#so why push your round self through a square role | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aurora-the-kunoichi · 4 years

Text

For The Love Of Shell - Chapter 40 Unhappy Reunion (FTLOS)

Here is chapter forty of my OC story For The Love Of Shell.

His blue bandana whipped around his green skull snapping and fluttering against his sweat soaked brow. Massive three fingered hands clutched nervously at the blue hilts of his katanas as the plates of his chest heaved with exertion.

Just the sight of his giant exceptionally toned body made every part of her woman hood clench in knee jerk reaction. Besides catching him and bunny foo foo in the street this morning this was the closest she’d come to blue banded terrapin in a year. It was unfair; he still took her breath away and by the extra bulk on his arms and legs he had be dedicated to his self improvement.

A thin layer of sweat covered his green skin from his earlier victorious battles. The icy blue pools of his intoxicating gaze locked in on her purple ones and for a moment she forgot to breath. Involuntary she let out a whimper grasping her katana tighter, the leather creaking beneath her strength. She knew there was a chance she would face one of them in here but why, why did it have to be him? And why did he have to look so good? This was going to be harder then she had originally thought.

Almost instantly Leonardo’s famous concentration broke and his blades lowered. “Aurora..” he began sheathing a katana to reach for her. Leo ignored his role in this tournament and tried to talk to her but Aurora shook her head stopping the terrapin before he could continue.

“Don’t Leonardo.” She virtually snarled, “Please…… don’t do that. I can’t deal with you right now. I need to concentrate, we need to concentrate. I don’t want to hear it anyways. You made your point loud and clear this morning.” Not giving him another moment to rethink his strategy Aurora dove for him, blades aimed for the soft spot between his carapace and his plastron. The soft corded muscles that she had loved to touch, to kiss. “Stop that!” she scolded herself concentrating on her fight she was determined to win.

His full name from her lips stung more then he cared to admit. She looked beautiful as ever, the year away had been good to her. He was fascinated with the purple streak in her hair; it seemed to enhance her features but he figured she could have done anything and he would be enthralled. It was true what they say, absence does make the heart grow fonder.

He could feel his body begin to ache. It all came rushing to him realizing how much he missed her, how much he still loved her. Even the harsh tone of her voice made his heart beat faster with longing. There was nothing more he wanted to do then gather her in his arms and kiss her, claim her, mark her. Kiss her deep enough that she would forgot about everything he had foolishly done and be part of their lives again. But there would be no easy fix, he could see the resentment and pain in her eyes, Aurora would have none of it right now, maybe not ever again. Suddenly her eyes darkened, and she lunged for him with such ferociousness that it caught him off guard. The sheer force of her blow sent him stumbling back trying frantically to regain his footing before he fell on his shell.

She was on him in a second, their blades grinding against each other creating sparks from the immense friction. But the large body in front of her made her weak, made it extremely difficult to think clearly, especially being so close to him. Even his god damn smell was distracting! If she didn’t get a hold of herself she was going to lose to him and that just wasn’t an option. Not after everything, she had to win she had to prove to him, to herself she was strong and didn’t need him to be happy. Every ounce of her pain flowed through her, engulfing her in the warmth of her thundering passion for the blue terrapin, fueling her resolve. Focus!

Ue-Sama watched high above the nexus championship his eyes trained in on one battle and one battle only. Aurora attacked Leonardo with everything she had taking the large mutant by surprise. He barely had to time to defend himself as she struck again and again determined to win. It took Leonardo a few minutes to gather himself and start to attack back but Ue-Sama could tell by Leonardo’s reaction time he was not focused on the battle but on the woman. The woman who looked like she wanted to end him with every swing of her blade and thrusting kick of her leg. She had the power within her to do it too, he knew it, saw it when his father tapped into it with his staff. The raw power that flowed within her small frame was enormous and he wanted it, needed it. She had no idea how to harness the power she possessed, and he could mold her into what he needed her to be. Aurora would be a crucial part of his plan and he had to figure out how to keep her here with him. And with how she was looking at the turtle at this very moment he didn’t think it was going to be as difficult as he first thought.

When she was brought to the palace by Gyoji this morning his father had asked where the turtles were. Much to his delight Aurora told them how Leonardo had ended things between them urging her to move on with her life finding normalcy. It had been a year since she had seen them and was trying not to interact with them as much as possible. She knew there was a chance they would meet in battle but hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Now she was wiping the floor with the blue leader wearing him out ready to end the inevitable. Or could it be he was letting her win? He shook his head, it didn’t matter either way she was upset with him and maybe would be inclined to stay with him.

Moving from the balcony that over looked the battle Ue-Sama sauntered back into the palace and headed towards his wing opening the door to his personal dojo. In the far corner lurked a large cloaked figure it’s glowing eyes fixed on the young prince.

“My lord.” It smiled wickedly stepping into the light, its hulking frame towing over Ue-Sama. “I think this woman will only cause trouble with your plan. If she is anything like the turtles and that blasted rat she will not be persuaded to help you over throw your father as Daimyo. She is growing rather fond of the old coot and I would doubt she’d wish any ill will on him.”

“Quiet your tongue you insect! Remember your place here, you are my counsel nothing more. I do what I want, and I want her. You didn’t see the power, the shear raw energy within her body. She will be a pivotal part in all of this and she will have to agree. She’ll see what’s at stake and will want her own piece of the pie. Woman always want to be in control, to be part of the power of a Daimyo. My father had no problem finding wives. She won’t be able to resist me once I’m Daimyo.”

The large figure narrowed its eyes in frustration lowering its body’s height in an awkward bow to show submission, “As you wish my Daimyo.” It cooed softly before shifting back into the shadows.

Leo had definitely gotten better since the last time they had squared off; she was out of breath, her chest heaving from the effort she had to put into defending herself. With the back of her hand she wiped the sweat from her brow. Every flex of his impressive biceps or pulse of his thigh muscles sent heat rushing between her thighs. Even his goddamned heavy breathing was affecting her. “Fuck!” she screamed internally. He shouldn’t be affecting her this much. It had already been a year! He swayed nimbly on the balls of his feet, his katanas out and ready before him. She could tell he was ready to strike the coil of his calves gave him away. Ready for his next move Aurora sheathed her katanas and slid forward on her knees ducking below his next attack grabbing a hold of his wrists pulling him down and over. Sailing between his open legs she pulled him into an unsuspecting summersault making him land on his shell. Aurora didn’t give him time to react; she spun him on his carapace to face her and straddled his narrow hips. Pulling a kunai from her thigh holster she brought it down on his plastron.

Before it could connect with the plates of his chest Leo’s eyes widened in shock and his body disappeared beneath her in a blue dust taking him from the competition. As her body settled on the ground Aurora let out a shaky breath closing her eyes holding back unshed tears.

Leonardo reappeared in the medical wing of the palace with Raphael looking down on him with a shit eating grin. “Who took ya out?” he laughed helping Leo to his feet.

“Aurora.”

“Oh shell! Man that’s rough! Did she say anything to you?”

“I tried to talk to her but she wasn’t having any of it. You should have seen her Raph; it looked like she wanted to actually kill me. But shell, it was hard to concentrate having her so close.”

“Well fearless you did break up with her and then the first time she sees you , Asuna has her tongue down your throat. I can’t say I blame her.” The red banded turtle didn’t help as he patted his older brother’s shell.

“Yeah yeah, I got it, I messed up. If I could go back in time I would.” Leo waved his brother’s hands away from his back while they made their way out into the halls of the palace to watch the rest of the games from the contestant’s row.

Donnie lasted two more rounds while Aurora and Mikey dominated defeating each of their competitors with ease. Begrudgingly Donnie took up the seat next to his brothers sitting down with a frustrated huff his arms crossed over his chest. Leo put his arm around his brother pulling him into an awkward side hug before playfully pushing back away with a deep chuckle.

Raph was intently watching their younger brother flip and maneuver around his latest victim, there was no doubt that little shit was faster than the rest of them, and way more flexible to boot. He was without a doubt holding back during practice. He turned his head to face Leo but his eyes remained on the dizzying display of talent just below them. “You know if he wins this thing, we’ll never hear the end of it…..you know that right?”

Leo and Donnie smiled nodding as they watched their little brother use all of his training bringing his nunchaku down ending yet another fight. They watched their orange banded brother search the crowd for their faces hoping they were watching him. The grin that spread over his face when he found each one of them howling for him couldn’t have compared to the brightness of the sun.

He bowed to them and returned his gaze to Master Splinter who had the very familiar proud papa gleam. Mikey bowed to his father as well, a silent think you for giving him the tools he needed to get this far.

As the rest of the matches ended the partitions retracted revealing the last of the contestants. Mikey stood near his brothers in the arena as Aurora was revealed farthest away just as she was sheathing her katanas. A large purple anthropomorphic pig to their left lifted his hands above his head letting out a triumphant roar and crablike alien turned a few times hyping itself up but made no noise. The roaring crowd died down when the Daimyo and Ue-Sama rose.

“Congratulations to our final four warriors! You have come a long way to get to this point. Your skill and stamina is a true testament to the hard work you’ve done to get where you are today. We thank you for sharing your talent with us all this day. Now there are two more matches before we declare a new battle nexus champion and I’m sure you all are excited to see this championship to fruition. When this battle is over and two remain the walls will drop and will go directly into the championship. Good luck to you four.”

Aurora made quick eye contact with Mikey as the partition rose giving her a quick playful wink before he disappeared behind the large wall. This time Aurora wasn’t engulfed by the light and stayed where she was. After a few seconds the blue light swirled in front of her and the crablike alien appeared before her. It looked her up and down all the while snapping it’s pinchers and began to laugh, a deep crackling laugh that reminded her of a sputtering diesel engine.

“This will be easy, a stupid human woman cannot beat Klarkapil!” its pinchers snapped quickly in front of his large awkward body before he shuffled forward on his many thick legs.

Aurora roller eyes at the alien wondering how something so large and awkward could have gotten so far in the tournament? The answer soon came when its pinchers came at her with impressive speed snapping at her throat. With a quick yelp of surprise Aurora dodged the alien crustacean’s snappers rolling to the right pulling her katanas free.

“Yes woman run away from Klarkapil! Tremble with fear at my size and speed!”

This thing was way too cocky and was beginning to annoy her as it circled around clucking about how good it was and how scared she should be. Maybe that was part of its shtick, to annoy her into submission? Again a pitcher lunged for her this time snapping at her leg but she managed to evade the snapping appendage. She had to be careful this thing was fast and vicious. Despite the alien’s bulky frame it was able to move very quickly and its pincher’ aim was precise.

As it rattled off more sexists insults Aurora figured out how she could avoid its pinches and end the battle. It seemed too concerned with putting her down to come up with any kind of strategy let alone pay attention to what she was devising. He was too cocky and wouldn’t be able to resist her trap. Blocking another pincher she flipped through the air and landed several feet in front of him and sheathed her swords and knelt on the floor closing her eyes and waited.

Almost immediately the crustacean laughed and rushed forward ready to claim his victory. Its pinchers reared up and snapped in preparation before they came down ready to crush the woman below. As they connected with hard ground he gasped in surprise seeing the spot where she had just been empty.

Aurora rolled beneath the large circular body and popped up behind pulling her tantou free from its sheath behind her back. Crouching down she sprung forward onto the aliens back landing just behind’s its head. As she brought her blade down she whispered into the once smug alien’s ear. “You were just beaten by a woman.” Before the blade connected with its shell its scream of dismay disappeared with its large body in a blue dust of defeat. When her feet connected with the ground the crowd roared with a thunderous applause as she stood to her full height. Looking around the spectators she saw happy ecstatic faces, especially from all the females. Sheathing the tantou behind her back once again she took a moment to celebrate and raised both hands into the air with a shout.

Turning around she saw Master Splinter smiling down at her his furry hands clapping with the crowds applause. He looked so proud of her as if he had watched her grown up and develop into the woman she was now. Her heart broke a little at that thought; would she ever be able to spend time with the old rat again? She had a feeling she could still learn a few things from him.

The movement of the walls indicated the match beside her had ended and she was about to see who she would be fighting for the championship. Soon the familiar green scalp of Michelangelo appeared as the partition began to recede into the ground. Then his baby blue’s framed by his signature orange mask came into view as his eye ridges waging with mischief. She would be fighting the youngest of the turtles for the win, adjusting her stance she placed her hands on her hips waiting for the turtle to be fully exposed to her. Before it was fully recessed in the ground Mikey stepped over the wall and into her space closing the distance between them, his nunchaku hung loosely from his fingers.

“Fancy seeing you here Angel cakes. Long time no see.” He cooed stopping a few feet from her.

Tears began to prick her eyes threatening to spill as she took in the warm sight of the young turtle. She missed them so much it hurt. Being this close to him was ripping every bit of strength from her tearing away at her sanity. Her lips began to quiver but bit her bottom lip to stop it. She needed to get this over with so she could win or lose and go home. Pulling her katana from her sheaths she readied her stance. Doing her best to blink away the offending tears in her eyes she gave him a small smile. She didn’t want to be mean to him he just didn’t understand how much it hurt to see him and not be able to touch him, hold him, kiss those rosy cheeks of his.

“Hey Mikey, are you ready?”

“For you? Always.” He started spinning his weapons with his wrists. “Ladies first.”

Mikey could see the pain flash over her face as he got close to her, could see the tears welling up glossing over her purple iris’s. It actually pained her to see him and that tore at the very fibers of his being. The last thing he wanted for her to feel in his presence was pain let alone him making her feel that way. Leo needed to fix this and fast. He wanted to touch her to tell her how much he missed her but unfortunately this wasn’t the time. He had a championship to win and Aurora was the only one standing in his way. He wouldn’t like defeating her but if that was the way to prove to his father and brothers he was an equal part of this family then so be it. He had been training for a year for this moment. He wasn’t going to let it pass him by even if it was Aurora in his way of his victory. He could do this.

Leo, Raph and Donnie were standing now with the rest of the audience, there was too much sweet anticipation running through the crowd to stay seated. Below them their baby brother and Aurora were about to fight for the title of Battle Nexus Champion.

“She’s gonna mop the floor with him.” Raph laughed gripping Leo’s shoulder a little too tight.

“I don’t know Raph, you’ve seen him the past few matches. This is the best I’ve ever seen him. I think he has a chance against her. It might be slim but there is still a chance.” Leo winched feeling Raph’s fingers bite into the soft tissue of his shoulder. His fingers reached up prying the three digits from their perch.

“Oh sorry Leo, just a little excited. Man, I need some popcorn.”

Instead of attacking Aurora began circling the orange turtle, it had been a year since she had taken him on. Leo had improved significantly and had almost won, there was no doubt Mikey had gotten better as well. Hell, he had made it to the end and not his brothers. That alone was a sobering thought. How good had Mikey gotten? This was going to be fun figuring it out.

His eyes never left her as she circled him watching him move. No doubt looking for some sort of tell or a moment when he wasn’t paying attention. But if she was waiting for that she was going to be sorely disappointed, she was the only thing on his radar. She had his full attention. The clink of his chains on his nunchaku while they spun were the only sounds in the arena, the crowd was eerily quiet fixed on the two final warriors of the championship anxious for a winner.

The ball of her boot shifted across the ground scraping against the sand and dirt. Her fingers flexed with the tightly bound leather and silk of her katana handles. Aurora was ready as she’d ever be, it was time. Bending at the knee she dug her foot down and launched forward.

If Mikey had a strategy she couldn’t figure it out. With each attack she doled out his wide but nimble body flipped and darted away. She wasn’t landing nearly as many hits as she wanted too by now. His speed had increased and his ability to perceive what his opponent was going to do next was finely tuned. Mikey was quickly becoming better than his brothers. She was seriously impressed. Even his flexibility had gotten better.

“Jesus Mikey are you made of rubber?” Aurora laughed landing behind him, giving his carapace a swift kick sending him forward onto his knees.

“This turtle got skills yo.” He chuckled lifting his nunchaku up taking the brunt of her katana.

Aurora jumped up and swiped her leg across his body hitting him square in his chest. While he tumbled backwards onto his back she flipped forward landing on top of him bringing her blade down once again “Well color me impressed.”

Catching her blade on the chains of his weapon his legs came forward wrapping around her neck, his feet locking around the back of her head. He heard her startled gasp when he rocked forward bringing her down on her back with his large hand pressing down on her abdomen holding her in place. Her purple eyes wild with shock he raised his weapon above his head ready to make the final strike. Mikey grinned down at her squished face when a smile crept over her flushed checks. She was pinned and could nothing more to stop him, the fight was over. His hand hesitated faulting just above his head.

Her voice broke though his jumbled thoughts. “Do it Mikey, you won, end this.” Her eye filled with pride she nodded but he could tell she was still trying to break free even though he had her immobilized indefinitely.

Bringing down his nunchaku she disintegrated into blue dust eliminating her from the tournament leaving him the battle nexus champion. The crowd broke out into a deafening roar as he stood claiming his title. His eyes found his three brothers in the stands all on their feet screaming for him. They looked so proud.

Aurora found herself lying on the floor of the healer’s quarters in the palace with three healers hovering over her. “I’m fine. No injuries. Just a bruised pride.” She reassured the three concerned healers who nodded and let her be. She sat there for a moment catching her breath with her forearm over her eyes. At least she made it to second place, after all the competitors she saw today, she was lucky to get that far. At least she lost to sweet Mikey, he deserved it, the lovable goof.” Again, emotions bubbled up from her gut, she had been so close to Leo and Mikey reminding her what she had lost a year ago. “Fuck.” She mumbled under her breath holding back tears for the fourth time today. She needed to get out of there, she had no doubt they would come looking for her and that was something she wasn’t ready to deal with just yet. Especially Leo, she knew she couldn’t trust herself around him. Just being a few feet from the tall muscular turtle in blue sent her traitorous body into heat. But the swish of a long tail across the floor told her she was too late. Removing her arm from her face she sat up to meet Master Splinter’s warm stare.

“You did splendid my dear.” He cooed as he watched her get to her feet.

Retuning her katanas to their sheaths she bowed to the old rat. “Thank you, Master Splinter. Your sons fought well today, they have improved significantly. Your training has paid off.”

Master Splinter’s dark iris’s seemed to flood with emotion as he neared the woman he hadn’t seen in a year. His small furry hands came out and took hers; he could feel her tense a little at the contact. With a little tug he urged her to lower to his height, after a few moments she obliged the old rat and met him eye to eye.

“They have trained hard this year plus the extra patrols around the city because of the rise in crime have kept them in top physical form. Leonardo has been pushing them to better themselves, to keep their minds moving. He has been trying to keep his mind from wandering to something he lost, something he regrets letting go.”

Splinter didn’t need to say it, she knew he was talking about her. Pulling her fingers from his hands she stood back up to her full height and turned her gaze from the old rat. “It was good to see you Master Splinter.” And with that she turned from him and disappeared down the hallway.

She flew down the hallway running for the room she was provided for the tournament by the Daimyo, for some privacy. As she turned down the final hall she ran smack dab into a tall sturdy body. Arms grabbed for her steadying Aurora’s rocketing form. She pulled herself away from the warm body looking up to see red hair and green eyes.

“Ue-Sama. I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking to wh..”

“Aurora I’ve been looking for you. I am sorry you lost to one of those troublesome terrapins. Are you alright?” his hands rested on her hips keeping her close to him.

She didn’t fight it for now, but she still wanted to be alone, and she especially didn’t want to deal with Ue-Sama’s bullshit right now. “I’m fine, Mikey deserved to win, he did an excellent job today.”

“Then why are you running? You seem upset, is there anything I can do to help?”

Aurora put her hands on his chest pressing gently trying to discreetly let the red haired ninja aware she wanted to be released from his grasp. But it went unnoticed; actually it felt like he pulled her a little closer. “I’m not upset because I lost; I’m upset because seeing the turtles for the first time hurts, hurts more than I thought it would.” Again she pushed, a little harder but his determined hands remained on her hips.

With the speed of a true ninja, his arms shifted from her hips and enclosed around her back spinning them, so he could press her up against the wall. The sheer speed of his movements along with being caught off guard sent her mind spinning unable to stop what happened next. Ue-Sama leaned down and slanted his mouth over hers pressing his tongue into Aurora’s mouth moaning as his questing tongue found hers.

His knee slipped forward parting her thighs pressing up against her core grinding his crotch against her thigh. Her mind reeled at the unwarranted advance. His lips were rough and impatient taking the kiss, nothing like Leo’s. There was no passion, no gentle urging just pressing and pushing, taking. Leo’s kiss sent heat coursing through her body making every part of her tingle with anticipation. This was nothing like that, she didn’t want him, she wanted Leo, god she missed Leo.

Everything rushed back to her and she panicked pushing against his chest frantically desperate to end the kiss. She tore her mouth from his gasping for breath. “Ue-Sama!” she yelped looking up at him in dismay. Pushing him further from her Aurora glared at the red haired ninja.

“Please, I’m sorry for that, I just can’t help myself. Let me help you, help you forget him, help you forget them.” He moved forward reaching for her yet again.

Aurora held up her hands stopping his advance. “Please stop, I appreciate the offer, but you can’t just do that Ue-Sama. I gave you no indication I wanted to be kissed. Just a few seconds ago I told you that I was clearly not over…… I - I just can’t do this right now.” Without giving him a second to respond she spun around and ran to her room escaping inside.

Ue-Sama was fuming when he finally reached his room. His hands were clenched trembling with the force of it. A large cloaked figure emerged from the shadows edging up behind the red haired ninja.

“What troubles you my Daimyo?” it smoothly questioned it’s red glowing eyes flashed behind the dark cloak.

With a pained grunt Ue-Sama’s fist collided with the rough walls of his massive room. “I will never have her if those pesky turtles are still around. Even after a year she still has feeling for them, especially Leonardo, curse that turtle! I kissed her, I kiss her with all the passion within me and she pushed me away like I was on fire.”

“Maybe it’s time to let her go my Daimyo? She will never go along with your plan and once she finds out she will tell the turtles and they will do all that they can to stop us. I believe it’s time take care of the meddlesome turtles before they become wise to our plans, while their guard is down as they celebrate. I can send my shadow ninjas to take care of them, take care of them all.”

