusion. In the same way, the Lamdre hagiographiers have recounted the barest details which have come down to us through the centuries. Ngorchen sums up the story in these words:

'Formerly, when he was the abbot of Nalanda, he had countless disciples who were mainly ripened though the Paramitayana. After his attainment of Siddhi he only had two disciples who were ripen through Mantrayana: (1) The boatman who followed him, Mahasiddha Dombi Heruka and (2) One Yogin, from Bimehasa [Bhimesara] country, one of the five hundred hair-plaited [Yogins], Acharya Krishnapa. (This is said since there was no one else who held the lineage of teaching and meditation beside these two. In addition there was an inconceivable number of people within both Buddhist and non-Buddhist circle who made spiritual contact [with him] due to his immense spiritual power.)'

Copyright by Lama Choedak Yuthok and Gorum Publications, Canberra, 1997.

[skrltwtch]

Sleep Talk

Prompt: Persons A and B are cuddling on the couch together watching a movie late at night. Person B (who tends to sleep talk) falls asleep, and A doesn’t notice. B begins saying progressively weirder stuff until they finally mutter “I love you.” A internally freaks out and grabs B’s hand, then says, “I love you, too.” Person B wakes up confused and terrified because it was the first time they ever said “I love you” to each other. (Source of prompt in link at bottom of post.)

Word count: 2,026 words

Author's note: Spoilers for Wonder Woman. I also didn't quite follow the prompt to a T.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

‘It’s movie night!’ I said in a sing-song voice upon entering the living room, fresh out of the shower and in my best jammies, a set cut from cat-printed periwinkle blue cloth. George, sadly, wasn’t wearing his matching set. Shame; I’d packed this set with the intention of us spending this iteration of a three-year-old tradition in couple jammies. That’d have been such a sight — and the Instagram story.

‘The best night of the week — which also happens to be Friday night,’ he said, grinning. He patted the space next to him. ‘Saved you a seat. Best one in the house.’

‘Thank you, my darling.’ I put down the bowl of popcorn mixed with funfetti and chocolate, a recipe I nicked off the Internet, and bottle of Coke, and joined him on the couch, its real estate reduced to fit us both as snugly as bugs in a rug by all the pillows he’d added to the living room’s already hefty count. His idea of home improvement made it difficult for me to ever want to leave this couch and live life off of it. Could I put in a request to work from home like this next week? Senior management were strong advocates of ‘flexible arrangements’ and ‘work-life balance’ after all, and none were more deserving of the latter after the week’s events than I.

‘What are you in the mood for?’

‘What are you in the mood for? It’s your turn this week to choose,’ he said.

‘I was being democratic.’

‘For once, you can pretend my opinion doesn’t matter.’

‘“For once”?’

‘Oi.’ He sank deeper into his seat.

The corners of my mouth ached from chortling a little too much at his expense. I almost choked, actually, to which he said under his breath, ‘Karma’, his face gleaming with smug glee. Fair enough.

I reached for the remote and also handed him the popcorn to keep his mouth busy while I picked our poison; I knew, too, that what he’d said about his opinion not mattering this time had to be a bluff. George? Not having an opinion about movies? The next Pope being Buddhist was far likelier. I counted myself fortunate that we had similar tastes.

So, what was I feeling this week? Last week was Ingrid Goes West, which reinforced his decision to stay the fuck away from social media and reinforced my crush on Elizabeth Olsen. It was one of the unspoken rules to not repeat genres to keep things interesting. If there were no such rule, I’d have watched the entirety of Netflix’s sci-fi thrillers, and he its dark comedies, twice over. I navigated to the superhero movies section. I wanted something loud, light, and that wasn’t too long because of the late start.

The cursor found itself on Wonder Woman. Excellent: it was familiar — this would be our second time watching; we had no compunctions about re-watching stuff on movie night, as long as it was within ‘reason’ (whatever that meant — for instance, watching Thor: Ragnarok five times was perfectly acceptable to me) — and didn’t require a tremendous amount of cerebral effort to follow. It was what the doctor ordered for capping off a long, pretty shitty week. I needed the reminder that it was possible, and worthwhile, to find hope in and remain optimistic about such a bleak, ugly world. Besides, what was more cathartic than watching a superheroine, the world’s first, doing her thing in a movie that was, for the most part, also tastefully done? I didn’t want to enter the weekend continuing feeling like shit, so I hit play without further ado.

‘Hey, don’t finish that,’ I said to George, who’d been popping fistfuls of kernels and chocolates into his mouth like there wasn’t a finite supply.

‘You were taking so long to decide.’

‘I’ve decided!’ I gestured at the Warner Bros logo that flashed on-screen.

‘I’m hungry.’ His pout signalled the being of a sulk. ‘We don’t usually start this late …’

I put down the remote and curled up next to him. Our arms made their way onto each other’s bodies: mine across his abdomen, and his over my shoulder. He took my hand and lay a soft kiss on my fingers before setting it back down on his lower stomach, where he preferred it belonged. Fine by me. I burrowed deeper into his side. His scent, fresh and a little sweet from all the candy he’d taken, provided warm solace, as always.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been made to stay late.’

His fingertips skimmed the curve of my jawline. ‘It’s okay. I was kidding. I know your manager’s a prick with no respect for other people’s time,’ he said. A finger landed on my lip; it tasted faintly of vanilla. ‘Now, shh. Movie’s started.’

For something we’d watched before, Wonder Woman continued to hold our attention. Neither of us succumbed to the temptation of checking our phones nor started conversing with each other about our day, whether the Internet would implode if Chris Pine were to ever join the Marvel Cinematic Universe, weekend plans, whatever. None of that was verboten on movie night. Our attention spans weren’t perfect, and we’d never pretend they were; and some movies, like it or not, were better enjoyed as background noise in the comfort of one’s home. Sometimes we could accomplish so much on movie nights.

‘How’d you think I’d look in that?’ George piped up during the famous No Man’s Land sequence.

‘In what?’

‘Her outfit.’

‘That’s something you could consider for next Halloween.’

He grunted.

‘I’d love to see it.’

‘I want cheese. Cheese in bread. Cheese on bread. Pizza?’

‘You can’t be that hungry.’ I patted his stomach. It emitted a loud, watery rumble.

‘’m puckish.’

‘“Peckish”?’

‘That’s what I said.’ His speech had a slurred quality to it.

‘There’s still popcorn left.’

‘Not chicken wings.’ How’d wings come into the picture? ‘Or Sprite.’

‘Gross, Sprite.’

Despite his and his stomach’s grievances, he didn’t take the popcorn or Coke, or get up to order whatever it was that he wanted. I wasn’t about to surrender the position into which I’d worked myself. Likewise, I was genuinely into Wonder Woman (I attributed that to the fatigue I felt toward all things Marvel after Endgame and my excitement for Wonder Woman 1984) to consider taking any interruptions in my stride. His stomach did stop its fussing after a while.

‘Are my Neopets dead? Is there a Neopets Heaven?’

I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to. Because he didn’t need to know I was still on Neopets and could therefore tell him with full confidence that no, Neopets wouldn’t starve to death, and no, the concepts of death and Heaven didn’t, and would never, exist on the site because its staff continued to delude themselves about the average age of their current userbase. Look, I put in too much work on my account, which I’d had since the site’s inception, to simply let it rot in the site’s current state of virtual limbo. Actually, maybe I should come clean and reintroduce him to the site … it was getting a little lonely for little ol’ me in Neopia.

‘What do you think happens to Tamagotchi when they die?’

Okay, what the fuck.

I peeled my gaze off of Gal Gadot — a herculean task — and looked up at him. Oh, God. He really was the old man he proclaimed himself to be. I let him sleep. He, too, had had a rough week at work, and I needed him at his best for what we had planned for the weekend … which, for now, was nothing. I was planning for the both of us to work on it when Wonder Woman entered standard blockbuster fare territory! Once again, work had thrown a monkey wrench into the fine-tuned machinery that constituted our countdown to the weekend: sending texts about weekend plans to each other during office hours and bringing them to fruition once our asses found themselves out the door at six o’clock and not a second later. This was called making efficient use of our time at work. Our managers should be so proud.

George’s sleep talking soon eclipsed Wonder Woman in terms of entertainment value. Frankly, Wonder Woman lost its lustre in its third act, where the filmmakers attempted to convince the audience that Remus Lupin and the fearsome Greek god of war were one and the same. That moustache? In what universe —? The nerve of Patty Jenkins, expecting me to extend my suspension of disbelief to such lengths.

Tonight’s highlights included:

‘Fucking parrots, always stealing my hot dogs in the park.’

‘I am not eating that banana without a fork.’

‘Look, that dog is wearing a tea cosy on its head.’ (I really would’ve loved to see this.)

‘Dad’s going to regret not letting mom pursue that degree in apartment science.’

When I couldn’t resist and asked him what apartment science was: ‘You know, when an apartment and science love each other very much …’

‘Government’s come out and made sex on bicycles illegal. That is a goddamn shame.’

‘Pudding’s never hurt anyone. Not physically, not emotionally.’

I was … a little fascinated, honestly. His episodes, as moderate as their occurrences were, tended to consist of brief, simple sentences and max out at four or five. Did I need to be concerned? Or was work taking a heavier toll on him than he’d let on? That was it: our weekend was going to revolve around relaxation. The beach! Massages! Studio Ghibli on Netflix! Spending the entirety of either day in bed was a need, a must; I wouldn’t care to hear otherwise.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you, George.’ I rested my head on his chest and interlaced my fingers with his.

