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disgraceddogstar · 4 years

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Sirius Orion Black III

birthday: november 3rd house: gryffindor blood status: pureblood loyalty: order of the phoenix clubs: astronomy, astronomy homework, dueling zodiac: scorpio mbti: enfp-t (campaigner) alignment: chaotic good

✓ Humor ——- “Did you like question ten, Moony?”

He is barking laughter and poorly timed jokes, puns upon puns - seriously. A grin as wide as the day is long, carefree and easy. Light in the black of war; white sheep in the Black family. His good humor has covered him and carried him through all that he’s seen. It’s as much a shield for himself as it is those with whom he surrounds himself.

✓ Loyal ——- “Died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you!”

He is fierce, heart full for those he holds dear. Not many are kept that close, but there is no hesitation when asked to give his life. Warmth and comfort, in the crook of his smile and the corners of his eyes. Brilliance and steadfast companionship: a dog is man’s best friend.

✓/✕ Strong-Minded | Judgemental ——- “Besides, the world isn’t split into good people and Death Eaters. We’ve all got both light and dark inside us.”

He is a tree rooted to the earth, tall and proud. Unmoving and firm against the hailing storm. Beliefs, unwavering, unwilling to hear. Opposition is wrong, and he knows it as well as he knows the stories written in the night sky. He is strong-willed and stubborn; a brick wall would be more receptive. He thinks himself open-minded, but it is only another belief.

✕ Impulsive ——- “What is life without a little risk?”

He is snap decisions made in the heat of the moment. Turbulent and emotional, judgement shifts as easily as debris caught in the tide. Words, biting, leaving scars as easily as laughter erases them from his mind. Passing thoughts in an endless stream of chaos - why waste time paying mind to outcomes when you can just act?

✕ Rebellious ——- “There are things worth dying for!”

He is 2 am, leather, and a mess of discarded liquor bottles scattered about the floor. Blood-kissed knuckles and knuckle-kissed jaw. Smirks and sighs toppling from carved lips. Caught in a tempest, winds whipping his hair about his face, unable to see, blindly stumbling along, deafening roars threaten to consume him - one foot in front of the other. Raw magic crackling in the air, electricity against your skin; a beautiful sight when it implodes.

headcanons: (tw: mania, depression, alcohol, slurs, mentions of dysphoria, mentions of abuse)

Patronus: It’s commonplace that a Patronus will match a witch or wizard’s Animagus form, if they happen to be such, and Sirius is no exception. His Patronus takes the form of a dog, matching that of his Animagus counterpart: a bear-like German Shepherd. German Shepherds are known for being intelligent, loyal, and fiercely over-protective. Any close friend of his would attest to the fact that Sirius exemplifies those qualities. He is a bright wizard, and he would do anything for those he cares about.

Wand: As badly as Sirius sometimes wishes his wand was made from Dogwood (think of the irony! the puns! the beauty of the universe!), he was chosen by a Cypress wood wand with a Dragon Heartstring core, 15 inches, rigid.

“Cypress wands are associated with nobility. The great medieval wandmaker, Geraint Ollivander, wrote that he was always honoured to match a cypress wand, for he knew he was meeting a witch or wizard who would die a heroic death. Fortunately, in these less blood-thirsty times, the possessors of cypress wands are rarely called upon to lay down their lives, though doubtless many of them would do so if required. Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.”

Sirius won’t think about the wandlore behind cypress wands and their masters dying a heroic death until the fleeting, infinite moment in which he begins to fall in the Department of Mysteries. He will think it ironic, then, that his death is hardly heroic at all; that, naturally, James and Lily had far more heroic deaths than him. (He will also think about finally, finally reuniting with them again, and he will think of how sorry he is for leaving Remus and Harry behind, but James, here I come.)

“As a rule, dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most power, and which are capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tend to learn more quickly than other types. While they can change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bond strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tends to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it will not incline that way of its own accord. It is also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.”

It is of interest to note that dragon wands tend to be easily swayed towards the Dark Arts. Sirius thinks it should be noted, and then he will tell it to fuck right off, thank you very much. He knows that, had things gone just a little differently, he wouldn’t have had any difficulty using Dark Magic; in fact, he’d have been rather adept at it. Sirius laughs at the notion - and would like to tell the Dark Lord that he can fuck right off, too.

Sirius is a very quick learner. He is intelligent and, when he puts his mind to a task, he is able to stay determined and focused. Magic runs strong in his veins, so it’s only natural he be paired with a wand that is able to keep up with him and his raw power. That being said, however, Sirius’ magic is - too often - unpredictable. It has been since he was a child, and he still experiences outbursts of unintentional magic when his emotions get the better of him; the dragon wand nurtures his accidental magic, at times.

&--------Little Lion Man

He is named for the Dog Star, the most brilliant star in the sky, visible from anywhere on Earth - an actuality he embraces and carries with him from the moment he is able to understand its meaning. Ancient namings signify he is scorching, sparkling, bringing destruction and rebirth. He is important, and his name informs everyone of such.

But he is the point of Canis Major, a hunting dog, ever looking towards his master, Orion. Later, he would think it ironic that he was intended to obediently follow the hunter across the sky. When he was young, though, he did follow his father, his master, with wide eyes and a thirst to learn, to emulate. He did, after all, carry his father’s name as one of his own. He thought it only right that he be his hunter. He learned quickly enough to leave Orion Black be.

His name embraces the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black - a reality he despises when he is older. He is taught to believe that to be a Black, to be a Pureblood is to be royalty. He believes it.

He spends the majority of his childhood being trained to be the perfect Pureblood heir, to be the perfect Black. He attends many Pureblood-only balls and events, and is taught the proper way to mingle with other Purebloods. He learns manners and etiquette, and he is expected to be a proper child. There are never many other children at the balls, but he is reminded that it is improper to run about and make a fool of oneself like ordinary children; he is, after all, anything but ordinary.

How could he be? His name attests to his brilliance.

&--------My Manic & I

Sirius is living with undiagnosed Bipolar 1 Disorder. It won’t ever be diagnosed or named in-game since they’re living in the 70s (it’s still fairly misunderstood now), but it definitely affects him. I feel like his upswings are pretty intense, and it usually results in him wanting to be out all the time and doing things, and he feels infallible and invincible, and he’s a lot more likely to be reckless (even more so than what is typical for him) and make snap decisions. He definitely has a tendency towards dangerous ideas that he thinks are absolutely brilliant (see: the Prank with Snape). On the other end of it, though, Sirius’ lows are very low, and he self-medicates with alcohol when he’s suffering from the worst of his depression (see: pretty much all of Order of the Phoenix). But I don’t think that Sirius recognizes the depression as such. It’s a lot easier for him to acknowledge when he’s feeling great and on top of the world as opposed to when he’s feeling like shit and struggles with getting out of bed in the morning. He’s a lot more likely to hide that side of himself, too, and play it off with a smirk and light-hearted joke at someone else’s expense. He became an expert at hiding his emotions at a young age, after all.

&--------I Want to Break Free

If someone were to ask Sirius his gender and sexuality, he would quirk a brow and scoff and let out a bark of laughter because what sort of daft question is that? But, secretly. he enjoys the company of both men and women.

Sirius doesn’t remember the exact moment when he realized that he was attracted to men. Maybe it was sometime in his third year, when he had accompanied James to watch the Quidditch team practice. Maybe he had caught himself staring at one of the seventh years - a boy with shaggy brown hair and a strong jaw - as he flew around the Pitch. Maybe he had felt the distinct swoop in his stomach as he had watched, and maybe he had imagined what it would be like to kiss the older boy.

But Sirius only really remembers being too afraid to say anything to James, Remus, and Peter, being afraid that it would change everything and they would think him a freak that they didn’t want to be friends with, anymore. Especially after his “prank” on Snape in 5th year, Sirius doesn’t want to do anything that could again alienate him from his friends. They’re all he really has.

Something else he would never admit to is the many times he has passed frilly shop windows and imagined being able to wear whatever clothes he wants that he sees, or wished he could be as comfortable in his own skin as David Bowie, or Freddie Mercury. Sirius doesn’t always feel exactly right in the body he has, and he doesn’t understand it even a little bit. After all, it’s hard enough to deal with the war; he doesn’t want to even begin to focus on the whole gender bit.

In modern terminology, he would identify as gender-fluid demiromantic pansexual, but that’s too fancy and way ahead of his time, so all he knows is that he’s queer - just another way in which he would have disappointed his family.

&--------The best thing that has ever happened:

“I know that you will make us proud, Sirius.”

No one ever expected Sirius to be a Gryffindor; he certainly hadn’t when he had stepped up to the stool to be sorted his first year at Hogwarts. His entire family had come from Slytherin. He even knew that, somewhere in his lineage, he was related to Salazar Slytherin himself. But as Sirius’ attention had drifted to the far table of green and silver, he had felt a tug in his stomach that he hadn’t really understood.

….“GRYFFINDOR!”

He ignored the shouts and jests coming from the Slytherin table to rightfully take his place amongst the lions of Hogwarts. He was joined, thankfully, by James and the redhead he had met with the greasy boy (he was grateful - and always would be - that the greasy one ended up in Slytherin).

It wasn’t before he was whisked away to his dorm and he got to know his fellow dormmates: one sickly-looking boy named Remus and a short, ordinary boy named Peter. Sirius thought he could do without Remus and Peter. Who needed them when he had James, his best friend? But Remus and Peter did prove themselves when they turned the greasy boy’s hair a bright shade of pink for a week. That, Sirius decided, was enough to earn his respect.

The four of them quickly became inseparable, and Sirius decided that being a Lion was worth the consequent Howlers he received, even if meant returning from the Christmas hols with bruises hidden beneath scratchy sweaters.

&--------And the worst: "Blood traitor! Filth! Scum!“

He tried not to cry out as his mother punished him one final time for being an insolent disgrace; he wouldn’t give her the pleasure. He was worse for the wear, however, when she finished with him and sent him off to think about his disobedience. Again. Sirius sat, on the edge of his bed, trembling; it was out of his control. He thought, but it didn’t take long for him to realize what he must do.

He needed to leave.

He hastily threw what belongings he could into his school trunk, gathering up anything he deemed important. He was able to perform a simple expansion and levitation charm - he decided he could deal with the Ministry later - and led his trunk out of his room. But he knew he needed to stop at his brother’s room before he left.

Sirius loved his brother and he has always loved his brother, but Regulus was not like him. He was weak-minded and bent to the wishes of their parents. Sirius always wanted to keep Regulus safe from them, from Mother, but he went to school and was sorted into Gryffindor and it changed. He became the disgrace, and it had been up to Regulus to be the perfect son. Sirius never wanted that for him, and he didn’t want that for him now. So he tried to bring Regulus with him. He wanted to ask, wanted him to leave and escape the hell they had grown up in.

But Regulus didn’t leave with him. He wasn’t like Sirius. He was an idiot, and he didn’t leave. So Sirius goes. But not before he watched as his mother blasted his name from the family tree.

(Sirius will always regret not making Regulus leave with him.)

#abintro #bio #hc&.{the boy with the broken halo}#writing&.{my manic and i}#aesthetic&.{killer queen}#abuse cw

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witharsenicsauce · 4 years

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Chosen Stories From the War #25: The House That Death Forgot, Part 1

Distress signals were nothing new to Bradford. One came along at least once a week. If it was from an established Resistance camp, there was no question that XCOM would be on the trail in a heartbeat. Sometimes though, the signals came and went, or they consisted of only a few words, or static, and as much as it pained all the senior officers, they couldn’t afford to chase every stray call for help.

But this was different: the voice coming through on the message...it was hers. It was Annette Durand.

He didn’t need to run this by the Commander, though he would. He knew what she’d say. Annette was as valuable as Zhang had been. Annette, while not as close as Zhang, was a friend.

And friends didn’t leave friends behind.

So there he sat in his office, her message on repeat.

“This is Taymallat. I am alive-”

“I am alive-”

He kept pressing play. Pressing play. Hearing her voice hurt. Hearing her…

He put his head in his hands. Only for a moment though, then he stood, and marched towards the Commander’s quarters.

“The signal came from Panay, an island in the Central Philippines.” Bradford said as he paced around the Commander’s desk.

“What province?” She asked. “Panay is a big island, Bradford.”

“I’ve never been there, Commander, so I can’t give you directions.” He said. “But the coordinates read 10°52'59.1"N 122°29'48.9"E.”

Senuna closed her eyes, like she was doing math in her head. “...Cabatuan, in the Iloilo province.” She said confidently. “Not too remote, but I don’t think anyone lives there anymore.”

“The populations of the island nations were all evacuated to the city center in Central China.” Zhang said. His voice was still quiet, but it was always quiet. His skin had fully lost that yellow, jaundice color and his gold eyes were bright once again. He still sat on the adjacent couch, as per Senuna’s request. “If anyone is there, they are either in hiding, or ADVENT is expanding.”

“Well we can’t leave Annette in there.” Senuna stood. “Call in the Chosen. We need our best.”

“Are you sure, Sunny?” Bradford asked. “Darkstrider just returned from a mission.”

“With the Hieromonk having healed him up? I’m beyond sure.” She smiled. “Plus, you’ve seen how the three work together.”

“Well.” Jane said. “With that logic, Madam, will you be sending a medic?”

Senuna sighed. “This comes up quite a lot, now.”

“I’m only asking.”

“Malinalli-” Bradford barely got the name out before Senuna sent him a glare that made him freeze.

“Two missions she’s been on in the last few weeks.” Senuna snapped. “That’s more than I ever wanted her out in the field. And right now, I want her on the ship.”

“Why?” Jane asked.

“Because it’s safe!” Senuna snapped, then righted herself. “She...she has duties here. And I want her to focus on her work on the ship.”

“But what does she want?” Zhang asked.

“Don’t you test me.” Senuna hissed at him. “You’re my friend, Chilong, you should know-”

“And as your friend, I am here to help you make the best decision.” He stood up. “And sealing her in the Avenger like a princess in a tower is not the best decision.”

Senuna slammed her hands on the desk and took a deep breath. Light was dancing at her fingers and, behind her eyelids, her irises were glowing greenish blue.

Zhang clasped his hands in front of him. “But it would also be wrong of me to force you to put her on the line with no insurance.”

“Yes it would.” Senuna’s eyes dimmed. “...Thank you for understanding, Chilong. This means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” He clasped his hands. “At least, if you send her out, she should have some sort of protection. That being said, Commander, I would like to be placed on this mission.”

That got everyone’s attention, even Jane let out an audible gasp. Senuna met his gaze.

“No.” She cried. “I can’t risk you both, Chilong!”

“You forget the power I have in my hands.” A smile brushed at his lips. “I may be old, but these old bones aren’t yet brittle.” He bowed. “I shall protect Malinalli, and the Chosen, and Taymallat when we find her.”

The strain left Senuna’s muscles, and she sank into her chair, seemingly pacified. “...Bradford…” She whispered “...call in the Chosen, and Malinalli Zúñiga. It’s time we brief them for this mission.”

Zhang stared at the Chosen with...curiosity. Almost fear, but not quite fear. They did not look like the officers who had cut him open and shoved tubes into his body, who had left him to rot in a cell, but they were still so alien, yet so human all at once.

The female among them was the easiest on the eyes: Kon-Mai Mordenna. He had seen her only once before, and she had been on the screen of an officer’s data pad: a video of her cutting down defecting soldiers, eyes glinting like a cat’s in the low light. But even though his picture of her had been blurry at best, he could still tell she was now different. Her hair—he had not even realized she had hair—was much longer, reaching to just below her shoulders. She wore it back in several thin braids, similar to the tubes she had possessed in ADVENT. Her armor was adorned with XCOM’s colors, and her sword’s hilt had been dyed a dark navy blue instead of the ADVENT red. She bowed to him as she saw him, a gesture he never expected from this woman. Her posture was straight and stiff and her eyes were focused.

“It is good to see you well, Colonel Zhang.” She said. That raspy voice sent a shiver through him.

Zhang nodded. “Well met...Shrinemaiden. I...apologize for my behavior last time we spoke.”

“There is no need, I did not take any offense.” On her lips, he saw the tiniest hint of a smile. She seemed both young and old at the same time, with a youthful complexion, but noticeable wrinkles around her eyes and cutting into her mouth.

Behind her, a dark shadow loomed and pushed past the door, and that was when Zhang had to take a step back, as his panic was beginning to overwhelm him. He knew the being before him; he’d encountered him more than once before his capture. But more importantly he knew the story behind him, who he was, and it all made Zhang want to weep for the boy he had lost.

The Hieromonk stood two inches taller than his sister, a giant among giants. He turned his gaze on Zhang, magenta eyes boring into the Colonel, before he, like his sister, bowed before his superior. No, not bow. The Hieromonk sank to one knee, lowering himself to Zhang’s height and keeping his head down.

“It is an honor, Great Chilong.” The beast’s voice was deep and sent a wave of force through the room that only a trained psion could feel. This man was bathed in psionic energy, and he spread the seed wherever he went.

Zhang could only nod, trying to steady his breathing. The Shrinemaiden was respectful, and would not harm him, and the Hieromonk made it clear he respected Zhang. “...Where is the third?” He asked.

“Gur-Rai?” Kon-Mai turned to the door. “...He is coming, slowly. Brother, hurry along.”

“So then I said, ‘I’m not sure how you’re supposed to find a vein in there.’ And that was when he took out a-” As the Darkstrider stepped through the door, he stopped mid sentence and turned his gaze, and Zhang truly reeled.

He had forgotten the terror the Hunter commanded when he stepped into a room. Kon-Mai held sway over the shadows, but also maintained an air of calm, and the Eldest brother was violent and chaotic but could be seen coming. Yet Gur-Rai Madron was the best of the two: as silent as his sister and as crazed as his brother. And as the Chosen saw Zhang, he smiled.

“Shaojie Zhang!” He cried, his arms spread wide. “Good to see you up and about! How’s your...well, everything? Still sore?” He chuckled. “I won’t ask for a thank you: saving you, it’s all in a day’s work~”

Zhang felt numb. He had not forgotten who had freed him, although he very much wanted to. He only nodded in silence towards Gur-Rai, and turned his gaze to the only human to enter the Commander’s quarters.

Malinalli Zúñiga, the one solace in this. She had grown so beautiful since he’d known her: her dark umber skin and black locks were a stark contrast to the three she accompanied. Her smile was bright and kind and friendly. It pacified him, just a little.

“You’re all here.” Senuna gestured to the couches. “Sit, please! Don’t be shy.”

Zhang took his seat again, balking as, beside him the Dakstrider plopped down and spread out as wide as he could. The Shrinemaiden sat politely, only taking up as much space as she had to, and the Hieromonk took up a lot of space anyway, the giant he was.

Senuna looked over the group and nodded. “I’ve already briefed Zhang. You’ll be doing another rescue mission.”

“Oh? Who’s the poor bastard this time?” Gur-Rai chuckled. “No offense, Chilong.”

“Not a bastard.” Bradford was quick to say. “Annette Durand: callsign Taymallat. Another of our old partners from before the war.”

“She had been briefly involved with a radical group called EXALT, and by involved, I mean they kidnapped her.” Jane stood, narrating as though she had read this from a file. “XCOM saved her in the early days of the invasion, just after the first Ethereals descended unto the world.” She took her seat again, beside Kon-Mai this time, the both of them as silent as petals on the water. “She did a lot for XCOM.”

“After Senuna was captured, she took a squad with some of the more powerful psions and led an assault on a nearby train station, hoping to get transport to EXALT’s headquarters. That was when we lost contact.” Bradford sighed, holding the silence for a moment. The mention of Annette seemed to hurt him, but he carried on. “When we lost the base, we also lost hope of ever seeing her again. It’s a big world out there.”

“She must have heard you took the Avenger.” Dhar-Mon said. “It is known throughout ADVENT.”

“Well, that’s not good.” Senuna said. “But, if it led Annette to us, then I’ll take the good news over the bad!” She smiled. “We recently received a transmission from the Philippines, more specifically the island of Panay in the Central Visayas. She’s alive, and calling for help.”

“Do you have coordinates?” Kon-Mai asked.

“We do.” Bradford said. “Pretty remote area, nothing nearby that we’ve seen. I feel a bit nervous sending you out there alone but....” He looked over the group of them. “...This mission holds a lot of...personal importance to me. I’ll do anything I can to help from here.”

“We shall find her, Central Bradford.” Dhar-Mon stood. “And like Colonel Zhang, we shall return her home.”

The sky was clear, and the wind was warm, and the Skyranger flew freely and happily, bobbing lightly on the breeze that carried them along. Under the feet of the four soldiers, though, the dark trees swam like the rolling sea, waiting to swallow them whole.

“This is where y’all get off.” Firebrand called back.

“There is nothing but the sea of trees.” Kon-Mai looked out the door and then back at her brothers.

“Well I hope you know how to swim.” As Gur-Rai stepped forward, the Skyranger shuddered and swayed a bit. “Bryni?”

“Sorry, Sugar!”

Dhar-Mon stepped forward, as though he was about to jump down, when the Skyranger jolted forward and then dropped a full foot. Kon-Mai whirled around, glaring towards the cockpit.

“She’s still mad at me for last week.” Bryni could be heard straining with the steering. “I need ta put ‘er down.”

“Land the Skyranger?” Malinalli called back. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah…” Bryni did not sound sure. “We ain’t near ADVENT, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“You will bring death upon us with your words.” Dhar-Mon sighed as the Skyranger began to descend into the trees. The road that cut across the forest was empty and dirty and provided a nice spot to set the helicopter down.

“Well at least we don’t have to jump.” Malinalli said, gathering up her medkits and stuffing her tools into various pockets. She hopped out first, followed by Kon-Mai, then Dhar-Mon and Gur-Rai respectively. Zhang went last, his body still stiff but his steps strong and determined.

Bryni opened the cockpit and leapt out, removing her helmet and tossing it back onto the seat. “Mind if I walk with y’all up to the gate?”

“I do not mind.” Kon-Mai looked to her brothers.

“Well, I’d appreciate the lovely company~” Gur-Rai winked at her.

Zhang sighed. “You are not human, Darkstrider, I doubt you could fit between the legs of one.”

“You’d be surprised, Colonel.” Gur-Rai smirked. “And plenty of men can say they fit inside me.”

Zhang was unfazed as they began to walk. “Don’t thinl the Elders intended that.”

“Well then they shouldn’t have left my balls intact.” He shrugged.

Now Zhang raised a brow. “Your point being? You can’t possibly father children, Darkstrider, especially not with a human woman.”

“Don’t worry about me, Chilong. I have no intention of ‘siring any offspring’ if you will.” He shrugged. “One might come back and kill me!”

“Then what is the point of lovemaking?” Kon-Mai scoffed.

“It’s fun. It feels good. It stimulates connection between two people, and you get to know someone in a way you never would otherwise.” He winked at her. “Try it sometime, you’ll see.”

Kon-Mai turned purple as she blushed and looked away, drawing her sword in order to begin hacking away at the increasingly thick undergrowth. As the group traveled up the dirt road, the trees growing in their thickness, branches reaching out to brush against skin, the air around them grew thick and heavy, and seemed to be charged with static.

Dhar-Mon brushed down some of his flyaway hairs. “There is a psionic presence here.”

The path ended in a clearing, the trees making almost a perfect circle around the large, black gate that stood at attention in front of the party. Behind said gate, a house—no, not a house, it looked more like a castle straight from a Gothic romance, stone and wood walls blending and creaking under the tropics weighty air—stood at attention, blocking what sun remained and casting a lengthy shadow over them. Around the gate was a flimsy, rusted chain, held in place, though there was no lock around it.

“What is it with us and creepy forests?” Gur-Rai chuckled.

“Maybe there’ll be ghosts.” Bryni giggled, leaning into Zhang’s ear to annoy him.

“Do not be silly.” Zhang sighed. “There is no such thing; if there was I would be more than haunted.”

“You mean you aren’t already?” Gur-Rai shrugged.

“I am haunted by other things. Not ghosts.”

“Okay, big man.” Gur-Rai walked up to the gate and gave it a hard shove. “Huh. Not coming loose.”

“We could easily climb the fence.” Kon-Mai sheathed her blade and walked up to the bars and put her hand on one, hauling herself up. Within seconds she was on top, and dropped onto the other side.

“Hey no fair!” Gur-Rai bounded after her, joining her on the other side within seconds. Bryni was next, stepping up to the gate and taking the bars in her hands. It took her a few tries, but she was soon over.

Zhang crossed his arms and stared at the gate, exchanging glances with Dhar-Mon and Malinalli.

“I can hoist you over.” Dhar-Mon suggested.

“I don’t know about that…” Malinalli clasped her hands. “I don’t want to break my legs before we even get inside.”

“The ground is soft, Molly. I did not break a leg, see?” Kon-Mai assured her.

Malinalli looked over at Zhang. “What do you think? Your stitches are still-”

“They have been removed by now. Even so, I’m going to find another way around.” Zhang pointed to their right. “It looks like there’s a path down there.”

“Then I shall accompany you.” Dhar-Mon said. “Better three together than two.”

“Brother.” Kon-Mai gripped the bars in worry.

“Never split the party.” Gur-Rai echoed her worry.

“I am the Eldest Chosen.” Dhar-Mon chuckled. “I shall be fine. Will you two behave while I’m gone?”

Kon-Mai scowled. “I shall make you eat those words.”

“I am sure. Carry on, we shall rejoin you shortly.” Dhar-Mon and Malinalli followed Zhang down the path.

Gur-Rai, Kon-Mai and Bryni exchanged looks, and Bryni pulled her gun off her back. “Well, after you!”

“Weren't you just supposed to walk us up the path?” Gur-Rai raised a brow.

“Maybe.” Bryni smiled, her white teeth slightly crooked. “Come on, Darkstride, it’s been four score an’ seven years since Sunny let me pick up a gun.”

“Well then, lets fix that.” Gur-Rai said with a smile and a wink.