Ue-Sama strode to his window and looked down at the arena filled with the contestants of his father’s tournament. His heated gaze narrowed in on the four turtles in the center of the arena celebrating with the rest of the competitors. His anger grew as he stared at the turtle in blue patting his younger sibling on the back. How did Aurora find that monster of a mutation attractive and not him? He was a prince in his own right, primed and ready to take over the throne from his father. He had so much more to offer her then a smelly sewer, three brothers and a giant rat? He would have the throne and Aurora with her power if it was the last thing he did. He spun around to face his counsel and growled his order, “Destroy those turtles and you can do what you will with the rat as promised but do NOT harm the woman. After they’re gone she’ll have no one and will fall into my arms. Especially when I am sitting on the throne with the war staff in my hand and control the Battle Nexus Championship.”

@imthegreenfairy88 @alonia143 @ravn-87 @bluesakurablossom

Here it is in its entirety

#tmnt leonardo #tmnt raphael #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt #tmnt fanfiction #tmnt fandom #tmnt fic #TMNT TMNT fanfiction #Fortheloveofshell #Chapter 40 #Aurora

24 notes · View notes

the-jade-cross · 3 years

Text

Burning Water - Chapter I

Chapter 1

A soft knock at the door of Maya’s bedroom roused her from her deep sleep but wasn’t loud enough to wake her fully. She didn’t open her eyes, but she knew she was awake for she could feel the warmth of the sun on her face, the bedsheet over her body and the pillow beneath her head.

The second knock was harder and more rapid this time and Maya knew that it didn’t belong to the person who had knocked first. She didn’t have to cross the room and open the door to know that her younger sister Margaery and younger brother Loras were at the door, waiting for her to wake up. She never could figure out how they didn’t seem to get why she slept later than they did. To be honest, Maya was always up the moment the sun was even if they didn’t come to rouse her, but her two younger siblings were up before the rooster.

Maya would spend every evening singing the two to sleep, just as their mother did when they were little. By the time Loras and Margaery were asleep, it was late and even Maya’s older brothers Garlan and Willas were in bed already. Ever since their mother had died two years prior, Maya had taken on the role of mother for her younger siblings. Willas was already 22, no need for a mother and was already attending jousting tournaments while Garlan was 13.

“Maya!” Margaery whined through the door. “You promised we would go to the lake today!” “Come on Maya!” Loras called.

Sighing, Maya sat up and pushed her straight auburn hair out of her eyes. Maya was always described as different and special. She took after her mother in looks: fair but rosy tones, high smooth cheekbones, dented upper lip, adorable little nose and long black lashes. She matched her sister Margaery in petite but slender stature. As a ten-year-old, she hadn’t begun to develop the shape of a woman, but her chest had begun to round out slightly. The one thing she did not inherit from her family were her eyes. Unlike any color they had ever seen, they were a cross between sky blue and lime green, making them appear to be a minty color. However, they were far brighter than any eyes anyone had ever seen and almost appeared to glow.

“Okay I’m coming,” Maya called, climbing out of bed and preparing to change.

********

Margaery grabbed onto Maya’s hand and practically dragged her sister toward the water. The sun was shining heavily down on their heads and even though Maya’s hair was lighter auburn than Margaery’s, she could feel how her hair attracted the sun and made the top of her head feel hot.

Margaery splashed into the water till she was up to her knees, picking up the ends of her dark blue dress so it didn’t get wet. Maya chuckled as she grabbed her long hair and pulled it up, so it was out of her face.

“You wanted to come to the lake Margo,” Maya pointed out.

The younger girl looked at her sister in confusion, “And?”

Maya smirked mischievously before she tore across the rocky shore to her sister. Margaery’s eyes widened in shock when she realized what her sister was about to do. She tried to run the other direction, but Margaery wasn’t built like Maya was. Her thighs and calves weren’t lined with sinew and muscle, nor her core which was strong and well-built from hours of wrestling with her brothers and sword fighting as well as bareback horseback riding. Maya overtook her sister in less than a few seconds and wrapping her strong arms around Margaery’s shoulders, pulled her deeper before plunging into the cold water.

Margaery came to the surface sputtering and squeaking Maya’s name in protest. She looked around for any sign of her sister and spied Maya’s mint green eyes laughing at her, Maya’s whole body submerged except for her eyes up which were above water.

“Oh, you’re asking for it!” Margaery laughed, scooping water into her hands and splaying it at Maya.

The girl ducked under the water to avoid the splash before she shot out of the water, splaying an armful of water at Margaery, the girl squealing when most of it hit her.

The two girls were running back and forth, sometimes coming mostly out of the water before charging back in to splash the other. Both girls were drenched and the sun was now no longer directly above them but more to the side so that Margaery had to squint to see Maya, who’s head was the only thing blocking the sun.

Margaery ducked half under the water before shooting back up, attempting to spray Maya with an armful of water. Maya could see she wouldn’t be able to avoid the water, so she lifted her arms to block the onslaught from her eyes. However, she didn’t feel anything touch her and when she lifted her eyes, Margaery was staring with her mouth wide open.

Maya looked down, only to see what had caught Margaery’s attention. Splayed up in front of Maya was a small wall of water…. Like a wave that was crashing away from her…. but it was froze in the air as if someone had pressed pause. Maya dropped her arms, about to reach out to touch it when the water receded back to its normal self, dropping back into the lake.

“What…. Was…. That?” Margaery whispered, her mouth still dangling.

Maya slowly reached forward and ran her fingers through the water. That was so weird…. Like the water was acting on its own. Finally, she shrugged, guessing that maybe the heat was getting to their heads and they were seeing things. However, as soon as her shoulders lifted in a shrug, the water around Maya seemed to rise…. like something was pushing it up. Maya froze, her shoulders still hunched up in a half shrug.

“Don’t move,” Margaery whispered, taking a step forward.

Nothing happened as Margaery moved forward, the water still high around Maya while the rest was low…. Like it was just a sheet of a bed and there was something bulging beneath the sheet. Margaery took another step forward before touching the water that was bulging around Maya. Nothing happened.

“Drop your shoulders,” Margaery whispered.

Maya obeyed and at once, the water receded.

“No way!” Margaery gasped. “It’s like the water obeys you!” “Don’t be silly,” Maya chuckled. “We’re probably just imagining things.” Margaery pursed her lips together, not about to accept that it was just her imagination. “Splash me.” “Huh?” Maya inquired.

“Wave your arm like you’re going to splash me, but don’t touch the water,” Margaery explained.

Maya bit her lip before glancing at the water between her and Margaery. Sighing, she threw her hand in Margaery’s direction like she was throwing her sister a ball…. But what really hit Margaery was a huge tube of water that seemed to appear out of nowhere and hit her square in the face.

The girl was knocked off her feet by the impact but was up in an instant, a huge grin on her face, “SEE!? I knew it!” “But wait….” Maya breathed. “Does this make the water…. I mean…. am I controlling the water…. Or is it expressing what I am doing?” Margaery shrugged, “I don’t know, but it is way cool!” Maya frowned, looking at the crystal-clear water about her. She closed her eyes and placed her palms down, hovering on the surface of the water.

‘Down,’ she thought in her mind, ‘Go down.’

As she kept repeating this in her head, she lifted her hands up slowly. She needed to know if the water was just reacting to her like a magnet…. Or if there was something deeper going on.

She opened one eye and looked down, only to see that instead of rising with her hands, the water had sunk down, making two holes in the water, one beneath each hand.

So, it actually obeyed her!

A thought suddenly came to her and raising her hands, she drove them down into the water. Usually it would just make two splashes…. but instead, two waves formed from her hands and crashed directly into her unexpecting sister. Margaery glared daggers at the girl who was grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh, this just got a whole lot more fun!” Maya smirked.

*******

Maya managed to be up before the sun the next morning so that she was up and dressed before Margaery rushed to her room. It was Loras’s day for tutoring, so he wasn’t there to bother them. Maya opened the door of her room and let her sister in, noticing the bag that Margaery carried.

“What’s that?” she asked.

Margaery grinned, jumping onto her sister’s bed and placing the bag in front of her. Maya climbed up so she was seated cross legged across from Margaery as her sister began to empty the contents.

The first thing she brought out was a small box which Maya recognized as the ink box. Margaery and Maya loved to write letters so for Margaery’s last birthday, she had been given a box of writing ink that were a multitude of colors: red, green, blue, purple and black.

“I thought we could dye some water,” Margaery said smiling, “It’s cloudy out and father won’t let us go down to the lake till it get sunny later.” Lastly, she pulled out a long dark blue ribbon and a dress.

“A dress Margo?” Maya asked, taking the ribbon from her sister.

“It’s not every day that you find out you can control the water!” Margaery whispered. “You have to look the part!” Maya chuckled, “The part of what? A mermaid?” Margaery’s eyes widened, and Maya could practically hear the gears turning in her brain. “Don’t get ideas Margo.” Her sister chuckled before shrugging, “Not a mermaid. More like a water fairy.” Maya stood up from the bed and held up the dress to the mirror, getting a front and back view of it, “And I suppose water fairies wear this sort of thing?” Margaery hopped up before taking the dress from her sister and beginning to help her dress, “It just encourages the idea. Now shut up and put it on!” Chuckling, Maya obliged and got changed into the dress before sitting down on the bed so Margaery could pull her hair back and into a high ponytail on the top of her head, tying it with the ribbon but allowing plenty of wisps to fall about Maya’s face.

“There,” Margaery sighed, “Perfect!” Maya turned around to see that her sister had gotten a glass of water and was carefully dropping a drop of green ink into it. Just a drop turned the water a lime green and Margaery held it out to Maya. Placing the cup between them, Maya placed her hand over the glass, inches from the rim before closing her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she drew her hand up, moving her fingers as she went.

“Woah!” Margaery gasped. “Look Maya!” The older girl opened her eyes, realizing that the water had left the cup and had separated into five branches, each of them following her fingers in squiggly lines.

“Do you think you could make a shape?” Margaery asked.

Maya pursed her plump lips together in a straight line and furrowed her brow, “Give me something.” “A bird,” Margaery said, clapping her hands in anticipation.

Her sister nodded before placing the water back in the cup. Picking the cup up in one hand, she poured the green water toward her hand, but it never made contact with her palm. The water began to move about and form into a ball of water which hovered inches from her hand. setting the now empty cup down, Maya began to move her free hand around the ball of water, drawing out two sides of the ball to make wings, doing the same for the head and the tail. Finally, she held up her creation…. A perfect water bird.

Maya then concentrated on the water in the washing bowl on the other side of the room. Drawing the water toward her, she moved her hand away from the bird and blew at it. The bird’s wings began to beat and fly around Margaery’s head. Taking the washing water, she created four balls of water, moving her arms in a rhythmic pattern before a butterfly, a fish, a bunny and a cat made of water burst from the balls of water, prancing about the girls’ heads.

Margaery let out a joyful laugh, jumping up and down on the bed to try and grab the water animals. Maya laughed as she made the animals duck out of the way just in time every time her sister went for them. However, there were five animals and only one of Maya, so there did come a time when Margaery managed to grab the water: the bunny, and the water burst, splashing everywhere.

The two girls froze, Maya quickly putting the water back in the cup and the washing basin, looking at her sister who was now soaked from head to toe.

Margaery was silent for a moment, trying to comprehend what had happened before she laughed, “Let’s do it again!” Smiling, Maya shook her head, “If we’re going to do it again, we need to do it outside by the lake.”

What the girls didn’t know was that when they went tumbling down the hallway and outside to the lake, they were followed.

Coming to stand on the rocky shore next to the lake, Margaery, seated herself a good distance from the water while Maya walked to the edge, so she was about ankle deep in the water.

“What are you thinking about?” Margaery asked, noticing that her sister was staring at the water with a concentrating expression.

Maya turned to look at her sister, “Margo. If I am able to control water with my hands…. Do you think I could control it with my whole body?” Margaery’s eyes widened, not expecting that, “What do you mean?” “I mean….” Maya sighed. “When I move my hands, I can make the water move…. But what if I moved my whole body rhythmically?” “Like dancing?” Margaery asked.

Maya nodded which earned her a huge grin from her sister, “Try it!” Sighing, Maya turned back to the water. She didn’t know many dances to be honest. She hadn’t yet been taught many and she wasn’t the type to ask to be taught like Margaery. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hands slowly, so they were stretched out perpendicular to her body. Then drawing them all the way up above her head, she clapped them together. Water from the lake had followed suit, rising from the rest of the lake in a long tube. When she clapped her hand, it exploded, water spraying everywhere.

Maya immediately kept her hands together before twirling on one foot. The water froze midair before becoming two long spirals, spiraling to the rhythm of Maya’s twirls.

After a few twirls, Maya stopped and planted both feet on the pebbles, firmly keeping them apart before she let her arms down, moving them in a waving fashion, keeping her rhythm slow and smooth but steady.

She repeated the sequence again, but more determined and a little more confident, making the movements sharper and demanding. The water did the same pattern over but this time it grew larger and whenever Maya moved sharply, water would spray and splash slightly but keep shape.

Maya was just about to go into another round, deciding to change some of the moves when she froze. She had turned around and had stopped mid spin to see Margaery smiling behind her…. but Maya’s eyes fell on something beyond Margaery…. Loras, standing about five meters behind the unexpecting Margaery.

Margaery followed her sister’s gaze and she jumped at the sight of their brother who was staring with a dropped jaw and wide eyes. Maya considered rushing over to her brother, afraid he would faint like he had when he had barged in on Maya and Margaery dressing one day. Not the manliest day for Loras who had steered clear of his sisters for almost two days, afraid he would faint again if he got too close.

“Loras….” Maya started but Margaery jumped to her feet, taking a few steps toward Loras who had slowly approached them.

“It was my idea,” Margaery cried, “I insisted that we come out today. It wasn’t Maya’s fault… please don’t get angry….” Loras looked at his sister, his face looking like he was in a daze, but he managed a soft smile, “Why would I get angry? I’m just shocked is all.” Both girls let out relieved sighs while Loras walked past Margaery over to where Maya still stood. He looked at his oldest sister then at the water that was still suspended in the air. Slowly he approached the water before touching it. He let out a soft chuckle before turning to Maya, a huge grin on his face.

“How….” Maya shook her head, “We don’t know. It started yesterday.” Loras looked back at the water before walking back to Maya, “It probably was something you always had…. You just didn’t realize it till now. Show me.” Smiling, Maya turned back to the water and began to dance again, changing the moves to make it more interesting. She was halfway through another sequence when she felt a hand touch her shoulder and turning, she saw Loras standing by her but not looking at her. His eyes were looking up at the top of the bank, a firm look on his young face.

Maya turned around to see what Margaery and Loras had noticed…. the rest of the Tyrell kids: Garlan and Willas stood at the top of the bank, both still garbed in their training attire, having probably come in search of their siblings after sparring. Garlan’s jaw was almost touching the ground while Willas had a firm look on his face…. almost determined. Maya quickly reached out and placed a hand on her youngest brother’s arm, making him relax and look at her.

“It’s okay. Everything will be fine,” she whispered.

However deep down, Mayaka Lelisa Tyrell, knew that from now on, things would never be the same for her.

#oberyn #oberyn martell #oberyn Martell x reader #oberyn Martell x you #oberyn Martell x oc #got #game of thrones

4 notes · View notes

emperorsfoot · 4 years

Link

This is not part of my larger Sky High fic series. This is an alternate version of the first meeting between Barron Battle and Ms. Peace.

Barron Battle loses his glasses. Mara Peace finds them.

...

One of her fireballs finally connected, catching the villain on the side of the head. The hood of his costume was singed by the heat, and the force and air pressure of the blow threw him off balance. The supervillain went tumbling off the catwalk.

He hit the ground with a hard THUD.

Flamebird landed next to him.

It was her first time going up against this particular supervillain. He was not a member of her usual rogues gallery. In fact, he was the self-proclaimed ‘Arch Nemesis’ of the Commander. But that didn’t mean much. The Commander had, like, twenty ‘Arch Nemeses’.

Dressed all in black, not unusual for a supervillain. A hooded vest, boiled leather polished to an almost satiny shine. Buckles on the sides. An emblem of crossed swords on the best. She was sure his villain name was something dramatic and violent, but Flamebird could not imagine what it was. Maxville had so many villains, and this guy wasn’t one of her usual ones. It was had to keep tracks of the names that went with the costumes.

Hell! He probably didn’t know what name went to her costume either!

“It’s over-“ a pauses because she really could not remember what he was supposed to be called “-villain!” Flambird hovered over him, arms crossed over her chest. Stiletto-heeled boots dangling mere inches above his hooded head. If he wanted to continue the fight, all he had to do was reach up and grab her ankle. She was definitely giving him an opening. “It’s in your interest if you surrender! Turning yourself in could earn you leniency. But if you- you- hey! Are you paying attention!?”

He was not even looking at her.

And Flamebird was striking one of her better mid-air, low-hovering poses too. Arms crossed, pushing her –mostly flat- breasts up, making them look bigger than they actually were. Turned a quarter turn to the side, making her waist look smaller. Legs crossed at the ankle, making her hips look wider. She just an alluring figure. A figure that was expertly complemented by the costume she wore.

A tight little number. Thigh-high stiletto boots. Bare legs. Booty shorts that showed off the curve of her hips and the round bottoms of her butt-cheeks. An exposed mid-rift displaying her flat belly and toned abs, adorned with a belly-button ring that sparkled red. The top covered a lot in comparison to the rest. Long sleeved and high collared. It hit how small her breast were and allowed attention to fall to the more alluring parts of her body.

But this supervillain didn’t even raise his head to look at her!

Instead, he was on his hands and knees, head down, hands outstretched in front of him. Feeling around on the ground. As if he were looking for something.

“I can still hear you, Sparky.” Apparently, he did not know what name to put to her costume either. “Keep monologueing.”

Thrown off her game, she actually did continue. “Your evil machinations are through! You’re only course now is to- I’m sorry, but what are you doing?”

What was he looking for on the floor that was more important than starring at her shapely figure while she rubbed his nose in his defeat.

“It's nothing you need to worry about, Hero.” He assured her. “I’ve just lost my glasses.”

“You- your- you wear glasses?” Flamebird blinked at him. “But you’re a supervillain! You’re all… all black leather and buckles, and- with so many knives, and- and-!?”

“I’m still human, Sparky.” He told her. “I like to read. Sometimes I don’t always have the best light. Enough years like that and it’ll eventually ruin your eyes too.”

Blinking her own eyes behind her mask, Flambird just stared at him. At this terrifying supervillain from the Commander’s rouges gallery, who claimed to be the Commander’s Arch Nemesis. Who was dressed head to toe in black. Leather and buckles. He looked like a total badass! …up until he fell off the catwalk and lost… his glasses.

Now he was just an edgy Velma feeling around on the ground for his glasses.

Heaving a sigh, Flambird landed on the ground. She looked around the immediate area. Nothing stood out to her as looking like glasses.

Raising a hand into the air, she created a ball of fire. Expanding it until it illuminated the whole warehouse.

There!

She saw the flames flicker. Reflected off the glass lenses and wire frames.

Leaving the fireball burning in mid-air in the center of the warehouse, Flambird crossed the space to pick them up. A pair of wire frames, with lenses, and thick glass. Curiously, she put them on over her own mask. Hot damn! This guy’s eyes must be really, really bad! Everything was blurry through his prescription lenses. The only visible thing was her own ball of fire in the center of the space. No wonder he was feeling around like a character from Scooby-Doo. He was literally, actually, effectively blind without them.

Flamebird flew back over to him. “Here.”

Leaning down, she pulled the leather hood off his head.

A cascade of sweat-soaked hair tumbled over his shoulders. Messy from being in the hood –and probably their fight too. Dark brown, a brown so dark it might as well have been black. Thick and curly, and kinda long for a guy. It framed his face nicely, giving him roguish, untamed, almost wild look. The face was also pretty nice too. Handsome in a rugged sort of way. Square jaw and high cheekbones. A straight nose. Thick eyebrows. And his eyes! A rich dark brown. Not brown like his hair was brown. Brown like deep woods or rich earth. Flamebird decided she liked the way he looked.

“You’re beautiful.” She breathed, not realizing she was even speaking.

It was a shame he was a villain.

He grabbed his hood and yanked it back up over his head. “You won’t think that once I find my glasses.”

Kneeling down in front of him, Flambird slid his wire frames onto his face. “These glasses?”

He blinked at her. Able to see her again now. Mouth hanging open slightly.

He was right. He was not quite as roguish and wild with the glasses on. But he was still handsome. In more of a ‘scruffy, overworked academic’ way. With those glasses on, and maybe his hair combed and pulled back he would look very neat and clean-cut. He could easily pull off both.

“You’re still pretty.” She announced.

He just stared at her.

Flamebird didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Kneling on the floor, just looking at each other. Doing nothing more than making eye-contact. Her hands were still resting on the wire frames of his glasses.

Finally, he cleared his throat, pulling away first.

She blinked behind her mask.

“Oh! Um…?” She pulled away.

He also backed up.

They stood there for a beat. Unsure of what was supposed to happen now. This was not usually how super-fights went.

“You, uh, you were in the middle of your monologue.” He finally reminded her.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah.” She nodded, hovering back up into the air. Looking down on him. “It’s over, villain! Your-“ she paused, shoulders slumping, “I’m sorry, but what is your name?”

He looked up at her with a confused frown, the only part of his face visible from under the shadow of his hood was his chin, his mouth downturned in that frown, and straight nose. She couldn’t even tell he was wearing glasses. “Battle will do.”

“Really?” She looked at him. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s your name?” He growled back. Though, he was suddenly grinning for some inexplicable reason. As if this weren’t a normal super-fight anymore. As if this had somehow become… friendly banter?

She stared down at him. “Flamebird.”

His head tilted up more, looking her up and down. This time, she could just make out the bottoms of his wire frames. “Fire powers and flight.” He noted. “Flame. Bird.” A shrug. “Makes sense. A little simplistic. But easy to understand.”

“Yeah.” She agreed. “It is easy to understand. Way easier than ‘Battle’. What’s that supposed to mean? All I’ve seen you do all day is just not get hurt.”

“I get hurt.” Battle assured her. “I just heal really fast.” A pause. Then, muttered under his breath so that she wasn’t sure she even heard right. “...And don’t die.”

Since she didn’t understand the last comment and wasn’t sure if she even heard right, Flamebird decided to ignore it. “And the name ‘Battle’ is…?”

“It’s my name.” He told her.

“No, I get that.” She assured him. “But what does it have to do with your powers? Or your motivations? Or your aesthetic? Why did you choose ‘Battle’ as your supervillain name?”

“It’s not my supervillain name.” Battle informed her. “It’s my name, name.” A pause. “You didn’t go to Sky High, did you?”

“I did!” Flamebird assured him. “Class of ’81.”