The realisation of what the words that’d left our lips, been said in our voices, and hung in the air above our heads, begging, screaming, to be acknowledged, were drove me to undo what I did and pause the movie. Why did that sound so … natural? Why was I even questioning this? Our relationship — what we had — wasn’t invalid because those words hadn’t been said — until now, where ‘now’ happened to be borne of a sleep talking episode. Love didn’t have an on-off switch. The things we did together, the things we did for each other, the things we did to each other, said volumes louder about what we were than those three words.

Still, it felt fucking magical.

George stirred next to me. ‘Has it ended?’

‘No.’

He snuffled. ‘Did I fall asleep?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Shit. Did you stop because I —’

How was that sentence supposed to have ended? Because he talked in his sleep? Because of what he said? Do you know what you said, and did you mean it? I wanted to ask. His recollection of what he said while unconscious was a crapshoot; at least it wasn’t convenient whenever it might suit him — like now, perhaps. And I did. I meant what I said. Come on, Y/N. Don’t sweep this under the rug. Don’t play it off as a joke. Do it. Ask him. We were adults, whether or not we liked it. I couldn’t have the weekend start on a note like this.

He pressed me closer to him. His lips brushed the top of my head. ‘I’m an idiot for not saying it sooner — or more often, and when I’m awake,’ he said. ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. It sounds divine.’

Heat danced across my cheeks. ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ Our palms touched. ‘I love you,’ I said softly. ‘I love you, George MacKay.’

I resumed the movie, both better able and more unable to focus on it now. There wasn’t much left to it. Chris Pine had long left the picture, as my interest would’ve, too, notwithstanding what’d transpired.

‘What else did I say?’

‘You wanted to know if your Neopets are dead.’

‘Oh. Well, are they? Can you help me check?’

‘Why are you asking me?’

‘I know you still play.’

[supernaturalee]

Green and Gold: Part 2 - Gwilym Lee x Reader

Pairings: Widow/Single Father! Gwilym Lee x Reader

Warnings: Some swearing, Mentions of X rated thoughts, and more KAREN

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Parts: One

Summary: When Gwilym lost his wife two years ago he feared raising his daughter alone in a small coastal New Jersey town would be difficult. In the two years since her death, Gwil and Brianne are finally ready to start moving on. Following the words of a child psychologist, Gwil signs Bri up for cheerleading with the local youth squad, something Gwil knows nothing about. As he is thrust in the world of cheer bows and back handsprings, he will learn it takes a lot more than green and gold uniforms to mend his and his daughter’s hearts. Hopefully through the squad they will find strength, friendship, and possibly a spark of new love for the widow himself.  

Taglist:@the-baby-bookworm​ @ixchel-9275​ @slutforbritdick​ @kurt-nightcrawler​ @radio-hoo-ha​ @imgonnabeyourslave​ @queendeakyy​ @girllety​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @what-wicked-delights​ @drivenbybri​

Author’s Note: It’s almost 2 am EST and I thought to myself, why not post part two. We are getting into meat of the story here, y’all! Again, this update is late, but my writing was hard to come by for a while. So without further ado, he is part 2 of Green & Gold. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future installments. 

In the four short weeks since Brianne had started cheerleading practice, Gwilym had come to learn three absolute truths. First being that cheer made Bri happier than Gwil had ever hoped. In the time since that first practice, he had seen her smile more than he had seen since before Angela had passed away. Her eyes lit up now whenever she spoke about how the routine was coming along or how she was learning all of these different things. Such as stunts or new tumbling passages or jumps that had odd names like toe touches, herkies, and pikes. While Gwilym cooked dinner or checked over her homework, he could always hear her routine music coming from the stereo in the living room. Once he got her to wash her hands and then settled at the table. It would become Gwilym’s inquiry into the world of cheerleading and Brianne was more than happy to oblige his many questions. 

Bri had taken to cheering like a fish takes to water. It was in her blood, Angela’s cheerleading history flowing through Brianne’s veins now. It made Gwil so happy. She spent three nights a week on the mat now and Saturday during the day at either the home field or away fields cheering on the young football players. The football team’s age coincided with the cheerleaders of Bri's team’s ages. Or the Mustang Pee Wees as Gwil had learned. He had finally found out the difference between the game cheers and the competition cheer as Bri had once told him. He usually sat in the game bleachers trying to decipher how American football was more popular than actual football. Or as Y/N lovingly reminded him every time he complained, “It’s soccer here.” she would say with a smile. At first he thought it was kind of annoying but now anytime she reminded him, he found it endearing. The way her lips curled up in a smile as she said it, he found himself mesmerized by it. 

When Brianne wasn’t cheering and once her homework was done, she could be found hanging out with her new friends Jasmine, Joey, and Selma. The carpool Y/N had promised had been fruitful for Brianne and Gwilym on the friendship front. They had been the type of cheer parents Gwilym had hoped for and luckily he got in with them instead of the others. That was the second absolute truth he learned that, cheer parents were absolutely bonkers bananas insane. Karen Diguimi was just the tip of the massive iceberg that was the “Stepford Stangs” as Joe lovingly coined them. Gwil had now become a member of the mailing list. A dreaded place to be that he wouldn’t have agreed to had he known what a nightmare it truly was. 

He had now started to receive daily emails with updates on fundraising and how close they were to the nice buses. Game schedules, rule changes, and low fat recipes to keep your little cheerleader in proper cheering shape were among the other important articles. Plus little snide comments on the surrounding towns’ teams and how far superior the Mustangs were to them. It was like a tabloid magazine that Gwil now had a daily subscription too.

 Y/N had sent him a long paragraph text about the low carb recipes and how dare the “Stepford Stangs” imply that only certain shaped children could be cheerleaders. ‘It is the middle of October and they are nine and ten years old. WHY DO THEY HAVE TO BE SWIMSUIT READY?! Gwil, you will have to stop me from strangling Karen at the next practice.’ It made Gwilym feel a swell of pride for a moment that he read her text. It caused the return of a certain set of emotions. These feelings that he was feeling were something he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Often he would check over the email for that week’s game schedule then file the email away. His new gang of misfit parents would mock the over ridiculous links in the emails or the fact that they received a new one every day. Joe always sent a meme or two about them, while Rami commented on the complete lack of email etiquette. ‘It’s too many emails and too many people hit Reply All instead of reply. It is chaotic!’ Rami had sent in their group chat. ‘I think its nice to keep us informed with the same information that we knew yesterday.’ Lucy had added. Gwil finally being able to put a face to the name as he met Rami’s other half at the first football game of the year. She was blonde, slim, and in a way almost fairy like. Her movements were graceful but she had this hidden strength to her. Rami and Lucy complimented each other well. Rami was a computer engineer, who like Gwil, could do most of his work from home. Lucy, on the other hand, was a certified midwife and a nurse at the local OBGYN. Often traveling between the hospital and the doctor office. Their schedules mostly allow for their twin girls’ busy sports schedules to work. Joe ran an accounting firm but swore he was bad at math. He stated he liked the business but preferred leaving the accounting to his dedicated small team of accountants.

Finally, the third absolute truth that Gwilym Lee knew was that Wednesday nights were now his favorite night of the week. It was the only night parents were allowed to stay for the whole practice. This meant about two hours of watching Bri have the most fun and grow into an even stronger, more beautiful young woman. It also meant getting to spend time with his new friends including Y/N.  Y/N had quickly become Gwil’s confidant in all things cheer related. Any question or need he had, she had the answer and was always there with a smile. It was just another reason why Gwil was now harboring a crush on this woman. He and Bri had not seen her coming. He thought he would scrap by with googled information and keep his head down. He would be quiet and lonely,  knowing just enough to get by. 

Yet there was Y/N with her intelligence, her helping hand, and her kind heart. Bri also loved her and Jasmine. She was treated with so much love, respect, and care by Y/N. Gwil found it hard to keep himself from melting every time he was in her gaze. He felt like a teenage boy with a crush. He had confided in Ben who told him to get back on the horse. However, to Gwil, the horse was a twenty foot tall bear that was very hungry. Angela was still on his mind, in his life, in his heart. He saw her every day in the brown eyes of his daughter. He feared that any new relationship he would start would be doomed to be branded as the rebound relationship for the man with the dead wife. Even if he found someone, they had to pass the most important test in his book, being well loved by the most important person in his life, Brianne. He shook away the heavy thoughts as the red light turned green. He pressed his foot on the gas as he continued the drive to practice. Bri and Jasmine chatting in the back of his car. 

Y/N had asked him to pick Jasmine up from school and drive her to practice. Y/N had a meeting with the college board about one of her students. She would meet them at the cheer gym later. Gwil’s mind couldn’t help but wander to Y/N. He hoped her meeting went well. He knew in just the short few weeks of knowing her that her job meant a tremendous amount to her. Professor Y/L/N had a very nice ring to it. His mind wandering further to dirtier thoughts. If they were ever to be together would she let him play the teacher's pet. His fantasy slowly took form in his head when Bri’s voice snapped him back to reality. 

“Dad?” No answer came from the driver’s seat. “Earth to dad. Father?” She laughed. Gwil pushed all X rated thoughts from his mind and looked to the rear view. 

“Hmm?” He answered, putting on a small smile to show her that he has really been paying attention the whole time. 

