#the never ending quest in making myself laugh at my own jokes. successful!

[utenixx]

Hibiki siblings.

Haro and Cagalli solos

[maddrmatt]

Kairi’s Epic Journey: The Quest for Sora

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Chapter 7: An Old Enemy Gets Involved

Destiny Islands

After Kairi’s departure, the Play Island was silent.  There was no trace that she and Pluto had even been there save for a few footprints in the sand that would eventually be blown away by the wind.

But their departure had not gone unseen.

Perched high in one of the palm trees was a black feathered raven.  It was an unusual sight since ravens were not indigenous to the Destiny Islands.  But this was no mere raven.

It was Diablo, faithful servant to the Mistress of All Evil herself.

From his perch, he stared down intently at the spot where Kairi and Pluto had vanished from.  Then with a flap of his wings, he took off into the air and soared over the sea.

He had news for his mistress.

________________________________________________________________

Enchanted Dominion

In her castle on the Forbidden Mountain, Maleficent sat on her throne deep in thought.  Her mind was trying to formulate a plan to acquire the Black Box from Xehanort’s former second-in-command and his companions in animal masks.

‘There must be a way to steal that Box.  These Keyblade Wielders must have some kind of weakness I can exploit.  My ambitions of conquest depend on it,’ she thought.

Suddenly, a loud caw was heard and Maleficent snapped out of her thoughts.  She looked upward to see Diablo fly in from a window.  He flew directly toward her and landed on the ball of her staff.

“Ah, my faithful pet.  You have been away for quite some time.  What news have you brought me?” she asked as she stroked Diablo’s feathers.

The raven began to caw.  Maleficent listened closely for she could understand her pet as if he spoke actual words.

After Diablo finished his wordless tale, Maleficent’s brow furrowed in concern.  “Are you certain?” she asked to which Diablo let out a caw of affirmation.

“Then we must take action immediately.  Pete!” she called out as she rose up from her throne.

Almost immediately, the roly-poly cat came running. He huffed and puffed as he stopped in front of her.

“You called, Maleficent?  Did you finally find a way to get that Box from those animal-masked bozos?  Boy, it’s hard to believe that old man Xehanort’s own right-hand man was pulling his strings the whole time.  The only thing that would be more surprisin’ is if I were plottin’ behind your back. Wouldn’t that be somethin’?” he asked with a chuckle.

But seeing that Maleficent was in no mood for jokes, Pete immediately changed his tune.  “Not that I would actually do such a thing.  I mean, after all we’ve been through together, I wouldn’t dream of stabbin’ ya in the back like that.”

Then he noticed Diablo.  “Hey, your flyin’ feather duster’s come back.  Where’s he been all this time?”

Diablo cawed angrily in response to the insult while Maleficent scolded, “Kindly refrain from insulting Diablo, Pete.  He has been away doing important surveillance for me.”

“Really?  What might that be?” asked Pete

“He has been on the Destiny Islands keeping an eye on the Princess of Heart who lives there: Kairi.”

“What?  Her? Oh, come on!  She’s hardly worth the trouble.  I mean, she went down pretty easy during all that fuss at the Keyblade Graveyard.  Why even bother with her?”

“Because I learned that after the Heartless incarnation of Xehanort, the one who called himself Ansem, used the powers of the Princesses of Heart, the powers were passed onto other worthy maidens.  All except Kairi who has held onto her power even after her temporary demise.  There must be a reason for it and that is why I saw fit to have Diablo watch over her.”

“Well, I guess that’s a good enough reason.  So why is he here now instead of watchin’ her?” asked Pete.

“According to Diablo, Kairi has left her home world with the aid of a magical talisman.  Apparently, she believes that it is the key to bringing Sora back,” stated Maleficent.

Pete suddenly burst out into a fit of laughter. “Oh boy!  Talk about chasin’ your wild geese!  What is that girl thinkin’?  Her boyfriend’s six feet under and gettin’ fitted for a halo!  There ain’t no way he’s comin’ back!”

But then Pete noticed that Maleficent wasn’t laughing along with him.  In fact, she looked very serious.

“Maleficent?  He can’t come back, can he?” he asked.

“I cannot say for certain.  But I do know that it is possible to revive the dead seeing as how I’ve done it myself before with Oogie Boogie,” said Maleficent.

“Oh, that’s right.  But wasn’t he not right in the head after you brought him back?”

“Aside from that, it was an almost perfect revival. And he wasn’t the only one.  Through some unknown means, Ursula returned from the dead to carry out her plans against Atlantica.”

“And weren’t you dead for a time after those pipsqueaks destroyed you?” asked Pete.

Maleficent glared daggers at her cohort.  Pete cowered.

“Sorry about that.  That’s probably not something you prefer to be reminded of.”

“What happened to me after that was…complicated. But my point remains that it is possible to come back from the dead.  I also happen to know that miracles tend to happen for that boy especially when that girl is involved.  Did you know that she was able to restore him when he was turned into a Heartless?” asked Maleficent.

“Really?  Huh. Who’d a thunk she could do that?”

“Yes.  If anyone could pull off such a feat and bring Sora back from the dead, it would be Kairi.  And that is why we must, for the time being, put our plans for the Box aside and focus our efforts on stopping her.”

Pete was surprised.  “B-but Maleficent, how are we going to do that?  We don’t even know where she’s going.”

“That is no cause for concern at all, Pete.  Diablo can find her,” said Maleficent as she walked toward a doorway leading to an outside balcony.

“Him?  How can he do that?” asked Pete as he followed her.

“When I learned about Kairi’s retainment of her Princess of Heart status, I went to the Destiny Islands in secret and placed a spell on her,” said the evil fairy.

“You did? Hmm.  Guess old habits die hard, huh?” asked Pete.

“The spell I placed on Kairi is nothing like the curse I placed on Princess Aurora in the past. It was small enough so it would go unnoticed.  All it does is enable Diablo to find her no matter what world she goes to.”

Maleficent stepped out onto the balcony and gazed outward.  From the distance, she could make out the castle where Princess Aurora, Prince Philip and their family were living their happily ever after.

As often as that sight disgusted Maleficent, she set it aside.  She turned her attention to Diablo.

“Now, my pet, it is time for you to continue to watch over that girl. Find her and then report back to me on what world she is on.  If we can discern a pattern to her travels, then we can prepare to act against her. Do you understand?”

Diablo responded with a bow.  Maleficent smiled wickedly.

“Now go with a curse and serve me well.”

Diablo left his perch on Maleficent’s staff.  The evil fairy watched as her faithful pet flew away while Pete came up to her side.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, Maleficent, why do we even need to bother with stoppin’ that Princess?  Won’t nothin’ be able to stop us once we have that Box?”

Maleficent clutched her staff tightly.  “Let me remind you, Pete, that Xehanort succeeded in acquiring the χ-blade and the power of Kingdom Hearts.  He too, thought he was unstoppable.  And yet, in the end, he still was defeated by the meddling boy and his companions.  I will not make that same mistake and risk having my success ruined the same way!” she roared.

Pete was so startled by Maleficent’s outburst that he stumbled backward.  He landed hard on his rear.

“Well, when you put it that way, then by all means we’ll stop her.  We’ll hit her with everything we got!” exclaimed Pete as he picked himself up.

Maleficent continued to look out from the balcony as the thought of the possibility of Kairi causing Sora’s return plagued her mind.  It caused her rage to grow immensely.

‘You should never have left your home, Kairi.  If you think that I would allow you to bring your precious Sora back from the dead, you are sorely mistaken.  I will do all in my power to stop you and in the end, he will have sacrificed himself for nothing.’

With the threat of Maleficent on the horizon, the quest was about to become even more dangerous for Kairi.

________________________________________________________________

Onto the next chapter!

[haphazardlyparked]

#who are these characters BUT ALSO THEY'RE AMAZING. AND I DON'T KNOW THEM, BUT I LOVE THEM. And even when I don't love them (as much compared to Iska and Kalna, who i MISS VERY MUCH) your writing is just. amazing and superb as always. But either way I check this blog obsessively (at least three times a week, usually) and am usually disappointed when there's nothing new so any content makes me go :D! thank youuuuu <3

<3 <3 <3 trust me anon i did see this and i have just been staring at it lovingly, and i haven’t replied because i wanted to add a little something-something when i did because u r v great 

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"Only you would frown at a moment like this," Akalnai murmured, and before Sanokil could reply--no doubt with perfectly honed snark--Akalnai shifted his grip and spun his dance. partner in swift circles. Sanokil spun in a ring around Akalani, who turned in place, too caught up in the intricate steps to get a word in.

"Only you would try to start an argument at a farewell ball,” he said, as soon as the spinning stopped and Akalnai drew him close again. They stepped together. Sanokil sounded only the barest bit winded, but his hands gripped a little tighter at Akalnai. 

Akalnai grinned down at the other man. The son of a Second Prince, Sanokil was smaller than Akalnai, slimmer in the shoulders and shorter. But Sanokil's personality added greatly to his presence, and his eyes--pale and sharp and always watching--had a weight of their own. At the moment, they flitted about the room, pausing almost imperceptibly at on number of illustrious guests in attendance. 

Since princeships were only inherited once, the son of a Second Prince wasn't a prince at all, but Sanokil's pride was a sturdy thing. Akalnai's rank and his company had never bothered him before. Most of the Flock were here, as well as half the city’s First and Second Princes, but if anything, all the titles in the room fueled Sanokil's ambition until he glowed with it... usually. Tonight, Sanokil seemed distracted in Akalnai’s arms. 

"Don't make yourself anxious before our big day," he advised in a low voice when the music ended, and after all the dancers in the room bowed to the musicians, Akalnai led Sanokil off the dance floor before they started up again. There were myriad rooms in the royal banquet halls, and Akalnai knew each of them like the back of his hand. "It's our farewell ball. We’re supposed to be enjoying this.” 

"It's your farewell ball," Sanokil murmured back. He looped an arm around one of Akalnai's to pull him closer, and kept his voice carefully soft and pleasant. "All eyes are on you, First Prince Akalnai. I am but one step shy of nobody." 

Akalnai opened his mouth to protest, but Sanokil tugged on his arm to forestall him.

"That's all right," he said. "When we come back from our betrothal quest, I'll be a First Prince. And after I've proven myself, I am going to rule the council." 

"Sanokil!" Akalnai breathed his name out like a laugh. "I always knew you'd be the ambitious one."

The thing was, Akalnai believed Sanokil. He was almost cold sometimes, distant and calculating, but Akalnai knew it was all for the benefit of others. Sanokil threw himself into his work and excelled in it, and his work was the betterment of the city; the betterment of people’s lives. He was a true master of diplomacy, too. He really could dominate the ruling council one day. 

"Not all of us had princeships handed to us," Sanokil ribbed with enough lightness to make the joke.

It was true, though. Akalnai hadn't won his princeship through great deeds or miraculous discoveries or brave service. His mother had her princeship, and at most that would have made Akalnai a Second Prince, but he had manifested a crow’s gift. 

All crow-sons and raven-daughters earned princeships as soon as they came of age and joined the Flock. The powers of the Raven Queen and her flock of crows, who had settled the eastern lands and created the alliance of cities, were highly valued by their political and social descendants. The sons and daughters in the Flock across the cities regularly met with each other to maintain good relationships and proactive communication.

"Is every room of these halls an homage to your esteemed lineage?" Sanokil asked in a low voice. They had entered a circle room with a few couples milling about, but the room’s centerpiece glittered beneath the fairy lights that had been tossed up into the domed ceiling. 

Akalnai frowned at the enormous ice carving of crows in flight. Hadn’t he told Unasol that he did not want any frozen sculptures?—but then he felt a tug at his middle. It came from one of the curtained-off alcoves tucked into a curve of wall.

“Don’t mind the little birdies,” Akalnai told Sanokil. “The big birdie is calling.” 

Sanokil faltered, though Akalnai might not have known if Sanokil hadn’t been holding on to him. 

“The Raven Queen?” he asked. 

Akalnai nodded. The Raven Queen, the woman who inherited the greatest of the ancient queen's abilities, was the head of the Flock, and Akalnai felt her presence calling him. He twined his fingers into Sanokil’s and began to pull him along.  

"Yes, yes, come along, ‘Noki, dear,” Akalnai whispered to him, just before they reached the alcove. “She doesn’t bite anymore.” 

With well-judged timing, Akalnai pulled back the curtain and ushered Sanokil in before him--not escaping, but certainly postponing, his partner's inevitable tongue-lashing. Sanokil swallowed his annoyance—at the nickname or the mock-condescension but probably both—in favor of putting on a neutral, pleasant expression. Akalnai secured the curtain closed behind them. 

The alcove was surprisingly big, well-lit with a little table covered by a thick tablecloth that draped onto the floor. Akalnai was willing to bet there were braziers under that table for those who got chilly, but it wasn't the braziers Sanokil went into diplomat mode for. 

“My lady,” he said, and made a very elegant bow. Then he stepped back and ground his heel into Akalnai’s foot, because they both knew where his eyes had been.

The eleven-year-old Raven Queen sat alone at the table, a tiny fairy in rose chiffon who desperately tried to snap her mouth shut on a yawn.

“It’s past your bedtime, Yulya,” Akalnai teased.

“How could I possibly sleep when I know you’re leaving me tonight!" Yulya's lips twisted into a pout only an eleven year old could pull off. 

"I'm not leaving you on purpose." Yulya pouted at Akalnai for a moment longer, but she knew he wouldn't say anything else. They had already talked about this. Huffing, she turned her small face on Sanokil instead, and smiled brightly. 

"Sanokil, I have heard many good things about you from my flockmate," Yulya announced more than said to Sanokil. Sanokil bowed automatically, clearly not expecting the directness. A diplomat, he probably expected a diplomat’s grace from the Raven Queen… but Yulya was only eleven, and Akalna hadn’t been joking. She’d been a biter as a child, and it’d been impossible to teach her anything. 

"I wish you both a worthy quest, like your parents before you." Yulya froze when she realized what she said, and then her expression slipped into a trained blankness. Maybe Akalnai should have tried harder.

Sanokil found his voice first. "Thank you, my lady."

"I didn't mean--" Yulya began in a rush, face pink and cracking into a concerned, guilty look, like she’d just broken an heirloom (again). Sanokil dared to interrupt her.

Gently, he smiled and said, "My parents' quest took them a year, and they returned better people and a better couple. So thank you, my lady."

Akalnai said nothing, because it was his parents’ quest that made the blessing a misstep. 

Akalnai's mother had left on a betrothal quest with a man who found a partner from another city and went to live there. Barred from her home until she wed, she had returned many years later with a quiet, almost silent man from one of the farthest-off cities, barely even part of the old alliance, and a new son with a crow’s gift. 

She had then won her princeship with the gift of exquisitely drawn maps to the council, made by her own hand based on her travels with her family. And success came again when her son came of age and joined the Flock, but still—nobody wished a betrothal quest like that upon someone else. Akalnai knew Sanokil fully intended on ending before the altar with Akalnai, and he wouldn't be disappointed to be there either.

But there was the tiniest part of Akalnai that wanted what his mother had had: the adventure of falling in love. As pleased as Akalnai would be to marry Sanokil, and as much as they liked each other, he knew it wasn’t love—not love the way of Akalnai’s parents. Sanokil wouldn’t wander the world with Akalnai just because Akalnai asked, and though Akalnai didn’t need that in his partner to be happy with their life… 

Just the tiniest part of him wondered what that might be like. 

“Everyone speaks well of you, Sanokil, and say any quest you take up will be a tale for the ages.” Yulya’s compliment was equal parts truth, a new blessing, and gratefulness for Sanokil’s ready forgiveness. “We are very happy that you will share it with our flock-mate.” Then Yulya grinned, tossing aside Raven formality. “You must have the patience of a god.” 