“Huh.” He nodded. “So, you’re freshman year would have been the ’77-’78 school year. Your freshman year was my senior year. You seriously don’t remember going to school with a guy named Battle? I mean, I got the lead role in the senior class production of Oklahoma!”

Flamebird landed on the ground in front of him. “Okay, first of all, the lead role in Oklahoma is a female role. I assume you didn’t play Laurey. Curly and Jud were supporting roles. Secondly, all I remember about the senior class my freshman year was this one obnoxious asshole who just had to be adored by everyone.” A pause. “Stan…? Stew…? Steve…? Something like that.”

Battle lowered his hood so that she could see his face. His whole face. Behind his glasses, he was staring at her with surprised admiration. “He was an obnoxious asshole! Yes! Thank you!”

“I’m guessing he was your arch rival.” She seemed unimpressed.

“You have no idea.” Battle told her. “He was just the worst!”

She only shrugged. They were not in the same grade and at the end of the school year, he was gone so she never really had the opportunity to form an opinion.

“Hey, are you still gonna do your monologue?” He asked.

“Huh?”

“Your monologue.” Battle repeated. “Are you still gonna talk my ear off about ethics and ‘good’ or whatever then take me in?”

“Oh.” She honestly forgot that was what was supposed to be happening here.

“’Cause I’d kinda like to take you out.” Battle announced.

Flamebird leaped back into the air, both arms igniting with fire. “You can try. But I’ll roast you alive!”

“No, no, no.” Battle assured her calmly. He understood the misunderstanding. “I mean, for coffee or something. Do you drink coffee?”

Flamebird lowered her arms, they were still on fire, but she wasn’t in a fighting stance anymore. “Oh. Um… I don’t really date guys I meet in costume…”

Battle noted that she did not say she did not date supervillains, just that she did not date people she met as ‘Flamebird’.

“I see.” He nodded, grinning a mischievous grin. “But, if you were to meet someone outside of costume… Say, at a dimly lit coffee shop in downtown? Perhaps you might see someone you recognize, sitting in the back corner against the wall, reading something by Thomas Aquinas, and if you were to come over and say ‘hi’…”

“Ooh, Aquinas.” She sucked in a breath between her teeth, recognizing the name. “So, you think you preform good acts with bad consequences. Not surprised. He’s exactly the kind of philosopher I’d expect a supervillain to read.”

He looked momentarily insulted.

“So, what would you do if some random woman comes up to you and starts educating you on more Kantian views instead?”

Battle smiled at her. “I think she and I would have a lot to talk about.”

Flamebird smiled back at him. For a supervillain, this Battle was actually rather charming. Was this really happening? Was she actually considering meeting him out of costume for coffee?

“Now, I’m gonna need you to think fast, Sparky.” He told her.

“Wha-?”

That was all the warning she got before Battle threw one of his weapons at the catwalk supports. A segment of the walkway began crashing down and Flamebird needed to do some quick flying to get out of the way before she was struck by some falling stray metal.

“The coffee shop on the corner of Hamilton and Main!” She heard Battle’s voice call as he disappeared into the night.

…

END

#sky high #barron battle #ms. peace #warren peace's mother #meet cute #first meeting #Barron battle/warren's mother #warren peace #I guess #warren's not in it #he doesn't exist yet #skyhigh

9 notes · View notes

crushedbyhyperbole · 5 years

Text

Moondrops - Chapter Ten

Have you read chapter nine?

Warnings: Kidnapping, purposely inflicted pain, desperation.

A/N: On moonshots: The Hyperion moon base cannon can only moonshot to areas on the surface that it can see directly. It’s accuracy is affected by the curvature of the planet, hence why Overlook was a preferable place to Jack to send The order, at the time of their arrival the moon base would be in optimal range for accuracy.

For previous chapters, see my Borderlands Masterlist.

Overlook

The steep slope leading up to the plateau of Overlook lay ahead. The path was barricaded, no vehicles could pass higher than the lower slope, and their convoy of Hyperion trucks had further barricaded the path.

Maya trudged forward in Sophis’s wake. Her wrists were bound in front of her, a token gesture. Her real shackle was the chunky silvery collar that looked more like space O2 tech than something that could kill her.

There was no Hyperion presence that she could see but that didn’t mean there weren’t any troops or bots at the top. The homes on the slope were run down and unoccupied, some had lost their roofs and some were missing whole sections of wall. There had been some intense fighting here a long time ago and now the place was a shell.

At the top there were a few small signs of life: a functioning med vendor, washed clothes flapping in the breeze up on a balcony, a small window box herb garden that was still well tended. All the homes were locked up tight, corrugated metal shutters closing up doors and windows.

The people who lived here were scared, and rightly so. There was a huge Hyperion complex within shooting distance, and on an adjacent outcrop a giant mortar cannon was pointed directly at Overlook. Why stay? What could there possibly be here that was worth living in fear like this?

“I don’t see anything that looks like transport to the moon base.” Maya leaned against the cool metal wall of a nearby house. There was a New-U station and a comms beacon near to a huge grinding recycler that looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

Sophis shot her a vicious look. If had ever been unclear that he no longer had a fondness for her it was certainly clear now. That look said, if I didn’t need you, Jack could have you or I’d kill you myself. He still didn’t see that this was one giant cluster-fuck just waiting to happen.

The comms beacon whirred to life under his hands, sending a stream of electronic pips and clicks up into the atmosphere. Sophis stood back to address his gathering flock.

“Gather round!” He beckoned the dishevelled rabble forward. “Our patience is about to be repaid, your loyalty rewarded. Are we not the first breaths of wind on which The Storm rides? Are we not the means of its arrival?”

Maya had no patience for the preaching, proclaiming and self-righteous claptrap she thought she’d left behind a year ago. Trying to zone it out she looked a little closer at her surroundings. A curtain twitched in a nearby house, a disfigured child perhaps or an old woman. It was heartening that people might live to a ripe old age in these parts, but it was unlikely.

“We have endured hardship, have we not, my fellow believers?” There were murmurs of agreement in the group, the injured nodding more than the rest. “We have been tested, our resolve pushed to breaking, but did we retreat? Nay! We fought on!”

The ongoing pippity-pip and clickity-clack of the beacon had become a noise she barely registered until its tone changed.

“Now we have our siren back, Athenas will bow our most reverent laws and…”

“Stand trial!” Kitty faced-off against her guardian. “You said she’d…”

“We shall claim back our lands!” Sophis raised his voice louder to overshadow the young siren. “And rise to dominate other planets, bringing onwards the Impending Storm and…”

“Yeeeaaahhhh, about that…” The smarmy voice of handsome Jack echoed from the beacon. “Can’t let you do that, kiddos. You see, I need that siren aaaaannnndd you’re going to give her to me or you’re all gonna die.”

Maya was alert, reaching for weapons she didn’t have, ready to use a power that had been turned against her. She was blunted, useless.

The first of the moonshots to touch down were clusters of BUL and GUN loaders landing directly on the plateau of Overlook and the slope to the valley, cutting off any possibility of retreat. They crashed into the abandoned houses, furthering their destruction as they unfolded and smashed through the rubble to get to their targets. Some landed directly in the centre of town, unpacking and directing their angry red eyes at the group of monks amassed just to the side of the ring of houses that signified the town square.

No shots had been fired yet but the loaders advanced menacingly. There was no escape for any of them. The wounded and the able-bodied were surrounded together and there was nothing she could do. With her power she could clear them a path to escape, she could at least buy them some time.

It was inevitable. Sophis’s options were to surrender and let Jack take her, or to fight, die and for Jack to take her anyway. If they surrendered maybe Jack wouldn’t find out about Kitty, maybe she’d survive.

“You gave your word!” Sophis shouted when the loaders had stopped advancing and he’d had a second to compose himself.

“Oh you’re gonna leave Pandora, Sophis. I never said you’d be alive when you did.” Jack chuckled. “There’s still a chance you can survive this, so what’s it gonna be?”

Sophis had a look of frantic planning about him, his eyes flicking here and there as he searched in his head for answers. The nervous lick of his lips told Maya that things were about to go from bad to worse.

“Whatever you’re planning, don’t!” She hissed at him. “Jack will double-cross you at every turn, that’s what he does, lies and manipulates.” She reached to rest her hand on her old guardian’s shoulder.

“I should have broken you when I had the chance, all those years ago.” He slapped her hand away. “What about a trade, Jack? I may have something to offer.”

“No! You caaaaaa…” Pain bloomed under her skin. The brief moment that Sophis activated her collar had her swaying on her feet, eyes watering.

“Oh you’re a sneaky sonofabitch!” Jacks voice was coated in something close to admiration. “What secrets have you been keeping from me?”

Maya searched for Kitty. She had sensibly moved away into the crowd again but her bright blonde hair made her stand out against the greys and browns of the monk’s robes, not to mention the yellow tartan pleated skirt she wore. The girl met her gaze. She wasn’t as naïve as Maya had first thought. She looked defiant, ready to fight. The girl would probably get them all killed but Maya would have done exactly the same if their roles were reversed, in fact, she’d already killed them, or thought she had.

Maya made a gun gesture with her hand, asking Kitty with her eyes. If Maya couldn’t use her power she could certainly use a gun. The girl nodded.

Chapter eleven COMING SOON…

4 notes · View notes

littlespoonevan · 6 years

Note

RIGHTYO since you offered to make my day how about either "5. In the back seat of the car", "23: Reunion" or "14: in public" for andreil? :D I couldn't decide so whatever you like the best

asjkdhfks Tina, I don’t know how you managed to pick the three prompts that are all so tempting asjhd it took me forever to decide one which one to go with but amnesia aus are my secret weakness and I felt like it would be sO PAINFUL with these two, I couldn’t help myself

I feel like this got so long it should probably be on ao3 instead but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ lmao I hope you like it!!!!!

23. Reunion

From the very beginning, Andrew has been cautious inhis relationship with Neil.

It’s a self-preservation tactic; even before Neilstarted wanting him back he knew he couldn’t have this. He’s always beensilently waiting for the day Neil will be taken away from him.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

Temporary retrograde amnesia.

After their game, the backliner that had beenhounding Neil all night had caught him off guard right as Neil had taken offhis helmet, barrelling into him and knocking him to the ground. Neil’s head hadbounced off the hardwood floor of the court with a sickening crack and Andrewwould’ve likely ended up with another assault charge under his belt had he notbeen so concerned with the fact that Neil wasn’t immediately waking up.

Now he’s sitting in the hospital waiting room,feeling anxiety roll off his teammates in waves and choking down his own furyas the doctor explains to them that Neil appears to have lost his memory as aresult of his head injury.

It’stemporary, she says.

Wecan’t say for sure when he’ll get his memories back,she says.

Supportand patience is what he needs from you most right now,she says.

Hedoesn’t seem to remember anything from the last two years, at least,she says.

The last one is what piques Andrew’s interest andhe’s immediately pushing himself out of his chair, intent on making a beelinefor Neil’s room.

“Andrew, they didn’t say we could go in yet!” Wymackcalls after him, sounding exasperated and exhausted.

“He doesn’t remember,” Andrew says, not bothering tolook over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door of the waiting room.“He’s going to run.”

That seems to spur the foxes into action and there’sa mini stampede behind him as he charges down the hall to Neil’s room.

Neil is in bed with a nurse checking one of themachines he’s hooked up to when they arrive. He seems calm from the outside butAndrew recognises the wild look in his eyes. He’s panicking. He’s trying tofigure out how to escape.

“Neil,” Matt says beseechingly and Neil stopsfidgeting where he lays, eyes wide as he focuses on the crowd in his doorway.His gaze travels from one of them to the next and Andrew’s stomach churns whenthere’s no flicker of recognition on Neil’s face as he looks at him.

He hangs back as the others crowd Neil. They allstart talking over one another before Aaron begrudgingly points out thatthey’re going to overwhelm him. He shoots Andrew a sidelong glance as he saysit but Andrew doesn’t return it.

He listens for a minute or two as Matt takes up therole of explaining to Neil what’s happened but he can’t stomach it for verylong before he’s storming out of the room and out of the hospital altogether.He sits on the bench out on the sidewalk instead, a cigarette clutched betweenhis trembling fingers.

He’s not sure how long he stays out there for – aslong as it takes him to burn through six cigarettes – before he’s joined bysomeone.

Nicky knows better than to sit next to him but herounds the bench so he’s standing in front of Andrew, hands stuffed in thepockets of his jacket to ward off the chill.

“Aren’t you going to come inside?” he asks after abelated silence.

Andrew raises his eyes to look at him, offering himno answer other than another drag of his cigarette.

“Andrew, he’s your boyfriend,” Nicky says, voice fraying at the edges and finallylosing some of his patience.

“No, he’s not,” Andrew replies dully and Nicky huffs.

“Now isn’t the time for your stupid riddles aboutyour relationship,” he snaps, expression turning pleading. “Andrew, he’s hurtand he’s fucking scared and he won’t believe anything we tell him. He thinkswe’re just feeding him back the cover story he thinks he’s fed us.”

“And what do you want me to do? He doesn’t remember me,” he says through grittedteeth. And that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Neil is here but he isn’t.He doesn’t remember Andrew; he doesn’t remember anything. And Andrew feelsunbalanced, unsteady, like the wind has been knocked out of him.

He- he lovesNeil. In whatever fucked up way he’s capable of feeling love. And he’s gottenused to it. The affection, the comfort, the steadiness he feels with Neil’spresence by his side.

And in one fell swoop it’s been taken away from him.

What’s he supposed to do now?

Nicky’s expression softens like he understands andAndrew hates that too. He hates that Neil’s made him vulnerable, that Neil hasmade him more open. Even if it’s just a sliver.

“Andrew,” Nicky says quietly. “Even when you twohated each other, you were able to convince him to stay. Can you just try?”

Andrew squares his jaw, stubbing out his cigarette onthe bench before standing up. He doesn’t say anything to Nicky or pause to lethim follow but Nicky seems to recognise his acquiescence for what it is andkeeps his thoughts to himself as they make their way back inside the hospital.

The rest of the foxes are waiting outside Neil’s roomwhen he comes back inside and he doesn’t slow to talk to them before he’spushing open the door.

Neil looks up in surprise at the sound of Andrew’sentrance and Andrew can feel his eyes on him as he casually drops into thechair beside the bed.

Holding onto his calm has never felt quite asimpossible as it does now with Neil watching him with a curious gaze but Andrewforces himself to remain impassive.

“You’re not Aaron,” is the first thing Neil says andAndrew quashes down the hope that festers in his chest. He and Aaron aren’tdressed the same and, as oblivious as Neil can be, he’s perceptive when itcomes to details he thinks might be important. It’s not recognition and hecan’t let his mind believe it to be.

“Astute observation,” he says blandly.

Neil continues to stare at him, eventually asking,“Why did they send you?”

“They’re under the impression you actually listen tome.” The truth is, it’s always been the other way around. Andrew always listensto Neil, even when it goes against his better judgement.

“Listen to you about what?”

Andrew finally lifts his head to meet Neil’s gaze andit hurts. It hurts to see the blankexpression, it hurts to see the spark of interest that’s usually evident inNeil’s eyes missing, it hurts to see there’s no affection that Andrew’s grownso accustomed to.

“They think I can convince you not to run,” he says.

Neil visibly startles at that, expression suddenlymuch more guarded than it was before. “What?”

“You’re on the third floor of the hospital. There’san elevator to your left and a stairwell at the end of the hall to the right. Thereare cameras but they have blind spots – I’m sure you’d figure those outquickly. You’d get to the exit but you wouldn’t even make it to the highway beforesomeone would find you. So,” he says plainly. “Don’t run.”

Neil is watching him with a calculating look now andat least it’s something familiar.Andrew has seen this look before. Not for over a year, but he’s still seen it.

“If you know me as well as you apparently do, youshould know I’d find a way,” Neil says after a too-long pause.

“Abram,” Andrew says softly, gut twisting at the wayNeil’s entire frame stills at the word.

He looks at Andrew, and Andrew decides to answer hisunspoken question.

“You’re not Nathaniel anymore. You don’t rememberNeil. But you’re always Abram.”

“Who told you that?” Neil asks, voice quiet to maskhis panic.

“You did,” he tells him. “A year ago. When you wantedme to trust you. I’m giving it back to you now. Trust me.”

Neil squints his eyes as though he’s trying to workAndrew out. The joke’s on him; Andrew can’t even work himself out. “Whathappened?” he asks eventually.

Andrew feels like releasing a sigh of relief but hesuppresses it. “Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. Your uncle killedhim. All his associates are either dead or in prison. You’re under Moriyamaprotection. You officially have permission to play exy for the rest of yourlife. It’s over, Neil.”

Neil releases a slow breath, digesting theinformation, before he finally meets Andrew’s gaze with vulnerable eyes. “It’sreally over?”

Andrew nods once and Neil closes his eyes.

They don’t talk for the rest of the night but Neil doesn’ttry to run and Andrew stays. It’s at some point in the middle of the night,with Neil asleep and the room dark save for the glow from the heart monitor,that Andrew finally allows the fear to settle beneath his skin as he turnsNeil’s keys over in his hand.

He’s scared.

He’s scared Neil won’t remember. He’s scared of Neillooking at him like he’s nothing, like thisis nothing. It’s never been nothing and Andrew has only just admitted tohimself – quietly, in the deepest recesses of his mind – that this iseverything.

He cranes his head back, closing his eyes andreleasing a careful breath.

The walls are collapsing in and he’s not sure howmuch longer he can keep them standing.

Neil has been in hospital for four days.

He still feels odd, referring to himself as Neil, butafter his conversation with Andrew, Matt had brought him his passport anddriver’s license to show him. It feels odd but at the same time somewhatfamiliar. The same feeling you get when something is on the tip of your tonguebut you can’t quite remember what it is.

Andrew hasn’t been alone with him since the firstnight and doesn’t stick around much even when the other foxes are there. Neilhasn’t asked but he can tell their relationship is different to the one heshares with everyone else.

Andrew had been the one he’d believed the firstnight, the one who seemed to know how to actually get through to him. Neilnever envisioned he’d let someone close enough to him that they’d know him thatwell but evidently, Andrew is an exception.

(Not to mention, the little slip ups everyone hasbeen making tell him all he really needs to know.)

A few of the other foxes are with him now, talkingabout how the doctors said Neil could be discharged tomorrow since he seems tobe recovering well – besides the whole amnesia thing.

“Oh. Neil,” Matt says, getting out of his chair andgoing to the corner of the room. He grabs a small duffle bag, coming over toNeil’s bed. “We brought some of your stuff just in case you do get to go home tomorrow.”

Matt drops the bag into Neil’s lap and Neil tugs atthe zipper to open it. It’s mainly clothes but what he presumes are his phoneand his keys sit on top of the pile. He takes them out one at a time, firstturning the phone over in his hands and inspecting it. He’s not surprised whenit doesn’t jog his memory but he can’t help feeling slightly disappointed.

He picks up the keys next, going through each one onthe ring. Kevin tells him the first three are for the court before Neil can evenask and he hears Nicky punch Kevin’s shoulder, telling him to let Neil try andfigure it out on his own first.

Neil doesn’t pay attention to them though, looking atthe other three keys. One is a car key – for what car, he has no idea. Theother two are similar and he guesses one must be the key for his dorm room.

“What’s this key for?” he asks, choosing one of themat random.

Nicky moves closer to inspect the key, letting out anamused noise. “That’s for the house in Columbia. Damn, I didn’t know Andrew wasthat serious. He must’ve given it to you when you guys were there this summer.”

Neil frowns. That doesn’t sound right.

“He didn’t.”

“Hmm?” Nicky asks.

Neil looks up, the tail end of a memory at the cornerof his mind. “He didn’t,” he repeats slowly.

Thekeys, the trust, the honesty, the kisses.

“He gave it to me last year, at the start of theschool year.”

Nicky’s eyes widen at that. “Back then?” he asks in disbelief.

“Nicky, not the point,” Dan cuts it, fixing Neil witha serious expression. “Neil, do you remember?”

The doctor had told Neil his memories could all comeback at once but he’s still not prepared for the onslaught that hits him, twoyears of memories flashing through his mind’s eye and pressing against the insideof his skull. It’s like a tidal wave and Neil shuts his eyes as he tries topiece through them all.

Some of it is a bit jumbled up but at the centre ofat all…

He looks up, unsure how long he’s been silent as hemeets the hopeful expressions of Dan, Matt, Nicky, Allison and Kevin. “Where’sAndrew?” he asks quietly.

“He’s back at the dorms with Renee,” Allison answersafter a beat and Neil’s fingers tighten around his keys. The weight of how muchthe past few days must have impacted Andrew hitting him full force.

He reaches for his phone, tries to turn it on andlets out a frustrated breath when he realises it’s dead. He looks up, findingNicky’s gaze. “Call him.”

“Neil, do you remember?” Matt asks, repeating Dan’searlier question.

“Yes,” he says impatiently, directing his next wordsto Nicky. “Call him.”

Nicky’s mouth drops open in shock before he springsinto action and fumbles for his phone in his pocket. Matt says something aboutgoing to get a doctor but Neil ignores him, full focus on Nicky diallingAndrew’s number.

It takes too long for Andrew to get there and Neil spendsthe time sitting through an examination from his doctor, answering questionsand getting frequently irate as they continue, eyes trained on the door to hisroom.

When Andrew finally arrives, pushing through thefoxes blocking the door, Neil feels his breath catch in his throat.

Andrew is watching him, visibly keeping a tenuous strangleholdon his emotions, though Neil thinks no one can really tell except him.

“Andrew,” he says and he hopes it sounds different.He hopes Andrew can hear the difference.

Andrew doesn’t react and Renee ushers the foxes outof the room – Neil makes a mental note to thank her later.

“Come here,” Neil tries again, softly, with feelinghe normally reserves for the privacy of their own room.

It gets Andrew to move though. He walks over to thebed on stiff legs, stopping just by Neil’s hip. Neil sits up, meets his gazehead on and raises a hand. He lets it hover in the air first, right by Andrew’scheek, but Andrew doesn’t flinch or move or sayno so Neil carefully lays his fingers against Andrew’s cheekbone.

Andrew’s eyes are ablaze and Neil wets his lips. “I’msorry I didn’t remember you,” he whispers.

There’s a split second of still and then Andrew ispulling him into a crushing hug.

Neil releases a shaky breath, hands clutching at theback of Andrew’s jacket.

“If you ever do anything like that ever again, Iswear to god, Josten-“ Andrew tries to threaten, pulling back for half a secondbefore he’s hugging Neil again just as fiercely as before.

“Okay,” Neil soothes, burying his face in Andrew’sneck and breathing him in. “Okay,” he repeats.