“Could Jasmine and Ms. Y/L/N come to dinner with us?” Bri asked sweetly. The two had joined them for dinner every Wednesday night since that first practice. 

“Please Mr. Lee!” Jasmine used the same sweet voice. Gwil rubbed his jaw with his free hand as the two girls started repeating the world please. 

“Please please please please please please please please please please please please please!” Bri and Jasmine begged together. Gwilym laughed, smiling. 

“It is fine with me but we will have to ask your aunt, Jasmine, when we see her.” He said.  Both girls cheered happily as they looked at each other. 

“Of course Mr. Lee!” Jasmine smiled. “Aunt Y/N likes getting dinner with you and Bri.” Jasmine said. Gwil felt his cheeks heat up for a moment. This came as a surprise to him in a way. Sure he knew she cared about their friendship but maybe this meant she also felt something more for him. He quickly pushed this thought away, no it wasn’t a good time for him to get into a new relationship. I’m not ready. His thoughts continued his mantra. 

“Well we like having dinner with both of you as well, dear.” He answered her. Jasmine’s smile grew. She was a wonderful little girl who Gwilym had grown to care for. She didn’t know what she was doing for Brianne, but Gwil did and how it helped her improve immensely. He had known his daughter had tried to hide her sadness from him. It was something she tried to do to prove she was strong like Angela but she didn’t need to. Gwil and her grandparents knew that Brianne had every ounce of Angela’s strength tenfold. 

As he pulled into the parking lot of the cheer gym he saw Y/N’s Jeep had not yet arrived. He also didn’t see Joe’s or Rami’s cars either which meant he would be alone. He would most likely have to face yet another conversation with Karen. Or he could just hide out in his car until his friends arrived. He shook his head for a moment, he had to go inside, he could handle this. As both young girls made their way inside, Gwil followed behind them making sure both safely got in the building. 

He signed both in at the desk where the young man who Gwil had learned was one of the coaches’ sons sat. He gave the teenaged boy a wave before moving to his usual spot in the bleachers. He had settled into the groove of sitting with everyone, Gwil sat on a lower bench due to his height, while Y/N sat on the bleacher bench above him so she could make eye contact easier. Rami would sit above her and then Joe would sit beside her, the four almost making a little diamond of security. His blue eyes looked around the room before he spotted her. 

Karen was talking to some of the other team parents, her eyes scanning the room for him. He dropped his head down trying to hide himself from her.

“Oh Gwilym!” She exclaimed, moving to him. Gwil sat up straight, damn he had been caught. He politely smiled and nodded. Please don’t come over, please don’t come over, please don’t come over… He repeated in his head, it was too little too late. She made her way over to his place of peace and quiet. 

“Hello Mrs. Digumi.” He said politely. Her smile grew. Damn, his British charm. She stood in front of him. 

“Please call me Karen.” She smiled still. “I wanted to ask how everything was going with Brianne. She is quite the little cheerleader. One of the best on the squad. Almost as good as my little McKenna.” 

“Thank you. I will tell her that later. She certainly seems to be enjoying it and that makes me happy.” He said honestly, maybe he was wrong about Karen. 

“You should have her over for a play date with my McKenna. You and I can exchange parenting tips or tips of some other kind.” She batted her heavily mascaraed eyes at him. He gulped softly. 

“I will have to talk to Bri about it and get back to you Mrs. Dig-Karen.” He corrected himself. 

“I am just saying Brianne seems like a very sweet girl and you don’t want her to get in with the wrong crowd before middle school. Popularity is key and my little McKenna is going to be one of the most popular girls in school. Just like I was. If Brianne settles herself with the likes of those children, her social life is over and I don’t want that for her or for you. Popularity is everything.” She said as she sat next to him. No, he wasn’t wrong about Karen.

Wrong crowd? What the hell, they are children not teenagers. He thought to himself before defending the children of his friends. Popularity is everything. What a bunch of bullocks. 

“Jasmine, Joey, and Selma are good kids. They are smart, fun, courteous, kind and they are Bri’s friends. They were the first ones to welcome her with open arms,” He said. Gwil was a bit taken aback that a grown woman would say something like that about ten year olds. If Bri and Jasmine weren’t on the mat about 50 feet away, he would have forgotten his manners and let Karen have it. 

“I don’t appreciate you talking that way about my friends’ children or about your child’s fellow teammates.”   He continued, his tone was serious and sharp. Her eyes went wide as she heard the manner in which he spoke. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean the kids! I meant, um, the parents.” She was quick to backtrack and try to fix her mistake. Her chance with the Welsh man slipping away. “Gwilly, you are new to all of this. I should have specified that I meant that if Brianne settles herself with the likes of the parents of those children, her social life is over. You both deserve so much but you are still so naive, honey.” 

“My name is Gwilym.” He stated. She had called him Gwilly, a nickname that Angela would lovingly call him after a few glasses of wine. How dare this woman even try to put herself in the same realm of love as his wife. 

“I am so sorry honey.” She smiled to try to cover up the large hole she had dug for herself. “Like I was saying to you that first practice those parents you have chosen to bond with don’t understand the mustang way.” It was clear to Gwilym that Karen intended to keep digging. “Especially Y/N, I mean she likes to pretend she was a good cheerleader because she was once a national champion herself. But she was the worst one of that team, I should know, I did date her brother.” Karen said as jealousy slipped between each word. It was clear to her that Gwilym cared more for Y/N than he would ever care for her. “They carried her to the gold medal and she got the recognition for it like everyone else. Even made her brother break up with me, how dare she. That bitch.” That was the final straw for him.  

“I am going to stop you right there, Mrs. Diguimi. I do not want to hear you ever bad mouth my friends or their children. Please understand I am friendly with you because I have to be. You are the team mom and I do not really like having issues with anyone. However, my daughter is the only reason I am here. Y/N, Joe, Lucy and Rami plus their amazing children came as an incredible bonus to all of this. You did not.” He said calmly. “Now please step away from me and know, this is the last conversation we will have that is not about fundraising or cheering information. I do not take kindly to people belittling others or their children for their own personal benefit. Thank you and have a good night.” 

Karen let out a breath of air through her nose, standing up quickly. Moving from the bleachers, staring him down. 

“Oh I understand.” Her voice dripped with sweetly sickening venom. “If you ever change your mind I am right over there with the good parents.” She moved to the other waiting ‘Stepford Stangs’. Gwil let out a long breath as a smile appeared on his lips. God, how good it felt to let her have it and god how he wished Y/N had seen him. She would be so proud once he told her. It was the sudden sound of two voices that drew him away from his fantasy. 

“I see you are on the list now.” Rami said as he and Joe joined Gwilym in the bleachers. 

“List?” He asked, tilting his head curiously. 

“I’ll let Joe explain.” Rami smiled. 

“It is Karen Diguimi’s way of saying you are cancelled until you apologize.” Joe smirked. “We just caught the tail end of what you were saying but from what we heard, it was fucking brilliant.” He said quietly enough for just the three men to hear. “Welcome to the list. I have been on it since the ‘I won’t let my underage child wash stranger’s cars in the shortest shorts debacle of last summer season.” Joe said. 

“Rami, how did you end up on the list? It seems like she likes you the most out of all of us.” Gwil asked. Rami chuckled. 

“I once asked her if the pom poms for adults were necessary at a competition because it was just one extra thing to carry.” 

“That’s not too bad.”

“She also hates my wife.”

“Ah, I see.”

“So we both reside on the list with Joe and Y/N.”

“What did Y/N do to get on the list?”

“What hasn’t she done to get on the list?” Joe laughed. “First it was being Dominic Y/L/N’s little sister during high school. Then it was becoming Jasmine’s key guardian when he died, then it was a few other arbitrary things I don’t remember, but most recently, it was getting you to be our friend instead of hers.” Joe said. 

“It’s a rite of passage to get on the list.” Rami said. All three men laughed as Gwil felt more at peace than ever before. Even though Karen had basically verbally bashed children in front of him and badmouthed Y/N, she did provide one key piece of vital information. Y/N as a former national champion for the Mustangs, maybe even on the same squad as his late wife. He marked it in his brain to ask her later. 

As practice started and the three men continued their conversation, still no Y/N. Part of Gwilym began to worry that something bad had happened. He checked his phone to see if she had called or texted but nothing. He tried to push the worry to the back of his mind as Joe began to talk about the upcoming competition this weekend. It was the same thing Bri had not stopped talking about for the past week. Even as he got her and Jasmine into the car today, they talked about their nervous excitement for it. 

Joe was going to ride up with Rami and Lucy. Figuring Gwil would want to carpool with Y/N. Actually all three of them, Joe, Rami, and Lucy, hoped something would blossom between the two. 

“Oh I hadn’t even thought to ask her. It is probably too late, I will just drive up myself.” He said he was a bit disappointed he hadn’t asked. 

“She’ll say yes if you do ask.” Rami smled. 

“She might not.” Gwil continued. 

“Oh no, she will definitely say yes.” Joe smiled slyly. Both men looked at each like they both held the same secret that Gwil wasn’t privy to. It was at that moment Y/N moved into the gym still in her work clothes. Her blazer that was once covering the purple silk blouse, was replaced by a jean jacket. She wore black slacks and black vans. 

“I don’t drive in heels, I don’t want to be responsible for that many lives.” She had told him their first Wednesday night dinner out with the girls. He knew that she kept a pair of black lace up vans in her Jeep for the drive home from the university. 