Sanokil’s smile was more genuine this time. “Thank you, my lady.” 

Akalnai grinned. “Thank you, you little ankle-biter.” 

[shawn-does-stuff]

Shawn Mendes: ‘I’m 20. I want to have fun’

by Michael Cragg

Shawn Mendes is the red-hot poster boy of pop. His videos have been viewed 6bn times and he has more than 42m followers on Instagram. But don’t worry if you haven’t heard of him… just ask a teenager

Shawn Mendes is standing in his underpants in a suite on the fifth floor of a London hotel as a 200-strong crowd of screaming teenage girls gathers outside. “Everyone who doesn’t need to be in the room, leave the room,” he says politely but firmly, in a soft Canadian drawl. Pop’s current poster boy should be used to causing a stir. His #MyCalvins campaign (following in the footsteps of Justin Bieber in 2016) broke the internet earlier this year, inching the 20-year-old teen phenomenon – three US chart-topping albums, 30m monthly listeners on Spotify, more than 6bn video views – closer to tabloid supremacy and global domination.

At the Brit Awards that night, Mendes will cringe as presenter Jack Whitehall ribs him about “suspicious packages”, so it’s curious to hear him describe the Calvin Klein opportunity – and the subsequent results pored over by his 42m Instagram followers – as “a goal of mine at the top of 2018. As much as it’s a stepping stone for me to play a stadium, it’s a huge moment for me to step in front of a camera and take my shirt off. I don’t see one being less meaningful than the other.”

The air is thick with earnestness as we sit down for lunch in the hotel restaurant. I blurt out a question about whether he had to wear extra padding. “No,” he says, eyebrow raised. “They’re really good underwear.” Did they send you some free ones? “Yeah, I have boxes of them at home.” He lifts up the bottom edge of his T-shirt and pulls at the waistband of his underwear before quickly pulling his shirt back down. You’re not wearing them today are you? “Not right now,” he says sheepishly. “I should be.”

Mendes’s boy-next-door appeal and laser-guided ambition feels rather wholesome, with his sensitive, heart-on-sleeve pop-rock bops such as 2015’s UK chart-topper Stitches, positioning him as perfect boyfriend material in pop’s all important fantasy world. If Bieber is the unknowable loose cannon, then Mendes is pop’s picture-perfect head boy. But it’s clear that exposing himself so literally has its downside. “The last 48 hours have been so consuming, just reading what people are saying about me [on social media],” he sighs. Do you have to read it? “No, but there’s something about being human that makes you. I’m scared of social media and how much it affects me,” he continues. “It’s literally become infused with who I am.”

Last October he apologised to his 21m Twitter followers, claiming he was worried that what he was posting wasn’t meaningful enough. “For the first time I realised how many people are listening,” he says. He now monitors how often he goes online and tries to take regular breaks, using meditation to relax. “I don’t think of myself as conceited, but I definitely spend a lot of time reading about myself,” he says.

Mendes famously has three daily rules – going to the gym, two vocal lessons and never saying no to a selfie with a fan. He’s managed the first two so far and “took about 200 selfies yesterday”. Despite this, his rise has chimed with a shift in the upper echelons of pop – its recent exponents being anti-pop stars Adele, Ed Sheeran and (with her goofy dancing style and eternal quest for relatability) Taylor Swift, who’s now a friend. Even One Direction – whose blend of teen-orientated, guitar-led pop paved the way for Mendes – always felt like they were trying to play down the pop star element.

“The more open the world is getting, the more people are craving real,” he says. “I don’t think people want to see a made-up person. [In the past] there’s been a lot of dressing up, and I still think that stuff is amazing – like I’ll wear a sleeveless top – but at the end of it, when it comes down to you, I think it’s about being authentic.” For all this talk of authenticity and being like everyone else, I tell him, you’re also a pop star begging people to look at you. Do you have to believe your own hype? “Of course,” he says, his eyes darting over my shoulder to the mirrored wall behind. “You have to. If you wake up every day and say, ‘I’m OK,’ you’re going to just be that. If you wake up everyday and look at yourself in the mirror and say, ‘I’m great, let’s go sell out that stadium,’ then you will.”

You could say he’s been in motivational training for a while now, having started out as a 14-year-old YouTube star, uploading acoustic covers of songs (Bieber, among others), before switching to the now defunct social media platform Vine. He taught himself to play the guitar via YouTube tutorials at home in the small town of Pickering, Ontario, while one of his first public performances was in a plaza in Portugal where his family – mum Karen, a British estate agent, dad Manny, a Portuguese businessman, and younger sister Aaliyah – were holidaying. While his parents were shopping, Mendes hopped up next to a statue and belted out a Bruno Mars song. “I was sweating and I thought, ‘Dude, if you want to be a singer, you’ve got to at least be able to stand on this statue and sing,’” he says of that moment.

Where was that pressure coming from? “It was from myself, which is pretty much a big statement on my personality at 14 years old.”

While he says he loved school, his early fame – after signing to Island Records his debut single, Life of the Party, was released when he was just 15 – meant he was bullied. “People were cruel at first,” he says, clearing his throat and fiddling with the rim of a cup of green tea. “They just thought it was so stupid.” He’d skip school every Friday to attend influencer events in which social media stars met fans who already assumed they were friends. “I was taking 1,500 selfies a night,” he laughs. “You quickly learn that what you love to do is a job, but I don’t resent what I do. I don’t hate taking selfies.”

Success was rapid, with his third single Stitches breaking the US top five and peaking at number one in the UK. That same year he supported Swift on her 1989 stadium tour. How did he cope? “This life is more real to me than anything,” he says. “If I were to walk down the street and no one recognised me, I’d feel something was wrong. When I was really young [fame] morphed who I was. If it was to become normal, it would feel un-normal to me.”

From the outside, I say, the other recent pop artists who can relate to that are Britney Spears or Bieber, people who have had issues with growing up in the spotlight. “A couple of times I’ve worried about that, too, but outside of all this I live a really normal life,” he says slowly. “You have to make an effort to carry your own bags, drive your own car and not be afraid of the public. I don’t blame people at all who stay inside. I understand how it could be terrifying to go to a restaurant and eat because you’re scared someone’s going to take a photo of you.”

Is that more intrusive than a selfie? “I’ve been so lucky that fans have been taking photos of me eating since I was 15, so I’m a little bit numb to it,” he says, his tone rarely deviating from preternaturally calm. There’s probably an Instagram account called Shawn Mendes Eating, I joke (I check later and while there’s no account, there is a hashtag to follow). Can it feel as if he’s being watched? “I’m inherently [aware of] that all the time.” If it ever gets too much, he leaves rather than making a scene. Are you a people-pleaser, I ask? “Yeah, is that bad?” he smiles. “It can lead to failure, but if I fail trying to please everyone, then that’s OK.”

Mendes spends a lot of time contemplating people’s perceptions of him. Last year he publicly criticised a Rolling Stone cover story, expressing his regret that “the positive side of a story doesn’t always get fully told”. I assume it’s because the piece mentioned his penchant for smoking weed, a detail that had upset some fans. “That didn’t bother me,” he smiles. “Actually, I was happy about that because maybe it’s OK for them to understand that weed’s not a big deal.” He says he hasn’t smoked in three months.

Another part of the story focused on rumours about his sexuality. “For me it’s hurtful,” he says. “I get mad when people assume things about me because I imagine the people who don’t have the support system I have and how that must affect them.” (In late 2017 he posted an emotional Snapchat story: “First of all, I’m not gay. Second of all, it shouldn’t make a difference if I was or wasn’t.”) He sighs and says: “That was why I was so angry, and you can see I still get riled up, because I don’t think people understand that when you come at me about something that’s stupid you hurt so many other people. They might not be speaking, but they’re listening.”

He says the reason he criticised the article was over a small detail in which he mentioned Dua Lipa and her boyfriend, and how amazing it looked to be in love. “It made me seem so creepy,” he says. “If anything, the article made me realise your career isn’t over if people think you’re not perfect.” You could see how the creepy singleton tag might irk him, and also why it might stick – a lot of Mendes’s biggest singles play on the idea of him as the emotionally needy bloke who gets messed around and comes back for more.

Are you bored of being The Nice Guy? He splutters, clears his throat and sits bolt upright. “Yeah, I am! It sounds so stupid – to be a nice person is the best thing in the world – but, yeah, I’m 20 and I just want to have fun. What I don’t want to do is live the rest of my life thinking, ‘I wouldn’t do that because I’m known as Prince Charming.’ The second that someone corners you into a personality, you don’t want to be that person any more.”

Two weeks later, Mendes is onstage in Amsterdam. In keeping with the floral artwork for his recent self-titled album, a 50ft rose snakes up to the ceiling from the so-called B-stage where he’ll later serenade the throngs of teenage fans and nodding dads with a handful of ballads. Replica light-up roses (€20 a pop at the merch stand) bob about in the dark as Mendes runs through a hugely entertaining, PG-13 simulacrum of a rock show to ear-bleeding screams (“God I’m so old,” a woman sitting behind me yells as she surveys the crowd).

Keen to further align himself with the pantheon of rock’s smiliest exponents, tonight Mendes segues from a cover of Coldplay’s big-hearted anthem Fix You into his own, the Kings of Leon-esque In My Blood, a song that surprised fans by touching on depression. Tonight it’s transformed – with the help of a ticker tape explosion – into something close to catharsis.

“There’s nothing like being on stage – you feel like Superman!” he’d said earlier, claiming it to be better than sex or any high. “My goal now is to enjoy what I do more and more because otherwise it doesn’t fucking matter. I used to think it was all about the crowd, but I have to be happy within myself.” As he takes his millionth selfie, his face radiating pure elation, you believe he might be.

Shawn Mendes plays London O2 on 16, 17 and 19 April

Fashion editor Helen Seamons; grooming by Anna Thompson using Bobbi Brown and Monat; lighting by Michael Furlonger and Tilly Pearson; digital operator John Munro; fashion assistant Penny Chan; shot at 12th Knot, seacontainerslondon.com

[sotheywrotestories]

The Spy and the One Who Wasn’t |bucky barnes| Chapter Two: The Problem With Violence

Warnings: Violence

Summary: Bucky still has trust issues. Can (Y/N) prove her worth?

Previously

It was obvious to most that Bucky didn’t trust (Y/N). He liked her as a person, he laughed with her, even opened his room to her should she need someone to talk to, but he didn’t trust her.

And that hurt, but (Y/N) understood…mostly.

After two months of her residency in the compound, Bucky stopped trying to figure out what it was she could do. He had long given up his quest on discovering her powers, opting, instead, to just study her, hoping he might catch a glimpse of her powers.

He was beginning to suspect she didn’t have any.

But even if he didn’t trust her, he respected her, for the fact that she was constantly defending him against Steve, who was still pushing Bucky towards therapy.

“Therapy doesn’t work for everyone, you know,” (Y/N) said one morning.

“You don’t know until you try,” Steve countered, a frown on his face.

(Y/N) stared him down, impressing the feeling that she was staring into his soul.

Steve felt violated.

“It’s not fair to ask someone to do something they don’t want to do. I think James knows his own mind a bit better than you do, Steve,” she spat.

“Listen,” (Y/N) put her coffee mug down. “James, it’s clear you don’t want to go to therapy, for whatever reason you have, and that’s justified. Steve, James doesn’t need to justify himself to anyone but himself. So stop asking him to go.”

It wasn’t often that anyone other than Steve stood up for Bucky, but he wasn’t complaining. He just wishes he knew why (Y/N) was willing to stand up for him. It came back to his trust issues, and whether or not he could trust (Y/N) to do the right thing.

But Bucky knew, deep down, that Steve was right. And that he did need help, Bucky just didn’t want to go to someone else to find it.

He had picked up journaling. It was one of the therapy tips Steve had passed on that actually stuck with him. But no matter how much he wrote through his thoughts on (Y/N), he couldn’t figure it out.

“Hey, James, come to the gym with me?” (Y/N) popped into his room. “Tony says I’m a month away from my first mission, so I want to make sure I’m ready.”

The thought of (Y/N) on a mission did not sit right with Bucky. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of her in danger was frightening.

“Yeah, sure. What do you need help with?” Bucky stood up, sneakily stowing his journal under one of his drawers.

“I just want to spar a little, make sure I can handle myself on the field.”

Bucky understood, he was glad she was preparing herself for hand to hand combat and not just blindly going into battle. But he wasn’t sure he could spar with her.

When they got to the gym, Natasha and Wanda were already there, sparring on their own.

“Hey, Tin Man. What’re you guys up to?” Natasha asked, pushing her hair back.

“I’m gonna spar, get used to fighting before I go on any missions,” (Y/N) said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Stark’s going to let you on a mission?” Wanda raised her eyebrows. “What is it you do, again?”

It was a running joke for the Avengers to ask (y/N) at least once during a conversation what her powers were. They had all (excluding Bucky) accepted that she would just tell them when she wanted to tell them and moved on.

“Ha ha,” (Y/N) laughed, taping her hands. “Don’t worry, you guys will see soon enough.”

Bucky watched her tape her hands, making sure she was doing it correctly, before stepping onto the mat.

“Okay. How are we going to go about this? I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky worried.

“Just fight her, Barnes, we can work on her form after, first we need to see what she can do,” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Have a little faith.”

(Y/N) had a slight twinkle in her eyes as she squared up with Bucky.

“Don’t worry, James. I can take it,” (Y/N) smiled, dragging her hands up.”

Bucky shrugged and reared his right arm. He watched it sail through the air, intending to land on (Y/N) left shoulder, but she grabbed his arm during the motion and Bucky ended up on the floor.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to Natasha’s muffled giggles. (Y/N)’s head popped into his line of sight, a small smile on her face.

“Sorry, James. Shoulda given you a warning, I guess,” (Y/N) giggled.

“Again,” Bucky grunted.

“You sure, old man?” Wanda teased. “Don’t you want to give your hip a break?”

Bucky wasn’t used to losing a match. And he certainly didn’t enjoy everyone making fun of him.

“James, are you sure?” (Y/N) placed her hand on his bicep. “We can take a break, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, doll. Let’s go again.”

And they went again…and again…and again, until Steve pulled Bucky off the mat.

“She beat you, Buck. C’mon, before one of you gets seriously hurt.”

“I really appreciate it, James,” (Y/N) frowned. “Really, thank you, but let’s take a break for now.”

***

The next month went by fairly quickly, but too be fair, Bucky wasn’t paying much attention.

What (Y/N) had failed to mention about her mission, was that it was a solo. It wasn’t normal that an Avenger’s first mission was one they had to complete on their own, so it was a bit of a shock to a lot of the members.

Bucky fought with Steve and Tony, not because he didn’t think she could handle it, or because he didn’t want her to go, but because he still didn’t trust her and he didn’t want her to be able to have these confidential missions that he knew nothing about.

It was a long argument, by the time Bucky had given up trying to sway Steve’s mind, (Y/N) had already been briefed, suited, and sent on her way.

“It’s a two day mission, Tin Man,” Tony rolled his eyes. “She’s not doing anything that could be a danger to any one of us, trust me.”

“Even if I trusted you,” Bucky growled. “I don’t trust her whatsoever, your word vouching for her means nothing.”

***

(Y/N) was home six hours early with three Hydra agents chained behind her. It was a shock enough to the team that she had been not only successful, but also quick, but then to also have taken hostages?

Now everyone was dying to know what it was she could do.

There was no time to ask her questions, however. She dropped the three agents off with Fury then ran to her room, presumably to go rest.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky smiled, leaning on her doorframe, much like he did when she first moved in. “Congrats on your first mission.”

“Thanks, James,” (Y/N) smiled, wiping her face off with a warm towel.

“Why don’t you call me Bucky, doll?” Bucky frowned. It wasn’t that it bothered him, it was kinda nice to have someone call him his real name, but he wondered if there was something else to it.