Neil can feel the tension slowly seeping out ofAndrew’s bones the longer he holds on and when Andrew finally sags against himNeil raises his head, gently bumping their temples together. “Lie down with me?”he requests.

It takes a bit of manoeuvring but eventually Andrewis lying on the bed with him. Neil is turned on his side, head pillowed on thespot where Andrew’s chest meets his shoulder while Andrew’s fingers curl lightlythrough his hair.

Andrew is quiet, staring up at the ceiling, but it’snot the peaceful kind of quiet they’ve both become used to. Andrew is deep inthought and Neil only needs one guess to figure out what about.

“Hey,” he says softly. “I promised you I wouldn’tleave. I meant it.”

Andrew’s hand stills in his hair for a moment but hedoesn’t look at Neil when he speaks. “I told you to stop making promises youcan’t keep.”

“I can keep it,” Neil protests, pushing himself up onhis elbow and leaning over Andrew too look at him.

Andrew stares at him, jaw working. “Two hours ago youwere in no fit state to.”

Neil huffs, feeling frustrated as he tries to thinkof the best way to explain where his mind’s been for the past few days. “Nobut- you were still the one I trusted the most. You were still the one I wascurious about.”

Andrew continues to look up at him, silent and stonyas ever.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe I could fallin love with you?” Neil finally whispers and he watches the way the words makeAndrew come undone. Just a little bit.

Andrew’s throat bobs and his eyes search Neil’sexpression like he’s looking for an escape. “It’s hard enough to believe once. Idon’t expect it to happen twice.”

Neil’s chest aches at that because how can Andrewstill not understand? How can he still not see it? He takes a second to let therevelation wash over him before he meets Andrew’s gaze again. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Neil leans down, connecting their foreheads beforetheir lips but when they do kiss he tries to pour everything into it. All thethings they don’t say out loud. All the things they don’t even say tothemselves.

He pulls back after a minute or so – neither of themare in the right headspace for any more right now – and he settles his headback on Andrew’s chest, seeking out Andrew’s free hand and playing with hisfingers. Andrew’s other hand returns to his hair and Neil feels contentment slowlysurround him once again.

“I promise I’m not leaving,” he says one last time.

Andrew doesn’t reply but he doesn’t pull away either.

The silence between them now is fragile, uncertainafter too many confessions, but Neil lets it be. Instead, he focuses onrefamiliarising himself with his sense memory.

Taking in the smoky scent of Andrew’s clothes,listening to Andrew’s quiet, measured breaths, lips turned in to remind himselfof Andrew’s taste, eyes fixed on the strong line of Andrew’s jaw where his faceis turned towards the ceiling once again and, finally, he feels.

Touching the callouses on Andrew’s hand, feeling thetingle down his own spine as Andrew’s fingers card through his hair, envelopinghimself in the warmth that emanates from Andrew’s body.

His entire world could be erased but this. He doesn’tthink he could ever forget this.

#andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #the foxhole court #aftg #my fics #meme thing #happyminyards #asks #apparently there's no scientific proof that re-familiarising ppl with stuff from their life can trigger their memories but whatevs

361 notes · View notes

easyhairstylesbest · 3 years

Text

Priyanka Chopra Jonas Says Writing Her Memoir Gave Her the Closure She Needed

Priyanka Chopra Jonas comes from a culture that doesn’t exactly encourage women to talk publicly about their personal lives—much less publish books about them. “It was ingrained in me from a young age not to air my dirty laundry in public,” she relates. “What’s another way to say it?” she asks, but answers her own question: “How about, people shouldn’t see you polishing your dirty armor—or something along those lines,” she laughs. “I grew up with that one, too.”

When Chopra Jonas was thinking about writing her memoir, her plan was to let people read between the lines. “I initially thought the book would be a series of letters to my younger self,” she recounts to me via Zoom. It’s a mid-January evening in London and Chopra Jonas is sitting serenely in front of a large burning fireplace wearing a two-tone silk shirt, her hair pulled back from her face. “I started the process in early 2020 thinking I would talk about my achievements, my laurels, give advice to my younger self—that sort of thing. I thought I would scratch the surface and skim over the more difficult parts of my life,” she muses dryly, shaking her head at her own naïveté. But when she sat down to write, that’s not what came out. “The process became more like writing in a journal,” she says. “As I started thinking about everything, writing became a dissection of my emotions, my failures, and my pain. There was so much that flowed out of me that I hadn’t thought about in years or even realized that I remembered.”

The task of immersing herself completely into Unfinished, her autobiography, came at the right time. “I was approaching 20 years of being in the entertainment industry and it was something I personally wanted to acknowledge,” she explains. “I also realized that I was at a place where I was self-assured enough to look introspectively into my life—something I wasn’t capable of at the time these things were happening.”

“From my earliest years, my dad and I had an understanding: Whenever he was performing at the army club he would look me in the eye during the first song. The New Year’s Eve I was five he forgot, so I started to leave in a huff. Dad jumped off the stage and pulled me up onto it with him, coaxing me into a duet—a nursery rhyme—and winning my forgiveness.”

Courtesy

The child of military doctors, Chopra Jonas grew up moving from one army base to the next. “Then, as an adult, I was always running from one project to the next. There was never any time to look back and reflect.” I nod, thinking of her plethora of Bollywood roles over the past two decades—70 and counting. “It has always been about the next thing. In many ways, I feel as if I have been running from myself for most of my life.”

True to form, our conversation comes on the heels of Chopra Jonas having just wrapped the Sony Pictures romantic comedy Text For You co-starring Celine Dion and Scottish actor Sam Heughan. With barely a break in between, she’s about to start work on the Amazon series The Citadel with actor Richard Madden (Bodyguard; Game of Thrones) for showrunner team the Russo Brothers; the project will have her stationed in London until November. “My job doesn’t have the luxury of consistency,” she says. “So when COVID happened it forced me to sit down and address the things I had bottled up for many years.”

Boarding school was an emotional place Chopra Jonas felt she needed to revisit. “Being sent away to school in the third grade was something I thought I had put to bed, but I was compelled to reconcile with for the book,” she tells me. During her first week at La Martiniere Girls’ Private School in Lucknow, India, a four-hour train ride from her hometown of Bareilly, she recalls sitting on a merry-go-round in the school’s playground clutching the cold, rusty bars, her eyes fixed squarely on the gate. She willed her mother to come back and take her home. “What I remember vividly is the feeling of being abandoned—a feeling that lasted for a long time.” After months of heartache (including one episode that made her physically sick) and clingy visits with her mother that pushed back any progress, Chopra Jonas says she slowly started to adjust.

“Whether heading to work in a chiffon sari or gliding through the house in a cloud of Dior perfume, my mother was always impossibly glamorous.”

Courtesy

But as the seesaw between emotion and numbness subsided, the confusion remained. “I didn’t understand why I had been sent away,” she says. “I also didn’t understand why she couldn’t visit as often anymore.” Some days Chopra Jonas blamed the arrival of her little brother, Sid, for taking away her mother’s attention. Other days, she blamed it on her own “bad behavior”—recalling the tantrums might have triggered the decision for round-the-clock discipline. “My mother didn’t explain her reasons for sending me to boarding school,” she writes, “maybe because she didn’t fully understand them herself”. Eventually, Chopra Jonas stopped questioning why she had been sent away and started settling in, thriving in extracurriculars such as singing, dancing, drama, and public speaking—a sign of things to come. She also made close friends. “I never thought about it, but maybe it gave me a stability I didn’t know I was craving,” she tells me.

The boarding school also gave Chopra Jonas a taste of independence—something she wanted more of as a teenager. At age 13, during her first-abroad trip to visit relatives in Cedar Rapids, Iowa with her mother, she loved the sense of autonomy she witnessed during a visit to her cousin’s high school. “In India, we wear uniforms in school, but in America I could dress the way I wanted,” Chopra Jonas says. “Girls wore makeup and wore their hair down. They also wore shorter skirts. That was exciting.” When her Kiran Masi (maternal aunt) asked her if she would like to live and go to school in Cedar Rapids, Chopra Jonas didn’t have to think about it: America could offer the brand of freedom she was looking for. She wasn’t afraid of being away from home this time: “Really it felt like just the next step in my education. I felt like boarding school prepared me for America.”

What it didn’t prepare her for was the bullying and racism that cast a shadow over her new life. During her sophomore year in Newton, Massachusetts, where she lived with her Vimul Mamu (maternal uncle) and his family, a peer in the ninth grade and her squad of “hecklers” started targeting Chopra Jonas. At first, she did her best to ignore the racist slurs and casual shoving. “I stopped taking the bus because I knew they would be on it,” she writes in the book. “I took different routes to classes even though they were longer; I stayed away from where they congregated at the lockers.” Chopra Jonas tried to manage the situation by herself for a year, but her self-esteem suffered. “I was tired of being pushed around and seeing vile things written about me in the girls’ bathroom.” She called her mother and told her she wanted to come home. “I broke up with America,” she tells me.

“I broke up with America,” she tells me.

The experience woke Chopra Jonas from the juvenile, sitcom-induced infatuation for the country she thought she knew. But she’s grateful she had the opportunity to escape. “There are so many kids this happens to, but they don’t have the choice I did to get out of their circumstances,” she says. “I was lucky that I could leave and that I didn’t have to deal with it. I think that if I had stayed it might have chipped at my confidence a lot more than it did. I feel blessed that I could go back home to the support and safety of my parents.”

But she knows that “not having to deal with it” isn’t always a blessing. When her father passed away from cancer in 2013, Chopra Jonas says she never really examined or dealt with her grief. “Instead I just powered through it.” She had just finished training for the title role of the Indian film Mary Kom, the true story of the Indian female boxing champion. “Distracting myself with work has always been my modus operandi,” she emphasizes with a gesture of her hand. “Any kind of heartache, failure, grief, or loss—I always just turned to my work. Work engulfed me whenever I needed it to. I was like an ostrich: I always just buried my head in the sand.”

“Vimal Mamu (my maternal uncle), my mother, and me in 1998, when she traveled to Newton, Massachusetts, to bring me home.”

Courtesy

While the physicality of the role helped to channel some of her grief, suppressing her feelings resulted in a depression that would surface a few years later. It was the spring of 2016 and Chopra Jonas had just moved from Montreal to New York to shoot the second season of Quantico. “I thought I had moved past it,” she says when I share a little of the ebb and flow of my own grief after losing my father three years ago—who, like Chopra Jonas’ dad, was also in his sixties. She nods in understanding. “In reality, I was always carrying it with me.”

Unfinished: A Memoir

Ballantine Books bookshop.org

$25.76

There were more unhappy endings. Quantico wrapped its final season and a romantic relationship also came to a close. “I was fortunate to be able to work because it was my salvation.” When she wasn’t on set or on location, Chopra Jonas says she was mostly alone. “I would eat alone, watch TV alone. I got very little sleep, and I put on about 20 pounds.” She doesn’t believe she was clinically depressed, “but the time felt like a never-ending slump, a long sigh of sadness, a sort of pause on life that lasted three years,” she writes. There was one notable bright spot during Chopra Jonas’ intermission from life: “It was when I met Nick, even if it was very briefly,” she recalls, referring to her now-husband, singer-songwriter Nick Jonas.

Reflecting on her past through her book has been a lot like getting therapy, says Chopra Jonas. “It was a healing process,” she says. “For once in my life, I allowed myself to feel the feelings that I should have felt at the time.” In typical Indian fashion, her worrying has found a new outlet: the book’s release. “I’m terrified. There’s so much in there that I’m not comfortable sharing, even though I just did!” she laughs heartily. “The book is still fresh in my mind—raw even—especially since I just finished listening to the audio version. The whole time I was thinking, Oh my God, how am I even talking about these things?” She jokes that there are at least 25 things she wishes she had taken out. “But you know what? It’s okay,” Chopra Jonas says. “I understand that I can’t always be in control of everything.” She pauses, then adds: “It’s also too late to stop the presses.”

Wendy Kaur Wendy Kaur is a Toronto-based lifestyle, beauty and fashion writer whose work has been published in British Vogue, ELLE Canada, InStyle, FASHION, FLARE, and others.

This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io

Priyanka Chopra Jonas Says Writing Her Memoir Gave Her the Closure She Needed

0 notes

thekillerssluts · 6 years

Photo

CAN WILL BUTLER'S 'DISCO TOWN HALLS' SAVE AMERICA?

The Arcade Fire star is using the tour to re-invigorate local politics, one town at a time.

A select group of Arcade Fire fans got two sets one chilly Sunday night in October in the Twin Cities. The first was a major arena show. The second was at least 10 times smaller, and decidedly more political, as Will Butler, a rock star, visited the Turf Club to talk politics.

Arcade Fire's "Infinite Content" tour, linked to the release of their latest album, Everything Now, features a stunning show with live and recorded video choreographed in time to a spectacular array of synchronized lights and the band's typical virtuosity on dozens of instruments. The tour is staged in the round, with the band rotating through positions on a mock wrestling ring of pure white. Following two-and-a-half hours of near-constant music, the band's last song segued into a rolling bass line, over which the lead singer Win Butler absently sang a few lines of "Stand by Me."

Rock-star after-shows are supposed to be frivolous, louche, pleasure-seeking affairs. Win's brother Will, though, held his after-party about 45 minutes later at the Turf Club, one of the Twin Cities' oldest and greatest music venues, with a sense of seriousness. He had replaced his branded stage attire with a white button-down shirt. He's a stunning performer on multiple instruments with a wildly antic stage presence, and was nominated for an Academy Award for the score to Spike Jonze's Her, but, at the Turf Club, he kept it simple. He grabbed an acoustic guitar and demanded everyone sing along to "Stand by Me" from start to finish. Then he got to work.

Butler addressed the crowd of maybe a few dozen local activists and spoke passionately about the need to focus on local politics and to vote in off-year elections, then called Erin and Alyse Maye Quade to the stage. Alyse is the political and organizing director for the Democratic Farmer Labor Party (the Minnesota version of the Democratic Party). Erin, her wife, was the only DFLer to flip a GOP house district in the 2016 election, and now represents a suburban Minnesota district. After each woman spoke, Arcade Fire's violinist Sarah Neufeld played a set.

The night at the Turf Club was Butler's ninth "Disco Town Hall," a series of post-concert gatherings intended to link local politicians and organizers to music fans. Arcade Fire has always been an activist band, donating $1 of every ticket to Partners in Health. This, though, seemed new. Pacific Standard spoke with Butler over the phone to ask why a rock star would rush out of the arena to host small community events like this.

How did you decide to go local with your organizing? What's changed for you that this seems like the necessary approach?

For a little over 10 years now, we've done a dollar per ticket for Partners in Health. And then, after working with them for years, I went to school, the Harvard Kennedy School Mid-Career Master's in Public Administration. I feel like I've been a good advocate for them [Partners in Health], but I felt I could be a better advocate.

They are both macro and micro oriented. They showed that you could treat tuberculosis in rural settings and AIDS in rural settings, and were pioneers in that movement. Their approach to development is tied into the community, what community needs, and to try and empower the community. But they also realize if you can change six lines of U.S. code you can save a hundred thousand lives. If you get three congressmen to agree to something, things can change.

So you went to Harvard to learn how to be a better advocate? To learn how systems really work?

I took a class with Paul Farmer, focused on history and how society works, and with Robert Putnam, who is all about social capital, and how communities work, and how society functions or not.

So I was taking this history and sociology, just thinking about my role in the world and America in a shitshow of a year, in a university setting. And I realized I was going [on tour] to every major American city and would have 4,000 to 15,000 locals in the room. I wanted to experiment with the Venn diagram of people who come to the show and have a powerful emotional-aesthetic experience, then come to the after-show and talk politics, then listen to Sarah Neufeld play and have another powerful emotional experience.

What have you found so far?

I'm trying to preach to the choir and radicalize them a little bit, not push them farther left, but make them a little harder. Part of it is a community-building exercise. You came to the show, and now you're here, and now we're talking about something important. I try to introduce a little bit of flour, a little bit of thickening, to the music-goers in that city. I will never be more influential than having just gotten off a stage with a show that people liked.

How do you organize these local events? Do you just call up and say: "Hi! I'm a famous rock star and want to put something together!"

Some of it is cold-calling! I live in New York. I wanted to do the the afterparty for the campaign to close Rikers Island jail. I like to have activists and politicians together. I literally just cold-emailed my city councillor: "Dear Mr. Lander. I am a constituent. I play in a band called Arcade Fire. We're playing Madison Square Garden. Would you like to talk at the show after?"

Universally, every assistant in a progressive politician's office knows our band. That's our constituency.

Who did you call to set up this Minnesota show? How did you end up at the Turf Club with this young power couple?

In school last year, one of my classmates is the minority leader in the Minnesota house, Melissa Hortman. I said, "Hey Melissa, what's going on in Minnesota?", and she connected with me Keith Ellison's chief of staff, and he said, "these people [Erin and Alyse Maye Quade] are really rad."

What's one particularly powerful story from the afterparties?

We did one in Tampa on the campaign to change the state Constitution about felon disenfranchisement [i.e. allowing people formerly convicted of felonies to vote]. There's a decent chance that a change to the Constitution will at least get on the ballot in 2018, and there's been a big organizational push. Two of the organizers had been convicted of felonies and told their stories.

One of them said: "I'm a middle-aged black man, I've got kids, I just want to be a full citizen. I want to come home and tell my kids I voted." That's heavy but really powerful, and it's one in the morning.

It's a pretty interesting self-selected group that comes out and stays up late to go to this kind of meeting.

My dream is that a bit of an Italian '50s Communist Party scene. It's late night, there's something about it.

Does Sarah always play?

Yes.

Did you approach her and say "Hey, I know we're going to pour our hearts out on the big stage, but then let's do another show!"

First, I wanted to keep it in the family. And there's going to be so much talking. Talk talk talk. But then I thought, she's such a beautiful player and her music is so elemental. The world is mysterious and has nothing to do with words, so let's get a little more universal.

#Arcade Fire #will butler #interview

35 notes · View notes

coincidenceiscancelled · 4 years

Text

The Heirdom

Prologue

For centuries the three kingdoms had lived in the land of Tane; a land of lush forests, gray mountains with peaks covered in constant snow, plains half made of hot, brown sand and the other half just rocks and bushes with thorns that made one bleed just by looking at them.

For centuries, since the oldest of them could remember seeing the bright, white light of the sun shine down on the sandy ground in front of their dwelling.

They'd lived here for centuries; living in safety, happiness ... love and generosity in spades. The three kingdoms planned to join together, and become one. They kept putting it off, there was no urgency.

For centuries …until darkness and death came to the edges of their land and burned the life they knew into ashes. War broke out among the kingdoms and they put up a line, borders built with fire and wind, water and earth. They wrapped it all around their land to protect their citizens living in the scattered villages around the high, snow-peaked mountains, the flat plains and the lands by the lakes. Division came to the three kingdoms and where division reigned, death followed.

The darkness was filled with disease, illness, fear, and pain. Gruesome, vile killer it was and it sneaked through the borders like smoke; sneaked right into the villages and hurt.

Maimed.

Slew.

It caused suffering so prodigious, that they wept enough tears to fill a depression as cavernous as the Great Lakes.

After a while, they could not take it anymore.

The three kingdoms could not take the fear that stretched over the land like a foul fog. Couldn't stand to watch as citizens they'd sworn to protect twisted and screamed in pain as disease found them.

They could not stand death anymore in a land where usually Death sharpened his scythe only when age became right to leave. They could not live in fear for their own safety.

"And so the battle for the soul of the lands began." The voice was deep and booming, causing a tremble that made small rocks fall off the mountain's slope.

"Sometimes a road out of ruins scrapes your hands bloody." The voice continued.

Valor

The kingdom of Valor was set atop a mountain; it was cold all year round and so the people kept warm with fur coats made out of goat skin. There was not much that could grow on the hard rock of their homeland and so Valorians were mostly herders, hunters and traders. Being hill men, they had mastered the art of walking long distances untiring. They were hardy men, used to harsh conditions and so when the Intellectuns attacked, they thought they were ready.

When King Zachariah blew the battle bugle, his men rallied and they rode off to fight the invaders, leaving the kingdom in the hands of Queen Amber.

It was always grey in the mountains. The thick clouds made it hard for the sunlight to break through and light the world beneath it. The rest of the place was made of endless rocky hills of green that captured the eye. Its crystalline waters trickled down pebbled rivers. They followed such a river now, trying to find a way to the nearby village so that they could finally rest unworried while they gathered supplies. The horse's hooves squished in the muddied earth, made from the violent downpour that accompanied the night. There was a lot of talk and jest amongst the riders in an attempt to recover from the loss they had suffered at that day's sunrise.

King Zachariah had succumbed to his musket wound, having lost too much blood. In the end, they were too far from the main battalion to seek any help for the King’s physician. Now they would have to go home and report to the queen that her king was dead. No doubt, that had been what the people of Intellectus wanted. They wanted the kingdom destabilized so they could get their grubby hands on it.

The army general, Fevzi Balik, rode in front encapsulated in silence. His valet, Ejder rode with him, finding it hard to laugh and forget as well. He had sat with King Zachariah in his last moments, doing what he could to mend his suffering. he had been given the role of healer when the king had fallen, despite the fact that he knew little on how to mend a wound. he felt the weight of King Zachariah’s death on his shoulders. he also suspected the others would begin to blame him for the outcome. Fevzi had tried to settle his thoughts, blaming the Intellectuns that attacked them but not even the kindest of words could provide a shield against his own condemnatory thoughts.

He regretted not sharing his paranoia, having recorded the signs of an ambush in his mind as they rode earlier the day before.

The small evergreen square through which they moved was too silent, not even a solitary bird chirping. The men proceeded in their typical jocular manner, gossiping and imbibing their Raki. he, on the other hand, found no respite from his anxiously beating heart.

They had been waylaid by the Intellectuns before. he had just been recruited into the Valorian militia at the time, and the set-up had been similar to that leading up to King Zachariah's death yet he still said nothing.

They would have called him paranoid or told him that his young age made him foolish. So he stayed silent and continued to observe, waiting and hoping not to catch a glimpse of the enemy amongst the trees. Then he smelt the odor of black powder.

It was an unmistakable smell that he had come to associate with death. Nothing good ever came with that disgusting odor. Even if the missile emanating from such a firearm had saved his life, it still took another instead.

Fevzi had told him that it was kill or be killed but he would rather have left a weapon where it sat and died than end another life. That’s why he was a valet and not a soldier.