Inside the house, a shadow shifted out of the light. The kinking of chains, the turning of a lock could be heard.

She moved to the window and gasped when she saw them. One was human but the others…

“Mga taga labas.”

She reached above the mantle to where Father hid the gun.

It would not have been a challenge to get inside: the large double doors were half rotted off their hinges. But the front of the property was just as intriguing, and the three decided to explore a bit there first.

Overgrown vines and bushes sought to hold them back, but Kon-Mai’s sword could cut through steel; this was no trouble for her to clear away. Gur-Rai went around to what looked like it used to be a greenhouse. He felt the static of psionic energy brimming from the overgrown plants, whose flowers had opened up to reveal petals glowing purple and white and green. Touching one flower sent a little jolt down his spine, and he swore something under the ground moved.

Kon-Mai was picking around the front of the house, by the large wooden steps that led up to the main entrance. The house was strange in it’s architecture, seemingly baroque in it’s inspiration, but at the same time, the roof and some walls had been replaced with wood, most likely cut from local trees. It gave the house a Frankenstein’s monster feel, like it had once been a different person but was not cobbled together into something...else.

Bryni put her hands on her hips and whistled. “Well, she’s a bit of a fixer upper.”

“I’ll say.” Gur-Rai came over. “Any sign of our target?”

“None.” Kon-Mai climbed the steps slowly, the rooting wood creaking and almost splintering under her weight. “Take care on the steps.”

“I always take ca-” The second Gur-Rai put his foot on the first step, his foot went through it, splintering the step into pieces and sending him tumbling face first through the rest of them.

Kon-Mai hissed and grabbed Gur-Rai by the hood, hauling him to his feet. “What did I just say?! Are you hurt?!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, cut it out Mom.” Gur-Rai grumbled. “Not a scratch, see? The legwarmers aren’t that stupid after all.”

Kon-Mai rolled her eyes, looking down to assess the damage. “Are you certain you’re fine?”

“Yes, why?” He looked down. “...That’s a bone.”

“What?!” Kon-Mai looked like she was about to have a conniption until she looked down and saw that both of Gur-Rai’s legs were intact, and that the bone under his feet was not his.

Bryni came over and let out a yelp. “Think you mayhaps stumbled on a burial ground!”

Gur-Rai raised his foot as Bryni got down on one knee and began sifting through the bones and dirt. “Looks like someone here was trying to hide a body.”

Kon-Mai peered up at the castle again. “Something sinister took place here. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I don’t think your bones are the ones feeling it.” Gur-Rai picked up a wide-eyed skull that was missing it’s jaw. “Sorry for stepping on you, friend.” He put the skull on the stone entryway and patted it gently.

The three walked in silence for a while, Malinalli and Dhar-Mon hanging behind at the back while Zhang led them forward through the dusty trail. To their left, the forest opened up into what appeared to be marshland, with stagnant, bubbling water circling the tree roots as far as the eye could see.

Finally, Malinalli spoke up. “Have you ever been out here before, Zhang?” She asked. “When you were with XCOM?”

“...Not with XCOM.” He admitted. “When I was young, and still part of the Triad.”

“Oh.” She smiled awkwardly. “I bet that was cool.”

“It would have been if not for the job.” Zhang admitted. “I was sent to kidnap the children of a Filipino man who owed us over 2 million in US dollars.”

Malinalli fell silent, but now Dhar-Mon spoke. “Your kind assigned such value to something as fleeting as a slip of paper or a pressed bit of metal.”

Zhang turned and stared blankly at Dhar-Mon for a moment, and Malinalli was worried he’d angered him.

Then Zhang chuckled quietly. “Yes. It is...it was silly. That we were willing to torture and murder for something that, ultimately, did not save us.” He sighed.

“...What happened to the kids?” Malinalli asked.

“I took them to a safehouse in Manila and held them there for four months until we were delivered ransom.” He replied. “From them I learned a decent amount of Tagalog, and I’m sure they picked up some Chinese from me.”

“That’s kind of cute...aside from the whole ‘being held against their will’ thing.” Malinalli looked around. “Is it just me or is the air getting kind of heavy?”

“There is much psionic energy here.” Dhar-Mon said, looking around. “More than there should be.”

“Annette is a powerful psion.” Zhang said. “It makes sense. There. Over this way.” He pointed forward. “That looks like a back door.”

“Let's hope it’s not locked.” Malinalli said as she slid down the embankment after Zhang. The three of them landed on a ravine that seemed to contain an old shed, another, much rustier gate, and lots of glowing flowers.

Dhar-Mon approached the shed first. The door was tilting off its hinges and he pushed it away with barely a shove. Inside, he saw a menagerie of insects, spiders and cockroaches the size of his own hand, that all seemed to be staring at him with glowing eyes. His skin crawled and he stepped away, but not before looking down and feeling the cold sensation of fear run up his spine. “There is a body here!”

Zhang immediately turned away from the gate and ran towards Dhar-Mon, Malinalli following close behind. When they got to him he saw the fear on Zhang’s face dissipate. “...That’s not a human.”

Dhar-Mon looked at the body again. At first, the tiny skeleton resembled a child’s corpse, but then the structure of the bones became more familiar as he stared. He got down on his knee, still maintaining distance.

“That’s a Sectoid.” Zhang clarified.

“But it’s so small.” Malinalli said. “All the Sectoids I’ve seen were taller than me.”

“Early invasion, the Sectoids were the size of children, sometimes smaller.” Zhang inched closer, careful not to disturb the spider webs. “The skull has no teeth either, see how it is fused where the mouth should be. And the eyes are far too large.”

Malinalli saw the insects and took a step back. “So...why is it here?”

“I do not know…” Zhang looked at the house. “But something tells me the answer is inside.”

Kon-Mai pushed the door open easily, the old wood creaking as it swung open. The inside of the house was eerily quiet, but her sensitive ears picked up the sound of footsteps.

“Firebrand, on overwatch.” She hissed, crouching down and cloaking herself. “We are not alone in this house.”

“Oh sure, go invisible and leave me.” Gur-Rai grumbled as he pulled Darklance off his back and took up position behind Bryni. “How come you get all the fancy toys?”

“Because I practice.” She hissed, and because of her cloak her voice sounded as though it was coming from everywhere.

“I don’ hear anything, Sugar.” Bryni whispered. “Sure it ain’t this old house creakin’ you heard?”

“I know the sound of footsteps.” But even so, Kon-Mai let her cloak down. Perhaps she had imagined it.

“Maybe it was the ghosts~” Gur-Rai chuckled, twiddling his fingers as he put Darklance back on his back. “They’re coming to get you, Konnie~”

She scowled. “Firstly, Brother, that movie is bad and you know it.”

“Oh fuck you, Night of the Living Dead is a classic.”

“And secondly.” She crossed her arms. “There are no such restless spirits, at least not in a place like this.”

“What are you talking about?” Gur-Rai raised his arms. “This is exactly the type of place ghosts hang out!”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of them skeptical types.” Bryni giggled. “Ain’t your brother got that special power that lets him summon psi zombies?”

“Yes…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “But those apparitions are under his control. They do not wander about on their own.”

“What about the Lost?” Gur-Rai asked.

“They are technically still alive.”

There was a thunk from upstairs and all three of them flinched.

“A spirit could not have made that noise.” Kon-Mai drew her sword confidently. “There may be squatters in this house.”

“Hey!” Gur-Rai called up the stairs. “Whether you’re just here for a warm place to sleep or you’re haunting this place from your eternal damnation, come on out with your hands up. I have a big gun that I’m sure will hurt you either way.”

Silence. Bryni looked around at the both of them. “Maybe it was the wind.”

Then, the singing started. A tiny, childlike voice floated down the echoing hallway, down the staircase towards the three.

Ili-ili tulog anay,

Wala diri imo nanay.

Kadto tienda bakal papay,

Ili-ili tulog anay.

Zhang shoved the gate open: this one was unlocked and gave easily. Malinalli rubbed her shoulders, not from the cold (in fact it was actually growing pretty hot out here), but from that prickly feeling that something was watching them. She reached out and latched onto Dhar-Mon’s hand, and he looked down in surprise.

“Sorry…” She said. “I just...wanted to feel like I’m not the only person alive out here.”

He nodded and gave her hand a squeeze. “All will be well. We shall find Taymallat inside and leave swiftly.”

Malinalli nodded, repeating that sentiment to herself. Somehow though, she didn’t believe it.

Zhang hopped up the steps to a large, stone door that looked more like it was part of the wall. “...Huh…” He ran his hand over it, then stepped back, his eyes wide.

“What is wrong, Colonel Zhang?” Dhar-Mon asked.

“...Nothing.” Zhang shook his head. “Nothing important.” He felt around, then pressed a stone on the door that made it slide open. “...Follow me.”

“How did you know…?” Malinalli let the question die on her tongue.

The back entrance of the mansion led them through a cold, damp hallway that was guarded corner to corner by spiders, roaches and other bugs none of them recognized. Malinalli could duck down easily but Dhar-Mon had to bat the bugs away with his hand, a sensation that was not the least bit thrilling.

The hallway ended in another door that opened up to what appeared to be the kitchen. The smell hit them first, must and mold and rotting food. Dhar-Mon covered his nose and Malinalli gagged. Zhang, however, looked around with an expression of disturbed familiarity.

“...This way.” He said, becoming them to follow.

“How do you know that?” Malinalli asked. She was still holding tight to Dhar-Mon’s hand.

Zhang didn’t answer, but he jogged out into the hallway and looked around. Above him, a derelict flight of stairs that entered darkness. To his right, it seemed to stop at a dead end, but Zhang knew that behind the wall tapestry, there was a secret door.

“There’s a way into the main foyer through here…” He said, looking up the stairs.

“Hold up.” Malinalli said. “...Do you hear something?”

“It’s probably the wood.” Zhang said.

“I don’t think so, it’s coming from up the stairs…” Malinalli let go of Dhar-Mon’s hand and looked up into the darkness.

Zhang grabbed her arm and pulled her behind him. “Do not go up there.”

“Why?” Malinalli asked. “Why do you know where to go?!”

“Molly, he may be right.” Dhar-Mon said. “I sense something from the darkness…”

A childlike voice floated down from the steps.

Ili-ili tulog anay,

Wala diri imo nanay.

Kadto tienda bakal papay,

Ili-ili tulog anay.

“Fuck it.” Gur-Rai said. “Ladies, behind me. I’m going up there.”

“No.” Kon-Mai said. “I shall lead.”

“No WAY, little sister.” He snapped. “If someone attacks, I’m the one taking the brunt of it. No ifs ands or buts.” He drew his gun. “Follow me.”

Bryni sighed, taking up rear while Kon-Mai held the middle position. They carefully ascended the stairs, these ones seemingly holding their weight better than the ones outside.

Bryni held out her hand. “Hold up. Somethin’s up ahead.”

Gur-Rai cocked his gun, which seemed to echo. “You wanna come out? Or should I just shoot until I hit you?”

Silence for a moment. Then…

Footsteps. From the darkness emerged a figure. The figure of a girl, no older than 18. Her black hair was long, and looked like it might have been well kept if it wasn’t so dirty. Her white shirt had sleeves that were puffed at the shoulders, and her blue plaid skirt was full of holes and covered in something...black.

She stared at the for a moment, examining Bryni, then her eyes moved to the Chosen.

And from behind her back, she pulled out a shotgun.

The scream sent the three of them into fight or flight mode. Malinalli froze, ducking down in the middle of the hall, while Dhar-Mon summoned up his power in each hand. Zhang ran for the tapestry hanging on the wall.

It was a shame; it was a nice tapestry, a weaved picture of the moon with a woman standing behind it, wreathed in shadow. But he couldn’t take the time to admire artwork when his teammates were possibly in danger.

Zhang ripped the art away and flung open the secret door. “Hieromonk, stay with Malinalli.”

“What about you?!” Dhar-Mon called, but Zhang had already disappeared into the door.

Malinalli hung onto Dhar-Mon’s robe, pressing her face into the cloth. “I’m okay.” She said as he lifted her to her feet. “I just...was startled.”

“Would you like to remain here?” Dhar-Mon asked.

She shook her head. “Our friends need us don’t they?” She grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

Bryni’s scream was the first thing they heard. The second thing was the gunshot.

Kon-Mai and Gur-Rai both dove to the side, unfortunately leaving Bryni wide open. The bullet whizzed past her, just barely missing her shoulder. She cocked her gun and tried to shout a warning, but the girl shot again, her black eyes crazed with anger. She looked around, seemingly searching for the Chosen.

“Nandito ka para sa kalaban!” The girl cried out, catching sight of the Darkstrider and pointing her gun at him. “Narito ka upang patayin ako!”

“I don’t understand a damn-” He dove for the ground, and the banister behind him splintered as a bullet ripped through it.

Kon-Mai jumped from her cover and grabbed the girl by the arm, trying to wrestle her to the ground. At first it was no contest, in a move that shocked everyone, the girl’s eyes glowed purple and she vaulted Kon-Mai over her shoulder, throwing her to the ground. She cocked her gun, and Kon-Mai rolled away just as she fired into the floor, causing part of the rotten wood to fall away, taking the three of them down.

Zhang ran in in the midst of this, just as Gur-Rai and Kon-Mai were pulling themselves from the wreckage of the second floor walkway and Bryni came careening down the stairs. “We ain’t alone in here, Colonel!”

“What the hell was that?!” Zhang asked, looking around. “And who did this?”

Dhar-Mon and Malinalli joined him, and upon seeing the wreckage, Dhar-Mon ran in and began helping his younger siblings to their feet.

“A girl.” Kon-Mai said. “She was nought but a teenager...I don’t understand how she was so strong…”

“Where is she now?” Zhang looked around. “Maybe that was Annette.”

“Didn’t look like her.” Gur-Rai said. “Too young. And I don’t suppose Annette spoke Tagalog?”

Zhang sighed. “No...no she did not.”

Kon-Mai looked at the stairs. “Is there another way to the second floor?”

“We saw some stairs back this way.” Malinalli said. “Come on.”

“We shouldn't go up there.” Zhang said.

“Why?” Malinalli snapped.

“Finding a homicidal teenager isn’t part of the mission.”

“Yeah, but finding Annette is.” Bryni pointed up. “And if she’s upstairs? Good fuckin’ luck.”

Now rejoined, the party crept through the dilapidated house on careful feet, breathing quietly between them. The stairs, the ones Malinalli pointed them to, led down another dark, narrow hallway that Dhar-Mon had to struggle to fit through. Malinalli made it through first this time but as she stepped forward, Zhang caught her arm.

“Let me.” He commanded her, and stepped in front while she grumbled. He came to a stop in the middle of the hall, and ran a hand through his short, white hair. “Ó tiān nǎ, bùshì nǐ.”

“What’s up?” Gur-Rai said as he emerged, rising to his full height once again.

“Nothing. Come on.”

Malinalli looked back at the group, stopping dead in her tracks and keeping her voice low. “Zhang isn’t being honest.”

“I had noticed.” Dhar-Mon crossed his arms.

“He is an old veteran.” Kon-Mai said. “His memories might bring him pain. Leave him be.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I think he knows something about this house.” Malinalli insisted. “And he shouldn’t be keeping secrets like that from us.”

“Well, if it helps us…” Bryni shrugged. “Whattya wanna do about it?”

As Malinalli opened her mouth, from the floorboards below, there came a rhythmic thumping noise.

Zhang jogged back over to them. “Do you hear that?”

They nodded, and Kon-Mai pushed forward, crouching down and feeling along the floor. “...The boards are thin but...this floor is thicker than these boards.”

Malinalli looked to Zhang. “Did you know that?”

“Not that.” He followed Kon-Mai as she moved, one foot before the other, down the hallway. She stopped, stooped, then stood again and kept moving until she came to a crack between the wall and the floor. “It’s from here.”

“It’s probably a cockroach.” Gur-Rai said. “I can shoot it.”

“No.” Zhang stooped low, feeling along the ground. Then, he laid his hand against the wall, and felt it give a little under his touch.. “...Shrinemaiden, move to your left and put your hands where mine are.”

Kon-Mai did as he asked. Zhang waited, gave her a nod, and the two wiggled at the wall until a patch of the wood slid away. The room this secret doorway gave way to was nearly pitch black, and dust coated nearly everything, flying into the now open air. They heard panicked footsteps rushing toward them, and the two jumped back just in time.

A woman burst from the room, stumbling on the floorboards and falling to her knees, gasping for breath, her grey-brown hair hanging in her face. She saw Kon-Mai, screamed, and then in her scramble to get away, saw Zhang. Her eyes grew wide. “...Chilong?”

“Taymallat…!” He pulled Annette Durand into a tight hug. “You’re safe now. We’re going to get you out of here.”

“No!” She cried. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Huh?” Gur-Rai raised a brow. “You called us here, bitch. We came all this way-”

“I know I did, I didn’t know! I had no way of knowing…” Annette pulled away from Zhang, looking around at the group. “...Chilong, what is...it doesn't matter!” She grabbed his hand. “We must go. Maybe there is still time!”

“Time for what?” Zhang asked. “Taymallat, you aren’t making sense.”

“If you’re worried about the girl, don’t be.” Gur-Rai crossed his arms. “We can take her.”

“Is she alive?” Annette asked. “If she is, then-”

The house let out a groan, then what sounded like a woman’s scream.

“...She knows you’re here.” Annette gripped Zhang’s shoulders. “There’s no escape now. Not unless you can find a way to kill her.”

(Dun dun dun! Hate to leave you on a cliffhanger but this chapter was pretty hard to write. Hopefully now that we’re in the action, next one will go much more smoothly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go nap away the afternoon!

Song used: Ili Ili Tulog Anay, a Filipino Folk Song.)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #xcom au

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pinneappling · 4 years

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Tips On Just How To Play Cod Mobile And Wining The Video Game

The famous game franchise Call of Duty released by Activision released worldwide for mobile apparatus. And within a week of this publishing onto the app outlets for i-OS and also Android, the app has spanned A100 million downloads. CoD has become a popular among gamers world wide. CoD Cellular was developed by Tencent Games and published can be by Activision. The game offers a slightly futuristic approach along side current day weapons and vehicles. You are able to pick from assorted ways to engage in the multi player mode viz front-line, Team Deathmatch, Domination, Hunt and Rescue along side a practice mode with bots. The flip game mode would be your most popular Battle Royale Mode. The battle Royale mode is composed of exactly the exact same elements like one other games for this particular type of gameplay. But, has lots of gaps that add into the texture of the game which can be missing from favorite titles like PUBG Mobile. Inside this informative post, you'll know how to play cod mobile.

The video game is unlike another portable multi player shooter game because the ball player can do a great deal more than that which he is on other popular games. Like using an choice to choose the type of your personality in every battle royale match. You can find various classes to choose from such as Ninja, Medic, Scout Defender and so forth and every and every category has its own distinctive boost you may utilize to your benefit in game. Players may now additionally fly aquariums and take from their store , drive cars with heavy machine guns connected on the vehicle full of infinite ammo. You can find quite a few other options that Call of Duty cellular delivers it that will lure cellular gamers to engage in this game.

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Whether you are looking towards download Call of Duty cell in your apparatus and would like to have a advantage when you start playing with the game you'll need to learn a lot more than your friends and the different players. Therefore here is a set of the best ten tips and tricks that you can use. These tricks will certainly assist you to win against your friends the moment you begin playing.

The Terrific Recommendations to learn how to play Call of Duty mobile

Maintain your Graphic preferences Optimum

So if a mobile phone does support Ultra H D pictures but also just renders a low FPS then it is advisable that you change the graphic environment. You should consider preserving the graphics onto HD or medium because by doing this phone should be able to render all the frames and offer you a smooth experience. However, moreover crucial is that in the event that you perform at a high FPS your faucets onto the monitor will be enrolled in game faster and that will provide you an edge over another gamers. It is always recommended to keep your FPS around player in a greater graphic environment.

Select Your Capturing Mode Suitable

COD Mobile provides you with two separate capturing modes viz Straightforward mode and advanced level mode. While having fun with your capturing settings on basic mode if your aim pointer extends across the enemy your weapon will mechanically shoot with no extent. Advance manner could be the one which is recommended to play with the game with the capturing settings on advanced style. However, if you prefer playing on simple mode you may proceed with it keeping in mind you will need the advanced settings if you want to flourish from the battle royale style. 1 problem you will face once you perform simple shooting controllers is when your just trying to have a look at exactly what your enemy is performing by caked on him if a target pointer lands on the enemy it's going to automatically fire giving away your own standing. If you were scoped in with a sniper rifle than you may possibly be at a drawback since you will be careful to load the second bullet along with your enemy will take you down first. You may even know some excess thought on how to play Call of Duty mobile by way of going to buyboosting website.

Use the drones available in Multi Player mode

Your character is going to be granted a UAV, Drone along with a missile when you get a continuous streak of murdering your enemies. Use the weapons at the appropriate time when playing at the multiplayer style. The missile will provide you control over a screen and you'll be able to direct the missile on the own enemies. Even the missile will destroy all enemies from the blast radius. The UAV could be found at the entire management of the enemy and also the UAV will find the enemy and get rid of it up on sway. The drone also gives your enemy's location in your own RADAR. When awarded these weapons make sure to use them suitably if required during the game.

#Video Game

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robininthelabyrinth · 5 years

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Fic: Lonely, Dark and Deep - ao3 link - Chapter 4

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Madara/Tobirama, background others Summary:

Hashirama was always going to have to leave Konoha behind one day, but no one was expecting for it to happen so soon.

Tobirama falls apart without his brother.

Madara, mad and bitter and preparing to leave himself, finds that he’s now without his best friend and responsible for a village he’d just about given up on.

And now it seems like there’s something not quite right with the forest…

———————————————————————————–

Tobirama is an amazing Nidaime.

Madara is increasingly convinced, watching him, that it was a role he was always meant to play, no matter how everything else might have panned out. Oh, he's still not charismatic in the way Hashirama was or Madara is, still grumpy and off-putting and inclined to tread all over people, but he's devoted to the well-being of their village with a ruthless single-minded intensity that wins him respect and loyalty from every shinobi and kunoichi and civilian in the village.

They don't love him the way they loved Hashirama, but they need him. He knows the institutions of the village better than anyone else, having thousands of facts at a moment's recall; he remembers everybody’s names and their problems and actually follows up on them; he turns their village from a good idea with promise into something so concrete, so obviously lasting, that the children growing up have started forgetting there was ever anything else.

(Madara's heard some genin talking of what people have started calling, rather dismissively, the warring clans era; they ‎sound almost envious, complaining about the rules that restrict them to D-rank missions rather than fighting in the wars. Of all ridiculous things to resent, the rules that keep them alive..! How quickly people forget the pain of the past.)

Tobirama started working furiously the second they returned to the village, setting a pace that made his previous efforts seem sedate, and no matter how much got done he never seemed to be finished or have time to stop.

Of course, when asked, there was always a good reason for it.

First, the election - Madara, who'd been certain that Hashirama's election had been little more than a ploy designed to exclude him from the position of Hokage, is surprised‎ when Tobirama insists on another one, and on putting Madara's name on the ballot beside his own. Apparently Tobirama actually believes in the principles of democracy, explaining when Madara asks that leadership by appointment or inheritance alone is a recipe for disaster when the inevitable day comes when the wrong person takes up a position to which they are not suited - a disaster that, inevitably, someone would have no choice but to take it upon themselves to fix.

(There's an old pain in Tobirama's eyes when he says it that he never explains,‎ and Madara wonders again how it happened that Hashirama inherited his position so quickly after Madara took his, when to all appearances Butsuma had appeared to be still going strong. The official story was that he'd died an illness from some hidden injury in battle, and certainly Madara knows that such things are eminently probable, but the timing has always been deeply suspicious.)

They hold the vote and Madara can see, this time, that there is no trickery the way he had been so certain there was the last time. Hashirama's sway over the village is as strong as it ever was, and though a few other clan leaders put their names on the ballot as well - mostly led by the Hyuuga, arrogant little snots that they are - ‎Tobirama wins easily.

And then the work really begins.

Tobirama has students that he refuses to neglect, three assigned to him by the Academy system he himself set up and three more that he inherited when their ‎own teacher died too early. He trains with them every morning and evening, with occasional training trips, and the rest of the time he handles the work of the village.

Managing to achieve peace and get decisions made while having to pass his ideas through a council composed of all the clan heads would by itself be a full time job, but Tobirama does that and far more – and not, as Madara had always feared, at the expense of his clan.

The Uchiha are given the power of police, tasked both with internal order - unpopular but necessary, particularly in a village where most peoples' primary trade is in blood - and external security, which wins them accolades as heroes. The Hyuuga and Senju are by necessity given a share in the latter, along with the other smaller clans, but the role is clearly subordinate. The face-saving reason given is benefits of coordinating of their security forces under one clear line of authority, but Madara sees his clan toasted as the village's hands, the highest honor a shinobi can give, and knows that it is Tobirama's way of trying to do his best by them.

(External security is easier than it might be - Tobirama is not wrong when he says the forest protects them, and while their location ‎is only technically secret, no foreign army or assassination squad ever seems to reach them. A few individuals with bad intentions slip through, yes, but only the ones who come through the main roads - those who try to cut through the forest are often just found dead, throats ripped out by animals or drowned in quicksand traps that no one had known were there.)

Security aside, though, there's still everything else to be done, ranging from finances to sanitation to zoning to diplomacy to making sure there's always plenty of food available. And all of that is aside from the brewing strife with Kiri – a would-be war that is only limited to minor skirmishes because of their opponents’ fear of facing shinobi with the combined reputations of Madara and Tobirama together.

(Madara tries not to think of how differently it might have gone if he wasn't here by Tobirama’s side. Having just one shinobi of their caliber available means that the enemy has a target to focus on to the exclusion of all else – having two is much safer, because if they really needed to, they could take shifts in order to keep watch at all times of day and night. They don’t need to, not yet, but they could, and that’s its own form of deterrence.)