“You never asked me to?” (Y/N) smiled. “I just planned on calling you James, because it’s your name, until you asked me not to. I figured ‘Bucky’ was reserved for friends only.”

“You’re my friend,” his frown deepened.

“You can’t be friends with somebody you don’t trust, James,” (Y/N) said, her grin dropping. “Why don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know what you can do,” Bucky growled. “With everything I’ve gone through with Hydra-“

“James I’m not going to make you relive all that. It’s just…,” she trailed off, staring behind Bucky.

“Doll?” Bucky was worried. Did he push her too far?

“I came from Hydra, too,” she looked Bucky in the eye. “And what I can do…it’s scary. Not that I’ve ever done too much with it…I don’t think you all would like me very much after you found out what I can do.”

Tags;  @thatcluelessone @ima-fucking-nerd  @embrace-themagic @fireboltrose5737@whatdafricklefrackle@peeterparkr @sherlokiantheatrenerd @legit-fandom-trash @abitchformarvel @dark-night-sky-99

[slow-smiles]

Canon-compliant post 6x07 smut (at least I’m pretty sure it’s canon compliant? I never watched s6.) Later that night, Emma’s hand won’t stop shaking. A bit of praise kink. My second entry for @cscocktoberfest​ (Only a little bit late this time! Yay!) ~4.7k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

give and take.

When they leave the Charming’s apartment that night, it’s not without copious complaining beforehand. Emma hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment where her father lay comatose in bed as Snow cuddled and tried to soothe a baby Neal whose crying had picked up when he realized his father wouldn’t respond to the pokes to the chest.

(Killian realized with a pang that it was a game Dave played with his son. Neal poking him would provoke a reaction, dramatic and giggle-inducing, that could entertain Neal for hours on end.)

(Now he just slept on, dead to the world.)

(All around, not a particularly banner day in Storybrooke.)

Regina and Emma had been trying to help, suggesting possible solutions or attempting to take Neal from Snow’s very resolute grasp, and Henry was buzzing about the kitchen trying to do something, but Killian could see Snow starting to fray at the edges. 

Their night had ended when Snow had finally set Neal down in his bassinet, and all but shouted, “None of you are doing anything useful!” The commotion in the apartment immediately ceased, save Neal’s heart-rending whimpers. “It is almost midnight, and I am exhausted. My son is not going to stop crying because you all are being too loud, and I am not going to get to sleep tonight knowing that my husband is under a sleeping curse. So please, all of you, just leave and come back tomorrow.”

Killian quietly suspected that she’d very much like to break down but was unwilling to do so in front of company, even if the company was family. He can certainly relate to that.

Emma murmured to Snow, “I can stay upstairs, in case...” but Snow was already shaking her head.

She took her daughter’s shoulders in hand and inhaled shakily before saying, “Go home with Killian. We will be all right.” Her eyes were watering, so it didn’t lend much credence to her words. She’d sniffled then before putting on a smile. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow, and at least some of us need to be well-rested for it.”

Killian looks down and notices that Emma’s hand is shaking, and she clearly wants to hide it from her mother as she quickly moves to hug Snow and keeps her shaking hand far away from her.

Soon, Henry and Regina are off to their home, and Emma and Killian are off to theirs.

He stops her before she gets into the bug, taking her shaking hand in his and bringing it up to his chest. He runs his thumb along hers, but it doesn’t stop the quaking.

She looks lost and broken and it hurts his heart to see her like this. His story time had apparently not been as effective as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry, love, I thought today helped,” he offers.

She softens at that, but her hand is still shaking. “It did,” she says, “It really did, but that was...” She swallows. “That was before we failed and forced my parents to hand their hearts over to the Evil Queen.”

He sighs, “Emma, no one’s failed yet. They’re still alive, and that means they can be saved. I told you that you can overcome anything and I meant that.”

“I want to believe that too,” she says.

She leans into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and keeping her hands curled against his chest. He can still feel the one shaking, and he closes his eyes against his disappointment in himself. He should be able to help her.

“Let’s get you home, love.” He leans back enough to catch her eyes, “Do you think you can drive? We can walk if you can’t.”

She nods. “Yeah, I can drive.”

He holds her hand all the way home.

When they arrive home, she’s still shaking. “God, this is pretty freaking annoying when it doesn’t stop,” she says, trying to make a joke but her heart is clearly not in it.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” he suggests, only letting go of her hand as long as it takes him to get out of the car and back to her side.

They get inside and trudge straight up the stairs, not bothering to remove their shoes by the door.

Inside the room, Emma’s hand is still shaking. She pulls away from him and sits at the foot of the bed, her hands curled loosely in her lap. “I don’t know how to stop this.” She looks up at him, desperation and sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop anything.”

He kneels in front of her, not taking his eyes from hers. “I know you’re scared. I know we might not know how to save your parents right now, but we can figure it out. We always do.”

“But if I can’t stop the Evil Queen, then how am I supposed to stop the hooded figure in my visions? If I can’t save my parents, how am I going to save myself?”

He leans up to kiss her and disrupt her speech, and Emma leans into him, a move that makes his chest hurt in the best of ways.

He pulls away, but only just. His forehead still rests against hers, their noses brushing with every other breath. “This moment, Emma,” he says. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, so I want you to focus on right here, right now.” He stands fully, gently guiding her to lay back on the bed. “There’s nothing outside of this bedroom,” he continues as she settles back into the sheets. “Just us,” he finishes as he settles beside her, propping himself up on his left elbow so he can look down at her.

Her attention is rapt, but he wants to make the worry disappear from her eyes, wants to smooth the creases between them with kisses until the dimples from her smile light up her face.

“You deserve a moment of peace, yeah? Just a moment where you don’t have to worry about anything. Let this be that moment, love.”

His right hand plucks at the hem of her shirt, just barely grazing the smooth skin of her lower abdomen with the backs of his fingers.

“Will you let me help you?” he asks, aware of the grittiness in his voice. He knows she likes it, so he doesn’t hesitate to play it up for her, let the rasp of his voice wash across the skin of her neck just below her ear.

The breath she lets out is soft, a caress, a gentle statement of pleasure and desire, but he wants to hear her say it. Her hips cant upwards, pressing towards his gently questing fingers, but he refuses to press harder or push deeper beneath her shirt. A sharp breath now, one of frustration and wanting.

“Say it,” he prods, breaking eye contact to lay his lips against her pulse point. He care barely feel it beat against his lips and gives a teasing lick up her jaw before pulling back.

She’s staring up at the ceiling, her expression hard to decipher. She closes her eyes and nearly whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

That pulls a little laugh from her, prompting his own smile in turn.

He knows he’s being a little difficult, but he has a feeling being a little difficult is going to be the only way he can get through to her. Her hand is still shaking, and he needs to make it stop. This is the only way he knows how.

“Helping with the... the moment of peace,” she says, and finally tilts her head to look at him. “The here and now.”

“Anything for you, darling,” he says, and rewards her with a heavy stroke upwards with his palm, not bothering to tease before he takes one of her breasts in hand. They’re both still fully clothed, so the soft fabric denies him the skin to skin contact, but he presses the flesh up, cups her in his hand, draws his thumb across her hardening nipple.

Emma reaches for the back of his neck, and to his consternation he can still feel it shaking as she pulls him down to her lips. As their lips part and their tongues move in a wet slide, Emma shifts, pulling him fully on top of her and tangling their legs in such a way that puts one of his thighs between hers.

The way she starts to gently grind her hips into him sends a shot of such unfettered arousal through him he can’t help but moan into the kiss and then break away. His hand is still at her breast, plucking her nipple as he tells her, “That’s a good girl. Take what you need. I’m yours.”

Another sharp pant from Emma as she pulls back abruptly, flinging her shirt and bra off at a record-breaking pace. She disentangles their legs, depriving him of her delightful thrusts and reaches for the zippers for her boots. “You better be getting naked too, buddy.”

He chuckles, sneaking a quick look at her hand. No tremors. If his arousal was intoxicating, the sight of her still hand was impossibly immense relief. “Aye aye, Captain,” he answers.

He shucks his jacket, vest, and shirt in quick succession, ignoring the small voice of protest when he simply flings them to the floor, going to remove the brace that holds his hook in place, the contraption pulling away from the well-worn callouses across his shoulders and down his arm.

They hit the floor with a muted thud against the carpet, but they don’t drown out Emma’s quiet, “Damn it,” that he hears from behind him.

He quickly turns towards her. She’s laid back on the bed, boots now gone along with her shirt and bra. Shirtless Emma is a sight to behold, for certain, but his eyes are drawn away from her pale skin, coral-pink nipples, and down to where her hand rests over the button of her jeans.

It’s shaking again.

His heart falls.

“Oh, Emma.”

His heart falls even further when he sees her frustration pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, her opposite hand coming up to cover her eyes.

He sighs. He lays back down and rolls across the bed. He nuzzles against the fingers across her face. “Let’s see that beautiful face, love. Come on.”

It takes a few moments for her to drag her hand from her face, revealing red-rimmed eyes but no tears have fallen.

“There she is,” he says softly.

That pulls a smile from her, watery, but brilliant. She gives him a short, choked laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, brushing her hair away from her face with gentle motions.

“Can we just--” She rolls onto her side to face him again. “Can we just do this?”

He strokes a hand through her hair. “We can do whatever you’d like--”

Emma surprises him with a kiss, aggressive, wet and fast and intense. She pushes him onto his back with ease, and he moans into her mouth. He quite likes it when she seizes control. She moves on from his lips, sloppily moving across his cheek and down his neck. “Gods, love,” he manages, “Love you. So much.”

She starts grinding down on him in earnest, seemingly trying to fuck him through the layers between them. His hand and wrist fall to her hips, encouraging and eager.

His cock is straining against the fabric, and he wants nothing between them--wants to tear their clothing off, throw her down on the bed and show her just how much she loves her. Truly fuck it into her, make her understand with each forceful thrust of his hips that he cherishes every piece of her, will cherish every piece of her as long as he can.

“Emma,” he says, “Emma, love, just let me--” He reaches down to where her hips still rock roughly against his, going for the button on his jeans.

She catches his hand in hers. “No, let me.” Her hand is completely steady. 

Killian grins. “By all means,” he replies, going so far as to tuck his hands behind his head to show her that she’s in control.

Emma gives him a small smile, rolling off him, but only just so that she can shuck her remaining clothing. Before Killian can make a move to remove the last of his garments, Emma is doing it for him, wordlessly encouraging his hips up and dragging his pants down in one motion. He’s already half hard, and Emma crawling back astride him means that it won’t take him long to get all the way there.

His hand and wrist find their way to her thighs, and he lets out a strangled sigh when she lowers her wet core against him. “Gods,” he gasps. “You’re so wet. So beautiful and wet for me.”

She begins to grind herself down on him, and Killian gasps, tilting his head back against the pillow at the feel of her against him.

“Gods, I wish you could see yourself,” he murmurs, running his hand up to a breast. He draws his finger along the underside, just barely brushing her nipple.

Despite her soft moans and the flood of arousal coating his length, Killian still notices something is not quite right. Her hand is still trembling (less now, at least) and her eyes are closed tightly, and her brow is furrowed, like she’s retreating into herself.

That just won’t do, because as strong as Emma is, he knows that she has a deep need that she rarely voices, or even acknowledges, that craves affection, craves adoration and love. And as rarely as she admits it to herself, she admits it even less often to others.

Killian sits up, startling her from her spiral into herself, and wraps his arms around her waist. “Don’t do that,” he says, kissing her softly once.

“Do what?”

“Hide yourself away like that.”

She pauses, confusion clouding her face a moment before it clears in understanding. When it does, her entire body relaxes into him, her chest pressing into his, allowing his arms to pull her closer. She leans her head down to her shoulder.

“It’s okay to want to let go for a little while,” he says.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but her fingers tickling along the skin of his back and shoulders tells him she’s listening.

He turns his head so that his lips are in her hair, and he presses a small kiss to her scalp. “I’ll take care of you. You deserve it, love.” He pulls away from her a little, prompting her to lift her head away from his shoulder and meet his gaze. “Can I, Emma?”

Her cheeks go bright red as she nods, revealing one of her deepest, most intimate desires leaving her feeling exposed. raw.

Well that simply won’t do, and Killian leans in to kiss her, trying to pour every ounce of emotion he has into the kiss. It’s reminiscent of their second kiss outside Granny’s, years ago now, hundreds of kisses ago, but he remembers it like yesterday.

He urges her to the side and onto her back. She goes easily, opening her legs to let him settle between.

He’s completely hard for her, can feel the heat of her sex against his cock, but he holds himself back. There will be plenty of time for that in a moment. His lips venture away from her mouth, trailing across her jawline and down her neck. He devotes himself to reddening her collarbones, with lips and tongue and teeth, and she is positively writhing beneath him now, making small, impatient noises as her hips press up towards his.

“That’s it, love,” he says, “I love how much your body craves mine. It’s bloody incredible, that you want me as much as I want you.”

He travels down to her nipples, pinked up and stiffened in the cool air of their bedroom. He laves a tongue across one and lets his breath stiffen it further under his mouth. “Love your breasts,” he murmurs as he drags his lips sloppily in the valley between them. “The way you flush red all the way down,” he continues before covering the other nipple with his lips, sucking it firmly.

“Please,” Emma gasps, her hips moving a little more insistently.

His only response to her plea is to release her nipple and continue his lips’ path down her stomach.

When he reaches the place she’s wet and wanting, he looks up at her; her gaze is wild with lust, but under that there’s something else. There’s love and trust and no longer that guarded edge he’d seen earlier.

Her hands are both still. One moves to cover her own breast, kneading and tweaking slowly, and the other goes to Killian’s head, smoothing through his hair and scraping lightly along his scalp.

“What do you want, darling?” he asks, already knowing he answer and easing a thigh over his shoulder in preparation.

“I want your mouth on me,” she says, a bit breathless, and Killian is struck with a swell of pride in his chest because he remembers the early days in their relationship when it was so difficult for her to reveal her physical desires to him, let alone her emotional secrets that she’d barely begun to share.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and lowers his lips to her cunt.

He barely hears Emma’s moan over the sound of his own. Her salty slickness on his tongue is addictive, the sounds she makes as he begins to eat her out even more so.

Her thigh on his shoulder helps open her up, so he has free access to her clit to swipe across with his tongue a few teasing times as he makes a show of fully exploring her. He dips into her opening a few times before venturing back up to her clit.

He pushes her harder now, focusing his efforts on her clit and begins to suck and lick with more vigor. Her hand tightens in his hair, and he grins. “Love the way you hold tight when I taste you,” he murmurs. “I love the way your hips start to move against me when you’re getting close.”

“Killian,” she whines as he draws her clit into his mouth again. Her hips press up in time with the pulsating sucks, and he has to grind his hips down into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure building in his groin.

Her hand trails from his hair to his cheek, urging him to look up at her. He does so with a parting, firm suck to her clit that has Emma gasping.

“I want you inside me when I come,” she pants.

He grins. “Oh, gladly.”

He rises quicker than a blink and his mouth hovers over hers. “Do you want to know how you taste, Emma?” Her mouth chases his, but he backs off, keeping his lips just out of reach. “Imagine,” he rasps, “how I feel when I look at that pretty cunt of yours and I can see it’s positively dripping with how much you want me. Imagine it. Can you feel it love?” He dips his mouth closer to hers, teasing her before pulling away once more. “Can you feel how much I want you? How I ache to taste the heaven in your skin, how I yearn for the warmth of your body and your heart?”

Emma nods frantically. “I can feel it. God, I feel it.”

He dips down and kisses her then, sloppy and messy and soft, letting her steal the vestiges of her arousal from his lips. It’s a fair trade for the sensation of her moaning against him, for the feeling of her wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her hips into his, grinding her core against his cock.