King Zachariah had been watching over him when he was shot, another reason he had come to place the blame on himself. He had heard the King’s scream before he heard the sound of the hammer release on the musket. His horse had reared and thrown him at the same time, he laid in the dirt stunned as shots rang around him.

Fevzi had then run to his side in his state of shock and dragged him out of the open. The general pushed him towards the thicker part of the forest and told him to run but his words did not register until he heard the whizzing of a musket ball go past his head.

Fevzi screamed at him, telling him to go. he ran clutching his robe as the chaos erupted behind him. By the time his feet could no longer support him, he had stumbled onto a small rivulet.

The icy water did nothing but add to the numbness that overwhelmed him. he had run away like a coward while his brothers fought. The singing stream water did nothing to soothe him. Just the opposite. How dare it flow with such indifference while lives were lost just a few paces away. he splashed his way out of the stream and flopped down against a tall pine. Salty tears flowed from his eyes, his breast filled with wretchedness or rage; he did not know. Maybe it was a mixture of the two.

When the sun began to set he felt an all too familiar loneliness suffused him. he no longer heard musket fire but none of his companions had come to him yet. He took that as a sign that the Intellectuns had been successful. Once again tears began to fall, their serenade lulled him to sleep. he awoke to a hand being placed on his face. It was dark and the forest was coated in mist. he forced his eyes to stay shut if this was his last moments he did not want to see the killing blow.

Most assuredly the conquerors had found him and soon he would join his lost friends in whatever mortal coil they had shuffled off to. As he sat there squeezing his eyes, the rough hand then moved and began to pat him on the head.

His eyes opened defiantly; curiosity getting the better of him. Fevzi 's grey, scruffy beard filled his vision. he followed the beard to the pale yellow eyes that always comforted him and he came to the conclusion that the Intellectuns had already killed him. The people before him had to have come to collect him to his final home.

he opened his mouth and gave voice to his thoughts. Laughter erupted all around him. Jacob and the other men all stood around him. Their bloodied and dirty faces brought him such joy and he leaped up from the ground at once and wrapped his arms around Fevzi.

The general surprisingly let him cling for a bit but when he regained his self-control, Fevzi 's dismal face caused his smile to disappear. He explained King Zachariah's condition and the blood-curdling screams he had heard, replayed over and over in his head. he had failed to notice the King slumped against an adjacent tree, his face devoid of color and his hand clutching his left side. Ejder ran to the King and began to strip away the layers of his blood-soaked robe.

The hole the musket ball made was larger than any he had ever seen before. Taking a deep fortifying breath, he started to work as speedily as he could. he had no real idea on how to treat such a wound.

Before this, he had tended simple cuts and grazes, never had he dealt with such a large amount of blood loss. There was a deluge as he worked on King Zachariah. in his feverish state he muttered unintelligibly as the men worked to keep a fire, Ejder began to lose the king.

he tended the wound all night and did his best to soothe the king. In the dead of the night, King Zachariah had opened his eyes for a final time and smiled.

Then he drifted back off into oblivion.

By sunrise, he had breathed his last.

The men conferred briefly and decided to bury him on the hill before they set off that morning. There was a small ceremony and they dug the best grave they could in the muddy, stony ground.

King Zachariah was given a rocky grave and then they moved on. Ejder lingered, murmuring words of apology into the stone ground. he once again placed a hand on the pile of rocks that covered the king Before mounting his horse and catching up with the others. They finally reached our destination. It's always grey here. Black clouds didn't allow anything but rain. His horse's hooves squish in the muddied earth of the village. Fevzi had found an Inn that they could rest in for the day.

***

Three days later they walked into Qosum, the capital city of Valor and brought the news of her husband’s death to the queen. She locked herself in her chambers and refused to speak to anyone. On the second day, her head of guard broke open her door when she would not answer his calls. He found her laying diagonally across her bed, her head hanging off the mattress and a trickle of dried blood, staining her cheek.

She was dead.

The grand vizier insisted that she had poisoned herself but her guard insisted on checking the room. He knew for sure that Queen Amber would not willingly have left her four children alone. He found a small dart lying on the carpet by Queen Amber’s head; a poisoned dart. He looked across the room at the open window and knew how this tragedy had come to pass.

“I have failed you, my queen.” He mumbled before offering his sword to her eldest son, Prince Zaki. “My life is forfeit.”

Prince Zaki took the sword, lifted it and swung it, neatly separating the guard’s head from his shoulders.

There was uproar in the streets when the people found out that not only their king, but their queen as well, had been killed. The citizens drank to the death of King Aadil of Intellectus. There was no doubt he had caused the king’s death and likely the queen’s as well.

***

King Aadil was cold. That was a fact of life in Valor really, but as he was used to the mild weather of the lowlands, it was not something he was used to.

The Keep had been cold in an inescapable, indefatigable way but it had not pervaded his bones as the weather outside did. The wind ripped right through him as if he was insubstantial. It certainly went right through his flimsy circle robes. But he was King, and as such he was expected to dress a certain way. He didn’t like it, but that was just the way it was. The consequences of going to war.

Speaking of war, King Aadil had just received word that his nemesis had been killed. Thus he had ventured forth from the Keep; in order to find out if it was indeed so. The woods look the same in every direction, but he was no fool and did not try to find a road. If the Valorians caught wind of his presence it would be over in a second.

He needed to meet his men and obtain a report. If it was as favorable as he thought, he could go home at last. He’d left his staff hidden in a bush not far from the Keep, but his robes still marked him out. The aim was to be as incognito as possible but he was beginning to regret leaving his guard behind. But they were in enemy territory, and he was not meant to be anywhere near here. For the sake of those who had helped him get close to his enemy.

“Hey, you!” a voice calls from behind him. Case in point. King Aadil turned a wide smile on his face.

“Is there a problem, bayim?” he asked, cheerfully.

“We know who you are…your majesty,” the man’s hand was already clamped around the hilt of his sword. “Stand down and surrender your weapon.”

King Aadil stumbled backward looking around himself quickly to see if there was anything he could use to defend himself. He had a sword but he wanted something he could use as a missile; fallen branches, rocks, anything. There was not. To the left the clip-clop of horses’ hooves sounded, coming closer.

“That’ll be the others,” the Valorian said. “Come on, now. Just stay there and you won’t get hurt.”

That was a lie.

King Aadil knew what would happen to him if he allowed these people to catch him and he would rather die. The hoof beats were getting louder, coming closer. A sudden shout came from their direction. They had probably recognized him.

King Aadil made a swift decision. He charged the Valorian, letting out a desperate bellow. The man pulled his sword, bringing it up to bear, but before he could swing, an arrow shot out from the woods, and struck him in the side, right between the plates of his armor. He let out a cry and turned, just in time to see the men on horseback arrive. They were not Valorians.

King Aadil has heard of the old Tranquilium clans, the ones that were pushed out when the Valorians moved into their territory, but he had never seen them.

They were covered in blue paint, as they were depicted in stories and a few of them were bare-chested which made King Aadil feel colder just watching at them.

The one with the bow was essentially shooting from horseback. He steered the magnificent beast with his knees.

Shouting something in a language King Aadil didn’t understand, he turned, meeting the king’s eyes for a moment. His eyes were… a stunning, brilliant blue and fierce. For a moment, King Aadil stood frozen beneath his gaze. Then he turned back to the retreating Valorian, and the spell was broken.

King Aadil felt as if he should try to retreat as well. The Clans took hostages all the time. No one knew what happened to the ones they stole. They were just... never seen again.

There were plenty of stories, however.

One said that they were killed or worse. He turned, ready to flee into the woods but before he could he ran smack into the chest of one of the men. He cried out stumbling back, falling into the snow. He really regretted leaving his guard behind.

“Yaşamak istiyorsan benimle gel,” the man told him. “ya da şimdi ve burada ölmek.”

He reached out a hand but King Aadil still retreated backward. Although, he had no idea how he would escape these men.

The fight was over, the Valorian presumably dead, which meant all attention was on him now. The one who shot the arrow came back, still on horseback. The others congregated around him in a circle as he seemed to be their leader.

He said something in that same language and the man who’d spoken before stepped back. He got down off his horse, moving slowly towards King Aadil, crouching down and looking at him with a cruel smile.

He’s not too close, hanging back to give King Aadil space. He spoke again, repeating the words the other man had said and King Aadil shook his head.

“I don’t understand you,” he said quietly. The man frowned and motioned for one of the other warriors to come closer.

“Prince Mansur say, are you hurted,” the new man said, slowly. It was clear he didn’t speak Elmese, the common tongue, fluently, but at least King Aadil could understand him. “we have herbs to treat if so.”

“I… am fine. Why have you rescued me? What do you want?” King Aadil asked, looking back and forth between Prince Mansur and the translator as he relayed the words.

“Prince Mansur say, you were in danger. And we do not like… eh… the Cold Ones?”

King Aadil gaped at him, having never heard the Valorians referred to that way.

“Cold Ones?” he chuckled. “Valorians you mean? I am not enamored of them either.” Prince Mansur smiled at him speaking again.

“Valorians,” the translator said, repeating the correction. “He say, you could come with us. We protect you.” King Aadil’s brow furrows at the words.

“I have my own people,” he said. The man shook his head. He lifted his hand and straightened his finger, mimed slashing his own neck.

“They are dead. Valorians found them first. You are alone.”

“I see…” King Aadil felt light-headed with fear but worked on keeping his face blank. “And you say you shall return me to my people?”

Prince Mansur smirked, speaking softly with that same gently cruel smile.

“He say, we shall do what is best. For everyone.”

King Aadil looked back and forth between them. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. He had but one sword on him.

“Alright,” he said.

Prince Mansur grinned when the word was relayed to him and he stood, speaking to the group as a whole, a cheer ringing out in response. Was that for King Aadil?

“He ask that you ride with him,” the translator said. King Aadil looked at Prince Mansur, biting his lip in hesitation, before nodding. The man lifted an eyebrow, gesturing for his man to lead the king to the horse. He put a hand on his chest speaking slowly.

“Prince Mansur,” he said. King Aadil smiled, mimicking the action.

“King Aadil,” he responded. Prince Mansur nodded at him, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

He boosted the king, propelling him upward on the palms of his hands so that he could settle on the horse. King Aadil was startled but realized that without help, he would not have managed. The horse was the biggest by far that he had ever seen.

Prince Mansur mounted up, taking the reins and urging his horse forward. He kept very close behind the king as his men surrounded them. It felt very much like being held, prisoner. Several of the warriors let out cries and charge ahead on the horses, one of them swinging an ax over his head.

That was the last time anyone ever heard of King Aadil. It was assumed he fell with his men at the Keep when Valorian citizens stormed it in an act of grief and revenge.

Coronation

When he was very young, Crown Prince Zaki used to play at being king. He’d position his toys in ranks around his, blank-faced courtiers, and issue decrees just as he’d seen his parents do.

Sometimes he imitated his father’s precise inflection, sometimes his mother’s routine of underscoring her words by snapping her fingers; though he was too young to produce anything like the same effect.

The games stopped after his father’s death, closely followed by that of his mother.

Crown Prince Zaki had known, vaguely, that his accession to the throne of Valor may not be a happy one. It didn’t convey the reality of it, though. Crown Prince Zaki had fallen into the easy trap of thinking his parents were indestructible. An easy enough error for any child to make about their parents, but one that he could not forgive himself for making.

He should have prepared for this, their sudden unexpected deaths, so close together took him completely by surprise. Crown Prince Zaki was accustomed to heartache, but this was something else. This was a raw and bleeding mortal wound, and even though his sisters, Princess Zaina and Princess Zabie tried to help him cope, there was nothing that they could do to suture it shut.

To make matters worse: they were unable to have a funeral for King Zachariah. There was no body to bury; nothing to lay in the tomb where Valor’s royal lineage lay in state, ready to welcome the next in line to take their place amongst them. Crown Prince Zaki had only his own memories of Micah’s memorial to guide him through what to do next. He didn't want to do it. He even thought about refusing initially, but the grand vizier persuaded him otherwise. He knew what running a kingdom was like. How easy it would be to lose control of the factions. Valor was rallying for war. it was imperative that either Crown Prince Zaki takes the crown or accept a regency.

The grand vizier didn't, for the sake of subtlety, mention who would take the role of regent. But they both know that it would be the grand vizier himself, and that would be worse for court politics than the loss of his parents in the first place.

Crown Prince Zaki, mercifully, had never been one to shy away from his duty simply because it was hard. It was clear, even if he wished it wasn't. Valor didn't need a Crown Prince, at the moment - it needed a King.

So a new mural was hung in the hall, draped in black. A blank and timeless visage surrounded by rays of light. It’s arms and wings raised as if to endure the burden of the whole of Valor. A somber coronation, the light, and color of Valor dulled as Crown Prince Zaki made his slow and steady way up the hall to the dais, to the crown, to the empty throne.

Princess Zaina stood beside it; his two other sisters behind her. Crown Prince Zaki was indescribably grateful for their presence.

Princess Zabie gave him a sad, sweet smile. Under the heavy ceremonial cape, Crown Prince Zaki’s shoulders squared. This, at least, was a consolation – he would not mourn alone.

The grand vizier held the crown and offered it to him. Crown Prince Zaki took it, and crowned himself, holding his breath against the sobs that could so easily have overwhelmed him.

Crown Prince Zaki was the King of Valor, and at least, he reflected, he had barely any family left to lose.

It was a cold evening in which King Zaki decided he would take a short walk despite the objections from his sisters as well as the servants’ many warnings. He just needed a respite from the mantle of King. He needed if just for a moment, to just be Zaina.

This aspiration led him to the palace gardens with their towering, succulent flowers arranged in every color conceivable.

A paved path led to idyllic views of all the greenery on display in their earthenware containers.

Smiling slightly, King Zaki recalled all of the times he and his younger sister would wander along this path before veering off it to frolic amongst the flora, making believe they were lost in an enchanted forest, only to really end up lost, filthy, and reprimanded by their father.

Now he was a grown-up and unable to sustain those fantasies of adventure, nor luxuriate in the innocence of childhood. Time had stolen away his life much sooner than expected and now he had customs and responsibilities to uphold and was aware of the importance of public relations and his image.

Valor had suffered a few generations of poor yields, detrimental to its once impeccable record for production of agricultural goods.

Thanks to his parents’ leadership, the kingdom’s affluence had rallied and far surpassed its state even during its peak a century ago. Indeed, the start of the war had been the covetousness of Intellectus and Tranquilium towards Valor’s prosperity.

Despite its financial status, the political strength of Valor was almost nonexistent compared to Intellectus and Tranquilium who exerted their authority with an extravagant display of force.

This circumstance, along with some details about the murder of his parents withheld from Zaina, had led to the moment earlier this morning that he was trying so very much to forget.

He had eaten breakfast together with his sisters; only at mealtimes were both sexes allowed at the same table, when one of the maids had meekly uttered an almost soundless, “Your Highness?”

King Zaki looked over at her, confused. He had never actually spoken with her, but he did recall her being more outspoken than that having seen her interact with his sisters. This difference in her manner put him and the princesses in a state of disquiet.

“Your Highness, you are required in the grand vizier’s chambers.” the girl said with a steadier tone. “he requested your immediate appearance, if possible.”

“Alright.” Princess Zainah stood and walked toward the girl, who by law would accompany and stay with her while she was in conference with the man. That left her brother and sisters as well as her uneaten food behind. King Zaki was not sure how long she would take to return, so he bade the servants put the food away.

He was right in his decision as he did not hear from Princess Zainah again until after sunset. She returned to him, her expression stoic, but King Zaki could tell that she was holding back something like she always had.

“I apologize for being unable to finish breakfast with you.” She said with sincere sorrow. “We are scarcely able to spend time in each other’s company anymore, and now my schedule is going to be even more demanding.”

“How so?” King Zaki was unsuccessful in disguising his disappointment. “Why?”

Princess Zainah reclined on her chair as they dined and inhaled deeply. She kept her eyes downcast onto her plate. “I am to wed as soon as possible. The kingdom demands stability from its monarchs. I expect the grand vizier will be speaking to you as well.”

King Zaki’s heart sunk. He had a lot on his plate. This was one more thing he did not want to think about. He suspected that that was the reason the grand vizier had gone to Zainah, rather than himself with this proposal.

***

The garden at this time of night was always quiet, the sun had set a while ago. high in the sky, a full moon perched the glinting stars hidden by shifting wispy clouds. It was a beautiful night with a breeze brought about by the tail-end of fall. It teased the skin, causing goosebumps that tingled in reaction.

The queen lay on the grass in the center of the garden, her arms pulled up and hands tucked under the nape of her neck like a pillow. She stared at the clouds drifting across the moon, her nearly translucent soft brown eyes appearing to reflect the light of the moon.

Her heart clenched tight as the solemn bells tolled, shattering the silence. The cavernous gongs echoed across the city that stretched below the palace for everyone to hear. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she took a deep breath to fill her lungs. The peace was annihilated, particularly now that she could hear the softly tapping footsteps approaching against the flagstone walkway.

"Queen Raina?"

The voice that called to her was soft, aloof and apologetic. As if the bells hadn’t conveyed the message to her with sufficient forcefulness. Here came her lady’s maid to tell her in words she didn't think she was ready to hear. She cracked open her eyes and shifted them to the young woman, her bright green eyes watching her before dropping to the ground before her. She twiddled her thumbs, ginger locks swaying with the ever so soft breeze.

"The king is dead."

There they were.

A simple four-word sentence that destroyed her mind. She knew this day would come. Everyone knew the leader was not immortal and war was a hard taskmaster and a fickle servant. That did not mean that Queen Raina, was prepared. The Queen scrutinized her some more, noticing the glassy texture of her lady’s maid’s eyes that came with tears. Her face was grey, the red rings around her eyes providing the only color. The Queen peeled her eyes away from her lady’s maid and stared back at the moon.

"I know," She dared not say any more lest she reveals the tightness she felt in her throat.

Queen Raina was no leader; of that she was certain. Leaders set fires.

Queen Raina watched. That was how she saw her role.

Sometimes it was disease that charred the earth, turning the streets into funeral pyres and men into pieces of swollen ailing flesh.

In other times, such as this war, it was a notion, a conviction and the demented men that sought to bring them to fruition them that turned the world to ash.

When the three kingdoms first proposed a merge, Queen Raina scoffed and sipped wine. She knew well that the kings might mean well, but their beliefs overshadowed all practicality and she had not been surprised when it all fell apart. Throughout history, it was always the radicals, idealists and mad men who lit the world on fire.

She had been there for the rapprochement meetings and the had witnessed the subsequent uprising. Blood lined the streets because some were always greedier than others.

Even after all this time, she could see it still, here and there, between the cobblestone and stained on ancient brick. Queen Raina could only shake her head at the waste.

She had witnessed the deterioration of the kingdom as the war took its toll, as King Aadil resorted to ever more desperate measures to win. She had known in her soul that something like this might happen. All those grimy fingers scrambling in the dark jostling for any bit of clout they could find or someplace to stand. It was inevitable.

She could be like a pestilence and sweep through cities, towns, territories or kingdoms if she wanted. She could incinerate men, women, children and spit on the ashes. She could paint the world with blood, bring down kingdoms, make children into gods and then kill those gods. Queen Raina could feel the earth turn. If that was who they wanted her to be, she could oblige them.

But she was not a leader. Leaders had heirs, thrones, and castles. Leaders had things that people could burn. Leaders died. King Aadil was a leader but Queen Raina was not.

The world burned and Queen Raina watched.

Massacre

King Zaki sat back in his throne, frowning a little at the four men in his audience. They had not been polite, and occasionally shot glances at the royal guard's sword. The king did not seem to be as menacing dressed as he was in his long white robe, the gold of royalty lining the collar in intricate patterns espousing secret messages and simple brown sandals. He did not make for a threatening visage no, but the man beside him did.

Royal guard Michael stood in his brown leather and chainmail like a lone pillar - strong and still. His fire opal eyes pierced each man with an ever-increasing hostility, even though his body did not move and his stare remained steady.

King Zaki sighed, feeling an intangible tension in the air. "What exactly was the point of seeking my audience? I do not have all day for this."

The lean, dark-eyed man on the far right stepped forward his glance darting constantly across the room. Michael was not enamored of him, having locked eyes with him a number of times. The suspicious man always looked away first. "We are here to avail a service to the people."

"Is that so?" King Zaki quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward, his interest piqued. "And what service is that?"

The lean dark-eyed man took another half step forward. "We'd like to do Valor the service of removing you from its throne."

Michael moved like lightning. King Zaki barely caught sight of the dagger thrown towards his chest before Michael roared, lunging forward to shield the king and letting the blade to rebound off of his chainmail. The other three men dashed toward the king but Michael and the rest of the soldiers in the hall made quick work of them.

The main assassin would be given a more brutal death as he tried to slip past the royal guard to kill the King again. Michael snarled "No!" and brought his sword down in a mighty arc.

The blade met the assassin’s neck, as he was viciously decapitated in the middle of the throne room. The sickening sound of bone breaking and flesh separating accompanied a spray of blood that soaked both the king and his royal guard as fat drops dribbled from the end of Michael’s sword.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Michael, breathed heavily, as he bowed before his king. King Zaki sat in shocked silence, trying to calm his trembling hands as he processed what had just happened. He looked down at his royal guard, Michael, who lifted his head and stared back at him, his own eyes full of fear.

King Zaki blinked a few times, trying to clear his red-rimmed vision. "...I…are you hurt?"

Michael shook his head, getting to his feet as he wiped the blood from his sword off on the assassin’s clothing. Sheathing the weapon, he gave a sigh before meeting the king’s eyes. "...Are you alright, majesty?" King Zaki gave a tiny nod, and so Michael stepped forward gesturing at King Zaki’s face with his hand, “May I?”

The king frowned in confusion before nodding and seemed surprised when Michael reached out and gently wiped most of the blood from his face.

"Wh-What was... we must get to the bottom of this. Have you seen this man before? Is he one of ours?"

Michael looked down at the man, then shook his head. "I have never seen him before. I think he was just a sell-sword."

"...A-Ah." He seemed to be having trouble digesting that information. "...I should have expected it, I was a fool-- if not for you, I'd... I'd be dead right now."

Michael looked at him a moment. He was not only the king’s guard but had trained him from when he was a mere boy, just learning to use a sword. They had grown up together but Michael had always felt that the crown was heavy on this particular monarch’s head. He would do all he could, to watch over him, nevertheless. “Majesty, perhaps you should retire to your chambers and have your valet find you a new robe to wear.”