Yes, Tobirama is an amazing Hokage.

But he's not a happy one.

He works too much, for one thing.

Part of the reason for his endless work is that what used to be divided between Hashirama and Tobirama is now borne by Tobirama alone, but that’s not the only reason. Madara might not be great at paperwork, but neither was Hashirama, and the administrative system that Tobirama creates – levels of review, committees composed of experts, trained secretaries to assist them – ensures that while there’s a lot more paper than there ever was before, most of the village could continue to function even without constant review by its Hokage.

But Tobirama is not just the Hokage; he’s on every committee, an expert in every subject or forcing himself to learn about it, and where there isn’t enough work to justify staying late, he makes more – village work, his own work creating new jutsus for the village to use, or even personal matters.

Once a week, he meets with Madara to work on their mutual project, as he’s taken to calling Madara’s ‘quest’ for the Rinnegan; twice a week, he devotes a full afternoon to researching new jutsu and seals; three times a week, he visits with Mito and his nephews, who he never abandons the way Hashirama did.

Whether he gets any pleasure from any of it, though...

“Falling apart,” Senju Touka opines, watching him leave the office on the urgent request of one of their infinite committees. She’s helping out in the office while on medical leave between front-line postings – she's easily one of their best scouts, capable of great subtlety but strong as a bear and with the short temper of one, too, and Madara sometimes thinks that Izuna might have liked her a great deal. He can think things like that now, without wanting to kill the entire world and then himself. "I told him not to put his trust in people."

Madara looks sharply at her. He'd been under the impression such things were as little discussed among the Senju as the curse of hatred was among the Uchiha.

She meets his gaze without flinching. "I know you know," she says. "You're his right hand."

"I am not!" Madara exclaims immediately. "We fight all the time!"

She snorts. "Of course you do; doesn’t mean you aren’t. It's a precedent now, don't you realize? Two times at the beginning is enough to make for a tradition. Our village’s system of government now officially consists of a Hokage and his one advisor whose job it is to yell at‎ the Hokage when he makes mistakes - just as Tobirama was for Hashirama. People are already wondering who will fill that role for you."

Madara stares at her, a chill going down his spine. "For me?"

"You must know that you’re the obvious next candidate -"

"I know that. But why are people speculating about me at all? Tobirama is doing a fantastic job. They can’t possibly want to vote him out."

Touka looks at him pityingly. "Surely you know."

“Know what?”

“Do you think he’s working so hard to set up a stable system of government for fun?” she asks. “He’s making sure that the village will continue to function no matter who gets appointed as his successor. The second he thinks he’s fulfilled all of his obligations – the village stable and prospering, his students graduated, whatever that project is that he’s working on with you finished – he’s going to go to join Hashirama.”

Madara flinches.

Yes. He did know that.

He’d just…been trying not to think about it. Part of it was the traditional discomfort with shinobi suicides – common, far too common, though less now that they had a semblance of peace – and part of it is the distinct feeling that he’d be letting Izuna down if he permitted his brother’s best rival to die by his own hand.

(In his rage and madness he’d somehow forgotten that for however much Izuna distrusted the Senju as a whole, he’d always been rather fond of Tobirama personally – my greatest challenge, he used to say, eyes sparkling with life as he thought up new ways to fight him, an excitement that put a smile on his face in a way nothing else could during those terrible winters when they were living off of little more than dreams of the future. My eternal rival, as those awful Maito people like to say.)

“That’s what happens when you put your trust in people,” Touka concludes, looking back down at the work she’s been doing. “Take those people away, and what do you have? Nothing. The only reason he’s not dead already is because Hashirama’s last request was for him to care for the village.”

This is probably true.

“Is there any way to stop it?” Madara finally asks.

Touka looks amused. “Rethinking your position on my little cousin?”

“No! Just…”

“He’s growing on you? Not unlike mold on bread?”

Madara is not going to laugh. He’s not. He’s being serious.

“I have an ongoing project with him,” he says instead. “I don’t want him to disappear before that’s done.”

They’re making ridiculous amounts of progress, actually; Madara’s not a scientist the way Tobirama is and he hadn’t realized the difference it would make. At the beginning, he thought Tobirama took too many notes, but as they continued experimenting (Hashirama’s amazing recuperative abilities had apparently been a subject of significant scientific interest for years, which meant that Tobirama had lots of his brother’s blood hidden away as samples in his labs, enough for dozens and dozens of experiments without even making a significant dent in the pile) they were able to cross-compare that data and let it lead them wherever it could go.

Sure, Tobirama also vetoed any plan that involved Madara testing their results on himself, but given that the first test they’d done on a sample -

(eyeballs are mostly water, Tobirama said dismissively, give me three weeks and I can make a jutsu to create temporary – albeit imperfect – replacements to use in the experiments, and terrifyingly enough he actually had)

- had caused the sample eyes to literally explode, Madara thinks that was probably a good idea.

Tobirama’s also been making noises recently about wanting to see the stone tablet even though he won’t be able to read the text itself (he extracted more of the details from Madara by arguing that there might be hidden clues in the precise text about the Rinnegan, though obviously Madara hasn’t explained the exact nature of the Infinite Tsukuyomi), which Madara is very strongly against due to his sincere belief that Tobirama will find a way to read it even without a Sharingan because the man is just like that, but which he is starting to think might be inevitable.

Unless Tobirama dies first, of course.

“He won’t stick around just for a project,” Touka says disdainfully. She doesn’t ask what they’re working on; she clearly doesn’t give a fig for science except for the edge it gives her in battle, which is a position Madara can respect. “No matter how interesting. Listen, it’s practically the unofficial Senju clan motto: ‘on this point we do not bend but only break.’ He put everything he had to live for in Hashirama, and Hashirama is gone. He’s broken. That’s it. There’s nothing else to it.”

“Even the curse of hatred can be broken,” Madara points out. He doesn’t need to point at himself as a walking, talking example; he feels that’s pretty much implied. “I understand that his principle is his brothers’ happiness, which he can’t achieve anymore, but still! There must be something that can save him from himself.”

“Sure. Find him a new brother.”

“Be serious.”

“I am. I mean, maybe not a brother, but something like it; I’m pretty sure he was smart enough to make his principle something more like ‘loved ones’ rather than ‘brothers’ to avoid having to deal with an unexpected sister or something...shouldn’t this be clear to you? Your own grief about losing your brother persisted until you were hit with the shock of losing another one, right?”

That’s not exactly how Madara would have put it, given how complicated and sometimes not-entirely-fraternal his relationship with Hashirama was, the way there was always an unspoken sense of anticipation that there could be much more between them, but – yes. Basically.

“That’s the problem with people,” Touka says. “People die. Ideas live forever.”

Madara looks at her sidelong. “What’s your ‘idea’, then?”

“None of your fucking business is what it is.”

Right. Not talked about, got it.

A long few moments of silence.

“…where would you even get someone a new brother?”

“That’s it!” Touka exclaims, standing up. “I give up!”

Madara frowns as he watches her storm out. No wonder Izuna was always so annoyed when he did that – she didn’t even answer his question!

(The idea that maybe there isn’t an answer – that maybe Tobirama is going to die sooner rather than later, and it was even odds whether it would be by his own hand or if he’d go the traditional route of volunteering for a mission with low odds of success – isn’t worth thinking about.

Why the death of the man who killed his last brother isn’t worth thinking about…is just going to have to be something else he’s just not going to think about.)

#senju tobirama #uchiha madara #uchiha touka #madatobi #my fic #lonely dark and deep

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sheoptimist-a · 5 years

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✧ *･ 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐈𝐓? 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐔𝐋? 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 ･* ✧

guard elizabeth and councilman bill forbes’ marriage was far from perfect. maybe at some point, the two were really in love with one another. but as years passed and they grey old, they also grew apart. the only thing that kept them together ( other than the fact neither of them were willing to deal with the long process of getting a divorce ) was their daughter, caroline. with sparkling blue eyes, long blonde hair and a captivating smile, she had her parents wrapped around her little finger since she was a baby. sure, she was a handful. little girl from alpha station, who’s parents worked important jobs and spoke to important people, caroline wasn’t exactly the nicest girl on the ark. but she loved with all of her heart and oh how did it hurt when her own parents broke her heart and trust and—well, her.

her life started spiraling out of control when her father began drinking. at first, it was barely noticeable. just an extra tint of pink on his cheeks or a spark on his eyes. but it was quickly replaced by the stench of alcohol that seemed to stick to him like a second skin. his behavior changed, too. the once focused and well-opinionated member of the council turned into a man who arrived late at meetings, tripping over his own feet and nursing a flask without a hint of shame. about a week after this happened for the third time, bill got home and announced he was removed from the council. the very next day, his wife took his spot.

from then on, it got worse. caroline saw too much of her drunk of a father and too little of her workaholic mother. she threw herself into her studies and spent a lot of time with her friends because being home was simply not an option. by being absent, she didn’t notice her father had developed a new addiction. so when, during a random room sweep, a guard pulled out a bottle of painkillers from under her pillow, caroline couldn’t fathom how it’d ended up there. only that she wasn’t the one who stole and hid it. she kicked and cried as the guards dragged her out of the quarters, screamed that she was innocent and didn’t know how the pills had ended up there, but it was useless. she was thrown into a cell and forced to wait six months for her eighteenth birthday, when she’d put on trail to see if her crime could be pardoned. she knew it wouldn’t. they were floating people for crimes smaller than stealing medication. she’d die in six months because she was guilty. guilty of a crime she didn’t commit.

what caroline didn’t know was that during the time she spent on her tiny cell, her father - the one who hid the bottle under her pillow - tried to change chancellor jaha’s mind. he hoped he’d be able to sway the man and get him to pardon his daughter on her trail. it worked—sort of. instead of being floated, caroline was sent to the ground with other a hundred young prisoners just two days after bill’s last conversation with jaha.

under the cut, you’ll find more information about caroline, as well as a detailed description of what she’s up to season by season. if you’re someone who’s currently watching or intends to watch the 100 at some point, i suggest that you stop reading here as there are spoilers everywhere lol. but if you wanna risk it, be my guest! <3

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: caroline elizabeth forbes

𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: the ark (formely) ; the hundred (formely) ; skaikru (formely) ; spacekru (currently)

𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬: care, blondie, prisoner 307, karoline kom skaikru, karoline kom speiskru

𝐚𝐠𝐞: 17 (s1) ; 18 (s2-4) ; 24 (s5) ; 149 (s6, chronologically)

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: elizabeth ‘liz’ forbes (deceased) & william ‘bill’ forbes (deceased)

𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞: caught with painkillers during a room sweep

𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬: guns, knives, bow and arrow & distraction

𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: optimistic, hard-working & loyal

𝐧𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐬: neurotic, controlling, spoiled (mostly in s1!!), & insecure

season one

earth is weird. there are mosquitos and green things everywhere, the sun is too hot but the water on the river near camp is too cold. and not to mention the fact they’re all sleeping on the ground and no one seemed to think about packing some shampoo! so yeah, earth is weird but caroline is sure she can get used to it. but then jasper gets speared and they find out not only they’re not alone, but whoever is out there wants them all dead. she freaks out and wishes there was a way they could all get back to the ark. but there isn’t.

so she has no choice but to learn how to defend herself, be it with a makeshift knife or actual guns. she fights with her fellow delinquents, tries to protect them and herself and the camp but it’s not enough. so when time comes for them to get into the dropship, she obliges without a second thought. they blast off, turn a bunch of grounders into barbecue and she thinks ‘it’s finally over’. but it’s not. the moment they all step outside, smoke bombs are being thrown into their camp. everything is suddenly a pinkish-red and the last thought caroline has before passing out is that she misses the obnoxious amount of green.

additional note: her father volunteers for the culling. it’s his way to make up for what he did to his own daughter.

season two

mount weather is great. it might be because she missed sleeping on an actual bed, eating three solid meals a day and being able to shower properly. caroline likes mount weather but she doesn’t like mount weather’s people - well, some of them are fine. maya is nice and so is the old lady who gave her the last strawberry lemon shortcake during lunch one day. - they look at her funny when she walks past them on the halls and their smiles always seem so fake. still, caroline tries to fit in and get used to living there.

but then clarke escapes and she’s hurt but can’t bring herself to blame her. so she tries to move on with her life because maybe they can be happy there. harper goes missing four days later and caroline just knows there’s something the wallaces are keeping from them. something important. hell breaks loose a few days later and, before she knows it, she’s chained to a moldy wall and watching as mount weather doctors are drilling her friends to get to their bone marrow. the drilling machine never comes anywhere near her body, but the images of raven strapped down and screaming will forever be seared into her brain. some miracle - aka clarke, bellamy and monty - happens and the people in mount weather are dead and they are free to go home.

when they finally make to arkadia, caroline reunites with her mother - apparently kane had requested her to stay behind and keep an eye on things - and is engulfed in a bone-crushing hug. they cry and smile and say they’ve missed each other many, many times. it’s all good until caroline asks about her father and liz has to tell him that not only he was the one who hid the painkillers under her pillow, but that he volunteered to the culling. caroline silently cries in her mother’s arms while mumbling ‘i forgive you, daddy’ over and over again.

season three

being treated like a child sucked. even after everything they went through, the adults don’t seem to trust any of the remaining members of the hundred. they boss them around and scoff whenever they try to voice their opinions. caroline manages to tune them out most of the time and focus on learning a bit about medicine and reconnecting with her mother. their relationship is way better than it was when they were in space, however, they still butt heads every now and then, but that’s completely normal when you have caroline forbes for a daughter.

when jaha starts preaching about the city of light, caroline isn’t among the people who buy into it. to her, it screams bullshit and there’s no way in hell she’s accepting the weird chip he seems to never run out of. then people start acting weird and she grows wary; but it’s only when raven stops acting lke raven that she realizes the seriousness of the situation. so she tries her best to help and goes to polis when it’s needed, shooting brainwashed grounders as they barge into the room while clarke is in the city of light. when it’s all over and the people are no longer mumbling about A.L.I.E and the city, caroline take a much needed deep breath to collect herself and starts looking for her mother.

additional notes: she does NOT take the chip. her mother, however, does when jaha threatens to hurt her daughter. caroline is under massive stress during all of this; fretting over her mom’s safety while trying to avoid being chipped.

season four

‘radiation, seriously?!’ is the first thing that comes out of caroline’s mouth when she finds out what A.L.I.E told clarke. but then again, should she even be surprised? ever since they came down, they barely had time to breathe before another bad thing happened. when she hears through the grapevine that jaha might’ve found a bunker that will be able to save them all, she begs clarke to let her go with them. she mumbles something about ‘four people cover more ground then three’ until clarke gives up and lets her join. her hopes are crushed when they make it into the bunker and find thousands of toasted skeletons, but, of course, she tries to hide it. she puts on her best smile and goes back to the camp where she knows her friends and mom will be waiting. when they finally find the right bunker, caroline’s hopes are renewed and she just knows they’ll make through yet another terrible thing tossed their way.

she asks - or rather, demands - clarke and bellamy to let her come with them to rescue raven. caroline had grown to love and admire the mechanic and there was no way she’d leave her behind. john and emori show up not long after and, together and clad in hazmat suits, the five of them leave to find their friend. along the way, monty, harper and echo join them. when clarke announces they’re going to the ark, caroline is shocked. she didn’t think she’d ever go back there, but if that was her only shot at surviving then so be it. she says goodbye to her mom and tries to sound confident and happy even though she’s secretly afraid. she mumbles a heartfelt, ‘ i love you, mom. may we meet again ’ to liz before passing the radio to bellamy so he can say goodbye to octavia;

caroline stays in becca’s lab to help raven, harper, emori and echo set everything up for their launch. she gets into the ship with her heart racing and palms sweating and as it launches, without clarke inside, caroline is in deep silence just like everyone else. expecting something bad to happen with the hundred year-old rocket or for the death wave to get them. when nothing happens and they’re somewhat safe in space, tears start streaming down caroline’s face as it dawns on her: clarke is dead.

additional notes: back in the bunker, liz joins david miller and writes her daughter’s name in the lottery to make sure she would have two chances of getting her name drawn. however, when unconscious arkadians start to be removed from the bunker by grounders and caroline still hasn’t returned, kane decides to give her spot to liz.

season five

algae sucks. of course, caroline never tells monty that. she doesn’t have the heart to, not when the two have grown close over the six years they spent on the ring. she grows close to the others too, but especially to echo. the two train together almost every day and the brunette teaches her how to use a bow and arrow - a really shitty one they put together with random scrapes they found laying around -.

it takes a while but they manage to get to the ground and she’s utterly shocked to find out not only that clarke has been alive the whole time but that she also had a kid. the bunker is open, their people come out and caroline looks and looks, but her mother is nowhere to be seen. she asks multiple people but it’s kane who delivers the news: her mother is dead. it tears her apart and she cries on the former chancellor’s arms for a few minutes before wiping her tears and leaving to find bellamy.

when bellamy decides to put the flame on madi, caroline is extremely against it. no matter what the girl has witnessed or how strong she seems to be, she’s still just a child. she gives him the cold shoulder for a few hours until she has no choice but to talk to him. caroline marches with everyone else because she knows that’s her only shot at surviving and she wants to keep on living to make her mother proud. when hell breaks loose, caroline manages to escape with some of the wonkru members and return to the dead zone. she tries helping niylah tend to the wounded, but she’s no doctor and fears that she might kill them faster than a gunshot. still, she keeps on trying because they’ve all come so far to die now.

caroline almost doesn’t make it into the eligius ship. she’s trying to support someone who’s injured pretty badly, which means running isn’t really an option. however, when she sees everyone rushing inside the ginormous ship, hope blossoms within her for the millionth time and that’s what fuels her to all but carry the woman she’s helping and lead both of them to safety.

she attends the meeting where they decide the fate of human race. like everyone else, caroline doesn’t like monty’s plan of using algae. she’s has enough of that thing to last a lifetime. so when raven and shaw suggest cryosleep, she’s quick to agree. of course she knows that, ultimately, it’s up to madi. thankfully, the new heda also agrees and everyone starts getting ready to go to sleep.

before going into her chamber, caroline jokes with bellamy that, when she wakes up, she will be ‘ the hottest 34 year-old on the ship ’. she then proceeds to give him a quick hug before hopping on what’s going to be her bed for the next ten years. or so she thinks.

additional notes: liz dies during the dark year. caroline doesn’t know what happened but she knows that octavia is responsible for her mom’s death so to say their relationship is strained would be one hell of an understatement.

season six

she knows something’s not right immediately after waking up. for one, only a handful of them are awake and then there’s the fact bellamy looks like someone kicked him in the groin. she finds out about earth and monty and harper only fifteen minutes after she gets out of her cryo chamber. she hugs emori while listening to monty’s video logs and by the time he mentions harper’s death, she’s silently crying on her friend’s shoulder. afterwards, they talk. about who should be on the exploratory team, when they should leave and how many guns they should bring with them. caroline volunteers to stay on the ship with raven, but the brunette waves her off and tells her to ‘go have some fun for her and try not to get killed’. so she gets ready and heads to the ground with the rest of the team.

things start going downhill within hours of them being on the new planet and seriously, that has to be a new record ! by the time clarke figures out about the toxin being related to the eclipse, caroline is already starting to feel the effects of it. she’s chained in the same room as jackson and miller, losing it way before they do. she’s the only one awake after bellamy and clarke use the darts on their friends and leave to deal with echo and emori. time seems to drag by, but eventually, the effects wear off and caroline comes to her senses. shortly after, the door opens and in comes abby.

caroline tries to adjust to life in sanctum - yeah, apparently that’s the name of the moon they’re going to live in -, but it’s hard. maybe it’s because of everything she’s gone through on earth, but she doesn’t fully trust russell and is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. eventually, it does. immortality and bodysnatchers are a thing in sanctum and caroline has half a mind to scream ‘ i told you so ! ’ to all of her friends that thought she was being paranoid.

additional note: this will be updated once the season is over. i just wanted to post an overview of what caroline is doing in sanctum lol.

#props to anyone who reads the whole thing bc it's HUGE #i. we’re just kids‚ we aren’t supposed to be heroes. ›› the 100 #alcoholism /#drug addiction /

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ineffablecolors · 6 years

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BLUNDERS AND (HAPPY) BEGINNINGS [7/8]

Blunders and (happy) Beginnings; CHAPTER 7; ~ 2, 900 words; FF.NET || AO3

Thank so much to everyone who has left me feedback for this story - it really has been incredibly kind and thoughtful and means a lot. :)) This is the penultimate chapter to this (and I can promise a lot more CS in the next - and last - one ;))

Being the kind of lady that takes surprising comfort in cold and sparsely decorated spaces, Miss Elsa takes her time walking down the narrow hallway. As her sister delighted in the sun’s rays on the walk over, so she now feels her heart and soul settle among the cooling stone of the old house.

It has been a charged, sizzling week for all of Mrs Ingrid Chillton’s charges.

The youngest

being the subject of much more attention and much more envy from other ladies – for it is enviable enough to be dueled over and exciting enough to overshadow any unsettling circumstances that might have brought about the duel to begin with – this to a degree that even Miss Anna’s usually sociable character was not entirely comfortable with, considering the repercussions of all these overromanticized scenes.

The adopted

being on the tongues of most of Storybrooke and, astonishingly enough, only a third of those exercising their imaginations over her current – prolonged and not at all well-concealed – stay at Neverland, while the rest dividing their energies between her recent refusal of one Mr Cassidy and the rumoured return and – even more puzzlingly – impending proposal of a Mr Humbert.

The eldest

having withdrawn herself from most society ever since her sister’s (mis)adventures and the resulting uproar in the Nolan’s and Jones’s households.

It is indeed with great reluctance that Miss Elsa has now made her way to Neverland – only after receiving a letter from Miss Swan that came as close to pleading as that lady has ever been and after being worked over and pleaded with by Miss Anna for some fresh air and fresher still society.

But the place itself bore no fault and rather settled Elsa’s nerves. Captain Killian Jones’s abode is neither grand, nor lavishly decorated but it is always incredibly well-kept and orderly and has a distinctive character – a certain strength about it – that Elsa has always admired and even defended against Emma’s complaints of everything being too stern and set (Why I can barely move around without worrying about “disrupting” something and being haunted by Jones’s aggravated sighs for the rest of the day.)

Elsa lets her eyes slide over the modestly furnished sitting room and come to rest on the deep red carpet and the blonde woman sitting upon it, playing with an old black Labrador. Miss Swan certainly seems to have overcome any reserves she might have ever held against Neverland, its order and its master – if current events have been any indication. Or maybe it was the other way around – Neverland and everyone within succumbing to her transforming presence – Elsa muses, observing the bent spine of a book on the side table, the tea cup, placed precariously on its edge, and Emma’s scarf – throw carelessly over a chair and brushing over the floor.

“He seems quite willing to let you rule over the house,” Elsa mutters half to herself.

Miss Swan looks up at her friend’s unwillingly amused face and then returns her gaze to the dog licking her fingertips.

“Ah, it is all because I have spoilt him rotten and wrecked havoc on his diet.”

“Just as Anna is probably doing with the strawberries in the garden at this very moment. I do hope Captain Jones won’t mind terribly.”

The dismissive wave of Emma’s hand and its utter ease and familiarity do not go unnoticed and bring Elsa more anxiety than comfort.

“Would you sit? I can bring you some tea.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are well-aware of where the kettle is at this point.”

She thinks Emma’s sigh rather exaggerated, even given her penchant for dramatics.

“By all means, say your piece, so I can have my turn after.”

“Your actions paint a much better picture than my words ever could.”

“Do they now?”

“Indeed. Have you not been here a fortnight now?”

“That I have.”

“And did Captain Liam Jones not relocate to his own estate a full week prior?”

“I’m pleased to know that you are well-informed of the Captain’s whereabouts.”

“Don’t.”

It is the cold tone that stops Emma from making another teasing remark and the sparkle in her eye seems to have taken a bucket of cold water.

“And is it not that Captain Killian Jones was well enough to visit the Nolan’s three days ago?”

“I fail to see the purpose of your enquiries, Elsa, for you seem to possess all the intelligence there is to possess.”

“Oh, I should feel burdened indeed, if I did. Thankfully, that couldn’t be further from the truth. And, rest assured, I question everything that is presented to me as fact. Such as – you and the younger Captain Jones being inseparable in every sense of the word in all his comings and goings.”

“I’d be grateful indeed, if you were to question Captain Jones himself on the subject, seeing as he is not supposed to have any goings about, according to Doctor Whale. And, yet, seeing as he has persisted in ignoring both medical advice and common sense, I have indeed taken it upon myself to see to it that he doesn’t faint and break his disagreeable head somewhere.”

“I am sure the gentleman would much contest his ability to go without such a devoted nurse and that his brother would be more than willing to procure a professional nurse, should he truly require such.”

“And have you consulted Liam on the topic or is this mere conjuncture on your part?”

Elsa stiffens as she feels the shift in conversation and rearranges her skirts where Smee has taken to snooping around them.

“Please, Emma. You are well-aware that I have chosen to give myself a respite from society.”

“Liam is not ‘society’.”

And with that Miss Froster is on her feet. But she is much mistaken, if she believes this will rescue her.

“Elsa, I do not understand,” Emma tries for an appeasing tone, her eyes searching for understanding in her friend’s averted gaze. “Aunt and Anna were at the Nolan’s just the other-“

“Yes, well, we must never underestimate our aunt and Anna’s admirable ability to face situations and then face them no longer when they are behind them.”

“And yet you are still staring back over your shoulder.”

“And yet you are still at Neverland and, according to half of Storybrooke, clinging to Captain Jones’s elbow as if you are the one in danger of fainting and not he.”

Miss Swan’s back straightens and her head lifts in an admirable imitation of her namesake – poised and ready. It may never be known what she would have bit back, seeing as this is when the gentleman of the house finally makes his entrance.