“Speak of the Devil and she shall appear.” Joe teased her as she sat in her usual spot. She laughed and Gwil’s heart skyrocketed into flight. 

“Ha ha. Good to see you, Mozzarella.” She snarked. 

“That’s Mr. Mozzarella to you.” Joe answered. Both tossing their heads back gently and laughed. There went Gwil’s pulse racing for a moment. 

“Did I miss anything?” 

“Gwil’s on the list.” 

“No!”

“Oh hell yeah!”

“How? Tell me! I have to know how Karen’s little lust for you somehow got you on the list.”

“Karen’s little what?” Gwil said. 

“Dude, she wanted to bone you.” Joe said. “Hard.”

“Bone?” He asked.

“Sleep with you, knock boots, cherry pick, dude I know too analogies for sex.”

“She’s married!” Gwil exclaimed quietly to the group. 

“Hasn’t stopped her before.” Y/N said. “Anyway, tell me how you got on the list.” 

Gwilym began to tell the story of her confrontation with Karen. His own smile grew as he watched Y/N’s own smile grow as he got to the words match. 

“Mr. Lee you are bloody brilliant.” She said, her hand rubbed his arm for a moment before she withdrew it. Gwil blushed. 

“It was nothing.”

“This is cause for celebration. You being on the list. We will all go out kid free and celebrate soon.” Joe said. 

“Sounds good to me.” Rami agreed. Y/N nodded, her eyes looking up and waving to Jasmine as the girl waved back. 

“Hey Y/N, did you know Gwilym here was going to drive to Trenton all alone?” Joe stated. Gwil’s eyes went wide as he looked at the man over Y/N’s shoulder. He felt his cheeks heat up.

“Really?” She asked.

“Yeah. He was going to drive by himself.”

“Why don’t you ride with me? It isn’t as long as a drive if you have a partner.” She offered him. Her Y/E/C eyes meeting his blue. A small smile on her lips.

“Um, you won’t mind?” He asked shyly. 

“No, it will be a treat to spend time with you alone.” She said honestly, all the room felt almost like it was silent around them. Joe and Rami watching the two just share prolonged eye contact. Gwil could almost swear there was a light pink tinge on her cheeks as well. 

“Then it's all set. I’d love to ride with you.” He smiled. The tinge got a bit darker. 

Joe poked his head between the two, “Is your, um, neighbor coming?” He asked her. His voice was almost giddy, like Gwil’s when he talked about Y/N on the phone to Ben. Who was this woman  that was making Joe act like the same lovestruck teenager he was?

“Oh no. Unfortunately, Jolene had one of her advanced painting classes rescheduled to Saturday. It is too much money to miss out on but she promised Jasmine she was coming to Regionals.” Y/N said as she raked her hair up into a messy ponytail. 

“Oh.” Joe’s smile faded quickly. 

“You know you could just ask her out. She likes you too.” Y/N patted her friend’s shoulder. Joe shook his head. 

“The divorce is still too fresh to Joey. It wouldn’t be fair to him for me to get involved with someone new so soon after his mother and I split up.” Joe admitted. Gwilym understood that point. A divorce was a similar loss to a child as a parent passing. Everything became different over night for them, changing so suddenly. Joe and his ex were friendly enough to a point for the sake of their son. The one thing that will keep them forever linked. 

“Okay honey. One day though, Joey is just going to want his dad to be happy.” She said with a soft smile to their friend. Joe just nodded looking over at his son. 

How Karen could ever call this wonderful woman a bitch was past Gwilym’s arena of thought. He looked at Y/N and smiled. God how beautiful she is even in the lighting of this gym. He thought to himself. As more time passed for the practice, the three experienced cheer parents told Gwilym everything he would need to know to be ready for Saturday. How he would have to have Brianne ready before 6 am to get her to the gym so that the team could take a bus together to the arena before driving there with Y/N. He would have to make sure he paced enough bobby pins, snacks, water, everything. His worry level that he would mess this all up grew. Especially the idea that he would have to do her hair in a high slick back ponytail. Brianne had hair like her mom’s thick and wavy, he could barely get it into braids without at least three Youtube tutorials. 

“How about this? I bring Jasmine over at like 5. I can do both of their hair and you can make sure they have enough snacks?” Y/N offered, once again being the incredible person that she was. 

“Please. I fear what I would do to my poor girl’s head.” He said honestly. 

“I think you would be fine, but the first competition is the scariest for both the parent and the cheerleader.” 

“It will put not only my mind at rest but Bri’s mind too. Thank you Y/N.” 

“Anything for you, Gwil.” She smiled. “Oh and um, thanks for standing up for the kids earlier with Karen. She can talk all the crap she wants about me but Jasmine doesn’t deserve that. It means a lot to me and it shows me how wonderful of a human being you are.” She said before turning her attention back to the mat. His heart raced again. God, Wednesday nights really were his favorite. 

[gayllamafromspace]

Embrace Your Chaos

(Tissaia De Vries/Reader)

Chapter 7: It's HIGH Time We Made A Friend

It's been weeks since I had last spoken to Tissaia, or rather, since she had spoken to me. I can't say I expected any less. It had become apparent that after our 4 days together, she wanted nothing to do with me. Nothing can be done about that, and nothing will be. She has chosen to still resent me for my mistake, and I don't blame her. So, I avoided her too, as I am now… sitting alone in the dining hall. When I say I'm avoiding her, what I really mean is that I am sitting alone at the table closest to the hall's door. And watching her, can't forget that detail. Not in a creepy way! I'm just occasionally observing what's going on with the other 7 girls. Which, I'd learned their names, through a very embarrassing lesson from the Rectoress. The lesson itself was meant to have been taught on the first day, but the rectoress decided to postpone. The Rectoress's decision to do so made the other girls very irritated with me. To say the least.

There is of course Tissaia, who I am all too familiar with. She was one of the 4 that was actually capable of lifting the rock, while using the flower as a conduit. I had been tempted to make a snarky comment about our time together not being entirely useless, but I decided against it. She hates me enough as it is, I don't think damaging her precious ego would do much good. One of the other girls, who took longer, but was quick to follow mine and Tissaia's lead, is named Margarita. She has lovely blonde hair, and strikingly blue eyes, almost the same shade as Tissaia's, but not nearly as beautiful… is what I would say, if me and said blue eyed brunette weren't currently at odds. Have I made my point? I'm pretty sure I have. Anyways, Margarita - or as she prefers to be called - Rita, is a very interesting character. She clearly has no shame, and somehow she's managed not to make all of the girls hate her. Despite her garish and quite childish behavior. She is actually one of the only girls that hasn't decided that I am a bane of the earth, which I am grateful for.

Roan, with her pale yellowish skin and who's hair is straighter than the stick up Tissaia's ass, has a very unfortunate case of air headedness. She cannot take hints for the life of her, and it is almost intriguing the amount of idiotic blabbering that can come from her before Annita (another one of the girls) covers her mouth. Annita, as previously mentioned, is the sound control of the group over yonder. Her skin is a lovely shade of chocolatey brown, and I would find her effortlessly attractive if it wasn't for her tendency to make the most overly expressive and revolving faces on the continent. Her smile is too wide and very clearly forced, her lips peel back from her teeth a horrifying amount when she does. She has some semblance of intelligence, but her constant need to sneer and wrinkle her nose at the mere sight of me is ridiculous. She does have pretty eyes though, a nice hazel color, leaning more toward brown than green. Her hair is short, nearly to her scalp, and it's black like Roan's.

Then there's Sanota and Veblen. Sanota has auburn hair and brown eyes, her features are soft and round, but her personality is the complete opposite. She's a bitch, from the way she walks to the way she talks, it just screams, "I thrive off of the tears of children." I had attempted to help her during the rock lifting lesson, but she was having none of it. As a result, a few of her fingers withered and died on her left hand. It was truly horrifying. Her once pale skin had turned a disgusting murky gray and black, and I don't think she'll ever be able to use those fingers again. The point is though, she is so rude and unaccepting of help from anyone, that it's self-destructive. Quite literally. I would almost feel bad for her, if she wasn't so cruel to me, and poor Veblen.

She is younger than me by about 2 years, being around 14. She is actually a very sweet girl, she's quiet and respectful. But she worships the ground that Sanota walks on. Sanota is very rude to her, calls her names, pushes her around. Veblen had actually tried to talk to me once and Sonata was quick to grab her by her light brown hair and drag her away. The girl was on the verge of tears. But with Sanota's cruelty, she also gets protection. From what? Well, that would be from Tissaia's annoyance, Rita's bad habits, Roan's idiotic choices of coversation, and Annita's terrifying facial expressions. To Veblen, Sonata is a new older sister and guardian angel - obviously - to literally anybody else, Sanota is using her for menial tasks and as a servant. It's infuriating, but I can understand why. The Rectoress gives us a LOT of pointless work and stuff that really could be avoided, but the rest of us suck it up and just do it. Not push it on a weaker, easily manipulated, child. Well… she's not a child, but my point still stands!

Finally, there's Lida. Lida is huge, I mean, HUGE. She's around five foot ten and her body is just muscle. If it weren't for her shoulder length blonde hair and shockingly feminine voice, I would think she was some sort of unisex goddess. She has been surprisingly open about her life, she was raised on a farm and her mother died before she could bear any sons. Her father was so in love with his deceased wife that he couldn't remarry and try for one, so he raised his daughter like he would have raised his son. The result is mouth wateringly delicious, but she's not really my type. Very attractive in her own right, but just not for me. Maybe if I get on her good side, she could help me get a little more fit? Highly unlikely. She's a follower, and as a follower, she's going to follow the rest of the girls in hating me. Which, I don't really care anymore, I've got me.