“Gods,” Killian gasps. “I love you so much. I want you to feel it when I fuck you into this bloody mattress.” He reaches for the head of the bed, grabbing one of their plumper pillows for the task he has in mind.

He taps on her hip, silently signaling her to lift up, and he positions the pillow under her hips.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says again, “I want you to listen to every word I say when I’m inside you.” He gives her a last, parting kiss before he pushes back onto his knees. He takes one of her ankles in his hand and pushes it outward, using his wrist to do the same with the other, leaving her completely spread and vulnerable to him.

When he presses inside, he nearly comes when he feels how tight she is, her wet heat squeezing delightfully at this angle. He doesn’t move yet; he knows that once he does, much of his coherence will fly out the window, and he wants her to understand him.

“You’re not just the Savior, not just the product of True Love,” he tells her, leaning down to press a kiss to her sternum. “You’re Emma Swan. You’ve the most resilient heart I’ve ever known. You forgive, you see the best in those around you, no matter what they’ve done to wrong you.” He steals a glance up at her to find her watching him intently, her gaze following his every move. He trails his lips to the left and tenderly licks over her nipple. “You managed to bring a man who was a hundred shades of terrible back from the brink of self destruction just by virtue of being you.” He smooths his hand up and down her leg, relishing the trembling he feels there, and ventures over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the last before he looks up. “I didn’t fall in love with an infallible Savior, I fell in love with an amazing woman who keeps getting back up when she’s knocked down. She inspires greatness in others because she herself is great.”

He presses up to brush a kiss over her lips. He lets go of her ankle for a moment to brush an escaped tear off her cheek.

“You give so much of yourself to others,” he continues, and begins to move his hips. Small movements, but they make the suffused pleasure begin to spark. “I can at least try to give you back even a fraction of the love you give me.”

Emma looks shocked in the best of ways, her mouth slightly slack and tenderness in her eyes. No more tears fall, but it’s a near thing.

He leans back once more, gaining a firmer hold of her ankle with his hand, and balancing the other with his wrist. His pace increases, the next step in a steady build. Emma’s eyes fall closed, her mouth gaping wider in a silent gasp of pleasure. Her fingers grasp feebly against the sheets. Her chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

Gods, he feels like he has so much else to say to her, so many more words he could use to attempt to make her understand the depth of his feeling for her. It goes so much deeper than romantic love. Before he loved her, he respected her as an adversary. Then, he respected her as an ally. He admired her as a leader. Everything about her seemed worthy of note, worthy of attention and care and praise, and yet somehow she always seemed to be starved for those very things.

Killian was only too happy to fill that void.

He picks up his pace again incrementally, pulling out further and pushing in harder with each stroke. With this angle, he hits that place inside her that has her moaning for him in no time.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma gasps when his strokes pass from steady into hard.

With her legs spread as they are, she cannot fuck her hips back into his. She has no choice but to lay back and take him. Despite her usual preference to be an active participant in their lovemaking, she’s certainly not complaining now.

Her moans are deeper now. He knows that she was close when he was eating her out before, so she’s only been climbing higher since then. She usually needs some stimulation on her clit before she can fall over that edge. One of her hands tweaks and massages a breast. The other begins its descent downwards.

Much as he likes to watch her touch herself, he lets go of her ankle to catch her hand before it reaches its destination.

“Let me,” he says. He quickly hooks his arm around her knee, drawing her leg in towards his chest so that he can maintain the deep penetration and still reach her clit.

He runs his fingers along her swollen labia before running down to feel where his cock pushes into her. It’s a self-indulgent moment, but it allows him to gather some wetness before he trails back up to her clit and starts rubbing over it in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Emma says, high-pitched and breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he encourages. “Come for me. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m--” Emma cuts herself off, breath catching in her throat and hips twitching. He can feel her starting to clench within. Not long now, he knows.

He’s been staving off his own orgasm, wanting to watch her fall first, too focused on her pleasure to worry too much about his own. But with her little, high-pitched gasps and bitten off sentences signaling her impending orgasm, he can feel his own building.

“Come on, love,” he encourages, swiping against her clit harder with each pass.

She’s a treasure to behold in the throes of ecstasy. Her golden hair spread on a pillow and mussed from their motion. Her hands molding her breasts, pink nipples peeking out from between her fingers. A slight glimmer of sweat across her belly. The quivering thighs, protesting being held open for so long when he knows she wants to clamp down and ride out her orgasm with him held tight against her.

And he desperately wants to feel her skin against his. As much as this position allows him to go deep inside her, he misses her chest against his. Misses feeling connected at every point.

When she finally comes, she does so with a sharp wail, her eyes wide open and affixed to his face.

It’s her watching him that finally breaks his resolve. He drops her legs and collapses his torso against hers. He kisses her because he can’t help himself. She kisses him back fervently, and he does his best to maintain a steady enough rhythm to help her ride out her orgasm. His steady pace falters when she ruthlessly squeezes her internal muscles, and breaths in his ear, “Come for me, Killian,” in a voice that’s husky with sex. It finally does him in, and he comes, pressing as deeply into her as he can get.

He manages to thrust a handful more times as he rides out the last sparks of pleasure. They fall still. Emma wiggles and extracts the pillow from where it lay beneath her and wraps her arms around him, encouraging him to put his full weight on her. He obliges gratefully and relaxes into the cradle of her hips, resting his head against her collarbone.

There are a few seconds of quiet before Emma says, “I love you so much.” She twists so that she can kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

He feels the pull of sleep starting to nibble at the edge of his awareness, so he pulls out of her. He rolls onto his back, but doesn’t look away from her.

“I love you, too,” he replies. “And we should rest while we can.”

Her answering smile is soft. “I think I’ll be able to now.”

Killian smiles back in kind. “Good.”

[choiceslife]

When Worlds Collide: Part Two (Limited Series)

Disclaimer: Based upon characters in Choices - Endless Summer, It Lives in the Woods, The Royal Romance, #LoveHacks, Home for the Holidays, and The Elementalists series. All characters presented are the property of Pixelberry Studios. I claim no ownership. This story is purely the work of the poster as fanfiction.

Overall Series Rating: 18+

Warnings: Adult Language, Adult Content, Sexual Discussions. Future chapters may contain SMUT and Gratuitous Sexual Descriptions

Overall Series Summary: The sisters are together again and Ava Cunningham believes only they can help her.

Author’s Note: This Limited Series is a companion/sequel to Divided By Circumstance. I suggest you at least read that series in order to understand this one. As with most of my stories, this is a crossover and is part of my interconnected Chromatic AU. My MC’s are as follows: Carrissa Monroe (TRR), Abby Bennett (#LH), Scarlett Joy (HFTH), Taylor Reed (ES), and Donovan Bailey (TE). There will be an End Note following this chapter. Previous Chapters can be found in my Master List located in my header.

Tag List: @cinnamonroll-duffy @darley1101 @debramcg1106 @brightpinkpeppercorn @regrettingnathan @katurrade @teamtomsato @luxurylives @akrenich @ladynonsense @riseandshinelittleblossom @kinkykingliam @jlouise88 @kenjikatsoros @eileendannie @marshmallow-ortega @littlecrookedheart @i-choose-liam @bobasheebaby @boneandfur @tmarie82 @europeanguy @walkerismychoice @pixieferry @sstee1 @3pawandme @endlessly-searching-for-you

***

Somewhere Over the United States

The jostling of Jake’s private plane jolted Dan out of his uncomfortable sleep. He and Ava had expected to fly commercial from Louisiana to New York, but when Jake said he owned a plane, they thought it would be an awesome experience. It had been nothing of the sort.

The first leg of the trip, Dan had gripped the arm rest so hard, he thought he would leave finger impressions in the aluminum. For the second and final flight, Dan tried to sleep away his worry, but every slight movement the plane made stirred him out of his slumber. “I thought you said he was a pilot?” Dan asked turning to Ava who was seated across the aisle from him. Ava chuckled with a smirk before sliding a sleep mask back over her eyes. “Guess I’ll check on him myself.”

___

“Take a seat and strap in Mop Top,” Jake remarked after glancing behind him at the sound of the cockpit divider being opened. “There’s a lot of turbulence to deal with right now.”

Dan did as he was told, quickly sitting in the co-pilot chair and buckling up. He looked over at Jake wearing a vintage green bomber jacket over his snug black t-shirt. Even clothed, Dan couldn’t deny Jake’s natural sex appeal. “Only Mop Top this time? No Sexy?”

Jake playfully side-eyed his new friend. His heart remained firmly with Taylor, even more so knowing that there was some chance he could be reunited with his lost love. But it was nice to know that others still found him desirable, even though his peak physical condition faded months ago after Taylor vanished from his life. “Your shirt is on,” Jake replied as he flashed his signature underwear dropping lopsided grin.

A tiny laugh mixed with the faintest snort left Dan’s mouth. “I can fix that ya know,” he said with a wink. Dan saw the corners of Jake’s lips curl up slightly before the pilot refocused his attention to the controls. He knew Jake was taken and that he was working with Ava to help them reunite, but damn if something inside him didn’t ignite when he met the pilot. Ava had asked Dan to accompany her in this quest in case things didn’t work as she hoped and Jake needed someone to help him cope with the trauma. Dan was more than willing to help in that capacity, but he hadn’t expected to crush hard on Jake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be flirting. Taylor is a lucky guy and I hope we can help bring him back.”

“No apology necessary Dan. My Bayou charm is impossible to resist.” A brief moment of silenced passed before the two men burst into a riotous laughter. “But I appreciate it and the help you and Ava are giving me. Come what may, you’ve given me hope again and I realized, I need to live for Taylor whether we are successful or not. He wouldn’t want me to be acting all sad and lonely.”

Dan fist bumped Jake to acknowledge their mutual respect. He sat quietly for a moment as Jake adjusted several control settings and verified their flight position. “So I gotta ask, how the heck did you afford a plane?” Dan finally inquired after Jake had gotten everything situated with the controls.

“Oh Delilah here?” Jake affectionally patted the control as he looked over towards Dan. “Long story, but let’s just say I won her.”

“Someone gambled a plane? Jeez! What did you wager?”

“My clothes.” Jake saw the absolute shock on Dan’s face at the revelation. Sure, Jake had omitted some key facts to the story, but Dan didn’t need to know that information. “I told you Mop Top...Bayou charm.”

Another fit of laughter and soon Jake and Dan were engaged in more friendly discussions and jokes. Dan learned about everything that happened on La Huerta, while Jake learned all of the strange happenings in Westchester. Before they knew it, the plane was descending towards their destination at a small airport outside of New York City.

___

Teterboro, New Jersey

The plane door lowered inside a private hangar allowing the three occupants to finally feel land again after hours in the sky. As Ava descended the stairs, her girlfriend Stacy bolted across the hanger as fast as her legs could carry her. The two wrapped each other in a tight embrace as they pecked tiny kisses all over one another’s faces.

From the top of the stairs, Jake observed Ava’s reunion with her girlfriend, as well as two gentlemen standing off in the distance. “I gotta admit, I’m pretty surprised that Hermione would date someone so peppy,” Jake remarked as Dan stepped beside him. “I figured Clark Kent or Pretty Boy was dating Cheer Squad.”

“You have an amazing knack for nicknames,” Dan laughed. “Cheer Squad would be Stacy Green. She and Ava started dating shortly after our near-death experience. Pretty Boy is Cade Phillips and he’s actually dating Stacy’s brother, Connor. And Clark Kent is Lucas Thomas. He’s one of the smartest guys I know and as far as I know he’s currently single.”

“That’s a good thing for you, Mop Top, because his eyes haven’t left you since we stepped off the plane.” Jake winked at his new friend before making his way down the stairs for the official introductions.

Dan stared at Jake in confusion before looking towards where Lucas and Cade were standing. He locked eyes with his smart friend and was sure he noticed his smile widen and cheeks blush. Lucas gave a little wave and in that moment Dan began to wonder if Jake was right. Hmm. Lucas Thomas huh? All this time we’ve known each other and I never noticed it. Dan waved back and made his way over to greet his friends.

___

New York City, New York - Manhattan

“So we’ve been following the sisters for a couple of days,” Cade said as he steered the large passenger van through the streets of New York. “It’s been tough to get anywhere near them. What with one being a Queen and all.”

Jake sat beside him in the passenger seat, holding on for dear life. He wasn’t a religious man, but Jake lost count of how many prayers he made since getting in the van with Cade. And people give me shit for my flying?

“Needless to say, but security is always around,” Lucas chimed in from the back of the van, momentarily distracting Jake from wondering when the inevitable side swipe of one of the many yellow cabs would occur. “But I read this morning that King Liam and most of his entourage are returning to Cordonia on business. The Queen is staying behind to get to know her sisters better.”

“And through some casual eavesdropping, we were able to find out which club they’re going to this evening,” Stacy added. “So we’ve gotta quickly get back to the hotel, devise a game plan, and change in order to not stand out like we don’t belong. And don’t worry gents, I had some clothes sent up to the rooms for you.”

“We might not make it there. Pretty Boy might kill us with his driving first,” Jake quipped. He ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair, letting out a puff of air in the process. “Can’t believe I flew up to New York to go to a friggin night club.”

Cade glanced into the rear view, making eye contact with Dan, after hearing Jake’s grumbling. A mischievous smile appeared on both their faces before Cade spoke. “Jake, ohmygawd, if you’re a tourist and looking for a good time, New York’s hottest club is Rumper Thumper.”

“Rumper Thumper?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes. Situated in an old processing plant in the meat packing district where Thomas Hunt once posed for shirtless photos during his underwear modeling days; this club has everything. Techno. Bubble baths. Stock broker’s on mobile phones from the 80’s. ‘Bare Mables.’

“Bare Mables?” Jake questioned as he looked at Cade in total confusion.

From the back of the van, Dan smiled before he spoke. “Yeah, it’s that thing where a shirtless muscle guy planks and you use him as a table.”

Everyone broke out in laughter. Everyone except Jake. He simply cocked an eyebrow at Cade until the noise subsided. “I’d much rather use a muscle guy for something much more fun than pretending to be a table. I’m sure I’m not the only one in here that feels that way.”

The others looked perplexed, but Dan knew what Jake was hinting at. He looked up towards the front of the van to see The Pilot smirking in his direction, before he noticed Lucas’ ears blushing from the seat beside him. Dan patted his friend on the knee. “This Jake guy, he needs to stick to flying instead of comedy eh?”

“Yeah.” Lucas shuffled his shaking hands into his lap, strategically covering his swelling length. He couldn’t have Dan notice that one simple touch caused him excitement.

___

Everything in the hotel hallway looked swanky. The art hanging on the walls, the design motif on the plush carpet, and the upscale decor contained in the nooks peppered periodically along the corridor - all of it looked fancy and more expensive than anything Jake owned. Not including Delilah. “Hey Clark Kent. How are we affording three rooms in this place?” Jake and Lucas were at the tail end of the group. Hermione and Cheer Squad led the way, with Mop Top and Pretty Boy close on their heels.

“My name is Lucas, not...never mind. Anyway, Stacy’s dad is loaded. When her parents split, he moved to New York and made a fortune on Wall Street. All she had to do was call and say she wanted to bring some friends to the city to shop and he got these rooms.” Lucas halted his conversation and walking when he noticed Stacy stop.

“Ava and I are in here,” Stacy said as she swiped her key card to unlock Room 309. “Cade and Lucas are next door in 311 and Jake and Dan are across from them in 310,” she said as she handed the other room keys to Cade and Dan. “Everyone be dressed and meet downstairs in two hours to go over the plan.” And like that, Stacy and Ava disappeared into their room. Jake swore he heard some giggling between the girlfriends as he passed making his way towards his room.