“I can assure you, Miss Froster, of everyone in this room, I find myself the only one whose surefootedness can be put into question. Ah, and perhaps Mr Smee there, he does have quite a few years on me.”

Even Elsa’s perfectly pure complexion cannot help but take on a rosy hue at this.

“I beg your pardon, Captain, I did not mean-“

“Oh, I assure you, people who have insinuated that beautiful young women wish to cling to my arm are few and far in between and I hold no grudges against any of them.”

“I- still I shouldn’t… I’m sure my sister wishes to speak to you.”

Captain Jones’s little smile is as much a shock to Miss Froster as the light blush that takes over him – the novelty of both making her previous embarrassment but a mundane and quickly forgotten blunder.

“As a matter of fact, she already did, while plundering my garden. And I would be forever indebted to you, if you could perhaps sway Miss Anna on the matter of expressing her eternal… mm, gratitude and indebtedness to me every time we are in each other’s company.”

“Ah,” Elsa cannot help but smile at this. “I give you my word that I will submit your request to her most earnestly but… the result, as I am sure you can imagine, is in no way certain.”

“It is all I can ask of you,” the gentleman replies with a nod before turning to the other lady in the room. “As for you, Miss Swan-”

“Captain?”

Elsa narrows her eyes at the scene. She and Emma have had one too many contests, trying to read the subtle hints in otherwise unremarkable conversations in drawing rooms and ball halls – much for their own amusement, rather than as a means of acquiring the latest gossip. Now Elsa cannot help but notice the devilish sparkle in all pairs of eyes but her own, the way Emma turns around so she is facing Captain Jones.

“I believe Miss Anna, and my poor garden, would benefit greatly from your assistance.”

A silent moment of communication. It sends a small pang through Elsa. The Jones’s brothers differ in many ways but their expressive faces and ability to converse merely with their eyes is certainly a family trait and now she realizes with sudden clarity how much she misses.

Emma’s gaze fills with understanding and with the slightest of nods she gracefully raises to her feet and slips out of the room. Elsa does not miss the glance her friend sends her – somehow both insistent and imploring, and she certainly does not miss the way she fingertips brush Captain Jones’s shoulder on her way out.

“Miss Froster, I do not know what headway Emma has made, if any.”

Elsa is sure that the confusion will set in soon enough but at present she is much too distracted. She could swear on her honour that she has never once, in all their time of knowing each other, heard Captain Jones address Miss Swan in such a familiar manner.

“I… I’m not sure what you are referring to.”

“I’m referring to your self-appointed exile as both your friend and sister have taken to calling it.”

Miss Elsa is not the type of lady that allows herself to scoff. But then, Captain Jones is not the type of gentleman that refers to ladies by their first name with an easy grin on his face. So this is how she finds herself sinking back onto the soft sofa behind her, her hand finding Smee’s silky fur.

“Captain-“

“I’m referring, if I must be frank, to your refusal to see my brother, whether by appointment or accident.”

“I assure you, my behavior towards your brother has not been particular in the least-“

“And that is precisely the issue that I wish to address.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Killian seems to lose some of his confidence and good humour and he sinks into the chair opposite her with some difficulty. Elsa makes to rise and assist him but he waves her off with a slightly pained smile.

“No, no, please, let me exercise the freedom to move by myself while Emma is engaged with your sister.”

Try as she might, Elsa can’t help but smile at that. Though her little slip does not last long.

“Surely you must realize that her stay here and your… this situation is not doing either of your reputations any favours.”

“Oh, I thought just as you do, I assure you. But my reputation has long been beyond salvaging. And Miss Swan has had to refute two marriage offers in only so many weeks so it would seem her “reputation” – or perhaps her fortune and good name – much more resilient than we thought.”

Miss Froster’s eyes widen despite herself. Surely, she hasn’t been that sheltered from everything happening in Storybrooke. She stayed rather informed on anything that had to do with Emma and their close acquaintances. Surely, her aunt would know if-

“Two?” it is a shriek, or as close to one as Miss Elsa Froster has ever come.

“Indeed.”

Any other day, she would call the Captain’s small grin pained, yet he still seems much too relaxed for Emma’s possible nuptials to have caused him any real discomfort.

“Have gentlemen flocked to your house to propose to her?”

Killian chuckles lowly.

“I have no doubt Mr Cassidy would have had no qualms about doing so but he seems to prefer his rejections not so very personal. As it is, Mr Humbert very skillfully seized the chance he was presented with when we were at the Nolan’s estate.”

“So the rumours were true that he intended to…”

“I am assured he very much did.”

“And Emma…”

At this Captain Jones shifts his gaze to the colourful carpet and reaches for his ear in a sign of mild discomfort.

“Well, I’m sure she would much rather share the details herself.”

“Yes, of course.”

Elsa doesn’t know what Emma would rather do or not do but she will most certainly have to explain how she has been propositioned on multiple occasions and yet finds herself in the house of a man who is not said to be among the list of wish-to-be husbands.

“But Miss Swan’s recent handling of marriage proposals is not the question I wished to discuss with you.”

“Captain Jones, surely you must know how much I value your friendship and your council, and the sacrifices you have made for my family… I could never thank you enough for… So I hope that you can trust my own judgement in return.”

“I do. I would trust few people’s judgement more than your own, Miss Froster. Well, perhaps Mrs Nolan’s.”

Elsa smiles at that and feels herself relax. Perhaps this is not the ambush she was expecting after all.

“But, due to recent events, I have discovered that… sometimes we shy away from things that, if we knew their true nature, we’d embrace wholeheartedly.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“Elsa, all I’m asking is that you consent to talk to my brother.”

Ice blue falls away from its imploring counterpart.

“I am not ready. I need time to… to prepare for what he has to say.”

“How can you, when you don’t know what that is?”

“I can imagine. After everything that happened – to you and-“

“I sincerely hope you do not hold yourself or anyone in your family accountable.”

“Who is accountable does not change the many altercations that were caused.”

“And if my brother and Emma are back to uniting forces to keep me as confided to my house as possible, I’m certain you can see how much has been put to rest.”

“Oh, but their tempers and tantrums burn out sooner than they have been set off and you know it.”

“Indeed. In that we are in perfect agreement. But, I hope I have proven myself less prone to outbursts and flights of fancy.”

“Well, there was this one incident recently…” Elsa cannot help but point out but then- “Of course, you have.”

“And I hope… you could trust me on this.”

How the lady would have responded to his heartfelt request, the Captain will never know because it was now Miss Swan’s turn for a timely interruption.

“Your sister is waiting for you outside,” Emma announces from the doorway. “If my powers of deduction are still sharp, she has had her fill of Killian’s strawberries.”

Elsa gets to her feet and narrows her pale eyes, first at her closest friend and then at her host.

“I guess it is time we go. But perhaps we could see, if my own powers of deduction still match yours, dear Emma.”

There is some small degree of suspicion in Miss Swan’s eyes but there is amusement as well, the thrill and joy of having her friend and confidant back perhaps, or perhaps… a certain eagerness to hear what she has so cleverly deduced.

“And seeing how you have both applied to my trust and good nature, I’m sure you will be fair and candid with me in turn.”

Elsa sees out of the corner of her eye the Captain’s slight movement, the way he must surely be looking at Emma right now. But Emma is still smiling and Elsa, despite it all, can’t help but grin back as she asks.

“So are you or are you not engaged to be married to Captain Jones here?”

#captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fanfiction #cs au #period CS #B&B

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anexperimentallife · 7 years

Text

Going through some of my older work, and started re-reading the first story I ever sold...

There are some embarrassing things about it (the obligatory cishet romance is unnecessary and comes off forced, for one thing, and I tied things up into much too neat of a package at the end, plus there are some other aspects I think I need to redo), but overall it reminds me that yeah, although I need to up my game, I DO have chops. I can do this. This isn’t bad at all, IMHO, but I can do SOOOOO much better now. If you want the entire anthology it’s in, grab yourself a copy of The Crimson Pact Volume 2. (It’s also available at Amazon and so on, but when you buy directly from the publisher, you get all formats, DRM-free--whether you buy the hardcopy or just the ebook version--and I get a bigger royalty cut.)

And I am going to do better. Now that I have the rights back, I am going to rewrite the fuck out of this,,especially now that I have better ideas about how to fit it into my revised Quiet World setting.

I’ve posted a little of the beginning before, but here’s a much bigger chunk:

Karma (story excerpt)

by D. Robert Hamm

We hit the interstate like an unguided missile. Needles of frozen rain and jagged blades of wind beat my face numb and turned what was left of my dress into a full-body ice-pack. Even with the heater on ‘incinerate,’ I couldn’t stop shivering, but the outside air was all that kept me from gagging on the smell of my own puke and the rusty stench of blood, so the window stayed down. Between the black pavement and blacker sky, the air was wet and gray. It sucked the vitality from my headlights well before their natural time, but that was okay. I wasn’t paying much attention to the little they revealed anyway.

The man in the passenger’s seat either didn’t feel the cold or was too stoic to show discomfort. The dashboard glow turned his short white beard to green and deepened the age lines in his face. Gods, I’d loved that face growing up. It was my grandfather’s face. But right then, I could barely look at it, because this wasn’t my grandfather, just a sad, confused spirit wearing his body. And even though he was one of the good guys, that didn’t mean it was easy to take.

“You’re going to catch cold,” Not-Grandpa shouted over the storm.

“I’m . . . what?”

Since last night I’d been shot at, whipped, and electrocuted. I’d watched a good man beheaded and disemboweled before my eyes, and learned things about myself, my family, and especially my past, that had already driven other people into padded-room territory. I was marinated in a vile concoction of blood and various other body fluids, quite a bit of it my own, and had spent the last however-many hours fighting horrors that should never have existed. In the middle of all that—because I’m an overachiever—I took time out to kill a man I loved.

And this guy was worried that I’d catch a fucking cold?

Once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. The kind of deep, full-body laughter that doubles you over and makes your stomach muscles ache for days afterward. The kind that shreds the lining of your throat and rises in pitch to rapid staccato squeaks, like sneakers on a hardwood floor. I held back the worst long enough to wrestle the car onto the shoulder, then let go. The laughter turned to howling, the howling into screams, the screams into sobs, and the sobs into a quiet whimper that finally, gods finally, tapered off, and I could breathe again, in great, ragged gulps. I wiped away a rope of snot hanging from my nose and sat hunched over with my eyes closed and my forehead against the steering wheel, shaking, while the rain pummeled my back with tiny, ice-cold fists.

In shock? Probably. Hysterical? Definitely. Look, I make sandwiches at my family’s restaurant for a living, okay? Sandwiches.

Not-Grandpa waited until I quieted down before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was the dozenth or so time he’d said it. The line of his mouth stayed hard, but his eyes and his voice were soft and broken. I believed him. Had to believe him.

“I know.” I didn’t mean for it to sound bitter. He’d saved my life after all, and he deserved better than that. I just didn’t know if I could forgive him for not being who I wanted him to be.

* * * * *

A little too “in media res” for you? Yeah, me too.

So here are the vitals: My name is Karma Miranda Rodriguez. I’m twenty-three years old, five foot six, with brown eyes, light brown skin, and dark brown hair that I keep boy-short. I claim to be a size five, and I dare you to say otherwise. I like strawberry daiquiris, support equal rights for supernaturals, am indifferent toward long walks on the beach, and . . .

And oh, yeah—Apparently, I kill demons.

* * * * *

Eli’s Borderland Station, my family’s restaurant, has been the only twenty-four hour eatery on the Kansas City Plaza since back before the Jasonites outed the supernatural community (aka, “The Quiet World”) and we had to coin the term ‘daylighter’ to differentiate plain vanilla humans from those touched by the paranormal. During the riots that followed the Jasonites’ little party, and all through the Apocalypse Wars, my Grandpa Eli and Uncle Garston kept the restaurant open as a free kitchen-slash-aid-station for refugees and emergency workers, and turned the upstairs apartment—which is mine, now—into a de facto headquarters for various peacekeeping forces.

So alongside our Absolutely Killer Turkey Sandwich (made from, according to the menu, genuine killer turkeys), we serve up a mean side-order of history. Obviously, a lot of things have changed since the AWs; for instance, the Plaza, always an upscale shopping district, is now a level four Private Patrol Zone with the best law enforcement money can buy. As you’d expect, our main business is well-heeled shoppers whose sidearms are more fashion statement than personal defense, but we try to keep prices reasonable enough for the average college student, too.

No amount of money will buy you a table or a bar stool in our VIP lounge, though, even if every other seat in the house is taken. The lounge is permanently reserved for veterans, proxies, bounty hunters, elites, and so on. It’s where people with code names like Halloween Jack, Lucy D.T., HalluciNathan, and so on come to catch up with one another, trade information, or just relax. Grandpa and Uncle Garston are technically civilians now, but a lot of the VIPs still use their call signs from way back when, so if someone in armored leathers with notched weapons and a stare that looks like they’re counting the ways they could kill you with one finger says they’re going to see The General and Body Mass, they’re not talking about some secret mission, it just means they’re headed our way for the lunch special.

On Tuesday nights we lock up for a few hours of uninterrupted cleaning with my special patented Karma Rodriguez closing procedure. This involves, among other things, lots of dancing around with brooms and mops, and other Weapons of Mess-Destruction, and me in a casual dress singing along with loud music at the top of my lungs. It’s effective. The more I can make work feel like play, the faster and more efficiently I get things done, and as proof of that, what used to take three people on Tuesday nights now requires only two.

At thirty seconds to zero-dark-thirty on a drizzly February evening, when my grime-fighting partner Jayden and I were the only ones left in the restaurant, I locked the front door and hit the music. My mix for the night was weighted heavily in favor of pre-Apocalypse rock—music that was old before I was born. It was a minor tragedy when it cut off about ten minutes into the shift, right in the middle of David Bowie’s Rebel, Rebel. Jayden and I both trailed off a cappella.

“I didn’t hear you singing if you didn’t hear me,” Jayden said. “We stick together, and nobody can prove anything.” He fixed me with what would have been a deadpan stare if not for that quirk at one corner of his mouth that I thought of as his, ‘our little secret’ smile.

I put on my best film noir ‘tough dame’ voice. “It’s always secrets with you, isn’t it? Fine, I’ll play your game.” Staying in character, I headed upstairs with an over-the-top hip-swaying sashay, to reboot the router while Jayden kept cleaning.

I can’t be objective about Jayden, so I won’t try. He was one of a kind. Literally. Part Aosidhe, part Graealfinsidhe, and part daylighter, Jayden was a medical miracle, and he got the best from each branch of his ancestry. Six and a half feet of lean muscle, flawless skin, hair like pale gold silk, and . . . you get the idea. His ears were only slightly pointed, and with his hair down, he could pass for an exceptionally pretty daylighter, if not for his eyes. Whiteless, and bright turquoise in color. They suited him.

And yeah, I know. If only I wasn’t his boss. Jayden had something of a ‘mystery man’ air about him that only added to his status as local lust-object. Among other things, the way he dressed like a wastelander (only cleaner) but acted like a gentleman fueled speculation. He kept his past and his private life just that, though—past, and private. It was like the world was in love with Jayden, but Jayden wasn’t sure how he felt about the world and didn’t want to lead it on.

When I got back from confirming that the router was indeed fried, those exotic eyes of his were fixed on the big screen in the main dining area. I came up behind him and stopped, gaping. “What the . . . ?”

Just north of us, people were fighting in the streets and looting, while Rushville—Jayden’s neighborhood—burned.

“Short version?” Jayden said without turning around, “They busted the wrong guy for the Taylor murders, so they released him. He lasted a whole three hours.”

“They didn’t give him police protection?”

“He was under police protection when it happened. Now everybody has a conspiracy theory, and apparently with every conspiracy theory this week, you get a free Molotov cocktail kit. Speaking of which . . . ” He rewound a few seconds and paused on a burning apartment building that I recognized as his. “Great firebomb, huh?”

“Wow. I’m sorry.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shrugged, his back still to me. “I carry everything really important with me.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Want me to leave you alone?”

He paused, as if considering. “No.”

“Okay. But know what? Fuck cleaning. Help me get the trash out, then haul your duffel bag upstairs. You’re staying at my place tonight.”

Jayden turned and looked at me as though I were speaking Swahili. “Your place?”

“You just lost your apartment to a xenophobic asshole with a fire fetish, and you need crash space. Friends do that kind of stuff for each other.”

That earned me a confused look. “No, I just . . . Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks.” He seemed utterly bewildered. So much for his famed stoicism and unflappability. Ah, Jayden. Such a strange, strange boy. I ran up to get my coat and pull on a pair of jeans under my dress, and Jayden and I dragged the first can out into the alley.

I remember the air tasted of cold grease and wet pavement. I remember the electric buzz of the street lamp, and the way its dirty light turned the drizzle into sparse gray streaks like anime rain. I remember the exact cadence of the trash can’s scraping and banging as we dragged it toward the dumpster. How screwed up do things have to get before taking out the trash is a fond memory worth replaying in your head?

We didn’t hear the patrol team until they entered the mouth of the alley, running hard toward us, shouting at us to get inside. The woman’s name was Lawson. She’d lost her helmet, and a sheen of blood covered the left side of her face. Her partner, Hall, had a crack running down the side of his faceplate, and his body armor was shredded in places. They both carried their weapons at the ready, scanning the roofline as they ran.

Before they’d even finished their warning, a clot of shadow and sickening angles detached from the rest of the dark. The Kasu-Hurun slaughter-spider—How did I know that?—dropped from the roof and—The Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are making us walk a long way again. I don’t say how tired I am because I am almost eight years old, and that means I’m a big girl, and because it would make Mommy feel bad that she can’t carry me that far. Mommy and me are in our nightgowns because we were asleep when they—Where were these images coming from?—landed in the alley behind them. It was an impossible thing, eight or nine feet tall, all mottled ochre-and-black chitin, with eight spiked and bladed spiderlike legs from which it took its name, serrated mandibles beneath great protruding compound eyes, and short, thick, writhing tentacles suspended from the underside of a bulbous, misshapen central body.

I shouted my own warning, but Hall was already emptying his magazine at the thing as he backed toward us. Lawson either tripped or dove in our direction, twisting in mid-air to land on her back. She raised her shotgun, and—grabbed us, and it was really late because both moons were out, but they let us put on our boots before they made us start walking. Mommy tried to fight them and she shot one of them but they beat her up and cut her cheek really bad. But she is still the prettiest lady in the whole wide world. It was real people, not Kasu-Hurun, but they don’t act like real people. Mommy says they have bad things inside them called Qlippoth. I think they are telling the Kasu-Hurun what—made it roar as she hit the pavement.

The monster’s cry was like a foghorn made of cats and feedback, a spike that shoved through both eardrums. Lawson had hurt it, taken out one leg, in fact, but it wasn’t enough, and Hall’s automatic gunfire cut off with a sickening, meat cleaver sound as the spider sliced through his neck. Hall’s head flew from his shoulders and bounced against the alley wall while the spider eviscerated his body before it could hit the ground, as if he weren’t–to do. A man tried to run away today, but they caught him, and instead of shooting him a Kasu-Hurun stuck one of its sharp arm/leg things in him and cut him open and played with his insides until he stopped screaming, and I cried, but I won’t cry anymore, because I’m a big girl, and—dead enough already. Even as far back as Jayden and I stood, hot, sticky wetness splattered our faces.

The monster tried to leap toward us, but its missing leg threw it off balance. Lawson’s shotgun was out of ammo, so she fumbled out her .45 and taunted the slaughter-spider while edging toward the side of the alley opposite the door. Sacrificing herself—big girls don’t cry. The demons usually kill everybody, but now they only kill people who try to run away or stop walking before they tell us to stop or people who fall down and can’t walk anymore, but sometimes when somebody falls down they let somebody else make a travois, which is a kind of sled thing that you drag—to give us a chance to get away. My gun was in my purse inside, but even if I’d had it on me, I couldn’t loosen my grip on the trash can, let alone force myself to move.

I caught Jayden’s eye. I’d never before realized–when I feel like crying I think about Daddy. Daddy is a general, which is a kind of soldier who tells other soldiers what to do. He is a long way away fighting other Kasu-Hurun, but when he comes to save us, the Kasu-Hurun and the bad people are going to be sorry. I am going to be a soldier like Daddy when I grow up and—how much he and I communicated without speaking, but with that look, I knew we’d done the same math. One of us might—just might—make it to the door. If we left the other one to die along with Lawson.

Fuck that.

Once I’d made the decision, the tension drained from my body—I am nine years old, and I have been in the prison camp for a over a year. They tell me it is time for the laboratory again, but if I pick someone else to go, they will leave me alone today. If I choose my mother to go they will leave me alone for a month. They seem surprised when my answer is to hold out my wrists for the cuffs. I am the daughter of a general and a hero. I do not run, or let others take my pain. And no matter what they do to me, I won’t let them see how scared I am—the way the fear had, sublimating into the night and leaving me perfectly relaxed. Jayden gave me that ‘our little secret’ smile, and I knew he got it. He understood. Not just what I was about to do, but why.

When anything you do will end in death, make your final act one of defiance.

And so it was that we, about to die, in the most futile and ridiculous gesture in the history of futile and ridiculous gestures, screamed our defiance in the face of death, and charged the monster that would surely kill us.

With a fucking trash can.

We slammed into the slaughter-spider and fell hard, with the trash can bouncing between those giant legs and spilling its slippery contents out onto the already-slick blacktop. The slaughter-spider screamed at the impact, even louder than when Lawson had shot it, and nearly toppled. A serrated leg missed me by inches, and I rolled away, but I’d only be able to dodge for so long. My only regrets were that since I hadn’t properly prepared this body, I would die along with it—again, where the hell did that thought come from?—and that so many things would go unsaid between me and those I cared about. Including Jayden, if I was being honest.

Something hard in my coat pocket bit into my side as I rolled. I’d forgotten about the taser I almost always took with me when I left the restaurant. Even if it was still charged, it wasn’t salvation, but at this point salvation wasn’t an option. Victory was what mattered, and victory was nothing more nor less than continuing to fight until the inevitable happened. I pulled out the taser, flipped off the safety, and sent 50,000 volts into the center of that mass of tentacles, along with all the fury I could muster. The slaughter-spider jerked momentarily, and Lawson took advantage to pick up a piece of steel rebar from the junk pile in the alley and plunge it glove-deep into one of the slaughter-spider’s faceted eyes. Jayden followed with a sharp piece of broken two-by-four into the other.

And as though someone had flipped a switch marked ‘alive/dead,’ the slaughter-spider fell . . . in slow motion, like those television broadcasts of building demolitions. After one final spasm, it was still, and the alley was silent for several seconds except for the buzz of the streetlight. After barely long enough to begin to accept that we weren’t dead, answering cries to the spider’s death scream split the night.

We staggered inside the restaurant as the first new creature hit the pavement, and got the bars across the door just before another slammed against it. I slapped my palm against the ward sigil and spoke the syllables to activate it, then ran to the front and did the same there. After grabbing my gun and other weapons from upstairs and activating still more wards, I hit the ‘dim all’ switch and met up with the others in the kitchen. Lawson used a cabinet as cover, her shotgun aimed at the door, and Jayden . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

I’d been gone perhaps two minutes, but when I returned, Jayden stood transformed, a grim-faced cross between a modern wastelander and a wild warrior from legend, in a combination of armored biker leathers and Fay armor. The hilts of two matching blades extended over his shoulders, and his jacket sleeves were pushed up to reveal Sidhe archery gauntlets—the real kind, not the department store knockoffs. Other weapons clung to various parts of his body, strategically placed so as not to impede movement—blades, throwing disks, bolas, and quivers and bandoliers of bolts and arrows for the quick-load mini-crossbow in his hand and the compound bow housed in a slender case across his back. He shrugged bashfully—Jayden? Bashful?—when he caught me staring. So this was what he meant when he said he carried everything important with him.

The booming of another hit on the door jerked my attention away from Jayden. After a few more tries, though, the spiders seemed to realize that it was futile, and ceased their efforts.

Now that we had stopped racing time, time slowed to let us catch up. Whether from the endorphin rush or something else, I felt disconnected, an observer watching from inside myself. In the dimness, Lawson and Jayden were pale, oh so pale, and heartbreakingly beautiful against the gray and charcoal shadows. I stood with chest heaving alongside them, seeing and feeling and hearing everything as though for the first time, in love with it all. Because we, who moments before had been dead, were alive and more than alive, were filled with life until we could burst from the pressure as it strained against the insignificant scraps of skin and flesh that could barely contain it.

A single glossy drop of blood formed at the tip of Lawson’s finger, creating itself until it was real enough to float downward and finally join its comrades who had already emigrated to the floor to form a puddle, and Lawson was falling, falling, falling behind it as if to join the puddle herself.

I shook out of my trance barely in time to help Jayden take Lawson’s weight. She was conscious, but weak. “It’s okay,” I told her, “We’re going to get you taken care of. Did you call for backup?” Lawson shook her head weakly, closed her eyes, and made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. “Nobody left to call. Even if the radio worked, nobody left to . . . ” she trailed off and seemed to fold in on herself. I’d seen what that thing did to Hall. I didn’t need her to tell me what had happened to the rest of her squad.

#my fiction #Rob writes stuff

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kaypeace21 · 5 years

Text

Will Byers is probably autistic (psych analysis)

So I guess before I get started, I just have to mention that everyone should keep an open mind. Imagine all of the autistic rep you’ve ever seen- okay? Now, throw it out the window XD. Because almost all of it is inaccurate, and offensive. Okay, so I’ll be citing scientific articles as well as giving my own insight as an autistic person- who is studying to be in the medical field. Every autistic person has different experiences, but i’m just giving my input as an autistic person (who has average/above average intelligence- like Will) to paint a better understanding of ASD, and to explain why I head-cannon him as such.

1. Stimming

Will in high stress situations, will generally sway his whole body back and forth in response to both supernatural and normal real life stresses- a very common real life stim. He does this about 7 times in the show.