It's lonely, I can pretend all I like, but it sucks. The only person who's actually bothered to spend the faintest bit of time on me since the situation Tissaia ended was Gwendolyn. The servant woman. She's very sweet, and has been very supportive. A part of me wants to wish and hope that she is secretly my aunt and that she can whisk me away from this place forever. That is impossible, so outrageously optimistic that it almost makes me want to cry in frustration. Despite this though, she has been a beacon of light over the past few weeks, and I couldn't be more thankful. It's actually because of her, that what I lack in friends my age, I have gained friends her age. Much of the staff knows me by name, and occasionally I'll be visited by the odd maid who was passing by, or a cook who wanted me to try a new recipe of theirs. The company has been tremendous, but lacking. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy talking to them all and learning about their lives and stories of adventure from the few that have actually been out on the world to explore. But I want to bond with someone my age, and not for diplomatic reasons like I had before coming to Aretuza. So that I can genuinely enjoy the time I spend with another person, so we can cause trouble and talk about the people we like. Someone I could come out too if I trust them enough.

I thought I could get that from Tissaia, but she clearly has other plans. I'm hoping she forgets about my sexuality, I should have lied. I would have lied, if I'd known this is how we would end up. Me sitting at a table as far away from her, her new friends, and everyone else in the Hal as possible. While I watch her laugh from afar, and Margarita gets out of her seat with her tray and leaves the table, walking over towards me. Wait a minute! Why is she coming over here? Did she see me starring, am I about to get yelled at? I wasn't trying to stare, I was just… yes I was staring, but it wasn't in a bad way. I'm an idiot, what should I do? She's almost here. Fuck, damn it. I'm looking down, I'm going to look down at my tray and pick at my food while I wait for the ensuing lecture.

But it never comes. I see her place her tray down right in front of me and plop downright there. Timidly, I look up. Never being this close to her before, I suddenly notice so much. Her eyes are nothing like Tissaia's, actually, they're so much brighter and filled with mischief. Tissaia's eyes are more gray in comparison, not like it matters. Margarita's nose is ever so slightly crooked toward the left, and her lips are full. She is very attractive, shockingly so. On her plump lips, is a grin riddled with trouble and, surprisingly, friendliness. She doesn't seem all too abashed by my observation of her, she actually seems to be thriving off the attention, which is interesting. She, obviously, had no problem sizing me up too, and it's when her grin widens that our akward and strange silence is finally interrupted.

"So, (Y/N), are you having fun over here by yourself?" She says, taking a bite of the food on her plate. I hesitate, suspicious of her reasons for being over here.

"No, actually. It's quite boring." I say, looking around the hall. The girls at Margarita's former table are all looking over at us with confused faces, and I must say, I am just as confused. My confusion of course is dissipated when she speaks again.

"It can't be more boring than over there. They keep yapping about how the Rectoress is so powerful and assignments blah blah blah." She says emphasizing her words by waving her fork around. "You though," She points the fork at me.

"You seem like much more entertaining company to keep." She finishes her sentence by stabbing a piece of her pork and bringing it to her mouth to chew slowly. I had long since finished my food, but my glass was still half full, so I took a sip before answering. The juice inside is tart and dries my mouth some once I've swallowed it. Very disappointing.

"And what makes you think that, Margarita Laux-Antille." I say, opting to use her full name for formal and intimidation purposes. She swallows her bite of pork before giving me a devilish smirk. She places down her fork and puts her elbows on the table, folding her hands together under her chin.

"I know a fellow troublemaker when I see one, and seeing as how Tissaia has expressed a LOT about how much of one you are, I think you and I will get along perfectly." She says. Well… guess there's no arguing against that. I was about to try, but before I could open my mouth, she reached her hand out for me to shake.

"Just call me Rita, there's no need for all that fancy shit, especially since we're now friends." She says as I take her hand and shake it. I look her in the eye with my brows furrowed.

"I never said we were friends." I said, a bit of amusement playing on her face and mine. She stands up, smiling down at me.

"Maybe not yet…" she says cryptidly, "meet me in my room in 2 hours. It's the room at the end of your hall." And with that, she leaves the dinning hall and leaves me alone to my thoughts. I'm smiling, I know I am. Have I really just made a friend? Perhaps. She showed no intention of hurting me, so meeting her later shouldn't be too bad of a plan right? I will of course tell Gwen, for safety reasons, if she doesn't see me in the morning to help with breakfast she'll need to come looking. I know she will, she cares about me. If things do go wrong and it is a trap, then I can just run out and hide in my room for the rest of the night.otherwise, things should be nice and calm.

 

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Things were certainly NOT calm. Not in the slightest. Upon arriving at her room, I was very quickly greeted with smoke and the undeniable scent of alcohol. Why? Well because miss Margarita Laux-Antille was smoking a blunt of unknown origin and had a bottle of wine held firm in her hand. She clearly had just begun… whatever this is. But, I at least knew that she wasn't trying to kill me. On purpose. I lasted maybe 2 minutes before the temptation to join her was too much, she was incredibly adamant about me joining her in her little party, and who am I to decline. So, the night went from confusing to so irrevocably clear that I feel like an idiot for questioning her intentions before. The other girls, teacher's pets and people pleasers that they are, had refused to join Rita in her fun multiple times. That's ridiculous! Who in their right mind would give up the chance to get high out of your mind and three sheets to the wind with this complete wack job? Rita is a riot. She is completely unabashed by literally everything, she doesn't give a damn, and her sense of humor is absolutely filthy. She is the BEST person you could ever get into trouble with.

So much so, that maybe one joint and four swigs of wine in, and I'm agreeing to steal a frog from one of the many classrooms and put the little fucker in Roan's room. That task was not so horrible. Finding out where the frogs were was a problem, me and Rita had to drunkenly wonder about for hours trying to find out which room they were in. Everything was moving and all the rooms started to look the same. By some miracle, no one was patrolling this hall, for now anyway. Being drunk and completely dumbasses at the moment, we'd forgotten to close all of the doors that we opened. We don't care, we have a goal. At one point Rita had tugged on my dress and drug me into one of the rooms. It was decidedly NOT a classroom. It was a winery, how did we find it? We shall never know, but, it's location is now burned within our brains and we shall forever find it from this day forth.

The room in itself is massive, wall to wall are shelves of unopened bottles of wine and other random alcohols that are placed in some sort of order. That order does not matter to us intoxicated teenagers, because we are drunk… and teenagers. It's not rocket science the point is, we have been introduced to a treasure trove of liquid courage, and the first thing we're going to do is steal as much as we possibly can and hide it everywhere. So, our side quest begins. Take as much rum, brandy, wine, jack, scotch, vodka, and whatever else is in there and carry it in our skirts like kangaroo pouches. Our legs are indecently exposed, and we do not care, we have loot. Said loot is loud, which of course means that we should shush it. Shushing is actually more loud and pointless, but we do it anyway. Why? Because our new babies are being loud and they need to shut up. They do not shut up, not until we have all but one bottle each of it. Out of maybe 20 bottles, 2 are unhidden.

It is at this point that we have finally found the classrooms. So, after deciding to hide the last two bottles in my room tomorrow, we go and save a frog from it's doom. A very magical doom. Said frog is a grayish brown color and very cute. It's eyes are gold. He has been dictated a boy by Rita dearest, and his name is now Fredrick. Fredrick the frog, who will soon be acquainted with Roan. Roan, with her black hair and eyes. Roan, who talks too much and gets on Rita's nerves. Roan, who has insulted Tissaia on multiple occasions unknowingly.

"Roan did what!?" I whisper-yell at Rita. Rita, is amused, her face cracking into a manic and almost teasing grin.

"Yeah (Y/N)," she says smoothly, wrapping an arm around me and leaning against my shoulder, my already imparted balance worsening with her added weight and swaying. I asked her what Roan said, ignoring the slight tremor of anger I feel. It's nothing, I'm just mad that I wasn't the one who did it.

"Oh, Roan told her that she was an…. Uptight hormonal mess, " Rita hesitates, trying to remember through her haze. "With a serious neatness problem?" She is clearly unsure of her answer, but I have to laugh. The insult itself was funny, but clearly not meant as an insult. It was an observation that Roan, being her, couldn't keep to herself. My laughter is quickly joined by Rita's, both of us covering each other's mouths and shushing one another.We are nearly to Roan's room, the familiar hall with all of our rooms just around the next corner.

"Tissaia must have been mad," I said, chuckling lightly. Rita looks at me like I'm an idiot, I probably am.

"Mad? She wasn't just mad. She was livid, she stormed out of the hall without a word to anyone, it was fantastic…. But disappointing, Roan needs to shut up." She says, round the corner with me and starting to lead the way to Roan's room.

"Well, maybe sir Fredrick the fierce can teach her some manners?" I offer, looking down at Fredrick and letting him softly on his head. Rita shakes her head and stops in front of a door, slowly opening it. I frown, knowing that now I must let my dear friend Fredrick the frog go. Telling him goodbye, I hand him reluctantly to Rita. She goes into the room, leaving me to do a horrible job to keep a lookout.