King Zaki nodded and stood, looking a little faraway-- it clearly unnerved him to be reminded that, even after all his hard work to make things right, there were men and women out there that wanted nothing more than for him to die.

Michael’s eyes gentled with uncharacteristic tenderness as he met the king’s eyes. "Rest assured that you will not die. Not while I still draw breath."

***

She was the best there was. Her target had died silently, unaware of her presence, while his royal guard surrounded his chambers. Wiping her knife on his bedclothes, she sheathed it in her boot, then slipped back out the window. She closed it behind her and leaped into the air, her makeshift parachute a bolt of heavy black cloth spreading out above her like a bat. She landed, as planned, in the shallow waters of the moat on the north-facing side of the castle where there was nothing but wall and forest. Disappearing into the shadows, she used a rope to shimmy up the wall and melt into the forest where she’d left her horse.

She rode hell for leather until she crossed the border, making for a prearranged safe house. Climbing through a window she crept upstairs, skipping over the steps she knew made a noise. Glancing through the muck-encrusted window she smirked. Crouching low, she unhurriedly opened the door, creating a gap just wide enough for her to squeeze through. She stayed low as she shut the door behind her. Without straightening up, she rushed across the dimly lit room and came to a stop behind a seat.

“It’s done.” She got to her feet, whispering into the man’s ear as he sat dozing.

“By the Gods!” Kainan barked and the chair slid backward as he bounded to his feet. “For goodness sake, Cemre, don’t do that.” He rested his hand on his heart, gasping for breath.

Laughing Cemre flopped into the chair on the other side of the table. Kainan rumbled at her as she placed her booted feet on the clean and shiny surface. He took great pride in the clean, oiled wood of his table, it was a stark and telling contrast to the grimy walls of the room.

“Get your godforsaken feet off my table.” He swiped them off. “At least there’s no blood on them.”

She pulled a face, recalling her earliest kill. She had carelessly trodden on her target’s blood. Fortunately, she had washed off the blood when crossing a creek as she went back to base. she’d suffered a beating for her mistake where her nose had been broken and a ligament in her shoulder torn. She could still feel the ache to this day.

Three years later, at sixteen, she was too well versed to make such rookie mistakes.

“You know that whoever succeeds him will take over his causes.” She pulled a glove off, picking at her fingernail that was caught in the lining. “Valor is just not going to stand down because they lost one more monarch.”

“That is not your concern. We are given an assignment; we carry it out. Everything else is above your pay grade…and mine.” Kainan humphed, turning away from her as he said it.

The Order of the Black Stallion were independent contractors who sold their services to all without discrimination. Once a job was set up, they did not stop until it was done. They assassins never met the clients, simply carried out the job, reported completion to Kainan and then went about their business. The rest was out of their hands.

For Cemre the Order was the only family she’d ever known. They had found her on the streets of Intellectus at seven years old wandering, homeless and lost, having lost her parents in a recent skirmish. The life they offered her was difficult but not without its perks. The pay for one would ensure she would never be hungry even should she leave the order.

She could blend into the shadows, disappearing so effectively that she was essentially invisible. Kainan was quick to recognize her natural abilities and steered her towards weapons training, learning infiltration, and teaching her to read, write and speak in a way that could enable her to fit in anywhere.

Soon they heard the heralds, bringing the evening news to the outlying village where they were holed up.

“We have received news of the assassination of King Zaki of Valor. Repeating the sad news. We have received news of the assassination of King Zaki of Valor. He shall be succeeded by his sister, Princess Zainah of Valor.”

Cemre grinned at Kainan. “What did I tell you eh?”

It was fitting, that snow had begun to fall right as Michael knelt on the frigid ground. As placed his neck stiffly upon the execution block, Queen Zainah lifted her chin a little higher. The eyes of Valor, of her ancestors, of the gods and the people, were all on her. Michael had failed his king. The penalty for that was death.

She was clothed in a slate-grey pelt and yarn and might have resembled a she-wolf, but, this was the first time ever since assuming the throne, that she had felt like one. With her brother’s death, the mantle of war fell on her and she had to sharpen her teeth, and claws, and make sure this was the last death her family had to grieve…at least for a while.

she thought briefly of her late brother as snowflakes bathed her face and hid her tears, killed cruelly as he slept and her sisters ensconced in the palace away from malevolent eyes. She thought of her mother, dying of despair and her father cut down in the field of battle.

They had their time; this was hers. Her family had paid for it in blood and bone. Given their all, heart and soul, pride and sorrow. Valor was her responsibility. Not only would she fight for it with everything she had but she would also make those who had tried to destroy them pay. Starting with Queen Raina.

She called for Asya with a twitch of her hand. The fierce warrior stepped to her side, as was wont to happen. Asya was her royal guard. Just as Michael had guarded her brother so did Asya guard her.

As she held out the hilt of the sword Queen Zainah took it without hesitation. The gilded hilt sat heavy in her hand, chilly even through her leather gloves. It was nothing new to her. Tension tightened in her bosom as she unsheathed it decisively, not allowing even the sliver of doubt to slow her down, muscles rigid to prevent their trembling.

She had been practicing for years with Asya. Who better than her own guard to teach her how to fight? She had suffered early mornings, aching nights with sore limbs and bleeding callouses. She had never enjoyed it, but she was a proficient fighter as a result and that was the important thing. She knew far better - especially with recent events - than to assume she would not one day have to fight for her life, for her loved one’s lives. It gave her the confidence in the gray morning light, with flurries swirling around her, and her sword fashioned from that of her father gripped in her adept hands to stand at this most sacred of sites.

The tree branches rustled in the breeze as she bowed her head and began to speak. “In the name of the ancestors and the oath that you took to protect my brother’s life with your own, in light of your failure to carry out that duty and thus forfeiture of your life, I, Zainah, of the House Aslan, Queen of Valor, sentence you to die. Will you speak a final word?”

Michael bowed lower, snow in his hair, his eyes bleak and despairing. “I go to join my King in the after where he might well have need of me and I might mitigate my shame.”

Queen Zainah breathed in deep, blinking back tears - this was no time for them - then hoisted the sword, and let it fall in one swift motion.

Michael’s blood pooled on the ground at her feet, but she refrained from looking at it. Neither did she gawp at his severed head or the rest of his body; he deserved the respect of her averted gaze. But neither did she meet the eyes of her grave royal guard, or Asya standing stiff and straight, chin up, eyes front at her side. Queen Zainah allowed them the privacy to let grief show, without taking note of it. Instead, she regarded her dripping sword intently, the weapon coated in the blood of a loyal soldier, ever vigilant even beyond death; the progeny of another blade wielded in honor by her father. She would avenge them all, in time.

Courtship Rituals

Queen Zainah was well aware that her people might be uncomfortable with a monarch that was not wed, if only because at the current mortality rate, it was prudent to have heirs at the ready.

Queen Zainah did not really time to be wooed but fortunately for her, she did not have to be. Prince Zain of Valor was a cousin she had been raised with and he would make a suitable consort. He was loyal, astute and strong. He could stand by her side and be accepted by the people as worthy of rule.

She sent her sentinel to let him know that she was amenable should he wish to begin courtship rituals. These were a series of trials any aspiring couple had to undergo to ensure that they were compatible. The first one was the simplest. Prince Zain was to send her a gift to signal his acceptance of her proposal. Should she like the gift, then the courtship could begin.

She went to bed, not at all expecting to hear anything from the prince for some time. After all, when you had to choose the right gift for your chosen, it might take you some time to hit on the right one.

So she was surprised to be woken in the morning by a delegation from the Prince. She sat up in bed, eyes narrowed, annoyed that he had not taken the time to really think before responding. It reduced the likelihood of her liking his gift.

With a sigh, she signaled for Asya to let them in. She sat ramrod straight as the procession ringed her bed. Every member held something in their hand. She inhaled, eyes narrowed as she watched them and then nodded for them to proceed.

The first person stepped forward, and removed the hood from her head. It was a woman of medium height, with long flowing brown hair and liquid malachite eyes. She met the Queen’s eyes unflinchingly. “I have a poem here from his royal highness. Will you allow me to read it?”

Queen Zaina nodded stiffly and the woman bowed, and then began to read.

“As the rivers rise to meet the tip of the mountain,

the snow comes from above, freezing it in its path.

Nevertheless, it persists, it flows, it reaches its peak.

The river will not be stopped.

Not by rock, or hill, or wintry weather.

The river goes on, as will Valor.

Long live the Queen.”

The woman stepped back, leaving Queen Zainah quite discombobulated. She had not been expecting that. The next person stepped forward, head bowed, holding out their hands.

“May I?”

The queen looked at the carving in their hand and nodded. Even with a bowed head, the person seemed to understand that permission had been granted and got to their knees. “Allow me to present to Your Majesty, a perfect rendering of the mountain upon which Valor sits, carved by the hands of Prince Zain.” They hold it out to her and she takes it, finding out that it is surprisingly light for such an elaborate item. She looked it over, noting how Prince Zain has managed to make the river seem playful, the mountain looming over everything while the surroundings seem to be thriving with greenery and life.

She smiled, nodding her approval.

“The gifts are not done yet, my lady,” the third person said quietly.

Queen Zainah’s smile widened. “What else.”

The third person steps forward. “Prince Zain requests your presence in your sitting room.”

Queen Zainah quirks an eyebrow. Nevertheless, she gracefully slips off the bed and reaches for her robe. Her lady’s maid is there to tie it securely and arrange her hair appropriately. She slips into slippers and walks out of her bed chamber and into the sitting area of her quarters. There she sees Prince Zain waiting. As soon as he saw her, he sunk gracefully to one knee. “Your majesty,” he unsheathed his sword and placed it on the ground between them, may I present my sword to your service and for your protection?”

Indeed, when she had become Queen, they had all sworn their loyalty to the crown that she wore. This was different; a declaration of personal fealty to Queen Zainah herself. There was no higher honor.

Queen Zainah was moved beyond her ability to speak.

She stepped forward, her ring finger bearing the family crest extended. “I accept your sword, and offer in return, my everlasting gratitude.”

Prince Zain got to his feet and met her eyes. Then he bowed low, even as she curtsied. The first ritual was complete.

The announcement was made to the kingdom that Queen Zainah was betrothed. This was of course, taken as a reason for the people to celebrate. A street carnival was held, with the palace releasing foodstuffs for the people to consume, free of charge.

Queen Zainah and her consort, Prince Zain ventured out of the palace to walk among the people are receive their congratulations.

It happened so fast nobody saw it coming. One minute Prince Zain and Queen Zainah were walking down the cobbled street, surrounded by the royal guard, waving at the gathered citizens, the next, there was an arrow sticking out of Prince Zain’s chest.

There was a lot of blood, people were screaming as the royal guard surrounded Queen Zainah, hustling her away as she called for her consort who lay bleeding on the street surrounded by soldiers from his contingent.

They searched for the assassin on the roof of every building that lined the street, every open window…but they found no sign of them.

“What is happening? Why is this happening?” Queen Zainah asked as she paced about her chambers, her arms folded, hands shaking in anger and helplessness.

“Our spies think that this is another attempt by Intellectus to destabilize us.” The grand vizier said as he stood in front of her, staff in hand, face solemn.

Queen Zainah looked up, narrowing her eyes at him. “And what will we do about it?”

He sighed. “That is up to you, my lady. What will you have us do? Shall we send our own assassins? Or emissaries?”

She pierced him with her gaze. “Are we certain that is Queen Raina who does this?”

He shook his head, “Not certain. We are highly suspicious, she has the means and perhaps she feels she has motive. But no, we have no confirmation.”

“Then we shall send emissaries to her…and plant spies at her court. I want to know as much as possible before I act. Send some spies to Tranquilium as well. It would be like them to send an assassin so as to make us think Queen Raina sent them. We destroy each other and they take over both our kingdoms.”

“Indeed, your majesty, a diabolical plan indeed that would be but we cannot rule it out.”

She stopped pacing, facing her grand vizier. “Well this is all conjecture at this point is it not? Go out there and get me information.”

“In the meanwhile my lady? What will you do about your betrothal?”

Queen Zainah sighed. “The late and lamented Prince Zain had a brother, Prince Zachariah who is amenable to taking his brother’s place.”

The grand vizier nodded his approval. “Good. We shall have the funeral rights for Prince Zain and then the marriage ceremony the next day. In the meantime, we shall keep this a secret and hope that will enable us to reach the wedding. You and he must both be very careful. Someone seeks to wipe the royal family out it seems.”

“I know it.” Queen Zaina nodded her agreement, “we shall be careful.”

The town crier went around shouting the words as the bell tolled:

O let the solemn bell Toll; the line of black-clad soldiers Whey-faced, weapons sheathed,

eyes glistening with tears unshed, In rigid salutation and stillness issues forward To lay to rest a prince, soldier, friend. Burning lamps that extinguished by day do serve to signal To stop the hectic deluge for an instant, two, And those, unwitting, bow, safe in avowed hands. Companions of the Shield pay last respect: Guard that which could not be conserved, and stand with rigid and ceremonial stance, all self-possessed, A Guard of Honor, primeval, tough and full of pride. Grey incense may salute the air; this rite Marks vows as fervent purchased and held precious, Gives to that covering incarnation, in integrity, adoration And strength afforded to the living left behind. Bear witness and heed, as the bugle sounds: Now say farewell to sibling spirit fled Who was well loved, if yet so little known; They with swift slowness in procession go To mark Prince Zain's passing, and our loss.

The castle was draped in black cloth to signify mourning and Queen Zainah remained in her chambers under heavy guard as her sisters remained in theirs.

***

She stood on the battlements, looking out into the town. The villagers had begun lining the streets as late as last night. Today, Prince Zain’s casket would travel through the town for his last goodbye, escorted by his brother, Prince Zachariah and all members of his household. For his own security, Prince Zachariah would travel in a carriage, surrounded on all sides by a human shield.

Queen Zainah and her household would await him in the castle where they would welcome the casket to the great hall for last rites.

Queen Zainah swallowed a lump in her throat – a combination of guilt and grief. Prince Zain had always been a loyal friend to her. He would be missed. She did not know his brother as well. He was younger than they were and grew up more with her sisters, Zara and Zuniga, as he was closer to their age than hers. They had attended schoolroom together as well as arms training and unarmed combat.

Zara had assured Queen Zaina that Prince Zachariah was a good man and would make her a good husband.

At this stage, I just hope he lives long enough for us to father children.

She turned to her grand vizier who was standing a few steps behind her, and beckoned him closer. “The spies, they have been dispatched?”

“Yes Your Majesty.”

“Good.”

She had to feel as if she was doing something otherwise the despair would be too much.

***

Her marriage to Prince Zachariah took place in her chambers witnessed by her sisters, the grand vizier and a representative of the people. A court reporter drew pictures which would be hung up on market day so that the people would know what had transpired. They could not take the risk of exposing themselves to the possibility of another murder.

The people would understand.

At least Queen Zainah hoped so.

***

The keep remained the last structure in the wreckage.

That it had fallen during the siege of the castle did not surprise Queen Raina – if walls that stood for thousands of years, withstood all those winters, could break down, why would the keep remain standing?

The keep was a younger building. Her husband’s father had built it for his wife, a southern lady of Tranquilium, just twenty years ago. The brick was still new; the stones hadn’t yet taken root like trees. Queen Raina imagined it crumpling like a straw house or one made of sand when Intellectus had first been attacked.

The rest of the castle’s ruins had taken priority when they had begun to rebuild out of necessity –a Hall was always necessary as was the armory. Living quarters for guests were and the army was important.

Her primary concern was not her the aesthetics of her home but that she be seen as the rightful ruler; the queen they decreed her when they placed the crown upon her head.

But the keep is a piece of her husband’s past that she feels compelled to cherish on his behalf – she remembered sitting quietly next to him, learning what she needed to know, in order to rule by his side, observing the shine of the arctic rays as they shone upon the stained glass windows of the keep and caused prisms of color to cavort along the uneven, stone floors.

Once she had found as much peace in the keep as her husband had seemed to – perhaps it was apt, then, that it lay in ashes, for it has been a long time since Queen Raina had known any true peace.

Sometimes she stood facing the ruins, as though they would whisper answers to her. It made her feel as if she might uncover the solution to the unbearable weight she carried with her every day. The weight of anger, despair, grief and guilt.

“Your Majesty, there are emissaries arrived from Valor,” one of the servants informed her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was not ready to meet with emissaries. She knew her royal counsel would urge her to at least speak with them.

But when she closed her eyes and thought of Valor all she saw was blood, death and destruction. She could not make nice with those people. Not until they had paid for what they had done.

She had heard of the spate of assassinations. She assumed that was the reason emissaries had been sent. Did they think she was behind the deaths? Queen Raina smiled slowly, coldly. If that is what they thought, then she would not be the one to disabuse them.

But she had not expected emissaries. King Zaki would have sent assassins she was sure, as his father would have. This queen on the throne was much more dangerous then; if she wanted to be seen to be suing for peace while she no doubt tried to infiltrate Queen Raina’s kitchens and poison her food or some such. Whatever she thought of doing, Queen Raina would be ready for her.

“My queen?” the servant prompted. They would need a response she supposed, to see whether they were to put the emissaries to death or show them where they could rest their heads until the queen was ready to see them.

Queen Raina hesitated, wondering which she wanted to do.

Kill them? Or speak with them?

Her heart told her to do one thing, her head, another.

0 notes

letsprayitwritesitself · 7 years

Text

groundhog dave part 6 afternoon four

9th January.

He couldn’t keep his eyes open. Like gravity was acting on them, forcing his eyelids down, yet when he indulged in a long blink, they burned. He made himself focus, squinting into his laptop screen and trying to figure out if the mysterious characters that he himself had written the night before were actually words.

Oh yeah I’ll wake up early and finish it in the morning, Jesus, when the fuck has that ever worked for anyone, God Davey.

He really wanted a cigarette. It was Friday morning, and he’d overslept. Kind of. If you could call making it to work at 7:15 oversleeping.

It was a budget proposal for a new feature he’d managed to dream up midway through a weekend. A dry, boring piece of documentation he had to present to his superiors before being able to paint the air with his gorgeous ideas and assurances of how the feature would better the show (make them more money.) But his boss, who he’d emailed with the idea that Sunday morning, had given him a deadline of first thing Monday, giving him less than a day to get it together.

Why couldn’t they just trust him and give him a blank cheque?

Like an idiot he had let himself sleep, as soon as the words on the page started to become meaningless literally as he wrote them, and woke in a panic after five hours, pulled his clothes on and ran to the station, where he slammed his laptop down on his desk and hurriedly tried to finish the damn thing.

So maybe when Sheila from casting had brought the new weatherman over, he hadn’t exactly... noticed. Not straight away, anyway. He was busy.

‘And Jack, this is David, he’s one of our roving producers! You’ll be with him on the Groundhog... David?’

‘Huh?’ He looked up and blinked.

‘This is Jack, the new weatherman. First day!’

He tried to think. Man standing in front of him. Sheila from casting. Report. Deadline. Fuck. Fucking work.

‘What?’

‘I’m Jack.’ Jack held out his hand. Davey glanced at it. He reached out and shook it, as he did so letting his eyes drift back to his laptop screen. Was that number right? That date?

‘Hey...’ He didn’t mean to be rude. But how could he meet someone new when he was clearly tied up in this? He had already forgotten this guy’s name. ‘It’s nice to...’ That figure was definitely wrong. Shit. ‘Sorry. This is.’ He meant to say a whole sentence but the rest fell away as he tried to locate his other spreadsheet, that little attention he’d spared utterly swept away. He didn’t see Jack bite his lip, raise his eyebrows and nod, and he didn’t see Sheila purse her lips and turn back to Jack.

‘Let’s get you introduced to make-up.’

Some time later, when the report was fired off, and he had the brain capacity to think about anything else, this encounter would dawn on him as a slightly embarrassing asshole move, but not one that he really had the time or inclination to fix. He couldn’t be too unhappy if he wasn’t best friends with everyone at the station, right? That wasn’t why he was there.

February 2nd. Time four. Continued.

On his way into the square he saw Spot and a brief flame of self-consciousness flared up. Spot had no idea that they had - because they technically hadn’t... But then Davey had definitely - Christ. It felt icky. Like he had no right to know what Spot looked like in the throes of passion, and yet, as he stared at him, that was all he could think of (obviously, and it got more difficult to push away the more he tried.) Spot glanced at him as he attempted to force his mind away, and they locked eyes. He was wearing his signature glare, so Davey looked away immediately. But then. He knew, or could infer, from the other night that Spot... liked him. In some conceivable way. So he looked back up. And it felt dumb, but he let a lazy smile cross his face, and nodded his head just barely. Spot’s glare softened. Flirting - check. Ish.

He crossed to the far corner of the square, and to Jack and Crutchie.

He felt like he could recite the ceremony word for word by now and resisted the urge to prove it, watching with a distant enthusiasm that was alien but not unwelcome. Right on cue after the broadcast snow started to fall.

‘It’s snowing!’ And he let himself be taken in just a little by Jack’s dazzling, childlike grin.

‘We weren’t expecting any snow, huh?’

‘Not ‘til tonight. Thought we’d be back before it started!’

‘You think we should get a move on, Dave?’ Crutchie eyed Davey as he crammed his camera back in its case.

‘I feel like by the time we get to the highway we’ll be stuck here, this snow feels serious. You know how long it’s meant to last, Jack?’

‘It’s hard to say. Could be a couple hours. Could be days.’

Helpful, was what Davey would have replied any other day. ‘I think we should wait it out. I don’t trust myself driving us three and this equipment in heavy snow, anyway. I’ve got the station’s credit card. Let’s get brunch.’

Diner. Fogged up windows. Steaming mugs of coffee. And a giant stack of pancakes with extra bacon, syrup, and several scoops of ice cream for Davey. Jack watched him tuck in, eyes wide.

‘Never woulda had you down as the type, Davey. You struck me as a black coffee, brown toast kinda producer.’

‘Treat yo self, right?’ Davey took a gulp of his third cup of coffee (this behaviour was not Groundhog Day induced, this part was just Davey.) ‘Like, sucks that we’re stranded here, but bright side: amazing pancakes.’ Jack stared, expression a mixture of nervous appraisal and admiration.

It struck Davey then that despite his feeling somewhat... closer didn’t feel like exactly the right word, but... closer to Jack after their two nights in the bar, to Jack he was still the same kind of asshole that had been in such a terrible mood the night they had arrived, as far as Jack was concerned, twelve hours previous. He had softened this a little, by admitting his assholeness and apologising, but there was only so much damage control that could be done in a morning. Plus whatever he did would be swept away by this weird fucking phenomenon. It felt nice to try, though. And if he thought about it long enough and wanted to feel a little humble, he might just say that Punx was the best place to recharge his batteries, get away from some of the pressures of Philly, and as such prove both to himself and others that he wasn’t actually a jerk.