“Swap rooms with me,” Jake said placing a arm across Lucas’ chest to impede him from following Cade. “I need a south facing room or I won’t be able to sleep at all.”

“This room faces north.”

“That’s what I meant. Just switch rooms Clark Kent.”

“It’s Lucas.”

“Okay. I’m sorry. Please Lucas?” Jake playfully pleaded with the agitated young man.

“Ugh. Fine.” Lucas huffed and made his way into Room 310. Jake grinned as he entered 311 across the hall.

___

Lucas barely made it three steps into his new hotel room before stopping dead in his tracks. His mouth agape as his eyes blinked several times, trying to determine if what he was seeing was really happening. He always knew Dan was muscular - had to be in order to play football. Lucas just wasn’t expecting Dan to be that muscular. After a few moments of taking in his friend’s sinewy, shirtless beauty, Lucas cleared his throat. “Sorry. Looks like...” his mind ceased functioning mid-sentence when Dan turned to face him and Lucas saw his long time friend’s chiseled abs and defined pecs. “Jake needed to switch rooms. I’m gonna grab a shower,” Lucas blurted out rather succinctly, averting his gaze. He bolted into the nearby bathroom before Dan had a chance to realize what happened.

The shower clicked on moments later and immediately Dan chuckled. He knew exactly what Jake was doing. Dan grabbed the garment bag that had been laid out on the bed by the hotel concierge; the bag meant for one Jacob McKenzie. He threw open his hotel room door and was instantly met by the pilot, leaning against his own door jamb with an arm bent back over his shoulder holding the clothing bag meant for Lucas. “You’re a funny guy Jake. Poor Lucas damn near had a coronary when he walked in and saw me.”

“Told you he liked you Mop Top.” Jake extended his arm holding out Lucas’ garment bag.

Dan quickly exchanged the one he was holding with Jake. “You forgot Sexy, Jake.” The pilot looked at him curiously for a moment, clearly not recalling his earlier commentary. “I’m not wearing a shirt,” Dan reminded him before retreating back into his room and closing the door.

How could I forget? Sexy Mop Top. Jake chuckled before heading into his own room to get ready.

___

Hours of thumping bass music and drunk patrons were taking its toll on Mara. She knew the Queen wanted a fun night out to bond with her new sisters; she just wished it would have been anywhere other than a packed nightclub. Only two other member’s of the King’s Guard stayed back in New York with her. One served as a look-out up on the club’s balcony, while the other remained with their black SUV out front. Mara had the honor of standing guard near the Queen’s table; never more than a few steps away.

All through the night, Mara kept a keen eye out for any patrons that may wish to do harm to the Queen. Thankfully, most Americans had no idea they were in the presence of royalty. This made Mara’s night go by relatively uneventfully. There was one gentlemen that caught Mara’s attention. He was a heavyset man in a grey pinstripe suit. His being in the nightclub caused Mara’s hairs to stand on end. Something seemed odd about him and she swore when he smiled that he had what could only be described as fangs. He ended up leaving in a huff when an attractive business woman approached him and exchanged some words. Mara breathed a sigh of relief when the man left and shook the image of him from her brain. Fangs? Ha. Get it together, Mara.

“Ohmygawd! Is that, like, the Queen of Cordoba?” Stacy pretended to be drunk, peppy, and apparently from the San Fernando Valley as she approached the female body guard protecting the Queen. “I, like, totally need to get a selfie for my Pictagram.” Stacy turned her back towards the Queen and her sisters, aiming her phone up high, parsing her face to make duck lips, and pretended to take a picture.

“Miss, I’m gonna have to ask you...” Mara began before being bumped into by a tall, attractive woman with beautiful streaks of pink in her flawless hair.

“I’m so sorry. Is my girlfriend bothering you? Come on Stacy. Let’s leave these nice people alone.” Ava placed her hands on Stacy’s hips, pretending to try to escort her away. On cue, Stacy challenged Ava, knocking the two of them backwards into Mara and onto the ground.

Carissa, Scarlett, and Abby jumped from their booth as Mara and the two strangers fell. Cade and Lucas made their way over, pretending to be two concerned patrons just trying to help. As Cade reached down to assist the fallen trio, Lucas slipped a note into Abby’s palm.

“Please,” Lucas begged. “We need your help. This was the only way we could figure out how to talk to you.”

High above the commotion, one of Mara’s fellow guards saw what happened and tried to make his way down, but he got tripped up over the foot of Jake McKenzie. “Careful there bud,” Jake snickered as the Guard fell into Dan’s arms. Dan snatched the radio from the Guard’s hand and quickly shoved him into a nearby utility closet. He slammed the door shut and pressed his body against it until Jake pushed a couch over to block the Guard’s escape.

Mara bolted up from the floor, swatting hands away from her in the process. “Speed Racer get the car ready. Eagle Eye get down here. We need to extract Glitter Eagle and The Doves.” She received an affirmative response from Speed Racer in her ear piece, but silence from the other guard. “Eagle Eye? Report.”

“We have code names? So cool.” Scarlett giggled. She sipped her drink clearly reveling in the sudden action.

“Calm down Mara,” Carissa finally said. She had the note in her hand that Lucas had given to Abby. “I would like to chat with these...eager patrons.”

“Your majesty?”

Carissa handed the note over for Mara to read. Mara’s jaw went slack for a moment before returning the note to the Queen and resuming her professional demeanor. She stood attentively as Carissa motioned for the others to join her and her sisters. “So you need our help, but first...” Carissa placed the note down onto the table. We have information about your mother. “How do you know about the three of us and our situation? And why shouldn’t I perceive this as a threat?”

___

“The Learned One and her friends have made contact with The Sisters.” Zeph alerted the others that had been trying to observe the siblings via one of the many mirrors that lined the walls near the club’s seating area.

“We need to decide soon if we are going to do something,” Beckett remarked. “If The Learned One convinces The Sisters who they truly are, they’ll be in grave danger.”

“Beckett’s right. Everyone in the magick world felt something when they came together and the binding spell broke.” Griffin pinched the bridge of his nose before exhaling deeply. “But if they do a spell and there is no precaution in place, then those forces that wish to do them harm will be on them instantly. We gotta do something Donovan.”

***

End Note: Cade Phillips is the name of my MC from It Lives in the Woods. Also, special thanks to @endlessly-searching-for-you for letting me reference her fic, Plane Luck. The events of that story have a similar, corresponding event in my AU. If you haven’t read it, you should check it out.

[withickmire]

From Shores Unseen

Fandom: Deltora Quest Characters: Lief, Jasmine, Lindal, Anna II, Jarred II, Endon II, OC. Summary: She fled her violent kingdom to find safety in Deltora. But the past does not easily fade. (Set a little around 23 years after ‘The Sister of the South’. Notes: ‘Berenike’ is pronounced bare-neye-kee. Aleotia is based heavily on the Empire of Macedon at its peak, particularly the violent succession process. Kleos means ‘eternal glory’ in Ancient Greek, and Aleotia… I made up. There are more notes at the end. 

Berenike’s soft sandals hardly made noise on the water-logged wood of the dock. Stepping off the boat in the Deltoran harbour was like walking into a fever-dream. People ran across the docks, shouting and laughing in Deltoran, and other languages she did not recognize. The ships docked were taller and wider than the long, thin warships of Aleotia. These were clearly not made for fighting; their bows and sterns lacked the cruel curve used for smashing holes in the sides of an enemies’ fleet. A young man lay in a small rowboat that rocked lazily near Berenike. He was playing a sort of long, stringed instrument, and he winked when he noticed her staring.

Berenike’s grandmother had been a trader who visited Deltora’s capital often in her youth, and learned the language and customs of its people. Eventually, trade with Deltora halted after it was invaded by an outside force, and as internal conflicts in Aleotia became larger. Her grandmother became a jewel-maker, later joined by her daughter, and steadily accumulated an impressive fortune. She had taught the Deltoran language to her daughter, who in turn passed it to Berenike. It was one of many things her dear mother had gifted her, including her curly red hair. Deltoran was not a particularly difficult language to learn, if only one tried. However, the language was full of long vowels that Berenike always seemed to shorten, and she had never quite mastered the rolling ‘r’s that made up many Deltoran words.

After another bloody succession war within the Kleos clan, a war that had taken her mother from her, Berenike knew she would have to leave Aleotia. Staying would mean misery, and perhaps even death. She spent time near the docks, befriending traders from across the seas. Even though Deltora had reopened its ports, it was not often that traders came to Aleotia. But within six months Berenike had found a woman who was willing to take her money in exchange for passage to the Land of Dragons.

Four months passed, and Berenike fell into the rhythm of Del. She sold the jewelry she had brought for a fraction of their worth, which bought her a room in a small communal house. She watched the king and queen speak at the Full Moon Meetings, and looked at awe at how the people stared up at them, not with fear, but with love. She took a job in a friendly public house, frying fish and making the spicy noodle soup that Deltorans all seemed to love. But when she was not working, she wore her billowing white dresses that still smelled of home, and reads books written in Aleotian. At night she crawled into her bed, and wondered what was happening in the turbulent land far across the sea.

The day of her nineteenth birthday came, and when she arrived at work she was shooed away by the head cook, who insisted she take the day for herself.

With nothing to do, Berenike wandered through parts of the city she had not seen. She walked close to the huge palace on the hill, and explored shops she had never entered. It was less chaotic than the parts of Del she had come to know, but still very busy. A sweet and delicious smell caught her attention, and made her mouth water. She followed her nose into a large and crowded bakery filled with beautiful, brightly-coloured pastries. She stared, enchanted, at the desserts laid on glass platters on the counters. Everywhere she looked she saw something new and extraordinary: a tiny replica of the palace that seemed to be made entirely of sugar, a pastry smothered in cream and dotted with candies that shone like jewels, a white-and-blue speckled bird’s egg made of painted chocolate.

“It is as if they are trying to make up for the time when Del was denied these wonders,” a low voice said from behind her.

Berenike turned, and her eyes widened as she saw the tall and muscular woman behind her. The woman’s head was completely shaven, and her scalp was covered with swirls of red paint that glistened on her dark skin. Two adolescent girls that looked very like the woman were just behind her, admiring tiered cakes behind a glass display, although their arms were already loaded with purchases.

“Why were they denied?” Berenike asked to hide her surprise.

The woman raised her eyebrows, and Berenike blushed, for she had clearly asked an obvious question.

“In the time of the Shadowlord, and even long before, the people of the city were cut off from trading, even within the kingdom. Now that they have access to such delicacies, pretty things like these are very popular.”

Berenike had heard stories of Deltora’s occupation, and how they had been saved time and time again by the king, the queen, and the captain of the royal guard. Aleotia might have been in a constant state of war, but luxury was always seen as a priority for those who could afford it.

“Then I am glad that it has changed,” Berenike said politely.

The woman eyed her curiously. “Where are you from, that you did not know?”

Berenike blinked, surprised by the woman’s bluntness. “Aleotia. News from Deltora rarely makes it past our harbour.”

“Aleotia!” The woman’s booming voice caused several people to turn. They seemed to recognize her, however, as they soon turned back to their own business. “I have a friend who would certainly be very interested in meeting you. What is your name?”

In a daze, Berenike told the woman her name and where she was living. The woman— Lindal, she had said— told her that she was sure that her friend would contact her. Before she left, Lindal gave Berenike a small piece of advice.

“Like many pretty things, these little pastries are not so pleasant on the inside. If you are looking for something truly delicious, it is the honey twists that you should be eating!”

Lindal pointed at a stack of braided twists of dough. They were not lovely and delicate like the other creations, but they did glisten in the sunlight that streamed in through the windows. With a wave, the woman gathered her chattering daughters and herded them out of the store.

Berenike went to the stack of honey twists and purchased two. She took a bite of one as she left the store, and was consumed by the overwhelming deliciousness of the pastry. It was flaky and light, but drenched in honey and filled with fresh berries. She gobbled the first one quickly, and had to force herself to wrap the other one up to save for later.

—

That night, as she prepared for bed, a blackbird tapped on her window. Unsure of what to do, she opened it, and let the bird in. A small roll of paper was tied to its foot with coarse string. Berenike reached forward tentatively, afraid of being pecked at, but the bird willingly let her take the note. She unrolled it and her eyes widened with shock when she saw what it read.

To Berenike of Aleotia,

Welcome to Deltora. I hope you have been treated well, and that you are enjoying your time here. I hear that you have met Lindal of Broome, one of my dearest friends. It is because of this that I am writing to you.

I do not wish to impose myself, but I am very interested about learning more about your country. I have spoken to Deltoran traders who have been to Aleotia, but I have yet to meet anyone from the country itself.

I would be delighted if you would join my family and I for a brief discussion at Del’s forge in the coming week. I have no expectations, I only wish to speak briefly to someone who knows Aleotia firsthand. I promise I will not take much of your time.

Sincerely,

Lief, King of Deltora

Berenike’s heart was pounding by the time she finished reading. She half-wondered if it was a joke, but there was a thick wax seal stamped in the bottom right corner of the letter that proved its authenticity.

The bird let out a coarse caw, and Berenike realized it was waiting for an answer. She lunged for her bedside table, and pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. She stopped and let her hand hover above the paper. Should she go? From the Full Moon Meetings, and the talk of the people, Berenike had taken the king to be a kind man. But he was a king just the same, and Berenike knew what happened to those who disobeyed or displeased kings. Briefly, she wondered if she should change addresses, and pretend that she had never met Lindal at all.

“But is this not why I left?” Berenike whispered to herself.  “For something unlike what I have ever done?”

The bird cawed again, which Berenike took as an affirmation.

She would be available to meet in three days time, which is what she scribbled in her note, and she thanked the king for his interest. She read over the letter twice, but found no grammar mistakes or spelling errors, and so she tied it to the bird’s leg, and watched it soar away.

She did not sleep at all that night.

—

Three days later, in the early afternoon, Berenike stood in the same neighbourhood she had been in on her birthday.

The king’s letter said to come to the forge, where Berenike knew the royal family lived, but she could not quite believe that she was in the right place. The property was surrounded by an ivy-covered wooden fence, and she could see the rooftop of a small cottage poking out from behind it. In Aleotia, the royal family lived in a massive stone fortress, guarded by thick, tall walls. A wave of fear washed over her. The king had said he asked for nothing from her, but what if she said something that offended  or disappointed him? What would he do?

Berenike took a deep breath and walked toward the gate. She had left her life of fear behind; she would not be afraid in her new home. She summed up her courage and knocked twice, but no one answered. She waited a moment and knocked again, but no one came to greet her. She hesitantly pressed her palm against the gate, and it swung open under her hand.

A young woman stood in the forge’s yard, frowning over a worktable, and clearly deep in thought. Her shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing lean brown arms, and her dark hair had been scraped into a careless knot. The woman looked up at the creak of the gate; her brow furrowed by the appearance of a stranger. She was of Berenike’s age, or perhaps a little older, and from stories she had heard, Berenike thought she might know who the woman was.

“Sorry to intrude,” Berenike said nervously. “I knocked… but the gate…”

“I must not have heard you,” the woman smiled and crossed the small yard. “I can get very lost in my thoughts. Can I help you?”

Berenike suddenly felt very foolish. “My name is Berenike, and I—“

The woman’s green eyes widened. “Of course! I heard my aunt speak of you!” Berenike felt heat rush to her face, which the woman must have seen. She shook her head ruefully and extended her hand. “That was rude of me, I am very sorry. It is very nice to meet you, Berenike. My name is Anna.”

This was Princess Anna, Berenike realized, her suspicions confirmed. Although she had seen many members of the Kleos clan rulers from afar, and the Deltoran king and queen on the full moons, she had never been so close to royalty. There was a grey smear on the princess’s forehead, perhaps made by a pencil. Berenike almost told her, but feared that the princess would become annoyed.