Roan was fast asleep of course, because no one is supposed to be awake. Me and Rita giggle as quietly as possible while leaving Roan's room. The deed has been done, and what a wonderful morning it is. It's maybe…. Two in the morning? It's hard to keep track of time. They get caught of course, but by one of my servant friends, they look at the two of us, smile, wink, and carry on their way. The rest of the short trek to Rita's room is excruciatingly difficult because of the swaying, leaning, stumbling, and quiet chuckling we're doing.

When we have finally made it back to Rita's room, it's like the floodgates have been busted open, because the second that door closed we were on the floor laughing like buffoons. Rita, who has decided the night is not yet over, takes yet another swig of wine and passes it to me. It's warm, and grape flavored. I can understand why people would drink wine all the time at dinner parties, it's a delight! The way it makes you feel is amazing. I'm happy and everything is so funny, my eyes are kind of tired, but I'm not sleepy. I crawl over to Rita and grab her hand, grinning like an idiot.

"You are… my best friend…" I say, slurring slightly and shaking my head. Rita rolls over on top of me and hugs me, nuzzling into my chest. Her hair tickles my nose, so I blow it outta my face and wrap my arms around her.

"Besties… let's give those girls hell… hm?" She says drowsily, looking up at me and blinking slowly. With an unreasonably loud laugh and a dopey grin, I nod in agreement. She lays her head back down, sprawled on top of me. She's not exactly light, but I don't feel like moving her, so I let her lie there. Eventually she starts to snore, it's annoying, but I'm too drunk to care. So, not so long after her, I slowly begin to drift off… so begins the most chaotic and troublesome friendship in all of Aretuza. The Rectoress wanted chaos… well, here it is.

[alien-shark]

ZoTash prompt/one-shot: JEALOUSY

Echoes of what appears to be sparring shouts reverberate from the training grounds and soon, a surge of female Marine soldiers flood the halls. What used to be a serene area was now abuzz with gleeful exuberant cheers, their attention aimed at the other five female soldiers surrounding a lone shirtless green haired man at the centre of the training ground. Shinai swords drawn and pointed at their single adversary.

Tashigi, curious at the commotion, followed along the queue of female soldiers lining the perimeter of the ground, “What’s going on?” she asked, sipping at her coffee.

“He’s doing it. He’s sparring with them again!” A female soldier beamed, her eyes glued at the subject of interest.

Standing on her tiptoes, the Marine captain watch as the female soldiers consecutively charge at the man. But with a quick side step, parry, deflect and strikes on the shoulder, behind the knee and hip, each soldiers were disarmed and collapse on the dirt, one after another.

The spectators cheered and some groaned on behalf of their fallen comrades. On refusing to yield, one soldier latched on a nearby shinai and swiped at the man’s leg only for the weapon to shatter upon impact with his own.

“Too slow.” He sighed, disappointed. Spinning his head around, “You are all too slow.”

A wave of excited whispers, some of obscenities, rippled through the crowd.

“Your grasp on your swords are too flimsy! Even a kid can disarm you.” He pauses and releases yet another disgruntled sigh. “And you’re leaving too much opening! Do you have a death wish?! If I used real swords, you’d all be dead!” He turned to a soldier on the ground and offered his hand, she accepts reluctantly but hauls herself up with his help.

“The battle isn’t over until you’re dead.” He growled. “Till then, get your ass up and try again!”

Roronoa Zoro returned in the middle of the field, two bamboo swords drawn on his sides.  His eyes scan the crowd, “Who’s up next?”

Female Marines race and scrambled to try their luck at him, beaming and professing determined shouts.

---

Captain Tashigi narrows her eyes, irritated that her fellow Marine soldiers- especially ones under Vice Admiral Tsuru’s squadron- are so easily swayed by Roronoa’s simple display of swordsmanship. But her resentment only doubled upon realizing that while she goes and makes herself a cup of coffee to begin the day, the man was already in the heat of his training.

While Roronoa trains the female Marines; observing them with a critical eye as they do drills and correct any mistakes and praise any improvements as they spar with one another, Tashigi decides to train with other soldiers who remained wary of the pirate. But it wasn’t long until Tashigi found herself training alone in their usual spot. She discovered her fellow officers figured Roronoa’s teachings yield very effective results.

And so she was alone, much to her disappointment.

Dinner proved tougher to endure when all she hears are praises aimed at Roronoa, how his outlandish teachings opened up new possibilities in their training immensely enhancing their skills.

“He’s truly a great swordsman! Glad he’s an ally now!” A soldier announced cheerfully.

“And he’s surprisingly such a decent guy too!”

“Right?! And he’s gentle and kind!”

“Have you seen that body?”

They giggle. Tashigi stands to leave.

A tremendous divide among the Marines occurred when the highly influential Vice Admirals finally roused and saw the errors of the entire Marines’ belief. It began with Smoker’s G-5 unit followed by Vice Admiral Garp, Vice Admiral Sengoku and most recently, Vice Admiral Tsuru.

Tashigi started as a grunt in Tsuru’s squad. Her skills earned her respect and praise among her superiors and popularity among the entire female Marine soldiers. Her rapid growth caused her to be transferred under Smoker’s wing in Loguetown. Yet to this day, she would return and spend some time with her previous crew. She considered this her place of solitude, a break from her testosterone infested infantry. It was a breath of fresh air to be around fellow female soldiers and they were always glad to have her back even for a short period.

However, the Marine/Pirate integration has altered her previous comrades regard towards her. (Roronoa and three of his nakamas: Nico Robin, The God-Usopp and The Soul King, temporarily stays on the island under Tsuru’s watch for Nico Robin to decipher a poneglyph. Which explains why and how the pirate is within their vicinity.) Now, the female soldiers’ attention has long abandoned Tashigi and are directed at Roronoa, much like the G-5.

“Give it to him! I bet he’ll love it!” A soldier nudged her companion.

“I hope so. He did say he loves quality sake.”

“Haha! He’ll fall head over heels for you!”

“W-what?! No.. I just wish to thank him..!” The other soldier blushed.

Soon, things took a sudden turn. An ample amount of female soldiers developed a budding infatuation towards the man. Tashigi couldn’t contain her hackles from rising when one evening, during a bonfire, another soldier gifted Roronoa sake. He drank and celebrated with them for yet another productive day. As Tashigi observes the exchange, she notices Roronoa smile almost slyly towards the gushing female Marines. Her suspicions towards the man intensifies. He was still a pirate after all. Tashigi witnessed the vulgar glances Black Leg and The Soul King displays when around women. Who’s to say Roronoa is different? She knows nothing about the man.

That very night, she confronted him. When finally he was alone, walking groggily through the empty streets, she blocked his path.

“Roronoa, a word, please.” She gestured to an empty alley.

“If you need private lessons, you’re gonna have to wait for two days.” He smiles. “I’m a busy man. Tonight’s not a good ti—”

“I know what game you’re playing, pirate!” Tashigi interjects. “You may blind the others with your swordplay but not me.”

Immediately, the pirate’s drunken stupor evaporated and he stares unblinking. But Tashigi refused to falter.

“If you’re training them just to create your little ‘fan-club’ or to invite them in your bed, I will not ask you again, please stop. These are prominent honourable women and some are already developing feelings-- bonds to you deeper than they intended. Feelings I doubt a pirate such as you even have. Whatever dark intentions you have planned, abandon it if you still wish to see the light of day.” She stepped closer and jabbed a finger on his chest. “Respect these women or I will make you.”

Roronoa stares at the finger on his chest and slowly creeps his gaze towards the woman.

“I always wondered why you never attend the training. I thought it was just your stubborn pride that makes you lurk behind the trees, watching from a distance.”

For the first time, Tashigi hesitates and draws her hand back.

“So this is how you still see me.” He narrows his eyes at her, as realization hits. “I trained your soldiers because they asked me to. I won’t apologize for my actions.  I am not responsible for the feelings your soldiers harbour towards me neither will I apologize for how you interpret my actions towards them. That’s on you. I’ve never disrespected your soldiers in any way and I never intend to. I only wish to help… because-”

He takes a deep breath. “This may be empty words to you but… I feel obliged- I had a friend—,” Roronoa paused, dropping his gaze to the ground.

His voice suddenly grows quieter, jittery. “I wanted to prove to her… wherever she is I—I want to prove that women can be strong and capable of so much more. At first I didn’t believe it was possible.” He meets her eyes, his own glassy under the moonlight.

“Then you came along and changed my mind. How you handle yourself and radiate that irritating confidence and headstrong determination that affects the people around you. You made me realize that women are capable of so much more. And I want to help even in the smallest way. I want to prove to her that she was wrong for thinking so little of herself because of her gender.”

Roronoa hardens his gaze and almost doubles in size as he straightens himself, towering over the Marine captain. “But she’s dead. And she will never know. And I guess it’s too late for it now. And the person who opened up my mind to the possibilities and gave me hope continues to view me as a petty low-life. And whatever ounce of help I provided in the end didn’t matter.”

The man shakes his head and before stepping around her says, “What do I know? Pirates don’t have feelings, right?”

That night, Tashigi couldn’t sleep. Roronoa’s words cut her deeper than any wound inflicted in battle. How petty and shallow of her to view Roronoa in this light.

His late friend… Of course. How could she forget? When will she ever see beyond herself? She was insecure, blinded by her weakness. Jealousy remains to be her biggest vice, the wall that prevents her from moving forward- the gap between their abilities. She was right about one thing however, she knows nothing about the man.