But he wasn’t quite there yet.

‘You’re right.’ Jack sat back in his seat, leaning one arm across the back of the booth and wrapping his other hand round his coffee mug. ‘I’m glad you’re starting to warm to Punx. I gotta say I was a little antsy. The way you’ve been talking about this trip I expected this place to be, like, a big field with no hot water and a population of twelve.’

‘You mean you weren’t looking forward to it? Jack Kelly, eternal optimist?’ The sugar in his breakfast was starting to make him jittery, and that awareness that the day was bound to be erased gave him a little confidence in steering the conversation somewhere new.

‘It’s not that I wasn’t looking forward to it! Well. Okay. I wasn’t... But I’m the face on the screen, right? Had to pretend I was.’

‘So it’s an act?’ Wow, Davey. How to talk to your coworkers 101: resist psychoanalysis. But, he tried to remind himself, this conversation would be erased. It would disappear. Probably.

‘What’s an act?’

‘The whole... Chipper, happy weatherman thing?’

‘I mean - I really am a weatherman. That part’s not an act.’

‘Right.’

‘But - I don’t know! Like, if I’m not looking forward to something, does that give me the right to just walk around with a long face all the time?’

‘Is that what I do, then?’

‘No! Come on.’

Davey sat back in his chair. This was starting to feel like a segue into a conversation he had always wanted to have with someone, but had never been able to. A perfectly sensible question, one that everyone wondered but just seemed a little much to ask. He bit his lip. Go hard or go home. ‘What do you... think of me?’

Jack raised his eyebrows at the question and a jolt of anxiety burned in Davey’s stomach. This is going to get erased. And if not... you can always move.

‘What do I think of you?’

‘First impression. Most recent impression. Whatever. Be brutally honest.’

‘Brutally? Davey, I don’t know you. Not really.’

‘You must have some... thoughts.’ This was terrifying. Eschewing social norms was exhilarating in a way but mostly just fucking terrifying.

‘Can I ask why?’

‘No. Maybe later.’

‘Alright. Can I have amnesty for this? You won’t get offended?’

‘If I do, I’ll pretend I’m not.’

‘Right. So - alright.’ Jack leaned forward on the table and studied Davey. ‘You are very good at your job. I can tell. And I’ve seen pictures of you at the Christmas party, so I know that the person who it sometimes seems like you are isn’t necessarily... Okay. I get the... impression... that you think you’re too good for the role that you’re in.’ Davey started to regret asking but couldn’t push away his desperation for the answer. Jack continued. ‘And maybe you are too good! You probably are - but what have you done to show people that you can be a kick ass producer, other than complaining about it and expecting people to agree with you?’ He paused and sat back, picking at the label on his water bottle. ‘Not that that’s - this is only stuff I’ve thought about the past day or so. Like I say. I don’t really know you.’

The whole thing felt like a sucker punch - one he knew in the back of his mind he would be happy to have heard, but - god.

‘Oh boy.’

‘I’m sorry, Davey. You did ask...’

‘I know. Haha.’ He let out a long, shaky breath. ‘So how do-’ This would disappear. He could get away with baring his soul to Jack a little, putting his pride aside. ‘How do you do it? What makes Jack Kelly... Jack Kelly?’

‘Never really thought about it.’

‘I just - like. I get anxious.’ He sighed. ‘I’m anxious now. There’s a little stopper in my head keeping me from saying everything I want because I’m that nervous about the outcome.’

‘Then don’t be!’

‘Ah, right. Problem solved.’

‘Okay, that was dumb. But what are you actually afraid of?’

‘I guess... Getting laughed at. Or fired. Or just going off the other way, like, what if I let myself relax and do something really dumb and don’t realise, and everyone is laughing at me and I’m just that dense that I think everything’s fine?’

‘You have to not care what everyone thinks! You have to, like, reconfigure your head so you can devalue other peoples’ opinions - not to nothing, obviously, but to less. Right? Like, I’m on TV. I’m not famous but I’m there, any every morning after my forecast I get a dozen tweets from - yeah, ok, some old ladies who like seeing me, but there’s always a few people trying to be assholes.’

‘But those people don’t have power over your career. Why shouldn’t I care what the people at the network think when they’re the ones who could make or break me?’

‘You should care what they think, granted, but don’t be scared of them. And listen - those people do have power over my career. No one’s trying to put a weatherman the people don’t respond to on TV. So that means that everything I do is kind of a means to try and get people to like me. That’s... how I’ve formed my personality. I mean, I’ve never really looked at it that way, but I guess it’s true.’

There was a long moment of silence as they both processed what had been said. As awkward and convoluted this conversation had felt for Davey, it kind of felt like invaluable knowledge. He was glad to have it.

‘So, fair’s fair.’

‘Huh?’ He blinked and stared at Jack.

‘My turn. What do you think of me? Since we’re playing this game.’

‘Oh.’ Another struggle against his internal resistance to being anything but placid. He could see why Jack didn’t like answering the question. It was hard. But Davey had appreciated the honesty, so maybe... ‘It took me a while to warm to you.’

‘How come?’

‘I started to think that maybe we weren’t compatible, like, in a professional sense.’

‘No?’

‘Because you’re so good at people, and I’m not.’

‘You’re fine at people.’

‘I know I’m being weird right now and I’m nervous that you’re judging me, but at the same time...’

‘Doesn’t mean we aren’t professionally compatible thought, right? The media needs introverts and extroverts - introverts to think and extroverts to talk.;

‘You’re right. You are right.’

‘Back to me. Didn’t like me at first?’

‘I thought you were cocky and - fake sounds harsh, but... Affected, maybe. A performance. The smiles, the happiness.’

‘To be fair, Davey, you only really see me on the news.’

‘Yes! So then Punx, which I was dreading, but you - I think I’ve started to realise that it is your personality. It’s not fake. It’s nice to, you know, bring the sunshine, as it were.’

‘Someone has to.’ Jack glanced down at the table then back up at Davey. ‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you think everyone at the station thinks I’m fake?’

‘What?’

‘If you thought that...’

‘No! Jack, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean... I don’t know why I said it.’

‘Cuz I asked.’

Davey’s stomach twisted and he felt like a dick for instigating this. It had been interesting to know what Jack thought but did that mean he had to air his own prejudices about the poor guy? He almost looked a little cut up.

‘Jack - everyone at the station genuinely adores you. You have to know that.’

‘Yeah, but if I’m fake, maybe everyone else is fake, right?’ He stood up, pushing his plate away. ‘Excuse me, Davey. I need to go take a walk.’

Ah.

He watched Jack leave, a contemplative look of disappointment on his face Davey had never seen before. What the hell had driven him to that kind of unwelcome honesty? He’d never expected Jack to actually take it to heart.

It was fine. It was okay. The day was going to repeat. It had to. He could try again.

He left too, heading back to the hotel despite it being barely eleven. If he could just sleep, work, watch Netflix, anything until the next day, it would be fine. He didn’t want to risk fucking anything else up.

The walk back was only a couple of minutes, but a little eventful by Punx standards. As he stepped out the diner a tiny dachshund sprinted comically down the street, and a little ways away about a minute later a delivery man stumbled down the steps of his truck, spilling the stack of boxes he was holding and sending the contents, dozens of cupcakes, flying down the road. Davey felt the tiniest jolt of guilt as he walked past but figured the damage had been done, and the bakery employees the cakes were destined for could probably help.

And of course, if he helped, it would probably only happen again tomorrow.

Just outside the hotel he had to duck round a woman standing at the gate talking to Mrs. Bloom - or weeping, it turned out, clutching an A4 printout that declared “MISSING PUPPY.” He recognised it as the pup that had just flown past him and forced himself to stop and mention this to the woman.

A ladder leaned precariously against the hotel, where a cleaner finished up one of the first floor windows, stretching out to get the last corner. Just as Davey got inside the door, the ladder slipped into the soft soil under the man’s weight and toppled, sending him flying hard onto the lawn. Mrs. Bloom rushed over to attend, and Davey, at seeing the man sit up and proclaim ‘I’m okay, I’m okay!’ decided it was fine to not intervene.

This stuff had probably happened the previous versions of this day and would only happen again tomorrow’s version of the day - and Davey had his own shit to figure out.

#newsies #newsies fic #davey jacobs #jack kelly #javid #ello friends its me again managed an update in less than a month this time #this chapter gave me so much gyp and honestly credits to the groundhog day writers i hella underestimated how much forethought u need #but thank u all for your patience i am still enamoured with this story even if i'm updating at the rate of a snail #OOPS GOT THE CHAPTER NAME WRONG FIRST ITS AFTERNOON FOUR HAVE EDITED LADS

9 notes · View notes

wristic · 7 years

Text

The Late Hour of Dawn (Part 1)

Pairing: Bellamy X Reader

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: mentions of self doubt, bullying and Charlotte’s death.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3-

~~~

A thief by nature, its given you a bad reputation around the camp. To find some peace from always having to defend yourself, you find the early hour of morning is the best time to do so. However the choice of place is outside the camps perimeter, and Bellamy is surprisingly slow to fixing that.

~~~

You were at your best when you went unnoticed. On the Ark you’d never been good at the whole working together thing, more the slight of hand and run type. It earned a pretty bad reputation with everyone because, well, when you were caught the floors and walls and ceiling were filled with other people's things. To be fair it was a collection that started generations ago, your parents and your father's parents just as kleptic before them. But it was you who got caught, so it was only right that you took the fall. Given the excessive amount stolen and your reclusive nature, it instigated the idea that you never wanted to earn anything. Instead would steal at any time for any reason. The only sanctuary you could find from everyone's judgement now was early in the morning, small bowl of fruits and nuts in your lap, staring off into the pale blue world.

Letting out a big yawn you caught someone’s attention, for the first time peeking a curious interest. Most would brush it off, too tired to investigate, but this person noticed it was outside of the compound, so they rounded to meet you.

“What are you doing out here?” You jumped at the familiar voice, never imagining he’d ever speak directly to you. Wide eyed you looked back to the unofficial leader Bellamy Blake.

“Uh...having breakfast?” you offered the bowl but he glared at it suspiciously.

“Did you ask for those rations?”

You scoffed at him turning back to the woods. Of course he wouldn’t think any better than the rest. They all wanted you to work twice as hard, like you were somehow more criminal than the people who committed murder, but never wanted to acknowledge when you did contribute, often jeering if you did. “It’s from my own stash.”

“You should be sharing with the rest.”

“I do.” you all but growled. The sudden snap in your attitude didn’t go unnoticed but Bellamy was still in full authority mode.

“Well...you shouldn’t be out here, it’s dangero-”

“Look, I come here to relax and get away from everyone. If I die in the process that’s my business.”

Bellamy was silent behind you, making you nervous with every passing second. His footsteps descended in your direction making you worriedly glance back. Surprisingly he sat down next to you reaching out his hand for the bowl. Cautiously, you handed it over, watching him grab a handful and then give the bowl back.

The worst part about this was your little crush on him. It forced you to noticing everything you found so pleasing. This picturesque moment was already and unwillingly imprinting itself in your mind. Yeah you liked him, but as you’d been watching, you weren’t his type. This interaction alone felt out of place.

“So why wake up so early for this? Wouldn’t it be more relaxing just to sleep in?” your heart leapt hearing the teasing in his voice. You didn’t have to look to know he was smiling.

Taking in a long breath, the damp air clearing your mood and making you relax, you admitted, “My first night here, I was so nervous we were all going to die I didn’t sleep at all.” You looked out in the woods seeing the light mist kick up and a few birds start to chirp. It brought a smile to your face already. “But then there was this weird hour, everyone was asleep but I could see them just fine. The world was grey, like on the Ark...but the smell in the air was so different. It was refreshing and brand new, not heavy and uncomfortably warm.”

Bellamy kept his chuckle quiet. “You’re from the Engine sector, aren't you?”

“Guilty.” You smiled surprised he knew about the humid air in the Engine Sector. “Yeah. I think it was the silence that did me in to be honest. The hum of the engine is deafening compared to a bunch of rowdy teenagers.” the moment got quiet again before you continued. “But um...as the hour goes on...you can see the gold of the sun on the mist, the leaves turn vibrant and the ground warms. Watching the transition it’s...it’s beautiful. It really shows we’re in another world and for a moment it's not so scary anymore.” His head turning caught your eye. Looking to meet him Bellamy was smiling and soft eyed at your sentiment. “What? Who better can appreciate the worth of little things than a thief?”

It seemed he decided to stay then, both of you silent and looking out into the woods, watching and listening to it slowly wake up.

When rustling started to become noticeable within the compound Bellamy looked back. The defeated look on his face was hard not to notice. Pushing yourself up with a groan you tried to help usher him along. “We better head back before someone catches us and thinks I’m corrupting you or something.”

Bellamy didn’t get up with you, laughing and trailing his eyes among the trees. It felt nice to see him genuinely not wanting to leave from your little sanctuary. “You think you’d be the one doing the corrupting?” you could practically feel the wink when he looked up at you.

Snickering you dodged it because damn was he handsome when he smiled. Jokingly you mocked confidence, popping your collar. “Yeah I don’t know if you’ve heard but uh, I got a pretty hard rep.” it got a laugh out of him again but he still didn’t rise. “Come on, it’s dangerous out here remember.”

“I thought you didn’t care about that?”