Instead she bowed her head and curtseyed deeply, as her mother had taught her. “I am sorry for intruding, your highness—.”

“Just Anna, please! And there is no need for all that.”

Berenike rose, and saw the princess had extended her hand. Tentatively, she reached out and shook it, suddenly very aware of the sweat on her palms. She tried to remember how Deltorans addressed the royal family at the Full Moon Meetings.

“Thank you for having me in your home, Princess Anna.”

“Of course,” Anna led her back toward the forge, where she had been working. The large work table was covered by various pencil sketches of an ornate knife. Berenike knew little of weapons, but she knew that it was beautiful, even by the rough drawings. It was a slim blade, and the handle was marked with a simple drawing of what appeared to be a bird in flight, made of three straight lines. The drawings had something to do with the mark on the princesses forehead, no doubt.

“Are you going to make this, your highness?” Berenike could not bear to call the princess by only her given name.

Princess Anna folded her arms and regarded her work. “That is my hope. My grandfather’s birthday is very soon, and I thought I might finally convince him of replacing his ugly hunting knife if I made this as a gift. He may not care about such things, but I do.”

“What is the bird for?”

Princess Anna paused, and looked at Berenike in the same way Lindal had, as if she had asked a question with an answer she should know. “It means resistance,” she said. “It means freedom.”

Resistance. Freedom. Berenike looked down upon the drawings again. She had read the words in books in Aleotia, but never heard them spoken aloud.

“My parents are having lunch with my aunt and uncle,” Princess Anna said suddenly. “But they should be home very shortly.”

Berenike realized with dawning horror that she was early. She looked back at the drawings so that the princess would not see her shame.

“Do you like it?” Princess Anna asked, almost anxiously.

“It looks beautiful,” Berenike told her truthfully, and the princess breathed a sigh of relief.

“I am so glad you think so,” she said. “I do not work in the forge all too often, and I would like to get this right.”

“I am sure he will like it,” Berenike said politely. “Would it be better if I returned at another time?”

“Oh, do not leave. They will be home very soon, I swear. It would be rude of me to let you leave after you crossed the city already!” Princess Anna gathered her papers. “Come inside.”

And so Berenike found herself ushered into the tiny home of the royal family.

The front door led into the kitchen, a cramped but homey room. Drying herbs hung from the ceiling, and Berenike had to step aside to avoid hitting her head on a bundle of peppermint. The cottage was small, although clear additions had been made on the north side, for the wood did not quite match. Anna led her to a small sitting room, where a cheery fire burned.

A boy sat in front of the fire. Two large books lay in front of him, one was battered and water-swollen, the other had crisp white pages that he was filling with a steady hand. His dark hair fell into his face, and he pushed it away from his eyes with one hand, still writing with the other.

“Jarred, wake up, we have a visitor.”

The boy, who looked to be around seventeen, looked up and seemed to blink himself out of a haze. “Sorry,” he said giving Berenike a sheepish smile. He put his pen down and rose to his feet. “I am Jarred, and you must be Berenike. It is good to meet you.”

“And you, Prince Jarred,” Berenike said. She looked down at his huge books. “What is it that you are writing?”

“I hope you like it here, Berenike, for now you will never be able to leave,” Anna said dryly, placing her papers on a short bookshelf.

Jarred’s his eyes lit up and he ignored his sister’s jab. He either did not wish to tell his sister of the mark on her forehead, or did not notice it. Berenike suspected the latter. “I work for my Aunt Marilen in the palace library. Many of the books in the collection are falling to pieces, especially the ones hidden in the time of the Shadowlord. We are making copies of the worst ones, so that they are not truly lost. Apparently the same thing was done long ago, but historical knowledge fell out of fashion with the kings and queens before my father’s time,” the young prince’s eyes looked haunted. “So much knowledge… lost with such carelessness…”

Anna gave Berenike a grin and a wink. “Cheer up, Jarred. You would not want to get tears on your lovely book.”

To Berenike’s surprise, Prince Jarred burst out laughing, clearly not as humourless as she had thought.

The front door creaked open, and Berenike could hear voices in the kitchen. She felt light-headed with nervousness as the king and queen entered the room, followed by a boy dressed in a fine blue uniform, who looked too like to Jarred to not be his twin.

The king and queen did not look like royalty should, although they bore battle scars on their faces and arms, something common amongst royalty in Aleotia. Their clothes were rough and worn, rather than fine and beautiful. They wore no crowns, although the magical and famous Belt gleamed on the king’s waist.

Berenike remembered what the princess had said in the yard, and desperately fought the urge to drop to her knees. Instead she bowed, as she had seen some do during the Full Moon Meetings.

“Thank you for coming, Berenike,” the king said with a friendly smile. “Would you like anything to drink?”

“I am fine, your majesty,” Berenike said as she rose. Jarred gestured at a chair, and she joined him by the fire.

Final introductions were made as the royal family took their seats. Berenike noticed that the queen’s Deltoran seemed to be in a ever-so-slightly harsher dialect than that of her husband and children. Anna sat beside Berenike, and Endon sat on his sister’s other side. From the corner of her eye, Berenike could see Endon looking at Anna, as he made an exaggerated rubbing motion against his own forehead. Anna stared blankly at her brother for a moment, before her eyes widened, and she scrubbed her forehead clean with her shirtsleeve. Berenike could not help but smile at the good-natured smirk on Prince Endon’s face.

“How was lunch?” Prince Jarred asked as he closed his books.

The queen turned to him as she sat. She was quite a bit shorter than Berenike, but she held herself like a much taller woman. “Endon was already eating with Barda and Lindal when we arrived.”

“Uncle Barda had us doing doing drills all morning, Mother,” Prince Endon protested, his smirk widening to a grin. “And It was supposed to be my day off, so he promised me a good meal, and I was starving.”

Queen Jasmine shook her head and returned his smile.

King Lief turned straight to Berenike, he had clearly been telling the truth about wanting to be brief. “How long did it take you to come to Deltora?”

“Around two months, although we docked twice.”

“Was it a hard journey?”

“Not so much, your majesty,” Berenike said honestly. “We did not come across very harsh weather, and the ship’s captain seemed to know all of the best routes.”

“That is good,” the king then paused. “I have sent many letters to your royal clan over the years, but never have I received a response. I stopped seven years ago, after writing to Queen Simache, right after she took the throne.”

Berenike thought of what she might say, but decided that her best option was to tell the truth.  “War-Queen Simache was killed by her daughter six years ago. We have had a queen and two different kings since then. The Kleos clan act as if they are starving dogs, and Aleotia is a scrap of meat they fight over.”

Prince Endon took a sharp breath.

“That is awful,” Princess Anna said quietly.

Queen Jasmine looked at Berenike with steely green eyes. “And the people? What are they left with?”

“Nothing,” Berenike said softly. “The treasury funds the military, and little else. The military is split up amongst the Kleos clan, protecting the members they are loyal too, and no one else. Many people starve, or are killed by bandits, or die fighting in the wars. My mother and I were a little lucky: her mother had been wealthy, and we were able to live upon that.”

“Where is your family, Berenike?” King Lief asked solemnly.

Berenike looked at her hands, and begged herself not to cry in front of them. “My father died of an illness before I was born. Last year, a general tried to take the throne from War-King Alcetas. They do not like to wage their wars near their castle, and so they fight their battles wherever else they see fit. General Cleitus rode his army through our town, and my mother was cut down.”

She was proud of herself for not crying. When she looked back up, Anna was smiling sympathetically beside her. Berenike realized with surprise that the princess’s eyes were filled with sympathetic tears.

How very strange it was to see a future queen crying over the loss of people she did not know.

“I am so very sorry,” the princess said.

Berenike tried to smile. “My story is very common in Aleotia.”

“We cannot allow this to continue,” the queen hissed ferociously. She turned to her husband. “Surely, there is something we can do.”

The king had been silent for some time, his mouth set in a hard line. “There is nothing we can directly do. If we tried to challenge the king, I am sure he would turn his army toward us.”

The queen opened her mouth to argue, but the king did not pause.

“We would be foolish to meet them in war: Aleotia has a stronger military than Deltora has ever had, and we are still recovering from centuries of corruption, and years of occupation.”

The queen stood, pacing restlessly in the small room. Berenike saw Jarred’s lips twitch in a half-smile. “We have freed slaves before, surely we could free these people, too.”

Berenike’s heart swelled. Even though they could do nothing, she was awestruck by the passion of these powerful people.

“Not an entire kingdom, and not across the sea,” the king regarded Berenike thoughtfully. “But I have heard that Aleotia has a very large iron supply.”

Berenike frowned, unsure of what he meant. “Yes, your majesty. And many other minerals, besides. A great number of people work in the mines.”

“So the traders tell me. Deltora has few iron resources, and I have long hoped to find a trading partner willing to part with some. We would provide in return, of course. I have been trying to communicate with the royals, and perhaps that was my mistake. If the Kleos clan cares little for what happens outside of their family, I wonder if it would be easier if I just spoke to the people.”

“Trade directly with the traders, rather than through the monarchy,” Prince Endon broke in excitedly.

“Exactly. We cannot free them from the violence of the Kleos clan,” King Lief admitted, “but if they really have no care for what the people do, we could work with them in secret. We could become partners, and help the people at least gain strength. Provide them with what we can spare, perhaps take a little in return so as to not appear suspicious if anyone were to look. Maybe it would simply improve their lives, but perhaps it would enable them to even rise up.”

Berenike’s heart had begun to pound. She had been afraid of insulting the royal family in some way, but here they were, talking about helping her people! Resistance, she thought. Freedom.

The king looked back at Berenike, as the queen sat back down. “Do you think your people would be willing?”

Berenike thought of all those who had suffered, of all those who suffered still. “Yes, your majesty.”

“How would we really do such a thing, Father?” Anna asked. She was the only one who did not yet look convinced. “You say we cannot risk a war, but if this plot is discovered, that is surely what will follow.”

“I am sure that it will go unnoticed,” Berenike told the princess feverishly.  “I have no wish to put Deltorans in danger, but I do not think they will be, if they keep their wits about them. As long as the people still pay tribute, the Kleos’ do not care we do.”

Anna still looked a little worried, but she nodded.

The king glanced at Queen Jasmine, and took her hand. “I think one of us should travel to Aleotia. It would let the people there know that we are taking this seriously.”

“I will go,” Prince Endon said quickly. “You and Anna should not.”

“Let us not be hasty,” the king said, and gave his son an amused but fond smile. “We will discuss it together, Endon. There is much more planning to be done if we are to carry this out. We need ships, and traders. I will need to talk to Barda immediately, and find guards willing to leave the kingdom for some time. This family is a threat to their own people, but as long as they have a military as strong as they do, they are also a threat to us.”

“I should go too,” Berenike said, suddenly feeling embarrassed at being privy to a family discussion. “I have no wish to live in Aleotia again, I would rather stay in Deltora, if you would have me. But I am Aleotian, I speak the language, and I know my people fear monarchy of any kind.  I think you… you need my help in this.”

The king looked at her for a long moment. “I have learned many things in my life, but one of the best lessons is that the people of a land should always be valued over one ruler. I think what you say is true. Overtime, I am sure we will be able to create a system of people able to help carry out what ever we must do, but for now, it is good to know we have a place to start. We would be glad to have your help.”

Berenike looked around the room. Here was a family who ruled their people with love. They did not have power over their kingdom because they had left trails of blood in their wake, but because their people loved them too.

She thought of her homeland, a place she had been so desperate to leave, and realized that she would not be afraid to return. Not if it meant that she would one day call Deltora her home.

---

Additional Notes: I’ve really wanted to write about the royal family from the POV of someone who didn’t know them for ages, and the best way to do so seemed to be by introducing someone who wasn’t even from Deltora, so I made Berenike up yesterday. Writing a fic from an OC’s perspective is not my usual style; I hope it’s not too strange! 

[thelonelyrdr-blog]

Thoughts on the Heroes of Olympus series (Part 3)