The following days, Roronoa stopped showing up at the training grounds and began training somewhere else, alone, and refused to train and spar with the female soldiers, however he allowed them to watch.

“Could we have been too much for him?” A soldier during lunch muttered weakly.

“Maybe our progress was too slow he got impatient.”

“Ugh. I shouldn’t have pushed him to try our family’s sake.”

“Face it, ladies. The man didn’t see anything special and probably got bored.” Another stirred at her lunch dully. “He’s still a pirate. Open your legs at him and he might—”

“He’s not like that!” Tashigi snapped. All eyes on her. Upon realizing her outburst has generated attention she wasn’t used to, she trembled and cast her eyes down. “Roronoa is… a lot of things. But he’s not like that.”

She quickly dislodge herself from the predicament. She needed to find the man- for the sake of the Marines. But more importantly give him the apology he deserved. She cannot allow her frivolous mistake sever the unity between Marines and pirates. Tashigi could not locate him that evening so she woke up early the next day and luckily found him in his new training spot, surrounded by female soldiers urging him for a spar.

Tashigi apprehensively stepped closer into his area. A twitch of his eye suggest he’s aware of her presence.

“Roronoa, please… please train them again.” She whispers and hopes he hears amidst his grunts and loud thrusts of his sword.

“They can train themselves.” He grunts.

“They can.” She swipes a quick glance at the inquisitive soldiers. “But they prefer your guidance. They enjoy your company.”

“They’ve trained without my supervision long before I arrived in the island. They don’t need me.”

“Roronoa, please-“

“No.”

Before her tears threaten to spill, Tashigi knelt down and pressed her forehead on the ground and bowed deeply before the man.

“I apologize for every malicious words I insinuated. You didn’t deserve the accusations. I was wrong. It was unjust- I was,” She bit her lip and forced the trembling words out, “— ignorant. I figured my misplaced vigilance for my fellow Marines only causes harm than good. And I realize my accusations reflected more about my insecurities than of your character.”

The thrusting of sword stopped and louder whispers emanate from the growing onlookers.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I only wish for you to know how deeply I regret my misdemeanour.” She sobbed. “Please do not punish them because of the lapses in my judgement. Roronoa… Roronoa-san, it would be an honour to gain your insights.”

Tashigi took a deep breath and lifted her head slightly, “Please train them—train us!!”

“Tashigi-san…” Echoes of her name ran through the crowd but she refused to lift her head.

A surge of delight rushed through the swordsman’s chest and instantly felt an entire lightness of being, as if the overbearing weight he’s been carrying the last couple of days was lifted off his chest and he was engulfed with unexpected satisfaction. A single apology from the woman would have suffice, but this almost evaporated every affliction he’d ever experience. Had this happen months ago, he would have a quip to counter, instead he clears his throat,

“Then what are you waiting for? Grab your shinai. We’re losing daylight!”

Tashigi finally raised her head, face coated in watery dirt but she didn’t care. Altogether, the entire female Marine squadron exclaimed, “Haiii!!”.

----

Apologies for going over the word count! I hope this was worth your time! 

[miraworos]

Our Remedies Oft in Ourselves Do Lie (Rated T)

Ten days. It had been ten bloody days since Crowley and Aziraphale had fooled their respective head offices and celebrated at the Ritz. Ten days didn’t seem like a Hell of a lot, but when it was ten days added onto six thousand years of bleeding his heart dry with pining for his best friend, it was a sodding eon. 

And Crowley was literally bent out of shape about it. He couldn’t concentrate. He could barely look at Aziraphale without falling down for no apparent reason. His blasted legs would just stop working, and he’d have to brace himself as gracefully as possible against the nearest surface to make it look deliberate. Like he just wanted to lean. Flash bastard and all that. He couldn’t eat (which was fairly routine). He couldn’t sleep (which was categorically not). He was a bloody mess, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale was completely fine. Acting like not a bloody thing was different. All smiles and inviting Crowley in for a nightcap and calling him on the phone to arrange a visit to the new museum exhibit about Satan knew what. Crowley was so busy staggering into priceless artifacts and getting shouted at by security that he had no idea afterward what they’d even gone in to see. 

The point was, Aziraphale was normal, and Crowley was not. And he was fairly sure it had something to do with the uncontrollable lust-love-whatever-EMOTIONS that he couldn’t stop feeling for a certain angel now that Hell was no longer breathing down his neck.

Crowley had tried to stay away for a bit, get some distance between them, but the Bentley, and his phone, and even his own feet all conspired to take him straight to Aziraphale’s door no matter what he said about it. Crowley had then tried to pretend to himself that Hell was still in the picture, still watching his every move so that he dare not say anything to Aziraphale for fear of putting them both in danger again. All that had got him was a bad case of jump-out-of-his-skin paranoia and an outbreak of supremely attractive hives. So at last he had tried to actually address it with the angel--and the stuttering stream-of-consciousness drivel that fell out of his mouth merely led to a confused look and a sincere, if somewhat condescending, “Crowley, are you quite all right?” 

So. Now he was here. Because he was desperate. Because he had literally nowhere else to turn. Because Aziraphale happened to mention that the woman would be leaving town soon, and it had put the idea in his head. And, frankly, because he was a bloody idiot with zero chill.

He rang the bell first before reading the sign.

Madam Tracy, Sibyl to the Stars, By Appointment Only, DON’T RING THE BELL

“Bollocks,” Crowley swore, snapping his fingers.

Madam Tracy opened the door in a swirl of robes. She was wearing considerably less makeup than the last time Crowley had seen her, and was minus one ginger wig.

“Mr. Crowley,” she said, surprised. “It appears we had an appointment. I have no idea how I missed that in my diary this morning. Won’t you come in?”

“Obliged,” Crowley muttered as he followed her into a nearby sitting room.

“I’ll just get us some tea.”

As she bustled about in the kitchen, Crowley took in the tawdry fabrics, brass figurines, and crystal ball.

“Here we are,” she said kindly as she settled the cup onto the table in front of him. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crowley?”

“I need some sort of…” He waved his hand vaguely. “...hocus pocus. Something to tell me...what to do.”

“What to do about what, love?”

“I have a...a problem. I can’t be more specific.”

Madam Tracy raised an eyebrow that could either mean I know exactly what your problem is, you daft pillock, or I am only tolerating your brusque manner because you’re paying me. He didn’t give a blessing which it was. He just wanted someone to tell him what to do.

“Cards, then,” she said, picking up the crystal ball as if it weighed nothing (which was likely, since it was obviously made of plastic) and set it on the floor next to the table. Then she pulled a squarish, scarf-wrapped bundle from a pocket in her voluminous robes. She set the bundle on the table and untied the knot, folding out each corner of the scarf around a deck of Tarot cards.

After unwrapping the cards, she closed her eyes and folded her hands together, making some sort of hmming-hrrking noise in the back of her throat that did not sound particularly healthy, nor confidence-inducing. This had clearly been a Bad Idea.

Her eyes popped open like someone had pinched her arse. Then her features relaxed into her usual smile, and she started shuffling the cards. After a minute or two of shuffling and sorting with a sublime expression on her face, she laid the deck on the table in front of Crowley.

“Now, cut the deck in half whilst contemplating your question.”

Crowley did as he was told, though he very nearly took her literally and cut the cards into pieces out of spite.

“There, there,” she said, looking down at the cards rather than at him. “It will be alright. We’ll see what the cards have to say, hm?”

Crowley ground his teeth together and slumped loafishly in his chair. Profoundly. Stupid. Idea.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” she said after she’d laid out a cross pattern of four cards.

“Interesting?” he said, leaning forward. Maybe she’d See something useful, though truthfully, it looked to him like a nine-year-old had gone to a Ren Fair, got a contact high from all the weed, and decided to draw silly pictures.

“Yes. You see this card here at the top? That’s the Seven of Wands, love, only it’s reversed. And in this position in the spread, it’s saying that you need to believe in yourself. You’re battle weary from a long, dark struggle. But you’ve persevered, haven’t you? You’ve made it. So hold to that belief as you’re dealing with your problem.”

Crowley harrumphed. Sounded like a bunch of garbage psychobabble to him. Though the part about the battle weariness was true, he supposed. He nodded for her to continue.

“This card here, the Knight of Cups, is telling you there’s a gallant man in your life that you need to propose to.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You need to propose, love.”

“Propose...like...marriage?”

Madam Tracy pursed her lips, looking at him as if he were being particularly thick. “Could be marriage. Could be an arrangement of sorts? The cards only reinforce what you already know.”

“Shows what good they are, then,” Crowley sniffed. “I know fuck all about anything.”

Tracy sighed heavily and took a sip of her tea.

“Wassat one?” Crowley said, indicating the card on the right. “I like that one. Pointy swords, girl all tied up. That looks like me.”

“Ah, yes. The Eight of Swords. But it’s reversed, love.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning you’re in a rut, and you need to use the strength we talked about with the Seven of Wands to dredge yourself out of it. You are your own worst enemy, dear. Getting in your own way all the time.”

“Huh, yeah, well… I resemble that remark, I suppose.”

“And this one is the most important card. It’s the What’s-Next card, you know. The Magician.”

“The Magician? Augh, really?” Crowley said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Charlatans. Totally bamboozled Aziraphale last century. Crowley’d never cared for them since. “Can’t bloody stand magicians.”

“This one is special,” Tracy insisted. “This one is positive, quick-thinking, and inspiring. Harness that positive energy, and your problem will be resolved as if by magic.”