“The biggest differences between autistic and typical stimming are the type, quantity, and obviousness of the behavior. According to a research study conducted at the Georgia Institute of Technology, there are a number of common stimming behaviors among children with autism. These include… swaying or rocking back and forth while standing.” “Mild and occasional rocking is usually acceptable, but rocking one’s entire body back and forth is considered a stim.”Stimming “ is considered a protective response to over-stimulation, in which people calm themselves by blocking less predictable environmental stimuli… as a way to relieve anxiety and other emotions.”

2. The need for alone time in Castle Byers

“Time with others can be overwhelming for many young people on the spectrum. Constantly trying to figure out what is expected of them, struggling to read the facial expressions of others and follow both the implied and overt instructions in the environment can be exhausting. Time out by themselves gives them time to regroup, meaning that they are more able to cope when they return to social situations.”

Now, for me this was one of the biggest indicators to me Will was autistic. Lets think about this ... Will has his own room where he could theoretically get alone time to read his comics there. But instead he decides to go to castle Byers -a place in the woods in complete seclusion, i.e the perfect place to decompress. It’s implied he spends an excessive amount of time here. Just look at castle Byers for a second. He has, a bed, a microscope, a stuffed lion, tables, cans of paint, wall decorations, a lamp and 2 cans of beans next to his lamp. The lamp implying he may spend nights there- which is why this is one of first places Jonathan and Joyce check when he goes missing. In s3 we even see he has framed pictures of his friends, and toy cars along with a 2nd lamp. Also, it’s implied it’s exclusively Will’s special place- he even has a secret password to get into Castle Byers.And he even put a fake door bell in the front of the castle Byers where Joyce fakes a ring and then after the ring he’ll ask for the password (and then only then will he allow them in). Saying “you may enter”. A lot of autistic people crave privacy or warning that others are about to talk to them- if they’re being interrupted during their ‘alone-time’ and he sets these boundaries pretty explicitly. And Joyce respects this.

3. Autism/Anxiety/crowds

“ For someone with ASD, some commonplace situations can cause great anxiety. Sensory issues can be triggered almost any time or anywhere on a daily basis. Whether the individual is experiencing an anxious moment or not, sensory integration challenges can overpower a person’s ability to control him or herself. Sensory situations that may provoke anxiety can include: • “crowds… the noises or looks of too many people can be too overwhelming and exacerbate such anxieties.”

*Also notice he doesn’t seem as anxious in less crowded environments- when girls just glare at him, he just awkwardly waves.

Another exacerbation of anxieties in autistic people can be the “ interruption of daily routines” (i.e the monthly dr. appoitments he hates so much). Or “interacting with new people.” Which brings me to my next point.

4.Interacting with strangers

This is something that is often portrayed with very little nuance or understanding. Some autistic people can be very outgoing with both strangers and/or people they know well. While others are extremely shy or can barely speak to new people. However, what people often miss is that regardless of how they interact with strangers-many autistic people are generally much more open and talkative with people they know and trust (i.e family/friends). This is because they generally understand the explicit and implicit rules of these relationships- and are less worried about accidentally offending them or being interpreted or rejected as a ‘freak’. However, what I never see addressed is “selective mutism”. Some autistic people (even those who are usually outgoing) may experience times where they become mute or instead use terse-short language under great situational-stresses. And Will experiences a lot of this.Will has always been shy in general, but under stress he becomes even more quiet.

Mike: “He’s quiet today.”

Lucas: “He’s always quiet.”

However, the way he interacts with Max (a stranger) is a dead-give away that he’s probably autistic. In the 1st episode he actually seems the most intrigued by Max.

However, not only do they never exchange a word of dialogue in s2. The Duffers emphasize the lack of it on multiple occasions. Max is from an abusive household which is probably why she was so concerned over Will’s behavior and ‘episodes’. However she didn’t feel comfortable ever talking to Will- instead she asked Lucas about his background. Max as a stranger was concerned, but she probably thought Will didn’t like her - since he’s the closest to Mike (who clearly didn’t ). So, she probably assumed that him being mute or not talking to her was his way of saying he didn’t like her. She suspected he was giving her the silent treatment- not knowing Will is simply like that with strangers and that Will already stood up for Max. Which explains how awkward this whole exchange was...

They both wrongfully assume that the other dislikes them- and Will is use to rejection and assumes she also think he’s a ��freak”, which hurts his feelings. (I can’t wait for their friendship in s3!)

Also the only other stranger we see him interact with is the girl at the dance. Yes my son, is obviously in love with Mike Wheeler. But the fact that he is literally forced to talk/interact with her because of his friend is something that many (quiet) autistic people have experienced. And this shows a clear pattern when it comes to him having difficulty in talking to strangers.

However, these traits with age, can greatly diminish ... but as of now it’s something he struggles with.

5. His special interests: Art, D &D & Music

Will is always meshing his 3 special interests together and trying to share it with his friends. Will may love art but it’s interesting that even his art is generally of a niche subject in itself- that being D&D. The vast majority of his drawings are related to his D&D campaigns- and unlike his other friends he is the only one who named his fictional d&d character after himself (although I also think this is a hint he has powers). Also, just like his d&d art (which he gives as presents to his friends) he uses his special interest in music to make specialized mixtapes for all his friends (and he even names the music tapes after their d&d characters). Will is probably not the best at expressing his feelings- and so he thinks the best way to show his love for his friends is by giving them things that he loves most- and which take alot of effort and time to make.

6. Lashing out

My second point was about how most autistic people need time alone, in order to properly interact with others. If they don’t get this alone time it can lead to autistic children lashing out in anger or having a break down. “ALONE TIME CAN HELP TO REDUCE THE RISK OF A MELTDOWN.When anxiety and/ or anger and frustration kick in, being around others can quickly add to the tension. Time alone doing a preferred activity can really help some young people to regulate their emotions much more quickly than being surrounded by others.”

So after Will has a tough day being bullied at school, a drs. apponitment (that altered his daily routine), and seeing the day before a literal demon. He is extremely stressed. He closes his door and begins to draw in silence in order decompress and relieve his anxiety. But Jonathan comes in talking about movies, Will is clearly irritated with having to interact , saying “whatever you want” (cause he wants to be left alone) and returns to drawing. But Jonathan doesn’t get the hint and asks what he’s drawing, Will says “me” and again ignores Jonathan when he asks if people are bullying him. Will is simply too overstimulated and stressed and simply chooses to ignore his questions, going “selectively mute” and refusing to make eye contact, as he continues to draw.

Jonathan begs him “to talk” but Will only responds when his arm is gently smacked. This is when we see Will lash out about all his frustrations.

However after he lashes out, he once again goes right back to ignoring Jonathan and drawing. He feels bad because he knows Jonathan was just trying to help but he worries if he doesn’t get time to decompress he’ll lash out more and say something he’ll regret later. This is when Jonathan goes into ‘being a freak is the best speech’, because he’s desperate in trying to get Will to open-up. And during this speech will says something that implies he most likely has ASD...

7-8. Being blunt and missing social cues

Now, I believe if Will actually had the proper time to decompress and be less anxious, he would of probably thought this through more and censored himself before he let this slip. However with all the talk of Will being ‘a freak’ Will got a ‘tunnel-vision’ of sorts... because he became anxious thinking his friends might abandon him, because of it. And so he asked this question -without thinking of the ramifications of how this might hurt Jonathan. Will is a sweet ,extremely empathetic person but sometimes we autistic people occasionally say things that are low-key savage... literally by complete accident. XD

And we see this hurts Jonathan a bit, but the way he quickly laughs it off implies this isn’t the first time Will has done this. And he knows Will well enough, to know this wasn’t an intentional insult.

-Also at first I thought Will was being sarcastic here, but when Will asks this, I think he may of been genuinely asking Jonathan if these dance moves were in fashion.

9. Communication: Interrupting or speaking to others about unrelated topics

Will does this in the very first episode. He hates lying (a very autistic trait) especially to Mike. Pretty positive he made up the “friends don’t lie” rule. He feels bad about ratting out his friends but he has to tell Mike and his anxiety is getting to him as he waits for the others to leave. He’s so wrapped up in saying what HE NEEDS TO SAY that he doesn’t realize that his friends have already switched topics ( and are talking about Nancy).So the second they leave, he just blurts out “it was a 7″.

And of course Mike is confused because as a neurotypical person, he already forgot about that previous discussion (that Will has been hyper-fixating on)- and he’s a bit confused until Will further elaborates and awkwardly bikes home and says good bye. My awkward, autistic, queer son. :)

*We also see in one of the last scenes in s1, Will doing something similar. Jonathan and Joyce moved on from the topic of presents and are now talking about food. However Will in all his excitement rushes over to talk to them about the presents- not knowing that.

Now besides him interrupting their conversation- what actually gave it away to me is when Will specified “it’s the exact same weight”. The fact that Will has played with Dustin’s atari- but fixates on it’s weight, is a dead giveaway. ASD is a sensory disorder meaning most of us are generally more sensitive to changes in “temp, lights, noises, textures, tastes, and weights.” In fact some autistic people find comfort in heavier objects and sleep with a ‘weight blanket’. So Will being able to lightly touch a box and guess-timate it’s about the same weight as Dustin’s atari shows he already has a different thought process than most children.

10. Aversion to eye contact and touch

I’ll only talk about this briefly because this will be what i see most in the rebuttals to this post. This is something that Hollywood again gets wrong most of the time, and generally lack any type of nuance in. Every autistic person is different , however most of us train are selves to look people in the eyes or face, very early on in life. And some of us have little/less/or no difficulty in looking someone we love in the eye/face unlike strangers ( just like Will). However, similar to talking...under high-stress situations or anxiety inducing situations (like crowded/noisy places) even looking at someone we care about can be more difficult. And we might switch between avoiding contact... to looking at them for long periods of time in the face (almost in a compensatory way). And Will has done similar things in s1 and s2.

As far as touch . It’s similar, some autistic people hate it some love it. However, for a lot of autistic people it’s more complicated. I would say from my experience I get anxiety hugging people I don’t know well. However, I don’t have such anxieties if either (a) I’m initiate it or (b) I care about the person. So Will is fine with initiating physical affection or receiving it from his friends/family. But after Will forgot who Bob was , he was very quick in avoiding touch.

11. Hyper-empathy

Not all, but some autistic people have hyper-empathy. And although some autistic people may struggle with empathy the majority do not and ... some are even too empathetic! This is something Hollywood ALWAYS gets wrong. Despite the fact medical studies have already proven we have empathy- this trope never dies, even some psychiatrists still state this on their sites. They pretty much portray all of as unfeeling robots- who are too dim to know when people are annoyed, angry, sad, or upset. There could literally be someone crying and the ‘autistic character’ would look them in the face without any emotion and not realize they’re upset. It’s so insulting and leads to our de-humanization- not understanding! So I’ll explain what autistic people actually struggle with. There are 2 types of empathy.

“Cognitive Empathy- This is the largely conscious ability to work out what other people are thinking or feeling. Cognitive empathy is an intricate thought process allowing you to grasp what people really mean when they say something vague, or which emotions they’re feeling when they behave in a way you find confusing. For autistic people, this is a ‘learned trait’ that may improve over time, and be accurate sometimes but not always.”

“What most autistic people don’t struggle with at all is Affective Empathy- This is an unconscious, automatic response allowing you to feel what other people (and other living beings) are feeling, and is absolutely not something autistic people lack. Hyper-empathic people find that even the thought of anyone or anything suffering causes them intense emotional, psychological and often physical pain. They can be highly sensitive to any changes in atmospheres, picking up on the slightest tension between people, and becoming more and more upset as they anticipate things escalating.”

*So to make it simple. Lets say after Will said ‘is that why you have no friends?’ and Jonathan starts to cry. Will would automatically feel awful and apologize- knowing he said something to upset him, but he may struggle with knowing what phrase made him upset- or it might take him a couple seconds to realize what the phrase was and why it upset him.

So yes, Will displays hyper-empathy. When he was young he saw a girl crying and automatically gave her his toy, even when Joyce warned him that they couldn’t afford another. And baby Will just says “she should have it because she’s sad”. As a kid he couldn’t stand to see someone suffer- because he suffers with them- so he does anything in his power to stop them from hurting. And after his week in hell, without food, water, sunlight, human contact, or breathable air... one of the first thing he says to Jonathan after waking up is “what happened to your hand?” And of course this floors Jonathan and he starts laughing, looking at his mom and saying “You’re asking about my hand?!” Because it’s so un-believable, but so characteristically Will. And in s2, he is willingly to die to save his friends and family , telling them to “close the gate” as his last words.And if you take the cannon of the comics seriously, this is further reinforced in the fact he risked his life to save both Nancy and Joyce from demogorgans, sacrificing his 2 and only chances at escaping from the upsidedown, to do so.

11. low self-esteem, fear of abandonment and over-apologizing

These aren’t symptoms of ASD, but simply side-effects that may occur because of it. Regardless, of whether Will is or isn’t autistic ... there isn’t much doubt in my mind that he has all three of these traits.

When Jonathan says he has friends, Will is confused and says this...

This in itself is extremely telling of how Will views himself. After s1 despite all the kids, teens, and adults doing everything they could to save him (risking their lives to do so) he still doesn’t understand why any of them actual would want to hang around him- like most autistic kids he doesn’t see ‘his appeal- his worth’. He doesn’t like himself (which is common in autistic kids). He sees himself as a burden, just like his dad perceived him. And because of his abandonment issues, and somewhat iffy social skills, he probably assumes they saved him out of obligation (because he lacks cognitive empathy). And because of his abandonment issues and constantly feeling like a burden he is always over-apologizing. Very early in life, in their formative years, autistic people generally ‘make the most mistakes’ and may unintentionally hurt people the most when they’re very young, so even as they get older they may still apologize when they’ve done nothing wrong. And since Will already feels like a burden, because of his dad, his PTSD, and the upside-down incident he’s constantly apologizing . He yells “I’m sorry “ and snuggles into his mom when he’s trying to explain the mindflayer to Hopper and Joyce.

And Joyce says something indicative to his character (before anything supernatural occurs).

Joyce: “You feeling any better? Will?”

Will: “Huh? Yeah... Sorry.”

Joyce: “Hey… what’d we talk about, huh? You gotta stop it with the sorry’s.”

Will : “Yeah, sorry. I mean... yeah, I know.”

This illustrates that Joyce has already discussed the fact that Will over-apologizes . But Will still does it very often, even after these 2 separate discussions.

Essentially everything his father did was the exact opposite way to build up a autistic child’s self esteem. I most certainly think Will is gay (or another queer identity). But the fact that Will’s dad left when he was 5, and was calling him such slurs so young doesn’t make much sense. It’s possible that after he left, during his occasional visitation that the verbal (and psychological abuse) started, continued, or escalated. For instance, it was Jonathan’s 10th birthday when he was first taught how to use a gun, and was traumatized because he was forced to kill/shoot a rabbit to be “more of a man”. So, why does Will know how to shoot a gun ?! Can you imagine how much more shit he forced Will through (compared to Jonathan) if he thought he was queer and was forcing him to ‘man-up’?!

However, as a queer person I still think it’s odd his dad would assume he’s queer. Most parents like to live in denial- and frankly, Will isn’t flamboyant or ‘stereotypically gay’ (nothing wrong if he was- but he isn’t). So I can’t help but think... besides his interest in art, his other behaviors may have not been ‘gay’ but simply “stereotypically un-masculine” for the times. Examples being: being quiet, reserved, unassertive, not making eye contact, being scared to talk to others/almost everyone (To lonnie he was wimp who was scared of everything, which equaled ‘queer’). So Lonnie tried to ‘man-him-up’, and when he didn’t “cure-him” he essentially gave up and abandoned him. So to Will... Lonnie was one of the people who knew him the most and who saw his ‘worse-traits’ , and he left, and this would negatively affect any child, but especially an autistic kid. Since most get their self-worth from their peers and family.

It would also explain Will’s shocked face when Mike says asking him to be his friend was “the best thing” he’s ever done.

Actually look at Will’s face his eyebrows initially arch up high, because he’s so genuinely shocked , Mike thinks this way. Especially because through Will’s perspective, this is after Mike has seen the very worst because of Will (he would assume Mike thinks of him as a burden now). Not the best thing he’s ever done. It’s heartbreaking.

I would honestly be shocked if s3 doesn’t address Will’s abandonment and self-esteem issues. The day Will’s dad left , him and Jonathan built Castle Byers all night in the pouring rain. So then when Will goes to Castle Byers in s3 at night in the pouring rain he’s probably thinking that Mike (and his friends) are going to abandon him just like his dad did! Mike and Lucas have girlfriends, and Jonathan will probably be too busy trying to financially support the family, and Dustin starts hanging out with Steve, so he just feels so alone and like he’s being abandoned all over again, by the people he thought would never do this to him (and this probably just brings up so many depressing memories and emotions of self-loathing).

God , I just want my son to increase his self esteem in s3, and have a happy ending in s5!

*gifs/pics were used as visual evidence and do not belong to me. And yes, El is also autistic- echolalia (repetition of certain phrases they like “mouth breather”, “friends don’t lie”, “we’re not stupid”, “people are going to be aghast”), meltdowns that may involve grabbing or hitting ones self (did so in s &2), mimicking others behavior to blend in, multiple forms of stimming, comfort objects, selective mutism/terse speech,disordered eating patterns(obsession with certain foods), doesn’t like strangers touching her but will get into peoples personal space (she grabs Dustin by the mouth), avoids eye contact when nervous, sensitive to loud noises and lights, angered when people change scheduled plans, or lies, etc. Also Will and El are always paralleled with each other throughout the whole series. The show confirms people like El and Will (psychics) have different brain waves than normal people- so psychics by definition are NOT neurotypical.

#will byers #byler #stranger things theory #stranger things meta #stranger things headcannon

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talkingwithburritospodcast · 7 years

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Baby Ducks In The FP - TWB70

The FP is like Breaking: Electric Boogaloo set in a dystopian society of young twenty somethings who don’t know any better about the real world.

Frazier Park and the 248

Frazier Park, a subdivision somewhere in the greater state of California where wars aren’t fought over color or race but by county lines and dance. Not the Samba, not ballet, no crunk, but video game dance battles. Beat Beat Revolution, similar but exactly equal to the popular ninities arcade Dance Dance Revolution encourages battlers to pop, lock, and step in the name of where you from for points earned and undeniable street cred. Hit your mark and you live to fight dance another day. Too bad for BTRO, leader of the 248. Good guy living in a bad town. He danced till he couldn’t dance anymore. Poor fella's heart gave out in a dance battle against the penultimate villain next door, L Dubba E, who is just as annoying as his name sounds. Sure BTRO could’ve been roofied or maybe lugging about in a huge pair knee high ultra space boots wasn’t the best choice of footwear when playing a game where you must step on small lily pad sized shapes in an effort to score big. Not knocking his style but those boots weren't made for walking, it's not just what they do. One of this days those boots are going to dance all over you. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="1280"] Soul Man, 1986.[/caption]

Hero is In The DNA

JTRO, brother to BTRO and witness to his fall from grace, leaves the 248 in great hero fashion to grieve for a period of time unknown to everyone but the screenwriter of this film. There was a montage, so we must assume it’s been, like, fitty years since he's been gone. Okay, more like two at the most. Dude didn’t even grow a beard by the time KCDC trekked across the small stretch of highway in a beat up ol’ Honda in search of the forgotten 248 heir to the throne. JTRO, self exiled 248 member, made good with his time getting swole carry wood and chopping logs. When KCDC finds him, and pleads for the hero to return home, JTRO refuses. The 248 ain’t his life no mo. "I’d rather bust these logs and dream of my dead brother and question why he wore those damn boots anyway. He knew they were too big!” Frustration aside, JTRO understood what he must do: he most return to the FP.

A fallen tree in a forest doesn’t make a sound. However, revenge screams like a mutha effing donkey on steroids. FP Homecoming

Home isn’t like it use to be. With the 249 in charge it’s like 1940’s prohibition up in the 248. L Dubba E, heir to the one liquor store in town has stopped service the 248 disrupting life as we knew little of it; we can only assume that shit is bad on a dystopian level. No drink means the bums are dry and if the bums are dry, then the baby ducks don’t get fed. The baby ducks don’t get fed. Not my words. All credit goes to KCDC for that, which is the best line of the entire film and there are some doozies.

TRO Hearts Stacey In The Fp

Fathers, be good to your daughters Daughters will love like you do But without the drink, fathers becomes assholes and beat up on their daughters. No heroes journey is complete without a damsel in distress and as harsh and real as John Mayer sung that beautifully crafted song, Stacey is a complete mess. We don’t even know why JTRO would even bother, but we do know that he didn’t take a shot in high school. As she was blowing through guys, JTRO respected the and like the girl enough as not to be just another bike ride. He’s dizzy without even have slept with the girl and among other horrible attributes, she’s hanging withL Dubba E who we can only assume has herpes of the everything. But a hero has chilvery etched into his DNA, and JTRO can’t fight that feeling of wanting to save his Winnie Cooper. Maybe she is cute, in that Betty on crack next door type of way or maybe it’s because he only sees out of one eye. Did I mention JTRO wears an eye patch?

The Redeemer

No redemption song is complete without it’s maestro, BLT, to lead the redeemer to salvation. Through training and excessive hard work, JTRO will work his way to the supreme status of sleeping within the trainers quarters. Scrubs sleep outside. To be the best and covet a comfortable mattress, JTRO will have to be the best, but unfortunately his vision is cloudy — he lacks focus. That girl got him dizzy! No heroes journey goes without a training montage! (Jamaican Horns Here)

Running

Weights

Running with weights, DC, piggyback

Dragging a tire

Beat Beat Revolution Waffles sandwiches

And electrified tennis racquets - now lasts some low grade Rocky shit

NIGGA

N: Never I: Ignorant G: Getting G: Goals A: Accomplished Didn’t really bother me. Well, it did before this stupid ass validation as to why they allowed KCDC used it so freely when I saw no black people in this film. Middle class youngster during the nineties and up till now, still find it okay to use the word nigga when there isn't a black person around to correct them. Some of them just don't care because they're hip, listen to rap music, and have a couple of black friends. Words of wisdom: you will still get your ass whipped. Just saying.

Stripper Shame

I was more upset over the tire stripper pool. Okay, this is the moment in the heroes journey when he’s tested before the final face off with L Double E . JTRO, his trainer BLT, and KCDC invade a party hosted in the 138, a ramshackle Russian Trailerhenge park where dreams go to die. This is where we not only find the girl, Stacey, but our boys happen upon a tire stripper pole based in a pool of water. Now that’s trashy. Isn’t stripping for those idiots in that town insulting enough? You have this poor dunk girl —because alcohol how she eases the pain — swaying to in fro on a pole mounted in a tire surrounded by water in a kiddie pool? Now, that’s offensive. To test his training, JTRO has to entertain the musing of another loud mouth idiot who resembles a smaller and lest cool Gary Oldman from True Romance. It’s in this scene we learn what truly broke his brother BTRO, however, the characters never elude to the fact that BTRO was drugged before his death match with Double L, and the life hack to never send anyone to get you a drink. Date rape rule #1: Order your own drink and watch the bartender make it yourself, ladies.

BTRO Avenged!

The best two moments from this Beat Beat Revolution dance off is the bystander cuffing a woman’s breast for no apparent reason than to show a man holding one beast of a nonchalant woman and the fact that the death match was enclosed inside a ratty mesh cage. Yes, a cage match, people! If you’ve ever played DDR, you should understand how ridiculous this is as you literally jump, hop, and step in place to play this game. A cage ain’t gonna do nothing for you but give somebody tetanus in this instance. After the hero avenges his brother’s death, a fight breaks out and somebody pulls a gun. This was by far the best directed sequence in the movie. The effects were well done and the action scenes were quite impressive for a film on a limited budget. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5QtZs09_0Y

The FP Does Not Get Made Without Overwhelming Support

As ridiculous a film this is; The FP does not get made if not for the support of family, friends, and the entire 248. Someone had to read this script and question whether the Trost Bros. had lost their collective minds. It’s in this support from I assume the place he’s from that this film shows its true heart. Listed in the credits: * Trost Bros. - Written and Directed * Ron Trost - Ex Producer/ Effects Coordinator * Sarah Trost - Costume * Brandon Trust - Directory of Photography * Jason Trost - Story By No matter how bad the film might be, it takes a lot of effort to pull together the resources to complete such an endeavor. Kudos to all involved in the production of this film. They were successful in their efforts to get a sequel made to The FP, and are currently in post-production. So, if this podcast episode encourages anyone to watch this movie, then maybe that’ll encourage you to support the sequel whenever it releases.

The Scoop Dujour

Links:

The squeal to The FP in the works. BEATS OF RAGE: THE FP PART II Almost Black - Indian student accepted into medical school as an African American [embed]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kp7eSUU9oy8[/embed] Dedicated to my wife.

Flava Text of the Week:

Never Ignorant Gettin' Goals Accomplished

The plate full but we're always open for suggestions

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Talking With Burritos Presents A New Episode!

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kuriquinn · 8 years

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Samsara [Part II]

General Disclaimer

Sakura might have quelled at least some of Sasuke’s fears, but she isn’t as confident as she pretends. The idea that the fetus inside her is connected to as dark and tragic a past as Indra Ōtsutsuki is worrisome, but at the same time…

She has to admit she’s curious.

That doesn’t stop her being relieved when the dreams inexplicably stop bringing her to the strange beach. Her nightly visions become vague again, bursts of colour and emotion, occasionally faces that are familiar to her but inconsequential. She still experiences the frustrating moments of abuse, attacks from a faceless father and sister; these encounters paralyse her as she sleeps, and leave her irritated upon waking. But overall, there is such a vague and hurried quality to these that she suspects she is experiencing time passing.

This pattern continues long enough that it’s almost a shock when she falls asleep one night and finds herself once more in a completely lucid, detailed dream.

