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fatal-iistic · 2 years ago

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Ties That Bind (Pt. 1)

Summary: Blair Moore is a war machine, recruited by John Price as part of special operative Task Force 141. What she doesn’t expect in her second chance at serving her country and the greater good is someone to break down the walls she’s built.

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x F!Original Character

Words: 5.4k

Warnings: Swearing, War, Civilian/Child death, Mentions of gore/injury, honestly war just sucks

March 2nd, 2020

An airfield outside of Kutaisi, Georgia

There's seldom situations where Blair Moore catches herself with second thoughts.

But standing across the globe from her home in Boston, sporting an uniform on a foreign military's airbase begins to rouse an inkling of doubt in the woman's gut.

It's a brisk spring day in the Northern foothills of Imereti. The land is ancient. Blair studies the rolling hills of the Georgian countryside, wondering if these were the hills once trekked upon by Jason and his Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece. Or were these hills once the site of battles choreographed by the ancient Romans and Persians as they sought to commandeer every furlong of this green earth.

Georgia's history in the past century, alone, is riddled with the Russian Revolution and the subsequent fall of the Soviet Union. Not to mention persistent tensions in the last decade. Even last year, with Barkov's decades-long tyranny in the Middle East and subsequent battle waged in his warehouse in Borjomi marks more demerits on Georgia's timeline.

And now another leader of terror seems to find his way into the sanctity of this battle-torn country.

Free time is cherishable for most, but dreaded by Blair. She fills the vacancy with a stroll around the outskirts of the base. With sleeves and direct sunlight, the early afternoon is enjoyable. Taking in the sights of the rolling hills of Georgian geography, Blair almost relinquishes the cumbersome burden of duty and the implications of the mission at hand.

A cool breeze burrows through Blair's layers. She hunkers her chin closer to her chest, slipping her nose under the collar of her uniform to contain her warmth. Mentally, she reminds herself to put on another layer before they depart the Kutaisi base and head seventy kilometers north.

It really is too late to back out, Blair, a voice remarks in her head. More exasperatedly it adds, Damn you, Kate and John, for convincing me back into this 'greater good' scheme.

She glances down at her watch, frowning. News reached that the flight of SAS Marines from the United Kingdom had been delayed due to technical problems. But as the time elapses and now her comrades are a full sixty minutes late, Blair feels the simmer of anxiety burrow deep within her gut.

The longer she waits, the more reasons she accumulates as to how stupid she was. The sooner they reach Tsari, the sooner they can apprehend Al-Asad.

I could've truly adopted civilian life. I was so close.

Feet keep pacing her around the base, until a low hum rings in Blair's ears. She directs her eyes to the western skyline, spotting a small dot traveling from the horizon. She doesn't need a closer observation to know it's a plane inbound for this small airstrip. And aboard is her colleagues. More specifically, Sergeant John Mactavish.

During her CIA days, it was asinine to leave things up to mystery. Every aspect of everything needed to be drawn into the light, mulled over until every last detail was eviscerated from the system. The devil was in the details. Miiss one factor, and the entire chemistry could implode. 141 is different, so Blair tells herself. Captain Price isn’t the CIA; he isn’t the American justice system. While her roles seem to parallel, Blair lies that it’s a different world, a different life (the skeletons in her closet from her CIA ops could remain lodged in their hiding place behind a big wooden door, deadbolted shut).

Captain Price trusts Sergeant Mactavish, so Blair leaves it at that. The rest would come into form by itself. No background checks. No picking apart his records before even seeing him in the flesh.

The transport lands and taxis.

Blair immediately makes a line for the plane as the passengers exit. On sight alone, the woman can pick the sergeant from the lower-ranked soldiers. The sides of his head shaved (Blair doesn't recall mohawks being back in style, but she forces that criticism from her mind). He's a brute of a man, yet his demeanor sings something entirely different; he's laid-back, friendly, even charming if Blair gives herself the allowance to regard it.

"Sergeant Mactavish?" She questions, arching an eyebrow.

"Reporting." His accent is thick. It's a voice that would make any woman in her right mind swoon, but Blair shovels that admiration out of the way and sticks strictly to business.

"Moore. Blair. Call me Rogue."

"Call me Soap." He smiles broadly.

There's a story behind every moniker. Blair flashes Soap a bemused glance before focusing on the terrain before her, hastily leading the sergeant. They both walk along the airstrip toward the main building.

What the hell kind of name is Soap? She wonders but anchors her attention back to the objective at hand.