“I don’t when it comes to me, but I’m pretty sure they’d eat me alive if something happened to you.” you gestured to the crew inside and that snarky attitude of his seemed to drift again, but he stood brushing himself off.

~~~

The next morning you were braiding a new necklace for yourself, having found a pretty blue and black rock for it’s center. A bowl of sliced apples rested snug in your lap to snack on.

The sound of feet scuffing the ground caught your attention and you quickly brightened into a smile to see Bellamy rubbing his face and making his way to you. Without saying anything he plopped down and checked out what you were doing. You offered the bowl of fruit which he gladly took.

He didn’t take his eyes off the entwining straps. “I don’t remember saying it was okay to hand out leather to anyone…”

“Excu~se you. I bribed this leather fair and square.” he smiled until his gaze landed on the silver band around your wrist.

“You’re still wearing your bracelet?”

“Unlike some of you I have family to think about.”

Bellamy mauled it over on apples. “Your family didn’t get floated with you?”

“Naw. I got caught so I took the fall. They didn’t want me to, they were just as guilty as I was, but I was the only one who had a chance of getting out alive so…” you snickered, “I bet it killed them having to give up all that moonshine.” you tied the newly fashioned choker around your neck and fell back on your elbows, feet teetering happily as you looked up at the blue tinted leaves and pale grey sky glittering through them. Bellamy seemed deep in thought over your imprisonment. Part of you wanted to ask but you could feel you wouldn’t get a straight answer.

The rest of the hour was shared in content silence, you having to signal him again it was time to head back.

A few more mornings together you finally asked. “Do you not like being a leader?” admittedly you didn’t know anything about a leadership role, you couldn’t really empathize on your own it’s hardships, all you knew was every morning Bellamy seemed desperate to stay away once he was with you.

Caught off guard he opened his mouth to defend, but his eyes drooped, tired, and he said nothing.

“You’re good at it.” the smirk he gave was jaded. It pulled you into scooting closer. “I mean, you’ve got a real charisma for inspiring people.”

You watched his jaw tense to hold back his thoughts, but he gave anyway. “What if I inspire them to do the wrong thing?”

You sighed. “Your thinking about Murphy and Charlotte. Well…” What could you really say? It just wasn’t a topic meant to be uplifted, only mourned. You got stiff, blurting out the first thoughts in your head. “You know how the saying goes, Rome wasn't built in a day.” He looked over to you, the smirk losing its terseness and melting into one that was desperate to tease you. “Hey I’m doing my best on this comfort thing okay!” He chuckled at that. You grumbled pulling yourself in a little ball to hide how easily he ruffled you.

“Yeah well, telling me I’m allowed a few screw up when a little girl kills herself doesn't make me feel better.”

You scratched under the leather of your necklace. “That's a good thing though, isn't it?” His brow furrowed at you. “You’re suppose to feel bad when bad things happens. I think I’d be more concerned if I said it's alright and you just agreed.”

He thought on it, but ultimately fell silent. Not sure what else to say either, you sighed and resigned. When the time came to return to camp you still felt like you needed to say something. Your hand hovered and bounced like it wanted to grab his but then fell back in your own lap. He watched your conflict and busted out laughing when you looked up like a kid caught about to steal a cookie. Something you would have been leagues better at doing.

“Hey! I’m trying!” you smacked his shoulder but he couldn't stop, infecting you with embarrassed giggles. He was still mid laughing when the soft press of a quick kiss tickled your cheek.

Bellamy stood up with a few more chuckles. “Thanks. I mean you suck at comforting people, but thanks.”

Blinking away your shock you snarked at him hoping to dispel the heat in your face. “Shut up I haven't had many friends.”

You two stared at each other for a moment, the word friends hanging in the air. It made you lose confidence and duck your head with a shy smile. Glancing back up he had a hand out for you to take. Hoping he wouldn’t tease you, you took it and let his sturdy grip help lift you up. Standing in front of him you looked down at your connection, warm and callused compared to yours.

“Really though Bellamy.” You gave his hand a squeeze, finding some comfort in keeping your eyes low. “You couldn't of known it was all going to blow up like that, but you’ve done the right thing taking responsibility and staying.” You glanced up and immediately regretted it, the intensity and beholden expression in those eyes doing you in. “A-and I’m, you know… whatever.”

The smirk fell right back on. “Good save.” He nodded.

“Shut up.”

“Almost delivered a full uplifting speech there. I’m impressed.”

You covered your burning face with a giggle. “Ugh shut up!”

#bellamy blake #Bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #the 100 #my stuff #You just know that necklace would be used as a plot device #"They were taken! See this is their necklace!#tw: bullying #The Late Hour of Dawn #tw: sucide mention

126 notes · View notes

jakeander11 · 4 years

Text

Tumblr’s full of writers that are better than me, anyone want to weigh in on whether this optimizers gales this seem like a story worth reading?

“Gareth brushed sweat from his eyes, and tucked some damp, sandy curls behind his ear. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky, baking the streets of Greyport beneath it. Gareth shifted slightly, and felt another line of sweat run down his back beneath his yellow doublet. The slight ocean breeze coming in off the harbor only served to move the hot, humid air around, instead of cooling anyone down. It was not an ideal day to stand around and sing to crowds, but that was Gareth's role today.

He was standing on the raised edge of the white marble fountain in the center of the market district. The fountain was old, and much of the intricate carvings that adorned the sides had become soft and blurred from the wear of time, but the carved dolphin that formed the central spout was still easily identified.

The fountain’s lip was a good three feet off the ground, which would have given most street performers a commanding stage above the milling bodies of the market. Gareth, who stood a mere three-foot-two, was only placed a mere head’s height above the small crowd of market goers that had stopped to listen to the peculiar halfling in the brightly-colored clothing.

He hit the last note of his song, and allowed the final chord to carry into the air for a moment before he silenced the strings of his lute. The small crowd gave a slightly better than polite round of applause, and a few even whistled. Gareth smiled. It was always nice to have his talents appreciated. He wiped the back of his neck and smiled at the crowd. Gareth may not have been allowed to call himself a real bard, but he had been trained by one, and could perform as well as any of the official members of the guild.

"Thank you, my friends, thank you!” He bowed at the waist with a flourish of his free hand. Dirk frequently accused him of being unnecessarily dramatic, but as Gareth always thought, why not add a little flair to things when he could?

"Now, my throat is getting a bit sore, and it’s rather hot out, so my next song will be my last. I hope you enjoy it. Before I begin, however, I have a request to make. This is, after all, how I make my living.”

Which was more or less true, from a certain perspective.

"If you’ve been entertained here today, please consider making a small contribution, if only a few coins. After all, where else will you spend your copper sheaves, silver acorns, or even, dare I suggest, gold crowns today? Will you buy a cheap meat pie stuffed with gods know what beasts? A flimsy wind-up dragon that will break the very second you get home? Perhaps a ‘genuine’ elvish necklace made of tin, glass, and lies? No. I am your best spending option, and I thank you for it,” Gareth said.

As he spoke, he swept the faded yellow hat off his head and tossed it onto the cobblestones below his perch. It landed with a puff of dust, and Gareth launched into a spirited rendition of the Ballad of the Rose and the Thorn. It was a well known tale, filled with love and loss, betrayal and revenge. Gareth's old master had said it was the ballad that he could perform the best, and the earnings of previous performances had proved that statement correct. Gareth hoped that this audience would also consider it worth loosening their purse strings for.

He needn’t have worried. As he sang, he saw many of the people in the crowd pull out their purses and come forward to drop a coin or two into his hat, which quickly filled with a modest pile of coins.

Gareth glanced down, and saw that most of the coins were copper sheaves, with a couple silver eagles glinting amongst them. Cheap bastards, Gareth thought. From the amount of silk and velvet draping the bodies in the crowd, he had expected more silver, and perhaps even a gold crown or two.

From his vantage point on top of the fountain, Gareth could see the edges of the square relatively clearly. As he sang, a form slipped out of the darkened alley across the square. Dirk was right on time.

Dirk was a wiry man somewhere between twenty and thirty five years of age, as far as Gareth could tell. He was only of middling height, perhaps a few inches short of six feet tall, with dark hair and calculating eyes. He could be considered handsome, in a dangerous, disheveled sort of way. Usually, he maintained a few days worth of stubble over his sharp-edged features, and his face often sported some form of a mocking smirk. His regular choice of clothing was almost exclusively dark grays and blacks.

Today, however, Dirk was dressed in what he referred to as his “hunting clothes”. He’d disguised himself as a member of the prosperous merchant class, and Gareth barely recognized his partner.

Dirk's hair had been combed back and tied with a red silk ribbon into a tidy ponytail at the base of his neck, and was freshly clean shaven. He wore a crimson doublet embroidered in gold thread over a white silk shirt, and his black velvet breeches were tucked into shining leather boots. In short, he looked about as far from a thief as a civilian could be.

Which, of course, was the point. As he liked to say whenever Gareth asked him about his fancy clothes, "After you’ve mastered the skills, the most successful pickpockets are always the ones that don’t look the way thieves are expected to look. "

Dirk slipped into the crowd and began to slowly wind his way through it. He carefully chose a route that brought him near the most wealthy of the crowd, and he happened to bump into most of them as he gently pushed his way past. The men and women didn’t give him a second glance. None of them suspected that the purses and pouches they had just taken out to throw a coin or two into Gareth's hat were no longer on their person.

As Gareth sang, he watched the crowd closely, and kept an eye out for guards. After a while, he noticed a man on the edges of the small crowd that seemed to be watching Dirk.

He was a small man, dressed in the same undyed linen and wool clothing as many of the poorer shoppers in the square, with a dull brown cloak loosely draped over his shoulders. His brownish hair was cropped close to his head, and he had a short beard of the same color. Overall, Gareth thought he was a man of profoundly nondescript appearance. After a moment’s thought, Gareth decided that the man reminded him of a field mouse. Gareth couldn’t quite tell, but the man seemed to be following Dirk’s progress through the crowd out of the corner of his eye.

Dirk made it to the other side of the crowd, and continued on his way down another street. A few seconds after Dirk was out of sight, the mousey man turned and left the square, and walked quickly northwards.

Gareth didn’t like the timing. He finished his song, bowed one last time to the crowd, and collected his hat. As he started to walk down the narrow streets towards the inn that he and Dirk were staying at this week, Gareth found himself thinking about the mousey man and his unnerving behavior.

He made Gareth very uncomfortable. There were only so many explanations for what he had noticed, and the only one that wasn’t bad news was that Gareth was just being paranoid, attributing meaning to nothing. Everything else suggested that the man had caught on to the scam Dirk and Gareth had set up. If the man had, and if he decided to go to the city watch, the lives of the partners were about to get far more interesting than either would ever want. Gareth mulled over the problem, and decided that he should probably bring up the mouse man with Dirk that evening. He nodded to himself, and hurried down the street towards what passed for home.

"Look at all that copper. Not bad for a whole afternoon of performing. You could almost buy half a shoe with that.”

Gareth scowled at Dirk across the wooden table, and Dirk twisted his lips into a mocking smirk.

They were sitting at a scarred wooden table, in the corner of the tavern the pair had chosen as their base in the city. The room was full of people drinking and laughing their cares away, and the air was thick with the smell of ale and pipe smoke.

Dirk had changed out of his merchant costume, and was now dressed in his usual dark clothes. He wore a sleeveless black leather jerkin over a grey, rough-spun shirt, and his grey trousers were tucked into the tops of his worn, black leather boots. Dirk's heavy leather belt was festooned with a variety of small bags and pouches, with a dagger on each hip.

In broad daylight, Dirk’s regular clothing, coupled with his overall appearance, had a tendency to make people look twice and secure their purses. Under his preferred cover of night, however, nobody saw him coming until it was far too late.

Gareth shuddered and forced his thoughts away from the memories they were heading towards. Dirk was a consummate professional, and they got along reasonably well in their partnership, but sometimes, when Gareth thought too hard, Dirk scared the living hell out of him.

“Alright, fine, yes. I know. Honest street performing isn’t about to make us rich anytime soon. You don’t need to rub it in. I’m guessing you did better?” Gareth asked.

Dirk’s smirk shifted into a gloating, self-satisfied smile, and his eyes glinted.

“Oh yes. Much better. They may have been cheap sons of whores, but they sure as hell weren’t poor.”

Dirk glanced around the crowded room, then lifted a large leather bag from where it had been sitting on the floor next to his chair and dropped it on the table. It landed with a heavy thud, and the clink of precious metals.

“Forty-seven crowns, twenty-six eagles, and seventy-nine sheaves for only eight good minutes of cutting purse strings.” Dirk sat back in his chair and crossed his arms smugly. “I love this city.”

Gareth stared at the bag on the table. This was the largest prize from their scheme that they had ever collected, by a rather wide margin.

“That’s… That’s a lot of money," Gareth said.

Dirk laughed softly. “Yes, Gareth, it is. We do this for a month, and we'll be rich.”

“Or, we get caught and spend a while in the dungeons. Or lose a hand, depending on how lenient the magistrate is feeling that day.”

Dirk’s smile soured, and he scowled at Gareth.

“We won’t get caught. Nobody in that crowd gave me a second look today," Dirk said.

“I’m not sure that that’s entirely true, actually," Gareth said.

"What?"

"Well, earlier today, when you were collecting all that," Gareth gestured at the bag of coins on the table. "I thought I saw a man watching you. I couldn't be entirely sure, but it looked like he was following your progress through the crowd, and he took off towards the citadel as soon as you left the market."

Dirk frowned.

"You're absolutely sure he was watching me?"

"I didn't say that, but it seems a little too much of a coincidence, doesn't it? Maybe we should move on again, not press our luck here tomorrow. This was a good haul today. Maybe that's enough here?"

Dirk glanced around the crowded tavern, then leaned in over the rough wooden table.

"Gareth, we made more today in this city than we've made in the last four towns combined. Think of what we could walk away with after a couple days of this! Tell me, where else are we going to do this well?" He asked.

"I don't know, Dirk, but what if they're on to us here? I like coin as much as the next guy, but I like my hands and freedom more."

Dirk sat back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair, his face calculating. After a moment, he spoke.

“All right, Gareth. How’s this: We go back to the market tomorrow and do it again. If you see the man again, signal to me, and I can follow him down an alley and cut his throat. Problem solved.”

“Dirk!” Gareth quickly looked around the tavern, fearful that someone had heard his partner. Fortunately, the sounds of general carousing were loud enough that nobody could hear one small conversation amidst the din. He turned back to Dirk and scowled fiercely at him.

“We are not going to murder a man just because he might, perhaps, possibly be on to us. That not how this works. We’ve talked about this. Murder is never our go-to plan.”

Dirk smirked.

“Not your go-to, at least. But yes, fine, I remember the terms of our agreement. How’s this for an alternative. Remember when we were in Bansbury?”

“Yes, we nearly got caught in Bansbury. Because you wanted to try a second day. Like right now,” Gareth said peevishly.

“Exactly! But we didn’t, because you gave the signal that we have agreed on, the story about the Lucky Thief. It worked, and I got away clean. We do that again. If this mysterious gentleman was actually onto to us, and an informant, and there are extra guards in the market, tell that one. I’ll be listening, and can slip off into the shadows. If he wasn’t, we get to make a lot of money again. Fair?”

Gareth pursed his lips, but couldn’t find any particular reason to object to Dirk’s plan. They did have a signal, and after all, he wasn’t even positive that the mousey man had really been watching Dirk. It could’ve been a coincidence. Gareth looked at the bag of coins on the table. It had probably just been a coincidence. He would just keep a closer watch on the crowd, and be ready to warn Dirk.

“Yeah, alright, that’s fair. We’ll go back again tomorrow,” Gareth said.”

#my writing #writers on tumblr #excerpt from a story i'll never write

0 notes

flauntpage · 6 years

Text

Your Thursday Morning Roundup

With the new NFL league year beginning at 4 PM yesterday, the Eagles are officially the defending Super Bowl champions. That still feels weird to say.

The Birds were relatively quiet with the exception of re-signing Nigel Bradham to a five-year, $40 million deal. The team also pushed back Michael Bennett’s roster bonus. Just this morning, they restructured Zach Ertz’s contract. Does that mean Vinny Curry and Mychal Kendricks might stay?

Eagles created $5.407M in cap space in 2018 by converting $7.21M of TE Zach Ertz's $8M base salary into a fully guaranteed roster bonus, per @FieldYates.

Broncos created $12.375M in 2018 cap space by converting $16M of LB Von Miller’s $18.5M base salary into a signing bonus.

— Adam Schefter (@AdamSchefter) March 15, 2018

The biggest surprise of the day came with cornerback Patrick Robinson, who appeared to be staying with the Eagles, but signed a four-year, $20 million deal with the New Orleans Saints. Even though the Eagles reportedly offered more overall money, the Saints offered more guaranteed money.

The #Eagles and Patrick Robinson got close on a contract extension on Monday. Then stalled. … then his window opened. And the #Saints jumped in and locked him down. He’s a former #Saints first round pick.

— Ian Rapoport (@RapSheet) March 14, 2018

Meanwhile, there’s more decisions to be made with some current players. Vinny Curry might have to restructure his deal or be let go, while Mychal Kendricks appears to be getting shopped around once again. But the most interesting nugget involved Nick Foles:

Good nugget from @MikeGarafolo — Arizona Cardinals made a call to Philadelphia about Nick Foles. Obviously, didn't go far.

— Peter Schrager (@PSchrags) March 14, 2018

Arizona later signed Sam Bradford and Mike Glennon. Good luck with those two QBs. And will Buffalo signing AJ McCarron, it seem more and more likely Foles will stay in Philadelphia for the upcoming season.

As for free agents, Beau Allen signed with Tampa Bay and LeGarrette Blount will meet with the Detroit Lions on Friday.

Elsewhere, the Giants signed Nate Solder, the Cardinals released Tyrann Mathieu, Ndamukong Suh and Julius Thomas were released by the Dolphins, Trevor Siemian was traded to Minnesota to serve as Kirk Cousins’ backup, and Joe Thomas announced his retirement.

The Roundup:

Recapping Tuesday’s tough home loss to the Indiana Pacers.

How big of an impact is Robert Covington making on defense?

Victor Oladipo believes Markelle Fultz will be an impact player when he returns to the court:

“Everybody’s path is different,” he said. “Everything happens for a reason. What he’s going through is only going to make him stronger and better as a man and a person. … His time is coming.”

The Indiana all-star finished with 11 points Tuesday in a 101-98 victory over the Sixers at the Wells Fargo Center. One gets the sense that he anticipates playing against Fultz, if not in the playoffs then in future seasons.

Sixers coach Brett Brown said it hasn’t been determined if Fultz will return this season. However, there’s a good chance that he will do so and soon. Fultz’s shooting form has been looking close to normal in recent workouts.

“His time is coming,” Oladipo said. “I know he’ll be ready for it, because I know he puts the work in.”

Six players Sixers fans should watch as the NCAA Tournament begins this afternoon.

The Sixers also have a game tonight, as they take on the New York Knicks at Madison Square Garden. Tip off is scheduled for 7:30 PM on NBC Sports Philadelphia +.

The Flyers have a big game tonight against Columbus at 7 PM on NBC Sports Philadelphia. One player that looks to finally make an impact in the scoring department is rookie Oskar Lindblom:

When he hasn’t had the puck on his stick, Lindblom has been diligent about providing back pressure. A regular all-situations player (including penalty killing duties) during his time in the American Hockey League with the Lehigh Valley Phantoms, Lindblom prides himself on his two-way abilities.

While hockey is a bottom-line business in which results needs to follow process at a certain point, the coaches and organizational decision-makers gain insight into a player, especially a “skills guy” whose role includes expectations of relatively frequent point-production, by how he handles dry spells. Does he let it drag down other facets of his game? Does he start to force ill-advised plays that only compound the lack of points?

In Lindblom’s case, the young player has shown considerable mental toughness while continuing to push for his first NHL point.

“Quite frankly, that’s why a guy like that stays up [in the NHL] versus maybe another guy who’s not producing and turns pucks over. Oskar’s going to break through at some point,”Flyers general manager Ron Hextall said.

Good news for Jake Arrieta: Not only did he get his #49 from Ben Lively (in exchange for a boat), he’s already thrown his first bullpen session with the Phillies:

For Arrieta, it was just a minor test, a necessary hurdle to pass before being ready to start the season. For the crowd, it was a happening.

“He looks great to me,” Kranitz said. “He always stays in shape. There’s no question about that. What I was looking for today was how the ball was coming out of his hand — it was coming out great. I didn’t expect anything different, but it’s always great to get eyes on him.

Arrieta plans to pitch Saturday in a minor-league game at the Carpenter Complex. He threw roughly 40 pitches Wednesday and should throw 50 on Saturday. He would then have time to pitch in two Grapefruit League games before the team leaves Florida. Arrieta is confident he will be ready to start the season on time despite not signing until a month into spring training.

“I don’t think there’s going to be any issue with getting extended quickly,” Arrieta said. “I was able to build up throughout the offseason to a point where I feel like I could slide in and be ready for the start of the season. That’s the game plan for right now, and I plan for that to go very well.”

Meanwhile on the field, the Phillies fell to the Atlanta Braves 5-3. Jorge Alfaro hit a home run in the second inning.

Buster Olney thinks the Phillies could compete in the Bryce Harper sweepstakes:

“I would bet the family farm that Bryce Harper winds up with the Phillies or back with the Washington Nationals.”

There’ll be some new food at Citizens Bank Park, including edible cookie dough, which is actually crap.

Phillies take on Detroit today at 1:05 PM.

Both Philly-area NCAA Tournament teams are in action today. First up, 16th seed Penn takes on Kansas at 2 PM on TBS. The Quakers got a welcoming surprise at their open practice yesterday:

Kansas University is about a 2 1/2-hour drive from Wichita and many of the Jayhawks fans were in attendance Wednesday. But unlike some fan bases that might boo the opponent, this one greeted Penn enthusiastically.

A large portion of the fan base was schoolchildren bused in for the event. That’s how big basketball is in Kansas. Each team had a 40-minute open workout. After Penn came North Carolina State and then Kansas.

“I didn’t expect this,” Penn point guard Darnell Foreman said. “First of all, having so many kids come, that was pretty cool and all the Kansas fans intrigued about who you are and still waiting for their team. That fan base is crazy.”

The attention caught Penn a little off-guard, in a positive way.

“It was awesome,” said Penn leading scorer Ryan Betley, averaging 14.5 points. “We didn’t expect this.”

Meanwhile, No. 1 seed Villanova takes on Radford at 6:40 PM on TNT. Nova’s freshmen are ready for their first taste of March Madness:

“I don’t really think I’ll have nerves,” Gillespie said. “I’ve played for so long at this point, I really don’t have butterflies anymore. It’s just basketball to me, and just another game that we have to focus on defending and rebounding and playing together.”

“I don’t think I will be nervous or anything because I’ll be focusing on what I can do for my teammates,” said Cosby-Roundtree. “I try to just be focused, dialed in on what we have to do so that I won’t have to feel nervous.”

The older players have talked to the younger players this week about coping with distractions, but there were some signs of nerves Tuesday at the Wildcats’ practice at nearby Duquesne.

“I kind of sensed it at practice,” coach Jay Wright said. “Collin Gillespie wasn’t being his normal self, which is rare, nothing bad. I just thought they were a little distracted. I tell the older guys, keep an eye on them, keep talking to them.

“But I think the only remedy is they’ve got to get in a game. Once you get in an NCAA game, you get in there, it is really different than any other experience. You get in there, you feel it. Then I think when you come out of the game and you go back in the second time, you’re good. But you’ve got to get in there and feel it.”

Meanwhile in the NIT, Temple fell to Penn State 63-57 thanks to a 15-3 Nittany Lion run late in the game up in Happy Valley. The tournament also experimented with four quarters and a three-point line that was nearly two feet further than current college rules.

In other sports news, Syracuse held off Arizona State in their First Four matchup 60-56, while Texas Southern crushed NC Central for their first ever tournament win 64-46.

Minor League Baseball announced new pace-of-play rules for the upcoming season. They include a limit on mound visits, a pitch clock, and having a runner begin at second base in extra innings.

Aaron Judge jokingly tried to recruit Manny Machado to come to the Yankees next season, but MLB wasn’t having any of that.

Former Patriots cornerback Malcolm Butler still doesn’t know why he was benched for Super Bowl LII.

UFC fighters Kevin Lee and Edson Barboza promoted their April 21 fight in Atlantic City by visiting a ton of spots in Philadelphia.

In the news, Meek Mill could be set free while he appeals his probation sentence, according to the District Attorney’s Office.

Toys R Us will close or sell all of their stores after 70 years.

iHeartMedia has filed for bankruptcy.

Your Thursday Morning Roundup published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

0 notes

zenruption · 7 years

Text

My Voyage Through Depression and What Needs to Be Shared

Add to Flipboard Magazine.

By Brian McKay

While I normally remain fairly guarded about the details of my personal life, many people struggle with depression and their friends and family struggle to understand it. This is an article that I hope helps further that understanding.

Personal Experience: I realize that I have always dealt with depression. When I was a kid I had some suicidal thoughts but not knowing what depression was I just assumed it due to some pretty bad bullying in school.

Later in life there would be random instances caused by stress or sometimes in the late spring after the excitement of sun and warmer weather wore off. They were fairly short but varied in intensity and then over with. About my mid-twenties I started to realize what the problem was and that there might be some history of mental illness on one side of my family history.

The biggest and most intense lapse to that point was after losing the business, house, relationship, etc. It was severe to the point of thinking about walking off building tops only to fall to the street below. It lasted about a good six - seven months.

The summer of 2014 saw one bad event put me into the worst place I have ever been. For the first time in my life I actually missed work because of it and had to take 5 weeks of leave. I was eventually diagnosed with bipolar depression and PTSD from tragic death of my sister and have mostly kept that hidden ever since.

When you first get diagnosed as such the first thing you think is, "Oh my God I am one of those mentally ill people". You are ashamed because you were always taught the stigma of it growing up in the U.S. Even now when I look at the three bottles of prescriptions I now take daily, I think, "Holy shit! I am a crazy person." When you see the descriptions of disability on job applications, and that bi-polar disorder is one, all you can think is, "Am I that damaged?"

I am neither damaged nor crazy, but the stigma is always in your subconscious. If anything, I feel that the recent discovery has made me more self aware.

This last episode was the worst ever. It lasted 20 months and I often thought that it might never end. Between the struggle of rebuilding a life destroyed in the financial crises and the stress of adjusting to a new reality, I thought it could never end until big changes happened. Those seemed less and less likely every day. It did end though and a lot was learned along the way. Those 20 months were a chance to explore this thing like never before.

So for all those who are suffering and don't understand it all and for those who love them, here are 10 things that happen during depression:

1) It hurts physically. At times your body might ache or you are so tired you can barely move. Sometimes there might be shakes from anxiety. It surely isn't the same for everyone but I can assume everyone feels some of the physical pain.

2) Going to work can be excruciating. Knowing you have to put on your game face and fake it is hard work. I often lament that it is 5 times harder to do the job when in deep depression. I recently switched jobs into a sales roll in order to earn more. In the waiting to go to work every morning I often get physically ill. Mondays are especially hard when you are depressed as you wonder if you have the strength to make it a full week. When you do make it into the office you have to avoid all of the happy posters and personal development quotes because they only to seem to make it worse. You strain to smile and say, "Doing very well Bob!" when greeted.

3) Coming home isn't much better. A depressed person feels lost and alone, often a square peg that doesn't fit in the round hole. Isolation can be a problem, especially for those that might not have a spouse or close immediate family. Even if you go somewhere to be around people you might feel that you don't fit or that you are unworthy of any substantial relationships.

4) It is both scary and unnerving when you have thoughts of self harm. It is made worse when people say that such things are "selfish". I have learned that it has nothing to do with selfishness. It is because you are so deep in that black cloud that you see no way out. It is because you know that you have people in your life that you care about and that you keep going. If anything, I hope I never hear someone use the "selfish" moniker again as it is completely ignorant. For me, my daughter, and my love for her, is the whole reason I would never allow myself to fall trap to such thoughts, but it doesn't mean they go away.

5) You keep trying to dig out of the feedback loop. You think, The gym would help, but I have no energy. or Enjoying something as simple as a video game might be uplifting but I really don't feel like it. You know you have to keep improving and moving forward to dig yourself out, but it is so hard to do. I am luckier than most in this regard and truly feel for those that lose all ability to move forward.

6) You can't give yourself credit. I have always excelled at almost everything I do and fortunately continue to do so in most ways, even while dealing with depression. If someone were to ask how I just pulled that off or how my numbers were so good, I honestly have no clue. I would just consider it luck.

7) The eternally happy society sucks. We live in a society where you always have to be happy and portray happiness. It took a Pixar movie, Inside Out, to finally highlight that sadness does indeed play an important role in our lives (I highly recommend watching it). So when you are depressed you are ashamed and hide it and envy those that seem like they will never have that issue. You can't talk about it because it seems like the person that does might be the one that hits the brakes on this massively fun roller coaster everyone else is riding.

8) Your creativity feels like it is gone. Your opinion feels like it is worthless. It was in finally pushing myself to start writing that I realized my creativity hadn't left me.

9) Self destructive behavior can be hard to avoid. You think why not? Or for a while over drinking or doing something truly stupid might divert your attention elsewhere than only to realize the next day that it just made things worse.

10) People who catch on that you are down will offer you all kinds of bullshit ideas to fix this thing. Please don't offer tips like "you just need religious belief" or "just get out there" or "you need to put it out there to the universe to be happy". None of that will fix it. It is inside me, not due to things around me.

For those that going through depression right now, I hope you find some solace in knowing that others feel it too. For those who care about someone who is, please just understand it is never a simple fix. Your friend, family member or lover desperately wants to get their self back and feel human again. Just offer your support and an occasional activity or moment with the hidden agenda of helping them divert their attention for a while (don't tell them the agenda and please don't have it include excessive drinking). Understand that they are being followed by a black cloud that they really don't always control and that they wish more than anything would blow away.

medianet_width = "728"; medianet_height = "90"; medianet_crid = "728762653"; medianet_versionId = "111299"; (function() { var isSSL = 'https:' == document.location.protocol; var mnSrc = (isSSL ? 'https:' : 'http:') + '//contextual.media.net/nmedianet.js?cid=8CUTI81HQ' + (isSSL ? '&https=1' : ''); document.write('<scr' + 'ipt type="text/javascript" id="mNSC" src="' + mnSrc + '">' + 'ipt>'); })();

Brian McKay is co-founder of zenruption. He hopes that by having nothing off limits to sharing that others are served. Your comments and sharing of this article do matter.

#depression #emotion #bi-polar #hopeless #family #suicide #hurting

0 notes

jakeander11 · 5 years

Text

OK, so this is a little different from my normal reblogs, but I‘m curious. I know I only have like, nine followers, but if any of you folks would want to read a beginning excerpt from the novel Im writing and perhaps message me with feedback, that would be kind of cool. Or, this will just fade into the aether, either way works. Anyway, here it is:

Gareth brushed sweat from his eyes, and tucked some damp, sandy curls behind his ear. The sun beat down from the cloudless sky, baking the streets of Greyport beneath it. Gareth shifted slightly, and felt another line of sweat run down his back beneath his yellow doublet. The slight ocean breeze coming in off the harbor only served to move the hot, humid air around, instead of cooling anyone down. It was not an ideal day to stand around and sing to crowds, but that was Gareth's role today.