She is sitting uncomfortably at a table in a richly decorated room, and the dim memories Sakura can access suggest that her attendance here is rare, perhaps even only occasionally required. Sitting across from her are two people whose presence not only disheartens her – the small, curious part of her had been hoping to meet Indra again – but also fills her with overwhelming wariness.

“There’s talk among the court of a newcomer,” Father says as the servants place their meals before them. “A man of great talent, said to be the son of a wise sage from the East. They say he can call lightning from the sky and breathe fire like the dragons of old.”

“It would be useful to have such a man beholden to you,” Older Sister remarks, sounding bored as she picks at her food.

“Yes, it is better to be on the side of a demon than in his path. Should the stories of this man be true, I intend to offer him alliance. I am told he is young and ambitious. Command of my armies should sway his loyalty. Or, perhaps, marriage.”

Older Sister scowls. “Marriage to a foreigner won’t grow the coffers of this land.”

“Maybe not, but talents he is said to be able to teach could,” Father says. “I am confident you’ll do your duty, daughter.” He then suddenly turns and barks, “What’s that look for, Shachi? Have you something to say?”

They are both looking at her now and she realises that she is Shachi.

Her lips part. “If…if…”

“If…if…if…” Older Sister mocks. Sakura inwardly snarls, knowing if she had control of her body right now, she would wipe the floor with the painted doll before her.

“I-If Older Sister doesn’t wish to marry h-him, I w-would take on th-that duty, F-Father. If it would p-please you.”

He snorts. “Dishonour an important man with a concubine’s spawn instead of the heiress to the land? I intend to court an ally, not lend insult. Keep your ridiculous opinions to yourself. Don’t make me regret my generosity in allowing you to sit at my table.”

“As you wish, Father.” She bows.

“May the gods soon find me a man who can look past your whore of a mother’s legacy and take you off my hands,” he grumbles to himself.

Sakura – Shachi – looks down at her knees, shoulders sinking.

Older Sister sniggers. “Oh, don’t look so downcast. Besides, if the stories of this stranger are true, he attracts many followers. Maybe someone among the riffraff will take an interest in you.”

The two of them laugh, leaving Sakura – Shachi – clenching her fists.

夢

They are at the back of an izakaya, scouring dishes from a busy dinner rush; they don’t have any money tonight, and in exchange for a room they’re helping with hostess out. Sasuke washes, Sakura dries. There has been nothing but companionable silence until she breaks it.

“Can I…can I ask you something?”

“Hm.”

“It’s about your brother,” she goes on, hesitant, because the topic is a difficult one, and usually provides some cue for him to make an escape. She’s hoping soapy hands make that a little harder this time.

From the tense set of his shoulders, she knows he’s already planning bolt, and she hurriedly continues.

“It’s about your relationship before – before all of it. You never talk about it, and you don’t have to now, I just…I never had an older brother or sister, so I don’t know myself. I was wondering…is it normal for an older sibling to hate the younger one?”

She winces, because it still came out awkwardly, and she bets he’s going to ignore it, because it’s not exactly what she was asking but –

“For a long time, I thought so,” Sasuke answers in a low voice. “But over time, I learned it’s the exception, not the rule.”

She exhales at this. “Oh.”

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just thinking.”

“Sakura.”

She scowls, because he’s getting a lot better at reading her voice. Or maybe he always could, now he just chooses to react to it.

“It’s something I noticed in my dream –”

“You had another one?” he interrupts sharply, nearly dropping one of the bowls in his hand.

“Yes – and no, I haven’t seen him again, if that’s what you want to know. Don’t you think I’d tell you right away?”

“Hn.”

“Well, I would. I just…haven’t had to say anything lately because nothing happened. I don’t think he’s in the picture right now. But this – the person I am in my dreams – her name is Shachi, I think.” She peeks at him. “Does that sound familiar to you?”

Since their conversation about a possible past life or odd Uchiha-specific pregnancy quirk, she has found it easier to ask him these questions. After all, between the two of them, he’s the only one who has a definite link to whatever it is she’s dreaming.

He closes his eyes, frowning in concentration, then shakes his head. “I feel as if I’ve heard the name before, but it could be from anywhere.”

He’s right, they meet enough new people every day, perhaps it’s a name they’ve encountered in their travels.

“It’s just, her family – or, I guess the people who raised her – they treat her so badly. It’s as if she’s beneath them, and I don’t…I don’t understand how family can do that,” she exclaims, frustrated. “How can someone not protect their younger sibling? How can a parent not love their child? I can’t imagine a world where you look at our baby like he – or she – means nothing.”

“It would never happen.”

He says it so instantly and certainly that she feels a wave of pure joy wash over her, and she offers him a loving smile. “I know that. But in my dream –”

“You said yourself your mind might just be processing things,” Sasuke continues. “You’ve mentioned feeling weak, held back. It’s possible that you’re drawing on experiences you’ve actually lived and your brain is interpreting them in the simplest way.”

Sakura shoots him a suspicious look. “You’ve been reading my medical scrolls, haven’t you? The psychology ones?”

“They offer the most logical explanation to all this.”

She sighs. “Darling, you can’t search for clues based on the answer you want.”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what it could be. And all of this could simply be a quirk of your dreams.”

They work in silence for a spell.

“You don’t really think it is, do you?” she asks eventually.

A pause.

“No.”

“So, if it is something that happened, why do you think she’s treated so badly?”

“Back then, people saw children differently. A means to an end, a legacy.”

“And what’s our child?”

Sasuke holds her gaze, no trace of doubt there, and simply says, “Hope.”

眠り

For some reason, after this conversation, the tone of her dreams changes. Her awareness of being in a dream fades faster. Memories of an entire life crowd out her identity during waking hours, and so when the stranger arrives in their land, her first reaction – Shachi’s first reaction – is of surprise.

Even though she shouldn’t be. Because there aren’t many men who can control lightning, after all, and there is such a commanding air about him that the idea of him as the leader her father spoke of is not impossible.

The day he steps foot in her father’s court is grey and overcast, inauspicious in it’s normalcy, and yet her body – both in her dream and her present self – feels taut with awareness. He arrives quietly, with little pomp, into Father’s audience chamber. If he notices her sitting on the dais by her sister’s feet, he gives no indication, his every attention focussed on the lord of the land.

He says very little, and yet before the audience is over, everyone knows who he is: Lord Indra of the Eastern Lands, a master in the secret arts. He is well-spoken and a warrior by bearing and – based on Older Sister’s expression upon seeing him for the first time – an desirable possible match.

He seeks followers, those he will impart with teachings, and who he intends to make stronger, asks only for the freedom to recruit whoever he wants.

“My methods are difficult,” he warns quietly, “and only those willing to lay down their lives in dedication will succeed. In exchange, I will instruct the soldiers in your armies as well.”

Father is beside himself – this is exactly what he wanted, after all – and the accord is soon settled. He celebrates by throwing a lavish banquet in Lord Indra’s honour, despite the obvious fact that the young man has no use for the gesture. He appears restless and impatient, as if he wishes to get started on his mission as soon as possible.

Sakura – Shachi? – watches him with wide eyes, thinking on the helpless man she nursed back to health, the one who could have killed her but didn’t. As frightened as she is by him, she can’t fight down her interest.

He notices her watching him and looks up, holding her gaze. Her entire body tenses, and she feels as if she’s looking into the eyes of a snake moments before it strikes. She can’t look away until he does, and once free, her entire body shivers. Her breath comes in sharp bursts and she wonders if, perhaps, he hasn’t used some of his strange power on her.

夢

“It sounds like genjutsu,” Sasuke as he sets up a wire-trap.

“I don’t think so,” Sakura muses, leaning against a nearby tree. “He wouldn’t need to use that on her. She’s too afraid. Too docile. You only use genjutsu on someone if you expect resistance.”

She and Sasuke exchange a tense look, both of them acknowledging a bitter shared memory.

He grunts and hops down from the tree. “When we’re done here, we’re heading to that temple we passed. Maybe there will be someone there who can explain why you’re seeing this.”

“We might as well stop at a hospital too and have me speak to a bunch of therapists,” she deadpans. “I don’t think anyone is going to have answers on this one.”

Sasuke scowls. “So, your strategy is to wait and see?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t accept that.”

“Well, tough. While I’m incubating the tiny human, I make the rules. And as of right now, I’m not in any actual medical danger, and other than being annoying and sometimes confusing, what I see when I’m asleep isn’t affecting my health in any way.”

“Yet.”

This time it’s Sakura who scowls. “Need I remind you of your history of overreacting?”

Which Sasuke can’t exactly argue with, and so he settles on beleaguered silence while they set up the remainder of the traps.

She sighs to herself and wonders if there’s a point to keeping him updating about her dreams if he’s just going to get so upset about them. And she definitely doesn’t want to admit to him that the longer these dreams continue, and the more often she has them, the more she feels as if she’s living a completely different life.

“Sasuke…I know there’s no way to be one-hundred percent sure about all of this, but…would it be so bad?” He stares at her, askance. “If this actually was my past life. It would just mean that I’ve care for you longer than be both thought.”

“You know it would mean more than that. You know that it’s a story that doesn’t end happily.”

“We don’t know if that’s completely true.”

“He broke everything he touched,” her husband says darkly. “He had everything, and just…” He cuts off, making a disgusted sound. “Because of him, my family… because of him I did the same. Might still do the same. What if this is a reminder, a warning, that I’m going to break this too?”

The question is so soft, so distressingly uncertain that for a moment Sakura doesn’t have an answer.

Sasuke very rarely shows any type of vulnerability, and to this day she is certain she is the only one alive who has ever seen that part of him. What makes this particular display so heartbreaking is that she knows he isn’t even asking it for his own sake, but for their child’s.

Tears fill her eyes, but she holds them back. Crying right now will do nothing to help him; she swore long ago that when he was struggling, she would support him. And if that means shrugging off her puzzling dreams, so be it.

“I never thought you were the superstitious type,” she says, trying to break the tensions with levity.

Sasuke scowls. “It’s hard not to be when your past life decides to haunt your wife’s dreams.”

She smiles. The fact that he sounds so waspish is a good sign.

“Come here,” she says, and without giving him opportunity to resist, she presses his hand above her womb. “Listen to me: you are not going to break this.” He opens his mouth, and she drowns him out. “No – listen. You are not going to break this. I don’t break easy, and you can summon a giant chakra monster to protect yourself. This child? Half you, half me. Definitely not breakable.”

He still doesn’t look entirely reassured, but the tense set to his shoulders fades somewhat.

眠り

Lord Indra becomes a guest in their kingdom, permitted to walk among the people and seek students. He accepts any who come to him, man or woman, and weeds out the weak. Many of them die – strangely enough, it’s usually the soldiers that Father sends who are unable to succeed – and yet still more continue to seek him out.

He is the only one who knows this strange, magical teaching. He calls it ninjutsu, and when he says it, there’s an almost fanatic gleam in his eyes.

She finds this odd, but Father doesn’t care. As he sees it, his kingdom will soon grow to rule over all the rest, if only he can convince Lord Indra to remain here instead of moving on. Older Sister preens and poses, trying to entice a smile from the sullen faced stranger, and taking it out on Shachi when he doesn’t.

Shachi? No…I’m…Sakura?

That name seems so distant to her when she is here, when she is the other woman. Though she knows this is but a dream, she feels tethered to it as much as if it were real.

She watches Lord Indra from the sidelines. Although drawn to him, longing for him to acknowledge her again, or at least thank her for saving his life, she feels safer in the shadows. Sometimes, he is apparently alone, training or meditating by himself, and yet when she makes a move to approach him, she imagines she hears someone speaking to him. Whenever this happens, she hurries away. After all, their last encounter up-close is fresh in her mind, and as compelled as she is to seek him out, she is also afraid of him.

And so she keeps away, watching his training sessions from the protection of the forest.

Sometimes she is caught, receiving a reprimand or a beating from her father, but these days both are more an afterthought; Father only cares about her whereabouts when someone reminds him, and Older Sister, only if she notices her lurking. For the most part, she is free to watch the stranger as she wishes.

Lord Indra teaches with brutal efficiency. He never raises his voice above a murmur, yet retains perfect control over his students. He can make a simple nod feel as if he has fallen to his knees in praise, and a derisive glare make a man want to fall on his sword to avoid dishonour.

Several do.

Only once he is satisfied with their ability to maintain discipline and control does he teach them the new abilities. Shachi watches as men learn to bend water in their hands, or call up mounds of earth like fangs from the ground. Some command the wind and others turn blades of grass into needles. With a flash of his red eyes he instructs them all, precise instructions, having them repeat them over and over, making motions with his hands as he does.

She mouths along his words, trying to capture the sound of his voice in her mind. When he speaks normally – not threatening her life as he did that day on the beach – his voice is pleasant, inviting. Despite the danger he represents, he makes her feel safe, and that is something she isn’t used to.

From her place in the shadows, she makes the hand gestures as well, arranging her fingers until she can do it perfectly. Soon she does it without noticing, can allow herself to just listen to the sound of his voice as he instructs. One day, his words seem closer to her than usual, even though he is so far away, and she closes her eyes, imagines that he is watching her, not his students, is telling her –

You build up chakra, stop it once it collects between the mouth and the chest area. Once you have enough, you release it all at once.

She inhales deeply, focussing on the warmth in her chest, and then breathes out.

To her absolute shock and horror, flames spew from between her lips and incinerate the tree in front of her.

She stumbles backward in shock and fear, unable to believe what just happened. She takes a split second to look around, to see if anyone saw her, and then takes off at a run, pulling her cumbersome skirts to her knees and stumbling back through the forest.

In the distance, she hears people calling out, confused shouting, demands for water. Commotion as students try to put out the flames with buckets, or with their new chakra wielding talents, she isn’t sure, because she keeps on running –

Only to find her way blocked by Lord Indra.

His eyes blaze at her and she recoils, dropping to her knees and bowing her forehead to the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to – I didn’t even realise I was – please don’t tell my father, I – I’ll never do it again –”

“How long did it take you?” he interrupts.

She blinks at that, chancing a glance up at him. “M-my lord?”

“You have been watching for weeks but you have never attempted anything before,” he informs her, earnings a small squeak of surprise. “Today you tried. How long did it take you?”

“I-I… not long. I just… I listened to what you said, and I tried it.”

“Hm.”

He gives her an inscrutable look, like he’s considering something he hadn’t before, and she bows her head again. “I didn’t meant to hurt anyone or cause trouble.”

She is aware of the sound of feet near her ear, and when she looks up he has begun to walk away, back to the training grounds. She isn’t sure if she imagines it or not when he mutter, “Next time don’t stand next to a tree.”

夢

“You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Sakura scowls at the gash in Sasuke’s leg, the product of a stray flail and misguided intentions. The villagers in this part of the country are so wary of strangers, they attacked before letting Sakura explain herself. Sasuke, of course, instinctively pushed her out of the way, but ended up with another limb nearly being severed.

“Forgot what?” he grumbles, observing as her fingers glow green over the skin there.

“That you don’t have to protect me,” she chides him. “Even if I didn’t have a basic capacity to dodge, a flail isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Maybe not, but as far as I know, your regenerative abilities don’t apply to the baby,” he reminds her. “You’re not as invincible as you’re used to being.”

Sakura blinks at this, surprise waylaying the retort on her lips.

He’s right.

For a minute, she did forget.

It’s all so new – the changes in her body, the adjustments she’s had to make. No more chakra suppressors, she can’t drink coffee anymore, she’s tired more often – it sometimes feels so disconnected to her. Some days she is completely aware of the new life within her, unable to stop thinking about it, and other days, when everything gets so busy and confusing – like today – she forgets. Even looking in the mirror is deceptive – she doesn’t look pregnant at all, even with her clothes off.

There is movement to the left, and she glances up as two young girls carry in buckets of water; she smiles at them gratefully, earning half-awed, half-shy expressions in return, and then they hurry off.

The villagers backed off when she sent a crushing blow to the ground, forcing them to retreat if they didn’t want to fall into the broken earth. Upon watching her lean down to heal him before he bled out, they finally realised that she was a healer and spent the rest of the evening apologising profusely. They even insisted on putting her and Sasuke up for as long as they wanted to stay, hence the small hut which they are currently occupying.

They even carried Sasuke back here on a litter so she could preserve her healing abilities. He nearly threw a fit at that (he still hates appearing weak in any way) but the people felt so terribly about it, Sakura insisted they go along with it.

Somewhat out of deference to this, she decides to relent a bit.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, checking the progression of closing skin. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

“Hm.”

“I’m just not used to hanging back. It’s been a while since I had to stay out of the direct line of danger.”

“I know.”

He finally relaxes, however, allowing his eyes to close and breath to even out. As if he didn’t expect her to take it easy until she said the words.

Ridiculous man…

She shakes her head, considering the calm picture he provides. It reminds her of those first few dreams she had, of healing Indra on that beach.

Sasuke’s former incarnation is starkly different than he is, she realises that now. He watched her – watched Shachi – with the distrustful gaze of someone who expected her to be incompetent or treacherous. Sasuke’s attention is intent, but in a different sense – watchful and wary for the sake of her health, not his.

As if being pregnant made her breakable.

She’s forgotten what it’s like to need to be protected. It makes her nightly sojourns in the life and mind of Shachi all the more confusing.

The other woman is such a stark contrast from her. Docile, obedient, hesitant – all of these are qualities she either never possessed or grew out of in her early childhood. Their very nature is utterly opposite.

In fact, even their ability to use chakra is completely different, judging from the way they learned to use it. Shachi’s first act was so powerful, charged enough to destroy an entire tree. Sakura remembers the first time she used ninjutsu, she had to try her hardest just to manage a passable substitution.

And that’s another thing. It’s not just their different temperaments. Why does Sakura have an affinity for water, when Shachi is clearly more suited to fire? Isn’t that the type of thing that should carry over?

“Not necessarily.”

Sakura jumps, realising suddenly that she has been musing out loud the hold time. Sasuke is frowning at her thoughtfully.

“The goal of reincarnation is to be reborn as a better self. Perhaps it means stronger, as well. Water is superior to fire.”

“Oh.”

“I take it you’re dreaming of him again then?” he asks, voice entirely too casual.

Sakura looks away, caught out. She’s been trying to avoid bringing it up because she knows it upsets him. “Only recently. Only last night, really. It’s a little confusing, so I didn’t say anything until I could get my thoughts in order.”

“I’m not going anywhere for the next little while,” he reminds her, nodding to his leg. It’s completely healed by now, and she shoots him an amused look. He raises an eyebrow, as if challenging her to call him on it. “Tell me what you dreamed.”

“As long as you don’t get upset every time I talk about Indra.”

His jaw clenches but he nods. “Fine.”

眠り

Eventually Father grows tired of Lord Indra skirting the issue. He wants to ensure everlasting loyalty, wants someone who will train and preside over his army in perpetuity.

In front of the whole court, he offers a permanent, eternal bond between them.

“My daughter, Shibasuri,” he declares proudly, gesturing to Older Sister. “She will make a fine wife, and through her, your children will be the heirs of my land.”

Every other man in the court seethes at this, because Lord Indra may be strong, but he is a foreigner. And more than a few covet Older Sister for themselves.

But the solemn stranger shows no interest in either offering.

“I have no interest in possessing this land,” he says quietly, his words easily audible in the stunned silence. “And I have no need of a woman who revels in her looks and is ignorant to the world. A creature whose body is starved to uselessness in pursuit of fashion, who will never be fatted with child.”

Older Sister makes a noise born of incandescent fury, and Father turns scarlet in anger.

“You dare – !”

But Lord Indra has turned away from both, and instead his gaze falls upon the crowd. Upon her as she stands with her guardians.

“I will take this one instead,” he declares imperiously. “On that condition I will remain here.”

She gasps, because this makes no sense. He has never, ever given any indication of seeing her, let alone –

“Shachi?” Father inquires, confusion dampening his anger. “Why would you…? She is of lower status, not of any importance – ”

“I will hear her answer,” Indra interrupts. “And if she has no wish for wedlock, I will take my leave with any disciple that will follow.”

There’s a stunned silence then, a dangerous note of expectation in this, and then the whispering begins. Already the members of the court are wagging their tongues, expressing surprise and glee at this turn of events. They imagine blackmail, a play for power from a younger daughter, a secret love –

It is none of these things. From her weeks observing him, she knows that Lord Indra has his own mind, his own plans that he follows. If he prefers her over her beautiful older sister, there is a reason, and not one as basic and superfluous as caring for her.

Older Sister glowers at her, as if Shachi has indeed done something to organise all of this, and Father frowns at her with a look in his eye that promises a lifetime of broken bones if she doesn’t acquiesce.

He needn’t bother, because she knew the instant that Lord Indra spoke, what her answer was going to be.

Even so, it feels as if she is signing the death warrant of her fate when she whispers, “I accept.”

夢

Sakura stretches a hand over her head, making a high-pitched, purring noise at the back of her throat, and then relaxes once more, head pillowed on Sasuke’s blanket-clad inner thigh. They lie head-to-foot, naked and sated, the smell of sex still lingering in the air.

Sasuke is on his side, his face pressed against one side of her abdomen, his hand curved around the other. His eyes are closed, and his mouth is pulled into a not-quite-smile of tranquility. It’s far too early for any kind of kicking to be felt – for anything to be heard – but it doesn’t seem to matter to Sasuke. Sakura’s own smile is gentle as she reaches forward, brushing his hair back from his face. He cracks his right eye open and there’s that brief look – soft, content and happy – and then he closes it again.

It’s a look that’s reserved only for her and, she knows, their future child, and which encompasses everything. Even though he rarely says it – only when she has him reduced to panting, overwhelmed gasps as she did minutes earlier – she feels the unquestionable love he has for her. It’s an experience that fills her with warmth from the inside, because it’s something she never truly believed she would experience.

It makes her feel guilty for asking him, once, if the only reason he wanted to be with her was to repopulate his clan. Sasuke was, by then, a changed man.

Such a difference from the man in her dreams.

She wonders about him. His temperament, his motives, his relationship with Shachi…

“Why do you think he chose her?”

“Hm?” Sasuke’s voice is low and rough from sleep.

“Indra,” Sakura clarifies dimly, gazing up at the wooden ceiling. “He washes up in this strange land, tries to kill her, disappears, then comes back. And her father offers him practically the world, anything a guy back then would want, and he throws it back in his face over Shachi. A girl he barely even spoke a hundred words to.” She shakes her head in confusion. “That’s something a person does for the one they love, but I don’t…do you think he was even capable of it at that point?”

“Capable of?”

“Love.”

Sasuke is silent for a long moment, leaving her wondering if he intends to answer the question. Then he says, “I don’t think it was possible in the way you understand it.”

“Meaning?”

“After being betrayed – or rather, after deciding he had been betrayed – by Hagoromo and Asura, he would have been more guarded than ever. He wouldn’t have been capable of feeling for her what…” He trails off here, his voice becoming more quiet, more furtive, “For what I feel for you.”

She doesn’t acknowledge the admission beyond a soft smile – he gets defensive and grumpy if she makes a big deal out of moments like this.

Instead, she returns to the topic. “So why choose her?”

“She did help him. He may have seen it as repaying a debt.”

“But he also said she reminded him of being weak. And she was weak. Wouldn’t the likelier choice have been the older sister? The one with status?”

“A man like him would choose a bride more suited to his purposes. You told me she had the ability to use chakra – which she learned just by observing his teachings,” Sasuke points out. “To members of my clan, Shachi would be the more sought-after candidate.”

Sakura considers this, and then nods. “That make sense.”

“I don’t believe it was the whole reason though.”

She shoots him a confused look.

“He might have seen her as a parallel of himself,” Sasuke continues, thoughtful. “A child mistreated by family. In his view, he was betrayed by his; this girl, she’s the scapegoat of her own kin – and for an utterly underserved reason, based on what you’ve told me.”

“But in that case, wouldn’t it make more sense to kill her family? Why agree to a marriage with her? An actual link to these people?”

“I have no doubt he had some kind of long-term motive. However…I suspect it may have been different than anything he actively planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s entirely possible, she provided him with something he didn’t even realise he was missing,” Sasuke tells her, staring off into the distance. “As far gone as he was, he needed something to ground him. When Indra first awakened his abilities, he was strong because he was protecting someone precious. His brother. And he remained strong, even as he became more drawn to the darkness, because he always thought he had the support of his father and brother. When that was gone – when Hagoromo named Ashura as his successor – for the first time in his life, he was truly alone. When you have as much power as he did, and as much hatred, you need something to justify your actions – some goal that makes everything else you do worthwhile.”

She knows now that he is speaking of himself, and not Indra. Of how his love for his brother drove him to commit horrible acts.

“Then he meets this girl, and she’s obviously drawn to him, and she helps him,” Sakura suggests. “And he keeps seeing her, and he knows she’s in a bad situation, so he starts to feel what it’s like to have someone trust in him again.”

It sounds far too plausible, and Sakura shivers. She doesn’t like the idea of Indra using Shachi’s misfortune for himself, but at the same time, she knows that the other woman – this shrinking violet – would see it as an opportunity to escape. In a way, the two are saving each other, even if they don’t know it.

“Hm.” Sasuke nods here. “She is someone who will be utterly loyal to him – both because of who she is as a person, and because as a wife, it is her duty to be subservient to his will.”

Sakura lifts her head and shoots him a sardonic smirk. “Oh, so I have to be subservient to you now?”

“…I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”

“Damn right,” she nods, falling back, and then squeaks indignantly when he tweaks her left nipple in retribution. She slaps his hand away and then jabs a finger in his general direction. “Don’t start something if you don’t intend to follow through.”

Sasuke snorts. “Who said I didn’t intend to follow through?”

眠り

The wedding approaches, and for the first time in her entire life, Shachi finds herself treated according to her station.

She is bathed in scented waters and anointed with rich oils, adorned in silks and jewels, and fed the finest foods that her servants tease will ensure she bears healthy children.