"Commander Beridze of the Georgian Defence Forces will join us soon for a full brief. It looks like we're headed toward the mountains,” Blair informs.

Stepping out of the wind and into the admin building, Blair leads Soap to the briefing room.

"What do you know about the village?" Soap queries, his eyes fixated on the view from the conference room's windows.

“Tsari?”

“That’s where we’re headin’, no?”

The woman nods, offering a shrug in response to his previous question. "Not much. It's a pit stop for people heading to the mountains. A pretty quiet place from what I can tell – a perfect place to hunker down if you're an internationally wanted terrorist.” By instinct, her spine straightens, and she lifts her chin as if reporting to a senior officer. Everything about her screams formality and professionalism. It's a habit beaten into her since her Army days, a feature she can't corrode out of her system. Soap seems indifferent, lax to almost a flaw.

"Damn shame they come to places like this," Soap comments, shoulders anchoring. "The terrorists."

Lips curve into a deepened frown. "Hiding in plain sight can be pretty treacherous. Sometimes even the bad guys want peace and quiet," Blair offers perspective. She'd chased dozens of "bad guys" in various reaches of the earth. Through bustling, civilian-laden streets. Into remote terrains. They picked their poison, and unfortunately, it was never consistent.

"Captain Price says ya were Green Berets and CIA," Soap mentions after a contemplative pause. Cold blue eyes rest upon Blair, making her shift a bit.

"Were," she confirms. The word feels like rusted iron on her tongue. There had once been a time when Lieutenant Blair Moore, an American hero and Patriot, wore her status with pride. She’d garnered numerous accolades, things that became nothing more than items consuming space in her closet back at home. She’d met with some of the highest-ranking officials in numerous countries – hell, even slept with them.

And now? Blair isn’t quite sure where she fits on the status quo.

She’s lost just about every credential and honor worth a damn. The Army wouldn’t take her back, and the CIA had been the ones to part ways. The only reason Blair has the liberty she does now is because of Kate Laswell and the reality is, John Price had been the catalyst for that orchestration.

Decommissioned dogs don’t typically make it out of the pound.

The last two years prior were spent floating from country to country. Wherever Kilito or his aide-de-camp, Liidia, sent her. Despite her skills, Blair was treated like a lesser contractor than some of Kilito’s seniors, despite the obvious skill gap. So she’d left Jasuri Company, and found an apartment in Boston. She’d figure out a new life. A civilian life. She’d join a running club, maybe finally run the Boston Marathon as she’d planned on years prior.

No more military. No more contracting. No more guns, covert affairs, and bloodshed on a daily.

Within two months, Kate and John found her. You’ll die as you lived, Blair Moore – hadn’t that been something her father had reckoned years ago?

(Maybe she should’ve said no.)

Shaking off the webs in her brain, Blair grounds herself back in reality. Her mouth feels parched at the anticipation of answering the lingering question – why did you leave it all?

Not of my own volition.

Would the fact make Soap trust her less?

"Always dreamed of bein' James Bond as a wee lad," Soap chuckles to himself, "as sharp as I look inna suit and tie, I'll keep my fatigues."

He doesn't even entertain the idea of delving into Blair's past turmoil and begging the question of her reconciliation at John Price's hands.

Blair snorts, more relieved that anything. "I did more wadin' through dust and mud or showin' up to grimy bars than strutting into upscale soirees."

"Ah, yer breaking my heart, lieutenant. A dream deferred," Soap complains, dramatically placing a hand over his left chest.

She smiles sympathetically. Shaking her head, stray strands of gold hair tickle pink-touched cheeks. He's humorous and exudes an aura of respite. It's like a breath of crisp air in the stale heat of military formalities and concise mission objections.

Pausing to gaze up at Soap, she finds that he's orbited closer to the broad window exposing the hilly terrain outside. She steps around the conference table to stand parallel to the sergeant, bracing her breath in his presence as if the moment is frail.

Why did she feel like she was handling a rigged explosive? Her life had been a grandeur charade around people – around her father, around her peers, around her superiors, around drug lords, mafia kings, and leaders of organized terror. But she falters beside Soap, questioning what voodoo is being implemented to cause her to waver.

Vigorously shoveling those thoughts aside, Blair tries to fill the spaces in between with tedious small talk. Anything to silence the badgering thoughts.

"Beautiful, ain't it?" Blair prompts.

Soap chuckles, realizing how much time elapses in his enrapture with the Georgian landscape. "Definitely different from home," he agrees with a nod.