(The ending is somewhat spoiled in this one, so if that bugs you, read with caution.)                      Apparently, yesterday was Percy Jackson's birthday. So he's a Leo. Makes sense, I thought, and set to integrating this piece of trivia with my mental image of Percy, but then I realized that I already knew it from the following exchange in The Blood of Olympus: "Like the zodiac sign?" Percy asked. "I'm a Leo." "No, stupid," Leo said, "I'm a Leo. You're a Percy." The bad puns in this series are so real, guys. Anyway, given that it was Percy's birthday, it would've been neat if I could've posted this review yesterday, but alas, I just didn't have the energy after work. But hey, my lateness won't stop me from tagging this post with #happybirthdaypercy in a shameless attempt to increase my readership. Happy Birthday, Percy! I know you won't mind my using your birthday as a marketing tool.   The Blood of Olympus  Reyna and Nico are by far my favorite parts of this book, both separately and as a pair, but especially as a pair. Both are characters with deeply traumatic pasts who feel a respect and kinship for one another that eventually evolve into familial affection. Hazel may be Nico’s sister in name, but Reyna seems closer to filling Bianca’s role as big sister to Nico: whereas, historically, Nico has had to protect and guide Hazel, Reyna is someone who will not only do the same for him, but who will also worry for him. She has the magical ability to literally empathize with his need, as a boy who has lost a mother and an older sister, to feel cared for and considered, and is therefore uniquely qualified to respond to it. Nico’s bonds with both Reyna and Hazel, though, are beautiful.  As for Reyna herself, as much as I love all of the female characters in both this series and the original, in my estimation, she's the best, simply by virtue of being the most complex. Riordan's skill with developing characters through their internal struggles shines in Reyna's chapters. Let's not kid ourselves like the other characters do: she killed her father, even if it was in self-defense and even if he'd degenerated into a mania, giving her what is certainly the darkest backstory of any character in this series and probably of any character in any middle-grade series ever. I'm surprised that the publisher didn't insist on cutting the murder, though Riordan does gloss over its moral ambiguity somewhat. Nico's pretty terrifying in that one scene, too, and in his case, Reyna and Coach Hedge fully acknowledge the immorality of his actions. You all know the scene I'm referring to, or will if and when you read this book. Can I get some Dark!PercyxDark!Nico fanfics in addition to the Dark!Percy ones I already tried to commission in my previous blog post? (Oh, and if you're wondering about my thoughts on Reyna's sexuality, as I know many have imagined her as gay or bisexual, I personally ship her with herself regardless of her sexual preferences. To be clear, I have nothing against either interpretation of her character, but I got a little disenchanted with every character being or wanting to be in a serious romantic relationship as the series progressed. There are single teenagers, you know. I was one of them.) Before I conclude my discussion of Nico and Reyna, though, I have to mention the scene where Nico finally confesses to Percy that he once had a crush on him. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one cheering for him and wishing that I could be that cool while simultaneously laughing at Percy’s confusion and Annabeth’s amusement. And oh man, that high five between Annabeth and Nico. Perfect.  But it's time that I commented on Leo’s happy ending, in which he fulfills his role in the prophecy by dying (but not really) and keeping his oath to Calypso to free her from Ogygia.  Their whole relationship is comprised of moments of subtle tenderness, but the line in the last chapter that struck me most was:  “Leo Valdez,” she said. Nothing else - just his name, as if it were something magical.  I fangirled when I read that line, and the entire last chapter, for two reasons. The first is that, no matter how I try to deny the tendency in myself, I’m a hopeless romantic (yes, I’m a hopeless romantic who doesn’t read straight romance and who wants to see more single characters in middle-grade and YA novels. Everyone has their contradictions) who was invested in this couple from the start. However, the second reason pertains to Leo’s character. He’s the “seventh” wheel of the group, who’s spent the whole series doubting his own merits and developing crushes on girls who either take no interest in him or take no interest in him and seem interested in one of his friends instead. To be fair, one of these girls is a villain anyway, but her rejection still validates Leo’s insecurities. Even Calypso herself has a history with another of the Seven (Percy) and initially reacts to Leo's arrival on Ogygia as though it were a cruel joke of the gods'. The fact that the other characters largely disregard Leo - even I've ignored him until now, ironically, despite how hilarious I found his dialogue and narration - is what makes Riordan’s positioning him as the hero of the series so emotionally and narratively satisfying. He forms a plan to defeat Gaea without even consulting the others (might it be said that his inherited tendency to work independently and in isolation, which he and dad Hephaestus both perceive as a flaw, is what enables him to save the world?); he breaks Calypso's curse without leaning on the gods or on Percy's bargain with them. He goes from being the most overlooked of the Seven to someone whose very name inspires awe (and you can't tell me that Calypso's awe results solely from romantic feeling - I'm sure that, when she utters that line, she's also thinking of how Leo is the first and only person to manage to free her, to even remember her after leaving Ogygia). His is an underdog story done right. Overall As I hope you've gathered from my individual comments on each book, there's a lot to appreciate in this series: it's by turns light and funny and dark and morally ambiguous; it's smart and subtly overturns stereotypes and prejudices; and, perhaps most importantly, it's full of likable, relatable characters who feel distinct and real. It's self-aware too: as in the original series, Riordan raises the question - here, most notably in Arachne's version of her myth - of whether the gods are truly good or merely better than the alternatives of Gaea and the Titans; whether theirs is the side the demi-gods would willingly choose or merely the one they happen to be on because of their parentage. It's not often in children's adventure stories that the heroes consider that the villains may have a valid moral point, and beyond that, one that invalidates theirs. Even the last two Harry Potter books don't go as far with humanizing and demonizing Voldemort and Dumbledore, respectively. Unfortunately, the narrative does not adequately answer this question or many of the others that it raises. Take, as another example, Percy's "fatal flaw," loyalty, which I noted in Part 1 of my review never seems to result in negative consequences for either the Seven or the quest, despite being talked up by both gods and monsters throughout the series. Were the repeated warnings about it supposed to be foreshadowing Percy's decision to fall into Tartatus with Annabeth? If so, that makes no sense, as at least one demi-god was needed on each side of the Doors of Death, anyway, and Percy and Annabeth were obviously more successful as a team than either would've been alone. Or, as is more likely, was Percy's "fatal flaw" part of a larger plot thread that was dropped due to time and space constraints? But if that's the case, then why couldn't the first two books in the series have been condensed into one, or the series extended to include six or seven books? Surprisingly, considering how tightly plotted the original series was, the plot in this series fizzles to near nonexistence by the end of The Blood of Olympus, the tension building inconsistently as the climax approaches. Compared to the final battle in The Last Olympian, which engrossed me even more than the Battle of Hogwarts did (fellow Harry Potter fans, you don't have to call me a traitor; I assure you, I already feel like one), the stakes in the battle against Gaea and her army seemed the equivalent height of those in a fight involving elementary school children wielding sticks. Riordan's failure to deliver in this respect was especially glaring considering that he'd promised readers not one major battle in The Blood of Olympus, but two. Instead we get a one-on-one fight between Reyna and Orion that feels more internally than externally resonant and forestalls Major Battle #1, the Roman attack on the Greeks, before it even begins; a fight with the earthborn during which no one but Jason is really needed, as he's shown to be tremendously overpowered; and a fight between Leo and Gaea, which should've been Major Battle #2 but which is over within a page or two. The characters reiterate throughout the series how powerful Gaea is and how much more substantial of a threat she is than the Titans, but even the lowest monster in Tartarus was scarier and took longer to defeat. Hell, the Minotaur in The Lightning Thief would've been a worthier opponent for our heroes. The only explanation I can think of for the disappointing finish to this series is, again, that Riordan must have run out of time or space to give readers a proper final battle (though he hinted at two, I would've settled for one). Or possibly steam.   Still, although the series as a whole has a rushed and sloppy quality to it, I would still highly recommend it, both for the reasons listed above and for its resemblance to fanfiction. Yes, sadly, only in fanfiction would I expect to read a continuation of Percy Jackson's story with as many minority as white demi-god protagonists, whose cultures, used respectfully by Riordan, inform rather than define their identities; a gay character who is revealed to be in love with the protagonist of the first series; and an emphasis on female empowerment and the glorification of the feminine. There’s even a character -  arguably the most physically attractive of the Seven, might I add - who discovers that he needs glasses! I was shocked, albeit pleasantly so, to find a published series containing all of these elements, and I'm not even gay or a minority. If you pick up these books for the representation alone, you won't regret it.     But that won’t be necessary: there are a multitude of other fun reasons. 

[winterpart3-blog]

Staff Spotlight on… Christos Vasilakis, Professor

How long have you worked at the Uni? What does your role involve?

I have been here for 5 and a half years. I have a number of things that I do, first of all, as faculty I have teaching and research responsibilities. I mainly teach on the MBA programme, and also on a couple of MScs. I teach business analytics, decision analysis, and, in general, quantitative methods in business and management.

My other role is Subject Group Lead within the IDO division, I am responsible for coordinating part of the teaching the division delivers, and my third role is Director of a research centre called the Centre for Healthcare Innovation and Improvement (CHI2 ). We try as much as possible to deal with real life problems faced by those delivering and managing healthcare as we formulate and work on our research projects. We collaborate with a number of local partners, primarily NHS organisations, but also clinical commissioning groups, the West of England AHSN and local SMEs. We try to bring a number of rigorous qualitative and quantitative research methods and techniques to help them address their problems while disseminating the results both national and internationally.

What would you most like to achieve while at the University?

I think as a University teacher, first and foremost I want to inspire students to have successful careers in the area of their choice. In the meantime I will be particularly happy if I inspire a number of students to work in healthcare and to focus their efforts in the NHS or similar health and care systems. I want them to have an open mind and instil an ethos when they approach problems and search, generate and use evidence to come up with solutions that are feasible and beneficial to patients, staff and the care system in general.

As a researcher, and although it is very difficult to make a big impact within the NHS, I would like to help spread the adoption of advanced analytics and scientific methods to the way organisations plan and manage patient care.

What advice would you give to a student?

Follow your heart. I think it is very important to find something that provides satisfaction at a deeper level. Of course having a good job with a good salary is important, but in addition, what really matters is to do something that satisfies us at a deeper level. Follow your heart in the choices that you make and try to be as fulfilled as possible in what you choose to do.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I think what I really wanted to be for a while was a professional volleyball player. I played at a relatively high level, but never professionally. When I realised this was not possible because of my height (among other things), I wanted to be a volleyball coach. Which again didn’t happen, but at least I coached junior and university teams for a number of years.

What’s the one thing you know now that you wish you’d known when you were younger?

I'm not sure to be honest, as I always knew it was going to be tough. Nothing really came easy, I had to fight hard to achieve. I took some tough decisions in my life, I turned my back on a set of conditions that were good at the time, and completely changed direction in my personal and professional life.

I started as a software engineer in a large firm and I really enjoyed my job for a while but I realised there was something missing at a deeper level, which is where my ‘follow you heart’ advice comes from. I realised even though I was very happy with my career at the time it was not going to be sustainable and provide me with enough fulfillment later on. I completely changed my career in my late 20s, and I somehow ended up working as a researcher for the NHS before becoming an academic.

What was your first job?

I was a 16 year old back in my home country Greece, and for a couple of summers I worked as an assistant waiter. Not even a waiter, an assistant waiter! It was great fun in many respects, it allowed me to stay out until late, being Greece we were serving dinner until 2am, so I enjoyed the nightlife at a young age. It also helped me realise I had better study! Although the money was quite good for a 16-17 year old, I realised that it’s not a job you want to do as you grow older.

If you could start your own dream business, what would it be?

I could go down the line of a typical dream, to be out in the countryside making wine… but I do find a lot of satisfaction in what I do now. My dream business then would be a start-up tech company with a healthcare related information technology solution that could make a big impact in the way a health and care systems work.

Where is your favourite holiday destination and why?

I do like travelling, and I like that side of my work, when we get to travel for research visits and conferences. I have to admit going away on a long trip is not something that interests me. My ideal trip is a few days before or after a business trip where I can go off and explore over a short period of time a particular culture. I prefer to spend as much time as possible with local people, soaking up the atmosphere, the culture, and the rhythm of the city or town I am in.

What’s your favourite book or album and why?

I used to read quite a bit but parenthood has taken that out of the equation! I used to make myself read one book in Greek and then one book in English – to keep my Greek up to scratch as much as possible while improving my English. I am afraid one of my favourite books is Greek (yet to be translated into English) and is titled The Quest by Nikos Themelis. It’s a historical novel set in the late 19th/early 20th century about an immigrant trying to navigate life through some very turbulent historical times.

When are you happiest?

Around the dinner table with a few good friends and family, with some nice food and good wine.

If you could meet anyone in the world dead or alive who would it be and why?

It would be interesting and rather topical to have a chat with Theresa May. I can’t quite work out what her plan is or her thinking behind it. I would also like to take the opportunity to explain, in no uncertain terms, that calling me and my family ‘queue jumpers’ or ‘citizens of nowhere’ is not on, really not.

What would people be surprised to learn about you?

I am a two time England County Cup winner (well, in volleyball but still!)

Tell us your favourite joke

There are quite a few, I guess one of the reasons why I’ve made England my home is because I love English humour. From Monty Python to Blackadder and Yes Minister, I used to watch them as a kid growing up. However, the one liner that always makes me laugh goes along the lines of:

“When I told my family I was going to become a comedian everybody laughed. Well, they are not laughing now!”

Source: https://www.bath.ac.uk/announcements/staff-spotlight-on-christos-vasilakis-professor-in-the-school-of-management/

[hearttenor7-blog]

Zero

I did everything, everything, everything I could to manage on my own. And then one day, I cracked. It was like an implosion, like something ripped – something resolute and calm, like jumping into thin air.

Since then, I’ve put some words and images to the emotions. It was as if the house I’d been living in comfortably for years, thinking I knew every inch of it, was falling apart.

One day, I figured out that I probably had depression.

Everything had become difficult. Writing, laughing, loving. Everything was pain, and yet everything was hope. I knew all I needed was to get my head out of the deep pit I’d fallen into and everything would go back to normal, but the walls were slippery and each time I finally got my face close to the sun, I’d slip back down again. So the struggle continued.

And the struggle ended up taking up all the space.

———

If I had to trace back to the roots of my depressive state, I think I could make endless lists of reasons. New York life and its disillusions. Other people. Success, vertigo, pressure. The process of being a mature adult, which was both cruel and fascinating. And of course, my difficulty having a child, which brought back other unresolved pains from my childhood, always there, nagging, demanding my attention.

The list is infinite, but if I had to summarize it, I’d say: I lost contact with myself. I had changed, but I was still living as if I were the same person I was before.

So, convinced it was all just a bad mood, I waited for the person I used to be to come back. Scrappy, positive, confident, laughing about everything.

I was trying to call her back to me. Freshly arrived in LA, nothing and no one could keep me from my quest. Healers, shamans, hypnosis, it was all good for letting others handle my pain. Meditation, journaling, sound baths – I couldn’t stand listening to myself talk about myself anymore.

Through talking about my suffering so much, I had become my suffering.

But I was waiting for my revelation. Oprah culture had gotten into me. The culture of the epiphany, one of the pillars of the American fairy tale.

I even thought about going to take Ayahuasca – the thought of reinventing myself at lightning speed seemed promising. But deep down, I knew I was way, way too fragile. So, I continued to try climbing the walls, slowly.

———

Then one day, I ran into a little snag with my sister. Nothing serious, it was just a dark cloud that passed in a matter of minutes, but at the same time, it felt like an unprecedented heartbreak. My sister and friends had been keeping me going for months. Emily took over at work when I couldn’t do it anymore. Lolo was there every day worrying about me, probably sensing the abyss beneath my reassuring words and laughter.

But that day, I felt like everything I’d been carrying for years had suddenly become too heavy. I had become the empty shell of the person I was before, and only the people who really knew me could sense it and see it.

I just couldn’t do it anymore. I didn’t think about dying, no. But I could see the thought out of the corner of my eye. It presented itself to me like a curtain had been lifted and suddenly you say “ah, I hadn’t thought of that before.” I’d never, ever think of that. Never! I said, lying to myself.

But thanks to that passing of death, I finally realized something wasn’t right with me. Suddenly, I was able to recognize my obsessive thoughts, my magical thinking, my general exhaustion and my anxiety attacks, which no amount of CBD oil was going to fix.

And finally, like a parent crazy with love and worry for their child, I got afraid for myself. I was afraid for my mental health. I realized I was passing through to the other side and it was dark.

———

I called the people close to me right away to tell them about my idea.

I’d need a good therapist, and a big dose of humility. But I had to do something. I wanted to go on antidepressants.

That shocked some people. Antidepressants? Chris was the first to say no. You can’t do that. You won’t be the same. No, no, no.

But I kept talking about it and little by little, I discovered how many people in my entourage were on them. They were surprised I was speaking so frankly about my fragility and thrilled to finally be able to share their experience openly. Everybody is on them, no one talks about, they said. And I got the impression that was true.

That reassured me. But it also scared me. Are we living in a society that puts us over the edge? If that was the case, I had also fallen prey to all the pressure, and I was admitting defeat: I wasn’t strong enough to fight it alone.

I decided to find a serious doctor and that’s exactly what I did. I went back to therapy, where I cried rivers, and I went to see a fantastic psychiatrist who asked me millions of questions and together, we decided on a very low-dose treatment plan.

Thanks to him, I discovered I had a real problem with insomnia. Sleep quality is one of the first things that influences mental health. Thanks to him, I learned the overwhelmed feeling I’d had for years was a sign of depression. He pointed out millions of details I’d thought were insignificant, but to him, they told my story and defined my pain.

I’d been letting all these small imbalances come into my life and progressively get worse for years.

———

I started my treatment the week Anthony Bourdain died. Anthony Bourdain, who I often cite as one of my idols. Anthony Bourdain with the marvelous life, just like me. Anthony Bourdain who was in love, a young dad, admired by everyone.

No one understood. “But he had everything to be happy!” Me, I cried about it, but I totally understood.

———

Antidepressants take time to start working. A few weeks, a few months. It happens slowly, without you even realizing it. You keep living as best you can, then suddenly, you turn around and realize the dark cloud has dissipated.

In the meantime, I decided it was time to take some time for me, some real time. I called Emily the day everything fell apart and told her about my pain. She knew. She could see how much I was struggling. She said, “drop everything, we’ll take care of everything.” Gah, I love her.

I called her a few days later and explained my plan: for the month of August – zero. Nothing. No travel, no work, no Instagram (FYI, my psychiatrist told me he often recommends that his famous patients take a break – social media is REALLY dangerous for mental health), nothing. I was going to exercise, sleep as much as I wanted, go to the beach, eat good salads, and make zero professional or personal decisions until further notice. And if I needed to take September too, so be it.

I managed to handle my latest professional obligations thanks to my team, with whom I was very honest. I’m not okay, I need help. It goes without saying they were absolutely wonderful. It was hard, really hard. Working and smiling when you’re dying inside, you have no idea what’s wrong, and all you want to do is cry, is…

Phheewww.

———

And then one day, I was getting ready to go to sleep and Chris and I were joking around in bed. I was light, joyful. I realized I’d spent the entire day laughing and being silly. I pointed that out to Chris and he said: “Yes, you’re back to being the woman I first met.”

Little by little, I got my joy back. I was no longer feeling strangled by my narrative. I rediscovered the pleasure of the moment, the joie-de-vivre I thought I owned but I now realized was such a fragile gift.