Crowley sat for a long moment--a long few moments, in point of fact--considering what Tracy, and the cards, had told him. On the one hand, they’d been vague and unhelpful. On the other hand, they’d been...hm...vague and unhelpful.

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” he said.

Tracy rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and said in an overly calm voice, “The cards are telling you to just kiss him already.”

Crowley, who’d decided for some silly reason to tilt his chair back at that particular moment, fell completely to the floor, knocking the table with his foot and sending tarot cards flying in every direction.

“What?” he squeaked, popping back up onto his feet as Tracy rose gracefully to hers.

“I said,” she began, taking a deep breath. “Just kiss him already, you ridiculous person. Saints preserve us, you are incredibly dense.”

Crowley gaped at her for a full minute in complete shock.

For her part, Tracy straightened her robes, and plastered her calm smile back into place.

“Thank you so much for coming, love. That’ll be eighty quid.”

Grumbling, Crowley paid her, and then sped the Bentley all the way back to the bookshop. 

Stupid cards, stupid fortune, stupid brain not knowing what to do. Tracy got one thing right: he couldn’t go back, and he couldn’t stay still. He had to do something or he’d end up like that girl all tied up and abandoned. And he had to admit that having his problems resolved as if by magic held a tremendous amount of appeal.

Maybe...maybe he should take Tracy’s advice. What was the worst that could happen? Okay, the worst that could happen is that he’d lose the love of his life and his best friend and any hope of happiness in this life or any other. Splendid.

He was still undecided about what he was actually going to do when he shoved open the door to the bookstore and called for the angel.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whipped off his sunglasses. “Aziraphale, where are you?”

“Here, dear,” the angel said, calm as you please, standing at the top of the stairs to the flat he never used. “Whatever is the matter? You look positively disheveled.”

“Dish--? Ngh-- Angel, come down here.”

With an arched eyebrow that Crowley could see even from this distance, Aziraphale capitulated and walked steadily down the stairs towards him. Crowley’s legs wobbled treacherously while he waited, the shifty bastards.

As the angel’s feet touched the floorboards, he said, “Crowley, what could possibly be so--”

“I…” Crowley interrupted, but then stopped, words stuck in his throat.

“Yes?” Aziraphale said with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression.

“Fuck it,” Crowley said. 

He lurched forward and captured the angel’s face in his hands. He paused the length of a heartbeat, waiting for Aziraphale to pull back, to protest. But he didn’t protest--he slid his hand over Crowley’s wrist, gripping it softly, as if granting permission. So Crowley leaned that one inch further and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s, pouring into it all of the strength and faith and adoration and magic he felt for the one being he loved enough to stay and save the world for.

Crowley could barely feel his body for all the energy radiating between them as they kissed. And he wondered, for just a moment, if this was what it felt like to be discorporated. 

A full measure of euphoria later, Crowley pulled back to assess the angel’s reaction.

“Sorry,” he said huskily. “Should’ve asked first.”

But Aziraphale was smiling up at him without a trace of regret or worry. 

“The only apology I’ll accept is one for taking so damned long to kiss me in the first place,” he said, his smile turning smug.

Crowley gaped, speechlessly. “Wh-- You could have kissed me!”

“I suppose so,” the angel said, tracing a finger along Crowley’s jaw and gazing at him in a dreamy fashion that was causing havoc in Crowley’s lower extremities. “But sometimes an angel likes to be wooed. I have standards.”

Crowley scoffed. “Oh, oh, well, alright then. I suppose it was worth all the anguish I’ve suffered this last fortnight. You have standards, after all.”

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed, unfazed. “Anguished, were you?”

Crowley made a few inarticulate noises as the angel’s hand dropped from his face to stroke his hip. 

“I bet I can think of a few ways to console you,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

Fuck, Crowley realized in that moment of neurons exploding in his corporeal brain, the cards were right. 

It was the last cogent thought he had for, frankly, an obscene amount of time.

* * *

The next afternoon, Aziraphale hummed to himself as he shelved a few books on the ancient art of divination from his section on human mysticism. Crowley had gone to get them something to nosh on, and just in time, too, for Aziraphale was positively famished from the previous night’s--and morning’s--activities. He’d need all the sustenance he could get to keep up with Crowley’s robust energy levels. Not that he was complaining. He had plans for later that evening, and he intended to see them through.

A knock at the door interrupted his ruminations. He set the books on a nearby stack and walked to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, as he already knew who would be on the other side.

“Good day, love,” said Tracy with a brilliant smile. She was wearing a sedate cardigan and beige, knee-length skirt. “I hope everything went as expected last night.”

“Oh, yes. Very much so, thank you, my dear.”

“Always happy to help out a friend,” she said, winking at him. Then she held out her hand. “That’ll be eighty quid, love.”

Aziraphale pulled out his rarely used wallet and handed over the requested fee.

“Worth every penny,” he said, smiling.

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[darlingpetao3]

Young Love (Harry Wells x Reader)

Rating: T

Summary: Harry decides to surprise you with a wonderful dinner.

A/N: So, I cranked out a fic in my last hour at work the other day because I just had this strong image in my head. This is told in Harry’s POV (one of my absolute favourite things to do). Have some fluff~

Call me a fool in love, but she made me feel young again. I’ve always been teased about my age, even when I was young, but it’s been happening a lot more recently with the Team Flash youngsters.

Okay, yes, I heard it then.

But there’s just something about (Y/N)...

We’ve been together now quite a while, but I must say, it feels like the day I met her. My heart still pounds when she walks into the room. She’ll even say things that make me stutter, outing me as an unintelligible scientist when I normally am very articulate. And I think it’s reasonably needless to say our intimacy has not once been cast on a downward slope. She challenges me and turns my world on its head. I am the luckiest man in the Multiverse.

I love her with everything that I am.

Which is why I am surprising her with this dinner.

I hear the door open and close, and the usual sounds of her bag, keys, and shoes coming off in the entryway.

“Harry!” she exclaims, eyes big and wide and beautiful. She sees the arrangement on the dinner table, complete with what some might deem an expensive bottle of wine. “What is all this?”

I smile and move closer towards her, my hands finding one of their favourite places - her waist. Her palms lay flat against my chest and this is what home feels like. Forget the dictionary entries. This is it.

“Do you like it?” I ask. I’m usually sure about most things, but I always second guess myself around her. “I thought you deserved a little something special.”

“You are quite possibly the sweetest man,” she claims. That earns her a kiss.

“Many would be happy to argue with you,” I point out.

“Then I would be happy to kick their asses in your name.”

Did I mention I love this woman?

I chuckle deeply into her hair as she presses her body against mine. She smells like strawberries and cream today, and suddenly I find myself hungry in more ways than one. I pull away before my urges get the better of me. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“Shall we eat?” I ask.

“Have you locked the door?” she counters.

“Why would I do that?”

“Hare, need I remind you of the last time we tried something like this?”

I think back to the time she was referring, wherein Allen, Ramon, and Dibny walked in unannounced to our shared apartment and proceeded to ravage the dinner I made for (Y/N) and well overstayed their welcome.

A noise bubbles up from my throat.

“Exactly,” she says. “Now, you lock the door, and I’ll set the mood lighting.”

“Mood lighting?” I echo, very much liking the sound of that. I turn the deadbolt on the door.

“Mmhmm.” She uses the dimmer switch to create a sultry low-light. “Sexy, right?”

“Absolutely,” I say, now heading over to the table to pull out a chair for her. “As is the lighting.” (Y/N) pulls me down by the collar of my shirt to press her candy lips to mine. If I could simply forgo the meal and have that form of dessert instead, I would.

We have a tremendous time, discussing our workdays, swapping stories from our respective annoying or humorous coworkers. We talk about times from our past, and our plans for the future - both mere days away and for the rest of our lives.

I’d chosen to have the satellite radio on quietly in the background, a channel with a mix of various genres. (Y/N) has an eclectic musical taste, so I knew this would be the right choice. However, as we now wash up, a song comes on that I’d heard before, but can’t quite place. I do remember that she likes this one, with its steady bass and its numerous euphemisms for sex.

She gasps. “This is our song!”

“This is not our song,” I tell her.

“It’s one of our songs,” she clarifies, shooting me one of her flirtatious winks, then picks up the system’s remote to adjust the volume to a slightly higher level. It’s as if the song brings out something in her - the way her body moves as she feels the rhythm. I can’t take my eyes off of her. I never can.

She dances over to me and takes the dish towel from my hands, only to bring it around my neck and bring my body closer to hers. I beam at her and her attempts. I decide to surprise her again.

I reach around to take the towel from her around my neck and chuck it to the floor. My hands find their spot on her waist again and move them, effectively making her swivel her hips for me. Of course, she grins and continues the motions on her own accord. Soon, she's made it so that her back is to me, and… God- she grinds against my body. I feel as if I’m standing in a furnace, having the flames swallow me whole. I sweep her hair off to one side and fasten my lips to her shoulder and let them travel upward. She truly does taste better than any dessert.

And when I press my pelvis to her rear, she makes a noise better than any piece of music.

Our dancing falls to a halt. (Y/N) turns to face me.

“Harry?” She looks up at me with that unmistakable glint in her darkened eyes.

I know that look all too well. It brings out this side of me that only she could unlock. It’s the look that makes me feel young at heart.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go to bed.”

If you’ll excuse me, my heart beckons.