"We're not in Kansas anymore," Blair murmurs. She shoots a glance at Soap. "Wizard of Oz–"

"Dorothy and Toto," Soap interjects. He laughs, warm, genuine, a rumbling baritone that spikes a sensation of warmth in Blair's system. "It's not some American secret. I saw it as a kid. The monkeys scared me."

Blair's nose wrinkles as a little laugh surpass her. A hue of pink flushes into her cheeks. "I'm sorry…that was a dumb assumption…"

"No offense taken, lieutenant," Soap responds. A wry smile creases his lips.

The door of the conference room swings open, shocking both soldiers from their lighthearted exchange. A man dressed in his tailored, unwrinkled military uniform steps in with three others. Both Soap and Blair salute the leading officer, the man Blair recognized from the pictures as Commander Beridze.

"Lieutenant, Sergeant," he greets.

"Sir," both Soap and Blair chorus. Reflexively.

One of Beridze's lackeys seats himself and pulls open a laptop. Within moments, all hands are situating themselves at the table.

Along the wall, the projection screen boots to life. They make haste in covering the mission brief, picking apart the details of the foothill village of Tsari and Al-Asad's confirmed presence in the last forty-eight hours. SAS Marines would cover the bulk of the forces sent in, with a small squad of Georgian soldiers to provide navigation and liaison between them and the civilians.

Law enforcement would escort the SAS to the presumed holding place of al-Asad, the Marines would take it from there. Blair watches the brief unfold with a brewing boil in her gut. Terrorists always found the most obscure places or the most civilian-friendly places. Both were just as horrible to sweep.

As the brief wraps up, Blair promptly asks the one unanswered question. "Should we or should we not be prepared to sustain hostile civilian casualties, General?" Blair intterogates, her jaw clenching.

"Intel is not confirmed or denied the social sway of Al-Asad and AQ forces, other than it's definitively neutral, and they are giving him refugee," Commander Beridze replies. His words seem rehearsed, as if he’d stood in the mirror this morning with a level gaze and recited this line twenty times over. "We would rate the potential high, though, Lieutenant. The prime minister and the defense General are already aware and prepared for the potential for civilian casualties."

She only nods, but the gloomy expression still festers on her face.

On the outside, every military official and high-up authority leader wants zero casualties and civilian safety. It markets well, empathy. But Blair knows better – they'd accept an entire bloodbath if it were a means to an end if only the people of their nation wouldn't roll under the terrible massacre of themselves. The lower the collateral body count, the easier to pass the operation off to the public as necessary damages.

She doesn't voice her discontent any further. It was all the more reason they had to find al-Asad and bring him in. So that more civilians weren't lodged in the crosshairs between a terrorist and the world's superpowers.

Soap and Blair stride out of the conference room together. Once they're out of earshot of Commander Beridze and his personnel, Blair lets out a low growl.

"High potential, my ass," Blair grumbles.

"Huh?" Soap comes in second fiddle, out of the loop of what riled Blair up.

"That building we're raiding is a residential building, Soap," she breathes, her voice airy with a lilt of defeat. "Commander Beridze conveniently dodged that detail."

"We're walkin' right into people's homes…" Soap states, disappointment saturating his tone.

"Not to mention the entire village," Blair breathes.

They both don't traverse the politics beyond that statement. They're soldiers, first and foremost. They don't get to weigh and balance the semantics, especially for a foreign country. Al-Asad's presence was more burdensome than that of a homegrown civilian. A treacherous classification, damned and doomed as it is, both soldiers had discovered early in their tenures that it wasn't within their allotted estate to question those ethics.

(Do your job. Do it well. Don't ask questions.

Hell, it was a bloody concept Blair had drilled into her cranium by her very own father in the fundamental years of her life.)

They know it, they know it, they know it.

Pavlov'd over the years to accept the circumstance, to relinquish the exposition of human details. Follow orders. For the greater good. Do what has to be done. De Oppresso Liber.

That engineered thought process eclipses the overpowering sentiments of humanity. Soap and Blair share a reserved, somewhat mournful exchange of glances in the hall of base command. A vortex of gloom roams Blair's saxony blue eyes, her rigid professionalism betrayed by atom-sized fringes of humanity and compassion. Neither soldier trespasses to that vicinity in their minds, somehow orbiting back to their rigid formalities as war machines, as soldiers under oath.