Older Sister lingers resentfully in the background, while father busies himself with the preparations. Whatever he felt for her in the past, whatever he feels for her now, his greed for the power Lord Indra can provide has increased tenfold since seeing what the young man can do. He pretends like he has never resented her, calls her his “beloved child” and introduces her to visiting dignitaries.

The wedding is meant to be lavish, a way of showcasing Father’s current wealth, and offer hint of what it might become. In this, he is able to stand up to Lord Indra’s more frugal nature. For his part, the prospective bridegroom is nowhere to be found and makes no effort to involve himself in the affair; he continues to train in the courtyards up until the day of the ceremony.

That morning, she is woken at dawn and bathed. Her handmaidens draw long black ribbons of henna across her forehead and face, crisscrossing around her neck and again above her breasts, winding down her arms and legs as if she has been encircled by a snake. Her hair is braided with freshly picked cherry blossoms, and golden rings are fitted around her wrists, neck, fingers and even one through her nose. It all feels heavy and cumbersome but she knows better than to complain. The bridal gown is of red silk, the only garment she has ever worn that was not one of her sister’s castoffs, and the final touch is a purple, rhombus-shaped jewel set in the centre of her forehead.

Father walks her down the aisle at a quick pace, as if worried that the longer he takes, the sooner his future son-in-law may change his mind. Older Sister holds her veil for her, and as she goes to sit at her place, sneers quietly, “Do not think your life will be without hardship.”

Lord Indra stands at the front of the assembled guests, bored and irritated, and he doesn’t even acknowledge her when she is beside him. The high priest begins the ceremony, raising the sacred marriage cup before them, his words washing over her.

Shachi’s mind is strangely blank at this, either from disbelief or fear for the future, and Sakura feels more present in the moment than she has in months. The marriage ritual is very different from any she has ever seen, from her own wedding to Sasuke, and while she is uneasy about the circumstances, she can’t help being fascinated.

The priest places a smooth, obsidian rock – taken from the sacred river of their land – and wishes them an enduring and lasting union. He pours wine and honey as well, wishing fertility and health, and then takes their hands, lightly pricking their palms over the rim of the cup, to signify the mingling of their blood now and in the future. Then, he passes it first to Lord Indra, who will be master of the union.

Her bridegroom takes a tip – barely wets his lips – and passes it back. His expression never changes, and he still doesn’t look at her.

Then the cup is in front of her face, the priest reminds her of her duties as wife now. She begins to lift the cup to her lips as well –

Lord Indra chokes suddenly, and doubles over.

There is stunned silence all around, the high priest stares in wide-eyed horror, and there are gasps from the other guest.

“My lord?” she whispers, reaching for him. “Are you…?”

His eyes snap toward her, flickering red and black and she gasps. But it isn’t the Sharingan that have her shocked. Instead, she rapidly takes in the sight of his features – pupils dilated, mouth slackening, a bluish tint around his lips.

“Poison!” she cries, because she can’t do anything else here. “He’s been poisoned!” Her head whips around, looking for someone who might help. “Fetch a healer!”

Father appears shell-shocked, slow to realise what is happening, and Older Sister –

She stands to one side, smirking and with a look in her eyes that is all-too-knowing.

“You…” Sakura – Shachi? – realises. “Why would you – ?”

Indra begins to convulse, and the answer never comes. Instead, she falls to her knees, trying to hold his flailing arms as he convulses. Shachi is terrified, that fear returning her to full control, pushing Sakura’s awareness down again, but she refuses to allow this.

You can stay out of this right now, or he’s going to die!

She focusses her attention – sees the cup dropped by the priest, liquid spilling out. The sacred rock has rolled a few inches away as well, leaving a clumpy, chalky residue.

So that’s what it was. Poison in the marriage cup. Indra wasn’t the only intended victim.

Her mind flips through a mental catalogue of poisons, all while calculating the amount of time it will take before he dies. Given how fast he reacted, the chalky nature, the blue veins on the mouth

“Ainu,” she determines. It’s a relative of aconite, albeit much more potent. There isn’t much out there that can save him, and in the limited time she has, she doubt’s she’ll be able to find –

Then she freezes, remembering herself.

No way. No way could it be that much of a coincidence.

Her hands fly to her hair, tugging out the delicate flowers there. Cherry blossoms have some healing properties, but aren’t used very often in antidotes –

Except in cases of ainu poisoning.

She doesn’t pause to dwell on the improbability of it all. Instead, she begins to crush up the petals – in her fingers at first, then an idea occurs to her and she puts them in her mouth, chewing them into a pulp and leaning forward to press her lips against his. As she pushes the petal paste into his mouth, she wills her chakra into him as well, calling up every bit of her concentration to do so. She visualises her energy moving into him, chasing the poison through his veins and overtaking it.

She doesn’t find out if she succeeds or not, because that’s when she suddenly loses her control. All of her concentration, all of her focus in helping him, recoils like an elastic band. She is once more, no more than a passenger, and Indra gives one last violent tremor, and then goes still.

Someone emits of a moan of grief.

It takes a stunned second for Sakura to realise the sound came from her. To understand that her dream self is weeping, throwing herself over Indra’s chest. This man, who she saved, who in demanding her hand offered her a future away from the abuses of her blood kin, and now he has left her before there was even a chance.

Tears streaming from her eyes, she looks up as Father demands of Older Sister, “What were you thinking? You’ve ruined it all!”

“I have done nothing but save you from a charlatan,” she replies airily. “He had no interest in becoming your right hand, Father, he would have taken his students and left you with ease. And if he truly intended to honour your wishes, he would have accepted the bride you offered, not that.” She tosses her hair. “Now, we have men who have sworn oaths of loyalty to you, who know of his teachings, and they won’t tempted to disappear with their wandering master.”

Father’s expression becomes thoughtful at this, and he nods slowly.

“Besides,” Older Sister goes on, a cruel set to her mouth. “He gave me insult, in public, and that is something that cannot be abided. How dare –”

But her words are quickly and brutally cut short.

A bolt of lightning rips through the ceremonial hall, through her shoulder and out her heart, leaving a bloodied and black hole in its place. Shachi screams in horror, staring at the shocked expression on Older Sisters face as her body crumples to the ground. Father’s bellow of surprise turns to terror, and she understands why, because Indra is alive.

He shrugs her off and stands, moving like the lightening that just passed through her sister’s body, and grabs Father by the throat.

“Those who break oaths are scum. Those who betray their own blood are worse than scum,” he growls. “And that cup was meant for her as much as it was for me.” It’s the only warning he gives before twisting his fingers, snapping the man’s neck. “A man who makes a move against me makes a proclamation that he is my enemy. And I will not allow my enemies to live and take a second opportunity to weaken me.”

Eyes still blazing red fire, he turns to the stunned guests.

“Your lord is dead. Either rise up and avenge him, or flee. One of those choices will lead to a swift death, so choice wisely.”

As he takes a few steps down the procession toward the door, there is a flurry of movement. Guests and members of the court scatter, tripping over each other in their finery. She is left on her knees, gaping at his back, unsure what just happened.

Then, as he did before, he turns to face her once more.

“You have saved my life twice,” he tells her coolly. “And so, I will offer you a choice. An opportunity. Save yourself. Forget this farce of a ceremony and ties you agreed to for their sake. Leave this place and seek a happier future, with a man who will offer you the respect and fondness you desire. Or –” his eyes darken back to black here, “come with.”

Her mouth parts in surprise at this.

“If you do, know that from this moment, you will be completely mine. And I am not a patient man. I am neither gentle nor kind, and your life will be one of duty. You will bring forth children to whom I can pass on my legacy. So long as you are loyal and obedient, I can make you a goddess by my side, but if you falter I will make their deaths look enviable.”

Terror and confusion make it hard to understand what he is saying to her. For several seconds, she can only stare from his intent face down to the corpses of her father and sister, turning over his words in her head.

And then it makes sense.

He is giving her a choice.

She has never, in her entire life, known what it is to make a decision that is not based on the will or needs of another. For the first time, she is free. She gets to decide what her destiny will be.

The gesture brings tears to her eyes, because she knows he is not a man who operates in choice. There is his will and death, but here he is, offering her the chance to leave that behind. And with the same certainty that he could stand against any of her father’s vassals who would challenge him, she knows he would let her walk away to a better life if she chose.

She wonders, as she takes his hand, if he realises how terrifyingly easy it is to make her decision.

つづく

Reviews and constructive criticism are appreciated!

クリ

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#sasusaku #past lives #reincarnation #sasusaku fanfiction #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sakura #ootsutsuki indra #angst #drama #family #romance #ssfest17 #original characters #ssfestival2017

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readbookywooks · 8 years

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Peasant Women Who Have Faith

NEAR the wooden portico below, built on to the outer wall of the precinct, there was a crowd of about twenty peasant women. They had been told that the elder was at last coming out, and they had gathered together in anticipation. Two ladies, Madame Hohlakov and her daughter, had also come out into the portico to wait for the elder, but in a separate part of it set aside for women of rank. Madame Hohlakov was a wealthy lady, still young and attractive, and always dressed with taste. She was rather pale, and had lively black eyes. She was not more than thirty-three, and had been five years a widow. Her daughter, a girl of fourteen, was partially paralysed. The poor child had not been able to walk for the last six months, and was wheeled about in a long reclining chair. She had a charming little face, rather thin from illness, but full of gaiety. There was a gleam of mischief in her big dark eyes with their long lashes. Her mother had been intending to take her abroad ever since the spring, but they had been detained all the summer by business connected with their estate. They had been staying a week in our town, where they had come more for purposes of business than devotion, but had visited Father Zossima once already, three days before. Though they knew that the elder scarcely saw anyone, they had now suddenly turned up again, and urgently entreated "the happiness of looking once again on the great healer." The mother was sitting on a chair by the side of her daughter's invalid carriage, and two paces from her stood an old monk, not one of our monastery, but a visitor from an obscure religious house in the far north. He too sought the elder's blessing. But Father Zossima, on entering the portico, went first straight to the peasants who were crowded at the foot of the three steps that led up into the portico. Father Zossima stood on the top step, put on his stole, and began blessing the women who thronged about him. One crazy woman was led up to him. As soon as she caught sight of the elder she began shrieking and writhing as though in the pains of childbirth. Laying the stole on her forehead, he read a short prayer over her, and she was at once soothed and quieted. I do not know how it may be now, but in my childhood I often happened to see and hear these "possessed" women in the villages and monasteries. They used to be brought to mass; they would squeal and bark like a dog so that they were heard all over the church. But when the sacrament was carried in and they were led up to it, at once the "possession" ceased, and the sick women were always soothed for a time. I was greatly impressed and amazed at this as a child; but then I heard from country neighbours and from my town teachers that the whole illness was simulated to avoid work, and that it could always be cured by suitable severity; various anecdotes were told to confirm this. But later on I learnt with astonishment from medical specialists that there is no pretence about it, that it is a terrible illness to which women are subject, especially prevalent among us in Russia, and that it is due to the hard lot of the peasant women. It is a disease, I was told, arising from exhausting toil too soon after hard, abnormal and unassisted labour in childbirth, and from the hopeless misery, from beatings, and so on, which some women were not able to endure like others. The strange and instant healing of the frantic and struggling woman as soon as she was led up to the holy sacrament, which had been explained to me as due to malingering and the trickery of the "clericals," arose probably in the most natural manner. Both the women who supported her and the invalid herself fully believed as a truth beyond question that the evil spirit in possession of her could not hold if the sick woman were brought to the sacrament and made to bow down before it. And so, with a nervous and psychically deranged woman, a sort of convulsion of the whole organism always took place, and was bound to take place, at the moment of bowing down to the sacrament, aroused by the expectation of the miracle of healing and the implicit belief that it would come to pass; and it did come to pass, though only for a moment. It was exactly the same now as soon as the elder touched the sick woman with the stole. Many of the women in the crowd were moved to tears of ecstasy by the effect of the moment: some strove to kiss the hem of his garment, others cried out in sing-song voices. He blessed them all and talked with some of them. The "possessed" woman he knew already. She came from a village only six versts from the monastery, and had been brought to him before. "But here is one from afar." He pointed to a woman by no means old but very thin and wasted, with a face not merely sunburnt but almost blackened by exposure. She was kneeling and gazing with a fixed stare at the elder; there was something almost frenzied in her eyes. "From afar off, Father, from afar off! From two hundred miles from here. From afar off, Father, from afar off!" the woman began in a sing-song voice as though she were chanting a dirge, swaying her head from side to side with her cheek resting in her hand. There is silent and long-suffering sorrow to be met with among the peasantry. It withdraws into itself and is still. But there is a grief that breaks out, and from that minute it bursts into tears and finds vent in wailing. This is particularly common with women. But it is no lighter a grief than the silent. Lamentations comfort only by lacerating the heart still more. Such grief does not desire consolation. It feeds on the sense of its hopelessness. Lamentations spring only from the constant craving to re-open the wound. "You are of the tradesman class?" said Father Zossima, looking curiously at her. "Townfolk we are, Father, townfolk. Yet we are peasants though we live in the town. I have come to see you, O Father! We heard of you, Father, we heard of you. I have buried my little son, and I have come on a pilgrimage. I have been in three monasteries, but they told me, 'Go, Nastasya, go to them' - that is to you. I have come; I was yesterday at the service, and to-day I have come to you." "What are you weeping for?" "It's my little son I'm grieving for, Father. he was three years old -three years all but three months. For my little boy, Father, I'm in anguish, for my little boy. He was the last one left. We had four, my Nikita and I, and now we've no children, our dear ones have all gone I buried the first three without grieving overmuch, and now I have buried the last I can't forget him. He seems always standing before me. He never leaves me. He has withered my heart. I look at his little clothes, his little shirt, his little boots, and I wail. I lay out all that is left of him, all his little things. I look at them and wail. I say to Nikita, my husband, 'let me go on a pilgrimage, master.' He is a driver. We're not poor people, Father, not poor; he drives our own horse. It's all our own, the horse and the carriage. And what good is it all to us now? My Nikita has begun drinking while I am away. He's sure to. It used to be so before. As soon as I turn my back he gives way to it. But now I don't think about him. It's three months since I left home. I've forgotten him. I've forgotten everything. I don't want to remember. And what would our life be now together? I've done with him, I've done. I've done with them all. I don't care to look upon my house and my goods. I don't care to see anything at all!" "Listen, mother," said the elder. "Once in olden times a holy saint saw in the Temple a mother like you weeping for her little one, her only one, whom God had taken. 'Knowest thou not,' said the saint to her, 'how bold these little ones are before the throne of God? Verily there are none bolder than they in the Kingdom of Heaven. "Thou didst give us life, O Lord," they say, "and scarcely had we looked upon it when Thou didst take it back again." And so boldly they ask and ask again that God gives them at once the rank of angels. Therefore,' said the saint, 'thou, too, O Mother, rejoice and weep not, for thy little son is with the Lord in the fellowship of the angels.' That's what the saint said to the weeping mother of old. He was a great saint and he could not have spoken falsely. Therefore you too, mother, know that your little one is surely before the throne of God, is rejoicing and happy, and praying to God for you, and therefore weep, but rejoice." The woman listened to him, looking down with her cheek in her hand. She sighed deeply. "My Nikita tried to comfort me with the same words as you. 'Foolish one,' he said, 'why weep? Our son is no doubt singing with the angels before God.' He says that to me, but he weeps himself. I see that he cries like me. 'I know, Nikita,' said I. 'Where could he be if not with the Lord God? Only, here with us now he is not as he used to sit beside us before.' And if only I could look upon him one little time, if only I could peep at him one little time, without going up to him, without speaking, if I could be hidden in a corner and only see him for one little minute, hear him playing in the yard, calling in his little voice, 'Mammy, where are you?' If only I could hear him pattering with his little feet about the room just once, only once; for so often, so often I remember how he used to run to me and shout and laugh, if only I could hear his little feet I should know him! But he's gone, Father, he's gone, and I shall never hear him again. Here's his little sash, but him I shall never see or hear now." She drew out of her bosom her boy's little embroidered sash, and as soon as she looked at it she began shaking with sobs, hiding her eyes with her fingers through which the tears flowed in a sudden stream. "It is Rachel of old," said the elder, "weeping for her children, and will not be comforted because they are not. Such is the lot set on earth for you mothers. Be not comforted. Consolation is not what you need. Weep and be not consoled, but weep. Only every time that you weep be sure to remember that your little son is one of the angels of God, that he looks down from there at you and sees you, and rejoices at your tears, and points at them to the Lord God; and a long while yet will you keep that great mother's grief. But it will turn in the end into quiet joy, and your bitter tears will be only tears of tender sorrow that purifies the heart and delivers it from sin. And I shall pray for the peace of your child's soul. What was his name?" "Alexey, Father." "A sweet name. After Alexey, the man of God?" "Yes, Father." "What a saint he was! I will remember him, mother, and your grief in my prayers, and I will pray for your husband's health. It is a sin for you to leave him. Your little one will see from heaven that you have forsaken his father, and will weep over you. Why do you trouble his happiness? He is living, for the soul lives for ever, and though he is not in the house he is near you, unseen. How can he go into the house when you say that the house is hateful to you? To whom is he to go if he find you not together, his father and mother? He comes to you in dreams now, and you grieve. But then he will send you gentle dreams. Go to your husband, mother; go this very day." "I will go, Father, at your word. I will go. You've gone straight to my heart. My Nikita, my Nikita, you are waiting for me," the woman began in a sing-song voice; but the elder had already turned away to a very old woman, dressed like a dweller in the town, not like a pilgrim. Her eyes showed that she had come with an object, and in order to say something. She said she was the widow of a non-commissioned officer, and lived close by in the town. Her son Vasenka was in the commissariat service, and had gone to Irkutsk in Siberia. He had written twice from there, but now a year had passed since he had written. She did inquire about him, but she did not know the proper place to inquire. "Only the other day Stepanida Ilyinishna - she's a rich merchant's wife - said to me, 'You go, Prohorovna, and put your son's name down for prayer in the church, and pray for the peace of his soul as though he were dead. His soul will be troubled,' she said, 'and he will write you a letter.' And Stepanida Ilyinishna told me it was a certain thing which had been many times tried. Only I am in doubt.... Oh, you light of ours! is it true or false, and would it be right?" "Don't think of it. It's shameful to ask the question. How is it possible to pray for the peace of a living soul? And his own mother too! It's a great sin, akin to sorcery. Only for your ignorance it is forgiven you. Better pray to the Queen of Heaven, our swift defence and help, for his good health, and that she may forgive you for your error. And another thing I will tell you, Prohorovna. Either he will soon come back to you, your son, or he will be sure to send a letter. Go, and henceforward be in peace. Your son is alive, I tell you." "Dear Father, God reward you, our benefactor, who prays for all of us and for our sins!" But the elder had already noticed in the crowd two glowing eyes fixed upon him. An exhausted, consumptive-looking, though young peasant woman was gazing at him in silence. Her eyes besought him, but she seemed afraid to approach. "What is it, my child?" "Absolve my soul, Father," she articulated softly, and slowly sank on her knees and bowed down at his feet. "I have sinned, Father. I am afraid of my sin." The elder sat down on the lower step. The woman crept closer to him, still on her knees. "I am a widow these three years," she began in a half-whisper, with a sort of shudder. "I had a hard life with my husband. He was an old man. He used to beat me cruelly. He lay ill; I thought looking at him, if he were to get well, if he were to get up again, what then? And then the thought came to me-" "Stay!" said the elder, and he put his ear close to her lips. The woman went on in a low whisper, so that it was almost impossible to catch anything. She had soon done. "Three years ago?" asked the elder. "Three years. At first I didn't think about it, but now I've begun to be ill, and the thought never leaves me." "Have you come from far?" "Over three hundred miles away." "Have you told it in confession?" "I have confessed it. Twice I have confessed it." "Have you been admitted to Communion?" "Yes. I am afraid. I am afraid to die." "Fear nothing and never be afraid; and don't fret. If only your penitence fail not, God will forgive all. There is no sin, and there can be no sin on all the earth, which the Lord will not forgive to the truly repentant! Man cannot commit a sin so great as to exhaust the infinite love of God. Can there be a sin which could exceed the love of God? Think only of repentance, continual repentance, but dismiss fear altogether. Believe that God loves you as you cannot conceive; that He loves you with your sin, in your sin. It has been said of old that over one repentant sinner there is more joy in heaven than over ten righteous men. Go, and fear not. Be not bitter against men. Be not angry if you are wronged. Forgive the dead man in your heart what wrong he did you. Be reconciled with him in truth. If you are penitent, you love. And if you love you are of God. All things are atoned for, all things are saved by love. If I, a sinner, even as you are, am tender with you and have pity on you, how much more will God. Love is such a priceless treasure that you can redeem the whole world by it, and expiate not only your own sins but the sins of others." He signed her three times with the cross, took from his own neck a little ikon and put it upon her. She bowed down to the earth without speaking. He got up and looked cheerfully at a healthy peasant woman with a tiny baby in her arms. "From Vyshegorye, dear Father." "Five miles you have dragged yourself with the baby. What do you want?" "I've come to look at you. I have been to you before - or have you forgotten? You've no great memory if you've forgotten me. They told us you were ill. Thinks I, I'll go and see him for myself. Now I see you, and you're not ill! You'll live another twenty years. God bless you! There are plenty to pray for you; how should you be ill?" "I thank you for all, daughter." "By the way, I have a thing to ask, not a great one. Here are sixty copecks. Give them, dear Father, to someone poorer than me. I thought as I came along, better give through him. He'll know whom to give to." "Thanks, my dear, thanks! You are a good woman. I love you. I will do so certainly. Is that your little girl?" "My little girl, Father, Lizaveta." "May the Lord bless you both, you and your babe Lizaveta! You have gladdened my heart, mother. Farewell, dear children, farewell, dear ones." He blessed them all and bowed low to them.

#BrothersKaramazov

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icxcnika · 5 years

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Preface: I was not a part of nor did I know about the Orthodox Church during the experience described below.

I experienced what I’ve come to understand as a powerful conversion to Christianity (aka. I “got saved” or “born again”). At that time, roughly halfway through my sophomore year of high school (16 years old, early 1994), a childhood friend shared with me the Gospel of Jesus Christ over the phone. I had never heard anyone talk about experiencing God like he did. Though raised in the Lutheran church, I didn’t know what I believed and had never thought much about it. I loved my friend and so listened to him, and took to heart what he shared. He instructed me to pray that night and to ask Jesus to come in to heart and save me. As I prayed, God’s presence suddenly became real. I was aware of His love for me and that I was in desperate need of Him and His salvation. My life radically changed that night. Suddenly church sermons and services that used to be drudgery were alive as my soul drank in the spiritual food I desperately craved and needed.

At the end of the summer that year I encountered an older teen preaching and talking about Jesus with zeal and passion in a parking lot after an end-of-summer/back to school event. He convinced me to go to church with him the next day and on the way told me about “charismatic experiences” such as the “baptism in the Holy Spirit.” At the end of the sermon, I sped to the front of the church at the alter call. I felt the spirit of God flood me with a joy and elation like never before. I left the church that night “baptized in the holy spirit” with a sense of aliveness, love and fire for God, and a newfound zeal that I could barely contain.

Roughly 10 months later this joyous, wondrous new life abruptly abated as I, like a climber in crisis, lost his grip while attempting to scale a cliff. I was 17 years old and it was the summer of 1995. The pastor of my church at the time asked me to house-sit while he and his family went out of town. I welcomed the opportunity since I had a crush on his daughter and wanted to make a good impression. I piously thought I was going to spend that week in solitude, in the presence of God for rejuvenation and spiritual growth. My experience turned out to be quite different. I woke up in their house that morning to see them off and to receive final instruction on chores and oversight of the property. After they left I tried to go back to bed and awakened later that morning from broken sleep in agony. I found myself in my pastor’s house with a feeling of tangible despair, even terror. The emotional pain that was suddenly there seemed almost physical. I had a deep sense of hopelessness, of overwhelming doom, guilt and sadness. It was as if suddenly an impenetrable wall separated me from any real enjoyment. I spent that week frantic, begging God to deliver me. All of the confidence in the one thing that was sure, the one thing that provided me a real sense of purpose, hope and meaning seemed suddenly gone. It felt like God had taken his Spirit from me.

I spent the remainder of that summer feeling awful in a kind of desperate state, which I started thinking of as a spiritual desert of sorts; anything to make sense of what was going on and how terrible I felt. I spoke to few about what I was experiencing because I didn’t understand it and I didn’t know what to say or how to describe suddenly feeling so bad. On the outside I seemed fine to most (I’m not one to sulk) and there was nothing going on in my life (ex. death of a loved one, sickness, financial stress, exams etc. etc.) externally to warrant such misery. My mom said something to me after she noticed my new regimen of ibuprofen, which I had started in attempt to treat a dull headache that wouldn’t go away. That headache ended up lasting for years.

My parents eventually took me to a psychiatrist during my senior year of high school but treatment for depression (starting a regimen of antidepressant medication) seemed ineffective (after only a few weeks) and was discontinued. Other psychiatric interventions (resuming psychotropic medication) years later resulted in minimal relief though I wouldn’t say it was completely ineffective. In all I spent the rest of high school, all of college, and the first few years of my post college working life in this crippling depression. In total it lasted over 7 years. I was miserable. Internally, my emotional and social resources were near absent, and I wondered where God was in the middle of all this. Romantic relationships became most difficult and seemed to exacerbate the pain I was already feeling. During college, I would spend hours in a windowless room in the library praying, reading the bible, seeking and even begging for a way out, for deliverance. I was terrified of the overwhelming prospect of the future; how was I going to care for and support myself in the world while existing on the brink of such overwhelming emotional dysfunction? I was barely hanging on and I felt any moment the depression would push me over the brink. One night in the shower I threw every cuss word I could think of at God for not helping me and allowing me to remain in this terrible state. I felt guilty for it but then again I always felt bad, always felt guilty and broken, and always felt trapped within myself.