Most of all, I lost my attachment to my own suffering. It was like suddenly my suffering released the claws it had around my neck and flew away. I was seeing things from a different angle and I could finally laugh about all the stories I’d been telling myself. Instead of seeing problems, I could see all the solutions offering themselves to me. Instead of suffocating, I could breathe. Finally.

I fell back in love with myself, with my life and everything in it.

———

Breaking your wings is a shocking experience. Getting lost in darkness also means understanding it’s always there, not far, waiting for us, and that you have to take care of your joy.

The person I was before doesn’t exist anymore. The one I was clinging to as I went deeper into the darkness of my depression had been dead for a long time. I finally managed to let her go. Today, I’m getting to know the new me.

Softer, more fragile. So much humbler about the mysteries of life. So much less self-assured, but so much more open. So much more loving, so much simpler.

I know I haven’t found a magic formula. I don’t plan on taking antidepressants my entire life, but who knows? If I need them, so be it. I don’t have any lessons to teach anyone. Our paths are so fascinating, and those journeys are what make up our lives. I wouldn’t go backward for one second.

I’ve completely reinvented my concept of success and replaced it with a happy faith in the moment, in emotions, intuition, sensations.

In other words, I’ve finally learned to live, to live in a way that no book could have ever taught me.

———

It’s important to take care of our health, and our mental health. I have a lot to tell you about what I’ve learned these past months. My sleep still isn’t ideal. It’s hard, but I’m working on it. You can’t repair years of insomnia and anxiety attacks in a matter of weeks – it takes a lot of patience and self-love and self-respect.

As you know, I’m wary of happy endings. Life is a work in progress and while antidepressants work for me, they aren’t necessarily for everyone. You have to be careful and choose a very good doctor.

But it’s important for someone like me to speak out, someone whose life might seem like a dream to some people. Mental health and perceived success, money, and love have nothing to do with one another.

On the contrary, it’s the moment when you think you have it all that your foundations are more likely to crumble, because if you have it all, how can you possibly have the right to be suffering?

That’s why the suicides of Anthony Bourdain and Kate Spade were so upsetting. If the people who have it all want to die, what are the rest of us running after?

If you’re suffering, talk about it. Don’t wait. Take your pain seriously. Try to listen to any physical signs of discomfort you might have. Me, for example, when I spend too much time on social media, my pulse accelerates, and my throat tightens. That should be enough of a sign for me to put my phone down and rethink what I’m consuming – just like how after two glasses of alcohol, I know it’s time for me to take a break.

I still have so much to tell you, but I tried to make this short. I want to keep talking about mental health so we can start to be more uninhibited about it and not hesitate to ask for help. Don’t hesitate to share your stories and questions with us. Talking about it is already such an important step.

__

Translated by Andrea Perdue

Source: http://www.atelierdore.com/garance/diary/zero/

[trendingnewsb]

Kasey Edwards: I love being married, but am I the exception?

The author asks happy couples the secret of their success and is shocked by what she finds out

I was never going to get married. After bearing witness to my parents three decades of misery, I was not stupid enough to do it myself. When my father left my mother for a younger woman, I conducted my own little investigation into married life. I asked all my parents friends to give me an honest account of their marriages and explain why they were still together. I suspect the little girl in me, who grew up with fairytales and happily-ever-afters, was hoping to prove the older, more cynical me wrong.

No such luck.

The happiest couple of my parents acquaintance told me that the reason they were still married was that they had too much to lose if they separated. I was asking about their relationship, expecting to hear about love, companionship and soulmates. Instead, I got a costbenefit analysis. My best-case marriage scenario sounded as romantic and desirable as crunching numbers in an Excel spreadsheet every day until you die.

Naturally, when I started IVF and my friend Stephen asked if I was going to get married, I laughed at him. I was so amused by the suggestion that I called Chris, my boyfriend and the potential father of my children, to share the joke.

Chris didnt laugh. There was silence on the other end of the phone. I asked him: You dont you dont actually you know want to get married, do you?

Well, yes, actually I do, he said.

Why?

Because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, he replied.

Oh.

Six months later, we were married in the same church where Chriss parents were married 40 years earlier. Im still not entirely sure why I did it. The day we returned home after the wedding, I was so freaked out by the idea of having a husband that I wanted to go over to my best friends house and sleep on her couch.

For ever.

Eight years later, I still choke on the word husband. When I was talking to my daughter Violets teacher about picking her up early from school for a medical appointment, I couldnt quite bring myself to even say the word husband.

I stuttered over hu hu hu , and then, feeling embarrassed at my own stupidity, I finished with: Violets father.

Kasey Edwards with her husband Chris and their daughter Violet. Photograph: Joe Castro for the Guardian

Oh, I understand, said the teacher, who clearly took my awkwardness to mean that Chris and I had recently separated.

So now Chris and I are in the ridiculous position of having to perform marriage to correct the teachers assumption. At a recent parentteacher conference I told Chris that we had to act like we were married.

He laughed. What are you talking about? We are married.

Yes, we are. And to my complete surprise, I actually like it. In fact, I love being married. I love the sense of security that I have never felt before, I love that I can always count on Chris to be in my corner, and know I will always be in his. I love what we have built together: that we are much more than than the sum of two halves.

Having said that, Im still waiting for it all to turn to shit.

I know of very few couples who have stayed together through multiple life stages and still like each other. Not love, but like. Maintaining the like seems to be harder.

Even when I do see couples who appear happy, I have a hard time believing it. As research in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin tells us, people who post their loved-up pics and declarations of love on Facebook are less likely to be secure in their relationships than those who dont. They are essentially manufacturing their relationship happiness to convince other people, as well as themselves, of their partners #affection.

I genuinely believe Chris and I have maintained our like for each other throughout infertility, mental illness, trauma and heartbreaks, two children and two career changes because we see each other as partners in every sense of the word. He has never tried to force me into the role of housekeeper, primary carer, on-demand sex toy with a pulse, or support staff.

When my first book came out, I lost count of how many people asked me how Chris was coping with my success. Chriss ego was not threatened by my moment in the spotlight. Not only was he proud of my success, he was also part of it. It was our success. But I think this question reveals a lot about the power dynamics in many marriages and points to why it is so easy to lose the like.

I am not the woman behind the man, nor am I the woman in front of him. I am the woman next to my man.

I feel genuinely lucky that I look forward to Chris walking through the door each night. I have friends who dread spending time with their husbands; who wish their husbands would travel more because their lives are easier when they are not around.

Two of my friends have admitted that they plan to leave their husbands in the future. And several others have said enough to make me think they are contemplating it.

My friends arent alone. According to a study of 2,000 married parents in Britain, 18% of them have a date in mind for when they will leave their partner.

The research, commissioned by the family law firm Irwin Mitchell, which presumably considers a spike in the divorce rate to be good for business, found that one in 20 married parents has picked a date 10 or more years into the future on which to change the locks. Of those who have already divorced a partner, almost eight out of 10 regretted putting it off as long as they did.

Why do unhappy couples stay together, some resigning themselves to more than a decade of discontent before cutting their losses?

The romantic view is that couples want to work at things and see if they can learn to fall in love again. But the research suggests that the optimists view is, well, optimistic.

The real reasons for staying together make you wonder if anything has really changed since the days when marriage was considered a good way to increase ones estate.

Five of the top 10 reasons for postponing divorce were financial, including what my parents friends had told me: I have too much to lose.

The other financial reasons were: I cant afford to move out, I cant afford a divorce, For my partners money, and We have too many shared financial assets.

The second-biggest reason for soldiering on, however, was to save the children the distress of a broken home. Staying together for the kids was why one in four couples put off that trip to the offices of Bicker & Bicker.

Parents like this use a range of strategies to disguise their unhappiness and their plans for an eventual exit. They argue in a different room, away from the children; they sleep in the same bed to maintain the pretence; they even make a point of kissing and cuddling and going on date nights.

As a child of divorced parents, Im in two minds as to whether staying together for the kids is a good idea. I dont know how I would have handled my parents divorce if I had been younger but I do know that their efforts to maintain appearances gave me quite a warped view of marriage.

I had always assumed that the reality was a harmonious public appearance and an ice-cold, passive-aggressive private life.

My first two serious relationships could be characterised by screaming matches, eye rolls and meanness. It didnt occur to me that this was problematic because that was my understanding of what relationships were. It terrifies me how easily I could have ended up marrying either of those partners.

It wasnt until I met my third boyfriend, who treated me with kindness and respect inside the house as well as out, that I realised this sort of relationship was even possible, let alone the very least I should expect.

From the outside looking in, you would have thought my mother and father were happily married, too. When people saw them holding hands, they used to comment that I was lucky to have parents who still loved each other.

When they did finally divorce, and I was in my late 20s, it came as a complete shock. I was crushed when my dad told me he had wasted 30 years of his life. Not only did it make my entire childhood a farce: it made me feel responsible for my parents unhappiness.

I would never have wanted my parents to endure three decades of misery because of me. And even though I didnt make that decision for them, I often feel the brunt of my fathers resentment for it.

Im not about to tell my friends to rethink their decision to stay together for their kids, but I do think that sacrificing your own happiness for someone else rarely turns out well in the long run.

This is an extract from Guilt Trip: My Quest to Leave the Baggage Behind by Kasey Edwards (Nero). kaseyedwards.com

Read more: http://ift.tt/2v7HydW

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2fh8UKU via Viral News HQ

[trendingnewsb]

Kasey Edwards: I love being married, but am I the exception?

The author asks happy couples the secret of their success and is shocked by what she finds out

I was never going to get married. After bearing witness to my parents three decades of misery, I was not stupid enough to do it myself. When my father left my mother for a younger woman, I conducted my own little investigation into married life. I asked all my parents friends to give me an honest account of their marriages and explain why they were still together. I suspect the little girl in me, who grew up with fairytales and happily-ever-afters, was hoping to prove the older, more cynical me wrong.

No such luck.

The happiest couple of my parents acquaintance told me that the reason they were still married was that they had too much to lose if they separated. I was asking about their relationship, expecting to hear about love, companionship and soulmates. Instead, I got a costbenefit analysis. My best-case marriage scenario sounded as romantic and desirable as crunching numbers in an Excel spreadsheet every day until you die.

Naturally, when I started IVF and my friend Stephen asked if I was going to get married, I laughed at him. I was so amused by the suggestion that I called Chris, my boyfriend and the potential father of my children, to share the joke.

Chris didnt laugh. There was silence on the other end of the phone. I asked him: You dont you dont actually you know want to get married, do you?

Well, yes, actually I do, he said.

Why?

Because I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you, he replied.

Oh.

Six months later, we were married in the same church where Chriss parents were married 40 years earlier. Im still not entirely sure why I did it. The day we returned home after the wedding, I was so freaked out by the idea of having a husband that I wanted to go over to my best friends house and sleep on her couch.

For ever.

Eight years later, I still choke on the word husband. When I was talking to my daughter Violets teacher about picking her up early from school for a medical appointment, I couldnt quite bring myself to even say the word husband.

I stuttered over hu hu hu , and then, feeling embarrassed at my own stupidity, I finished with: Violets father.

Kasey Edwards with her husband Chris and their daughter Violet. Photograph: Joe Castro for the Guardian

Oh, I understand, said the teacher, who clearly took my awkwardness to mean that Chris and I had recently separated.

So now Chris and I are in the ridiculous position of having to perform marriage to correct the teachers assumption. At a recent parentteacher conference I told Chris that we had to act like we were married.

He laughed. What are you talking about? We are married.

Yes, we are. And to my complete surprise, I actually like it. In fact, I love being married. I love the sense of security that I have never felt before, I love that I can always count on Chris to be in my corner, and know I will always be in his. I love what we have built together: that we are much more than than the sum of two halves.

Having said that, Im still waiting for it all to turn to shit.

I know of very few couples who have stayed together through multiple life stages and still like each other. Not love, but like. Maintaining the like seems to be harder.

Even when I do see couples who appear happy, I have a hard time believing it. As research in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin tells us, people who post their loved-up pics and declarations of love on Facebook are less likely to be secure in their relationships than those who dont. They are essentially manufacturing their relationship happiness to convince other people, as well as themselves, of their partners #affection.

I genuinely believe Chris and I have maintained our like for each other throughout infertility, mental illness, trauma and heartbreaks, two children and two career changes because we see each other as partners in every sense of the word. He has never tried to force me into the role of housekeeper, primary carer, on-demand sex toy with a pulse, or support staff.

When my first book came out, I lost count of how many people asked me how Chris was coping with my success. Chriss ego was not threatened by my moment in the spotlight. Not only was he proud of my success, he was also part of it. It was our success. But I think this question reveals a lot about the power dynamics in many marriages and points to why it is so easy to lose the like.

I am not the woman behind the man, nor am I the woman in front of him. I am the woman next to my man.

I feel genuinely lucky that I look forward to Chris walking through the door each night. I have friends who dread spending time with their husbands; who wish their husbands would travel more because their lives are easier when they are not around.

Two of my friends have admitted that they plan to leave their husbands in the future. And several others have said enough to make me think they are contemplating it.

My friends arent alone. According to a study of 2,000 married parents in Britain, 18% of them have a date in mind for when they will leave their partner.

The research, commissioned by the family law firm Irwin Mitchell, which presumably considers a spike in the divorce rate to be good for business, found that one in 20 married parents has picked a date 10 or more years into the future on which to change the locks. Of those who have already divorced a partner, almost eight out of 10 regretted putting it off as long as they did.

Why do unhappy couples stay together, some resigning themselves to more than a decade of discontent before cutting their losses?

The romantic view is that couples want to work at things and see if they can learn to fall in love again. But the research suggests that the optimists view is, well, optimistic.

The real reasons for staying together make you wonder if anything has really changed since the days when marriage was considered a good way to increase ones estate.

Five of the top 10 reasons for postponing divorce were financial, including what my parents friends had told me: I have too much to lose.

The other financial reasons were: I cant afford to move out, I cant afford a divorce, For my partners money, and We have too many shared financial assets.

The second-biggest reason for soldiering on, however, was to save the children the distress of a broken home. Staying together for the kids was why one in four couples put off that trip to the offices of Bicker & Bicker.

Parents like this use a range of strategies to disguise their unhappiness and their plans for an eventual exit. They argue in a different room, away from the children; they sleep in the same bed to maintain the pretence; they even make a point of kissing and cuddling and going on date nights.

As a child of divorced parents, Im in two minds as to whether staying together for the kids is a good idea. I dont know how I would have handled my parents divorce if I had been younger but I do know that their efforts to maintain appearances gave me quite a warped view of marriage.

I had always assumed that the reality was a harmonious public appearance and an ice-cold, passive-aggressive private life.

My first two serious relationships could be characterised by screaming matches, eye rolls and meanness. It didnt occur to me that this was problematic because that was my understanding of what relationships were. It terrifies me how easily I could have ended up marrying either of those partners.

It wasnt until I met my third boyfriend, who treated me with kindness and respect inside the house as well as out, that I realised this sort of relationship was even possible, let alone the very least I should expect.

From the outside looking in, you would have thought my mother and father were happily married, too. When people saw them holding hands, they used to comment that I was lucky to have parents who still loved each other.

When they did finally divorce, and I was in my late 20s, it came as a complete shock. I was crushed when my dad told me he had wasted 30 years of his life. Not only did it make my entire childhood a farce: it made me feel responsible for my parents unhappiness.

I would never have wanted my parents to endure three decades of misery because of me. And even though I didnt make that decision for them, I often feel the brunt of my fathers resentment for it.

Im not about to tell my friends to rethink their decision to stay together for their kids, but I do think that sacrificing your own happiness for someone else rarely turns out well in the long run.

This is an extract from Guilt Trip: My Quest to Leave the Baggage Behind by Kasey Edwards (Nero). kaseyedwards.com

Read more: http://ift.tt/2v7HydW

from Viral News HQ http://ift.tt/2fh8UKU via Viral News HQ