Toward the end of college, I found a somewhat enjoyable and fulfilling outlet serving in a local church youth group as a volunteer leader where I was able to reach out and befriend some “misfit” high school kids that were unchurched and intrigued with the youth group. Some years later after graduating from college, I remember going on a retreat with them to Panama City Beach. I don’t remember why, but weeks before I had stopped taking my psychiatric medication. I remember riding home with the group in one of a few 12 passenger vans when my depression seemed to tumble to new lows. I remember the whole way home wanting to tare open the van door and throw myself out onto the interstate as it zipped by. It seemed I was trapped in this thought. I was so miserable and I started to believe the only way to alleviate the pain was to die. The next day after returning home I got my loaded revolver and seriously considered shooting myself. Instead, I called my dad who also struggled with depression (I learned), and he took me to the hospital. I wasn’t admitted because I “didn’t feel bad enough” to hurt myself anymore after confiding in my dad.

I think it was at this time that I started a new medication. I had low expectations for its effectiveness after years of unhelpful treatment. I thought for years that this was my new reality but deep down still had a glimmer of hope that things might somehow get better. I remember exactly where I was when things abruptly changed. I was at work (my first job after college, working in a mailroom) completing an in-office mail delivery when suddenly I didn’t feel depressed anymore. The hopelessness, the misery, the overwhelming anxiety, the headache all seemed to lift. Things had finally changed. I finally felt better.

I’m 42 now. Through my experience, I’ve learned and come to realize depression is an illness that doesn’t necessary have anything to do with life circumstances, though life circumstances can certainly exacerbate and induce depression. I think depression is sometimes triggered by things like romantic relationships and religious stress because these things are among the most emotionally loaded experiences we have in life, and depression is an illness that affects the emotions. Gillian Crow says in her biography about Metropolitan Anthony that “he was very, very wary of emotions. In his eyes it was something false, easily manipulated, a dangerous substitute for feeling – that deep movement of the heart that responds to God but is not swayed by externals.” Through all this I hope I have developed a soberer perspective about my emotions. I do still struggle with melancholy and I can tell my depression is still there even though I feel better, and I must respect it and acknowledged it as the illness (MY illness) it is. Moreover, I must prioritize treatment for this illness.

For the most part I’ve stopped asking “why.” Why did this happen? What did I do to make this happen, to bring this on myself? Did God do this? Why did God allow this? Is this just a chemical imbalance? Is this just an inherited biological disposition? Was this the other side of some hypomanic, emotional religious experience? I rarely wonder these things anymore. I believe God was always there, loving and seeing me through all of this, even if only in retrospect. Abbot Tryphon recently said in one of his Morning Offering podcasts that God is not far removed from us. We only feel He is absent. The awareness of God's presence in our lives comes with struggle. I also believe the so-called silver lining of the thing is vaster than I can see and understand. I once believed I was called to be a pastor, to be someone “great,” and I think after some of my spiritual experiences I started to develop a degree of prelest or spiritual delusion and pride. To whatever extent my battle with depression has and continues to help develop a less judgmental attitude, humility, and a sense of need for God I am grateful. In her book Path to Sanity (which I HIGHLY recommend), Dee Pennock says “With spiritual and psychological problems, we don’t want to allow other people to label things for us saying, ‘this is a good thing,’ or ‘that is a bad thing.’ We want always to check with our physicians of the soul.Depression is commonly seen nowadays as a bad thing. Everybody jumps on that. It’s not always true. Feeling unhappy, even profoundly depressed, has never been considered unnatural or inappropriate by the saints.” She continues, “The first thing, for a person with chronic depression, then, is to pray vigorously: Deliver me from Pride and give me self-knowledge, to climb out of the blindness and confusion of ignorance. And next to pray: Lord Jesus Chris, deliver me from believing and obeying idols. Idols are tyrants, laying false obligations and cruel evaluations on those they control. Idols paralyze their victims with mind crippling stress and hopelessness. It’s essential to pray until we’re rid of all their brain-washing.” I assure you I will be praying these prayers for the rest of my life. I often feel like damaged emotional goods, like I’m incapable in so many ways and emotionally wounded, but I know through the Orthodox Church and Her wonderful theology and perspective on suffering that God loves us and that He is there loving us no matter what happens. We must never give up, never give into despair! There is effective treatment. Please, if you are battling what seems like endless depression and hopelessness get help and don’t give up on treatment. Yes, the process can sometimes be long and arduous but things will get better! Please pray for me, a sinner that bears the cross of depression. Thanks for reading.

Reese Martin

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vmckolkata · 5 years

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Personality development for students

Personality is the reflection of our inner mind. It is essential to develop an impressive personality that will enhance the quality of learning and educating oneself. Personality development lesson needs to start from students’ life. The solution to improving a student’s personality is making certain changes in your external as well internal environment including specific performance patterns to strengthen fine personality traits and take away or lessen negative behaviour traits. These changes will touch upon many aspects of a student such as communication skills, body language, clothing, and self-confidence etc.

There are some tips, if a student follows those from childhood, he/ she can make a good personality.

Study Your Own self:

Self study is most important to grow one’s personality because during study one can understand his capability. Knowing your talents as well as shortcomings will give you an insight into problem areas that are hindering with the process of personality development. Don’t listen others but do self criticism. That will help to grow personality. See how it works in improving your image amongst peer group and your teacher, guide or mentor. You should also seek hidden skills and talents that you are good at. Polish such positive points to shine bright in your class and among friends.

Great Communication Skill:

If you want to grow your communication skill them must read book loudly and practice pronunciation by yourselves in front of the mirror. How you talk that will describe how you are. Because of lack of words, if you can’t express your selves in front of others then no one understand you. To grow communication skill read news paper and also participate all group discussions, debate etc. It does not necessarily mean that you have to talking all the time! But yes, students can impress their faculty as well as future interviewers effectively by to-the-point discussions and informative replies.

Body Language Shown Your Personality:

It is not just our tongue that talks. Our body also says out a loud. People around you get unique signals about your attitude by observing your body language. So, say it out impressively through your body’s postures. Keep a habit of holding your head high, shoulders pulled back. Do not drag your feet while walking, rather, pick up your feet and take more confident steps. Control your body from swaying too much. Most importantly, don’t forget to wear a smile as it can make you look pleasant.

Be a Patient Listener:

Listen to what the other person is saying and try to fathom what do the words intend to mean. We usually listen, just to listen. This means we are not attentive to the thoughts being expressed by the person. Give everyone their importance by listening intently and then responding by voicing out your opinion. This is especially important for the image building process you are working upon for your personality.

Personality can be polished not in a day, but very gradually. Search for your shortcomings and try to work on them. Put in these simple efforts and you will find you are being liked and appreciated much more.

How to Stay Motivated During Exam Season

Exams are always making a stress but if a student is fully prepared then he/she don’t need to feel stress. But now question is how one can prepare him/her self so that he/she can feel confident before exam.

Some tips are given below. Those tips are for staying motivated during the stressful exam period to achieve the outcome you want.

Group Study:

Self motivation is always important, no one is bigger than who can motivate own self but nothing is more motivating than another person. If you have good friend circle then try to study in a group so that you can understand where you need to improve yourselves. Studying with a friend or a group of people can greatly increase your drive both before and during your exams. Study buddies can also teach you new ways to achieve your goals and cement your learning. Set a target everyday with your friends and must achieve it before ending the day.

Study Break:

Need a short break when you are studying continuously. Study break has turned into a euphemism for procrastinating and distractions. That being said, a well-planned out study break does not have to lead to procrastination. Periodically schedule breaks for short amounts of time in between your studying. Stick to your schedule. Not a minute more Take time to exercise! Exercising not only works out your body—it will also stimulate your brain, making your study session far more effective. Read a book or an interesting article in a magazine unrelated to your test material.

Think Positively:

Positive thinking people always win the race. If something is distracting to think positively then collect motivational quotes and read them repeatedly. Write down your strengths on cards to look at whenever you need a positive boost.

Take care of yourself:

Eat well and move often. Try to do some exercise so that you can feel relax and can study hard after that. Also feed your body nutrient high foods like vegetables and protein to keep your body and brain in peak condition.

Reward Yourself

No good deed should go unrewarded. Sometimes the best motivation is the reward you give yourself. In the lead up to your exams use small incentives like free time, visits to friends or an hour with a non-study book to keep yourself motivated. And when your exams are done make sure you give yourself an appropriate reward, something equal to your feeling of achievement. Big or small rewards will help you motivate yourself to achieve the outcome you want.

If you follow those steps it’s obvious that you can motivate yourself and get good result in exam.

How distance learning courses helps students for career growth?

Distance learning is a good option for career growth but it should be from a reputed Institutions. Presently the greater part of the foundation gives web lecturing facility so that a student can gathered knowledge from home itself and this will make you capable in better understanding of your institutes distance education course material in absence of any teacher. Now, a professional study is very important for everyone. People have many options to grow their knowledge. Online courses are available in Internet for every subject. You don’t have to spend lots of money to learn something. Many free of cost courses are available now in Internet. And anyone can obtain every academic degree online with minimum amount of cost. Vidyamandir Classes, one of the best coaching classes for IIT JEE, Medical preparation in Kolkata also offers this Distance Learning Programme . VMC one of the premier Coaching Classes for IIT JEE gives its student the most effective and scientifically designed exam centric study materials. So that students can take online courses and make themselves prepare for IIT JEE exams. For most of students today, schools cost implies that it's important to keep working while in school. Beforehand said adaptability of online courses empower students to continue working while additionally seeking after scholarly certifications. These are just a few of the many advantages of taking online classes. Students in online course are able to manage their time, learn the materials that are presented, and complete assignments on their own schedules. If you want to take admission at VMC for IIT JEE preparation and want to avail Distance Learning Programme then need to appear NAT 2018 exam which will be held on 13th and 27th October 2018. You just need internet connection in your system so that you can access the browser and can improve your skill through distance learning courses. Distance learning courses are always helpful for everyone.

To know more about Vidyamandir Classes visit http://www.omdayal.in/.

How to Prepare for IIT JEE Exam

IIT JEE exam is just knocking the door. You don’t have enough time in your hand. Now have to prepare hard to crack IIT JEE 2019. Some tips are given below to prepare you for IIT JEE.

1. Time Management: First and foremost step to prepare you for any examination is Time Management. Always remember – “You need to work smarter in addition to working hard”. There is a difference between sitting with a book 18 hours a day and actually studying 18 hours a day. And you don’t want to sit with a book 18 hours a day you need to put your time to good use as it is limited. Managing your time over the next 2 years / or 1 year is the most crucial thing that you need to focus on. Not only this, you also need to manage your time during the 3 hours of your actual JEE Main / Advanced exam.

2. Follow a Scheduled and Make a Plan: Planning your day will set the fact in your brain that you have X number of tasks to complete and thereby you will waste much less time. Always remember you have to utilize every bit of time you have got. Check your dates and make an organized plan for your upcoming preparations which is going to save a lot of time of yours, Eliminate the wastage of time from your schedule like watching movies, sticking to your phone for a long time etc. And you will see that you are gaining control over your time easily.

3. Know Your Syllabus and Exam Pattern: The JEE Main and Advanced Syllabus is vast and in order to get a very good rank you must make sure that you go through all the 3 subjects and have almost equal command over all of them. You should study all the important topics first and then solve ample problems in order to gain mastery over them. Certain topics in the JEE Main & Advanced syllabus has more weightage over others, so laying more stress on these important topics will help you score more marks in the actual exam and thus fetching you a top rank! The tough topics obviously have more weightage so without any concession you ought to study them properly. Also, this would let you divide your time well in advance among the various subjects.

4. Coaching Classes : Coaching classes are a crucial part of your JEE Preparation. Having crystal clear concepts will always help you in scoring high and getting that extra edge over others in the exam. If you are looking for a Coaching Classes then Look no further, Vidyamandir Classes (VMC) is here, one of the best coaching classes for IIT JEE, Medical preparation in Kolkata. VMC has one of the best track records and its students crack All India Ranking (AIR) every time.

5. Self Study: No matter how many coaching classes you join or how many more study materials / books you buy, you have to spend time studying these materials and lecture notes. Self-study is one of the most important aspects of your IIT JEE preparation.

After you have finished studying for the day, spend 10 – 15 minutes thinking what you have achieved during the entire day. If you follow these steps then you can easily crack IIT JEE exam.

Set SMART goals to get ahead in your career

It may be an idea to set some realistic career goals, specific aspirations designed for you, that you want to strive towards achieving. So that way, even if you aren’t doing something entirely productive just right now, then you can boast about your exciting career goals that scream “I have a PLAN!!”

Setting a career goal is about deciding where you want to head in your career, and noting the steps needed to reach that point.

The first thing to think about when setting career goals is your time frame. Begin with smaller short term goals that will help you achieve your long-term goal. What would you like to achieve and by when where would you like to be in one year? In five years?

Second thing, what experiences will help you achieve? What activities, positions or projects you can embark on to increase your experience in areas that will work towards you reaching your overall goal.

Third thing, what are you really interested in, what do you love doing? And what are you good at? The ideal career for us all is doing something we love everyday! Doing something you love won’t feel like a drag. What interests and skills would you like to use in your career? Possibly using your people skills to your advantage.

Now you are ready to set your goals A popular acronym can help you write effective goals. Try the SMART system for your career goal. Specific – Aim for a specific, concrete area for your goal or steps. For example, “make ten job search calls following up on my LinkedIn connections” vs. “make some networking connections.”

Measurable – To determine if your goal is measurable, ask questions such as: how much? How many? How will I know when it is accomplished?

Attainable – Goals are most attainable when steps are thought out clearly and allow enough time. How do you intend to accomplish your goal? Which actions follow on other actions? Is the goal realistic given where you’re starting from? It should be a challenge, but also achievable.

Relevant – A relevant goal is one that really matters to you and to the end result. Is it worthwhile? Is this the right time? Does your goal relate to other efforts or timelines? Does it require resources that are currently available? Timely – A goal should be grounded within a defined time period, both for clarity and to give your action urgency. When do you want to begin? When do you want to complete each step?

Coaching Classes – It’s Just a Trend or Need?

Students’ life is the best time when you can learn so many unknown and interesting facts. But this time is sensitive too as they need proper guidance and interest on their subject. So, for the right guidance, you should need to join the coaching classes.

There are lots of advantages to join a coaching class.

Get a Right Direction:

Coaching classes provide students right direction as class 9 to class 12 students need to prepare for board exams, competitive exams, entrance exams etc. In coaching classes, a student can get career guidance and also can get right goals as per their interest and academic record. Coaching classes are much helpful for a student to set career path.

Know New Learning Style:

Coaching Classes develop different learning techniques for a different type of students that helps students in understanding their subjects well. Where in school, all students in the same class get to learn the concepts in the same pattern; here in coaching classes the learning pattern can be developed after doing an analysis of how a student adapts the concepts. When a student gets to learn in their own specific way, their understanding and grip on subject develop quickly and hence, they show improved results.

How to Manage Time:

Class 9 to Class 12 students need to schedule their day with the main focus on academics because these are the most important classes of their academic life. The coaching classes are helpful in disciplining the students by helping in fixing their daily routine. Students generally, in their free time after school, play games, watch movies or use social media which lead to wastage of their time. It is essential for students to engage in extra-curricular or refreshing activities to relax their mind after school, but if students engage in non-academic activities for more than necessary time than it will affect their studies. And with coaching classes, students can get enough time for refreshment as well as they can focus on their studies in the coaching classes.

So if you want to make your child’s future bright and want to see him/her as a successful Engineer or Doctor then get admission your child at Vidyamandir Classes.

Time Management in Examination Hall

It’s a common problem for each and every problem in the examination hall that how to complete the whole question paper with in the given time. And we saw that students got panic to think like this and made some silly mistake. So here is given some tips that how you manage your time in examination hall.

1. Attempt easy question first: It is the easiest process to complete whole paper with in time that to attempt easiest question first. So that you can manage some extra time for difficult or long questions. You also run the risk of not returning to questions that you’ve skipped.

2. Answer the question depends on marks: After you have answered easiest question then focus your time on the questions that are worth the most points. It makes more sense to spend 10 minutes on 1 question worth 20 points than to spend 10 minutes on 10 questions worth only 1 point each.

3. See the time on your clock: Before entering the examination hall check your wrist watch that it showing the correct time. After giving some answer just see on the watch that how much time still left.

4. Don’t rush yourself: You’ve studied, you’ve practiced and you’ve read through the test, you’ve budgeted your time and there is no reason to rush yourself. You might be feeling a little anxious or want to hurry up and get the test over with, but time management is about pacing yourself. So, pace yourself. Don’t rush.

5. Take a breath or two: After you complete a section, give yourself a few seconds to pause and breathe before you move on. This helps you pace yourself, allows you to make sure that you’re managing your time effectively, and helps you mentally move from one task to another.

Get admission your child at Vidyamandir Classes to make his/her future bright

Stay calm and prepare for JEE with Vidyamandir Classes

The pressure of class 12 students is high as the board exams are just around the corner. Career planning starts from now onwards and the tension does not seem to sweep away from students' lives. The best Engineering, management and medical institute of the country, all look into the best of the JEE scores for admission.

However, hold it there are ways to make yourself calm and prepare for these exams peacefully. Vidyamandir Classes make the candidates appearing for these entrance exams be fully prepared and confident. Appearing for these public exams is a nerve-wracking one. Confidence and a calm state of mind while appearing for these exams is a must.

Why Vidyamandir Classes?

Before you make a move to search out for a coaching institute that prepares students for Joint entrance exams, think about Vidyamandir Classes. Our class schedule structure has been designed in a way that there is a flexibility to join the classes. Having both regular and distance classes.

Thorough counselling with parents, doubts session classes, faculties professional in teaching and keeping candidates on track with the classes in case missed, are some of the best reasons why Vidyamandir Classes is the best option for you.

Would you benefit from it?

Vidyamandir Classes has been recognized as one of the best JEE coaching institutes in Kolkata, where regular classes and distance learning program is available.

• Our classes are conducted by a faculty who are professional in the field of teaching the subjects for the exam.

• Extra classes are conducted by academic experts. No compromise in time ensures students achieve better results.

• We prepare students not only for the JEE and other public exams, but as well as the board exams.

• During the course, we explain and teach the students of time management.

• Classes are held in small groups to ensure personal attention.

• Learning through discussion and providing comprehensive plus integrated study material.

So why wait to search for more new coaching institute, when Vidyamandir Classes covers up all your requirements when going to give your public exams. Visit us and drop us down a comment what more would you like to learn from us. Take the right path from Vidyamandir Classes.

Accomplish your medical exam achievement from Vidyamandir Classes

· Providing Comprehensive and Integrated Study Material

· Learning through Discussions

· Testing & Assessment System based in National Level bench marking

· For Botany & Zoology, separate Biology team has been conceptualised

· Limited Batch size with personal attention to each student

For admission visit us at www.omdayal.in

Is Distance Learning better than Regular Classroom Course

Since the advent of the internet, there has been a constant debate whether Distance learning is better or Regular Classroom Session. Some prefer for Distance learning or online learning system better than Regular Classroom Session as it offers flexibility to the students to study. They can study at their own pace and spend more time to learn more about those concepts where they find it difficult to grasp and learn about it. This method of education also saves time and money of the students as distance learning is a form of education where the teacher and students are separated by a space.

Whereas Regular Classroom Course nurtures the students progress to be a better one. Here students are present physically in front of the teacher. This is a primary advantage of Regular Classroom Course because students get to learn directly from the experts, able to share their views and clarify queries with the teacher, thus getting the questions answered right away.

Regular Classrooms also allows the teachers to understand their students in a better manner. This ensures that the teacher get to know more about the student's strengths and weakness, act as mentors as well as guide them in their career.

A good learning system might be a combination of both regular classroom and distance learning system. That is why Vidyamandir Classes recognised as one of the best Engineering Coaching Institute offers students both Regular Class Course and Distance learning course. Both of the classes are conducted by a team of highly experienced faculty who guides and nurture the students.

We are acknowledged as one of the best Engineering coaching institutes because of our achievements. 2637 Vidyamandir Classes students have qualified for the JEE Advance Exams of 2019, ranking 30th position in top 500 AIR and 53rd position in top 1000 AIR.

From this achievement of ours, you should start enrolling your name at us for a better engineering career at www.omdayal.in

Study Smarter, Not Harder – Tips from Vidyamandir Classes

Better results mean more choice and opportunity. So pick up a few new study tips, and prove your outstanding ability in your assignments and exams!

1. Don’t miss a class: Students never miss a class. They also never miss the beginning or end of a class, because important announcements about exams and projects are often made then.

2. Review your notes quickly and often: After a lecture or class, read through your notes quickly again. It helps store the information in your long-term memory.

3. Organise your notes visually: It helps to re-write the key points of a class or subject as a diagram – try using a mind-map or flow chart, or colour coding key elements of the topic. Then you can give it a quick glance before you go into an exam.

4. Plan ahead: Make sure you allow enough time for assignments and exam revision. At the beginning of each term, note down due dates and exam dates on a planner, and schedule in time for research, editing and final review.

5. Explain things to others: It helps you get things clearer in your head if you try to explain your answers verbally to people who do not know much about the subject. Your parents and annoying siblings could be useful for this!

6. Stay positive: It all comes down to attitude. Be enthusiastic about your subjects, and use positive affirmations to tell yourself that you will succeed and meet your goals.

7. Trust your instincts: If you’re under pressure in an exam, don’t second-guess yourself. In most cases, the first answer you think of will be the right one. If you’re really not sure, make a note of it and move on – you can always come back later if you have time.

8. Feed your brain and stay healthy: Eat well. Good brain food includes fish, nuts, blueberries and yoghurt. Get enough sleep, and plan in some active time to keep fit. Oxygen also helps your memory and concentration, so take a break and get some fresh air. Many people have their best ideas away from their desk, so if you’re really stuck for words just get outside and run around the park.

Have you got any other tried-and-tested study techniques? Share them with us here!

VMC – Best IIT JEE Medical Coaching Classes in Kolkata

Looking for Coaching classes in Kolkata that will help you crack IIT JEE at one go? Look no further, Vidyamandir Classes (VMC) is here, one of the best coaching classes for IIT JEE, Medical preparation in Kolkata.

Since most of the students know that these exams are tough as well as highly competitive to achieve a high score, Vidyamandir Classes is giving certain tips to students to score well for this JEE Main.

1. Leave all the tensions behind and spruce up your self-belief so that it would strengthen your mind in this critical period.

2. Prepare a proper routine that you would be following on the days of JEE Mains. Start waking up early in the morning and give at least 8 hours of time to study for the JEE Mains with regular ten minutes of break after every 1 hour and 30 minutes. This would ensure your body and mind gets turned into this pattern and be well focused on the exams.

3. Give a proper thorough reading to all the topics that have been taught to you in the last two years as much as you can as it is an effective way of learning. Focus more on application based questions because most of the JEE Main questions are application based ones.

4. At this time it is best to focus to improve in those topics where you are well prepared and have proper knowledge rather than trying to improve on your weak areas.

5. The exam is held during the summer season, so relax, remain focused, wear light clothes and avoid being nervous as it can decrease your performance in the exam.

6. Before attempting the paper, it is advisable to read all the instructions carefully written in the question paper as no invigilator would instruct you about the examination rules and patterns.

7. Always start your exams with those subjects where you are well prepared with. So that you can avoid wasting time and focus later in those subjects where you are weak at.

With all of these tips provided to the students, we wish them the best of luck and pass the exams with high scores. To know more about our curriculum and teaching pattern, simply visit us at www.omdayal.in

5 Reasons to choose Vidyamandir Classes Kolkata

Are you looking to join IITJEE Coaching? Vidyamandir Classes in Kolkata

For the students of IITJEE Preparation, Vidyamandir classes holds special importance. The coaching institute is widely regarded as one of the experienced institutes for IIT coaching. It began its journey to provide coaching for engineering entrance exams like JEE, among other state level exams.

Choosing the right institute for coaching plays a major role in deciding your future. Due to this, it gets essential to make an informed decision. There are many reasons to choose vidyamandir classes but few most important points are listed below:

Excellent faculty:

First and foremost, the highlighting factor is the team of dedicated teachers. The institution has a team of dedicated staff who hold expertise in what they do. They have years of experience and ability to train the students for any challenges that come their way. Apart from them, the other faculty profiles are also exceptional in their subjects. Hence, at Vidyamandir Classes each student gets the best education that ensures greater results.

Study material is the toughest:

There are lots of institutions available to the students but what makes VMC stand out is the quality they deliver. Their quality and efforts can also be seen through the material they provide. They provide special notes and assignments to each student. These notes not only cover all the basics but also have the most advanced questions. It gives a competitive touch to the students and derives their results towards the higher end. Not only that, the frequent tests are also quite tough. They test the inherent knowledge of the students, and their performance determines how far along they are in the preparation.

Flexible and suitable batches:

VMC offers plenty of batches, varying as per the timings. It ensures that each student can opt for the one that suits their schedule. The batches here are divided on the basis of the performance of students in the tests or JEE if they have appeared for it. This way the students get to study with the students that match their pace and face no difficulty in coping with the pressure.

Overall assistance for the students:

The students who once enroll in VMC Kolkata receives all sorts of assistance and help. They provide a special faculty, that is solely focused on clearing doubts of the students. This faculty holds greater knowledge and are adept at handling the queries and questions of students at any given time. The students can approach them as and when they need help. It proves to be beneficial for students to excel in the subject.

Dedication:

The moment you enter VMC, you feel the ambiance of dedication and excellence. From the top directors to faculty members, each person strives to provide and deliver excellence. Revision classes are held after each month, to brush up the topics again. The students who study in VMC Kolkata receive the best facilities since their enrolment. Owing to it, the academy boasts of a high success rate as well.

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