There is a lack of real estate to presume over the matter. It’s too far above their pay grade to contemplate morals and fuss over the particularities. Mutely, either soldier accedes to the same determination; the objective has been made clear, and they were here to follow orders. There are soldiers to brief and equipment to put together. They were paid to find Al-Asad, not ponder ethics like Plato or Aristotle.

It's late afternoon when their convoy reaches the village of Tsari. The sun sinks deep into the western horizon, giving them only a few precious hours of daylight remaining. The single law enforcement officer of Tsari leads them to a three-story apartment building just from the center block of town.

Simplicity, Blair notes. She’s sanctioned off and swept buildings a hundred times over. They put men at every exit and storm into the building. Exactly like their brief. They go door to door, sweeping each unit.

Things along the first floor are complacent. Shocked families. Crying babies. Sobbing women. No insurgents. No weapons. No Al-Asad. The scene eerily unearths memories from Blair’s tenure with the Army in the Middle East. She remembers storming homes then, under the Iraqi sun. Women had always navigated towards her, flinging themselves at her pleading out of fear (Private Mikels had shot and killed one that did so, assuming the innocence that he thought the woman was maneuvering to assault and kill Blair. An innocence maintained and preserved by commanding officers). Even in her uniform, nursing an assault rifle in her arms, Blair’s image had been a feeble entity of hope when in pale comparison to her male comrades.

Perhaps that’s why it was best she was the one at the lead bellowing out orders to the civilians.

“Hands up. Cooperate. We are looking for Khaled Al-Asad,” Blair barks in Georgian to the residents. They flinch with the coarseness of her voice, obeying commands with teary eyes and vibrating limbs.

The teams diverge in the stairwell. One to the second floor. Another to the third. Soap goes second, and Blair goes third.

The team breaches the third floor ahead of Blair when shouts and gunfire ring out. A mix of English shock and Arabic threats slice through the tension-deep air. Her heart hurtles into her throat. She charges up the stairwell, rounding the corner to see one of the privates hit the ground from the bullets spraying out one of the units. She sidles against the wall for protection, peaking into the unit during a moment of reprieve to fire several rounds at a man fumbling to reload his weapon.

Silence suspends the atmosphere, disrupted only by the panting breaths of adrenaline-sodden soldiers and the click of magazines being reloaded. Blair holds the oxygen in her lungs, stepping towards the open apartment door. Gun cocked, finger tempted over the hairpin trigger. She manuevers quickly across the threshold to remain in the hall but now has full detail of the room beyond the doorframe. Like owl eyes, Blair studies the area beyond the door. When she determines the room within is safe, she steps defensively into the apartment unit.

Eyes scrutinize every corner, gun pointing quickly to each crevice that she studies. Kicking the door open to the bedroom, Blair takes account of every inch before her muscles relax. Cleared. No tangos.

She strides back towards the hall, stepping hastily over the dead AQ fighter who made his grave on the living room floor. There’s a pool of scarlet forming underneath his mortal wounds, seeping and dripping from his frame. A circular stain mars the dirty off-white carpet of someone’s home. There's a stuffed rabbit a few feet away. A kids' book at the foot of the couch.

Pausing, she nudges the open book with the toe of her boot. It's a Dr. Seuss counting book.

Immediately, Blair can smell the pages of her own Dr. Seuss books while she peruses them while Emilia Moore cleaned the kitchen. Grass with a faint hint of vanilla against the walls of her sinuses. Her mother would sing various learning songs to her daughters, long red hair teasing her light cheeks.

"Red fish, blue fish, buckle my shoe," Emilia would purposely recite improperly, eliciting a giggle from Blair.

"That's not how it goes!" Blair would critique with an amused squeal and a scrunched nose.

Emilia would laugh. A vibrato that still breaks through Blair's conscience, warm like sunlight through an open window. Enveloping like a mother's embrace.

They had all been children. Emilia, even then, mid-twenties, and sold on the dream of a righteous man and a picket fence fantasy. But that picket fence had become a chain link fortress, with a stockpile of guns and ammunition. A home constructed into a fortress. The concept makes bile churn in her gut. Her brain feels like it’s being overpowered by hot static.

These people, the civilians of this little mountain town, live the same volatile reality that Blair had once been indoctrinated into. Lassoed into a reality they hadn't requested.

Reality tastes sour as Blair rips herself from her memories. Her abdomen tightens as she fights nausea crawling through her system.

"Tangos spotted on the third floor," Blair calls into the comm. The report half to refocus her own ambling mind. "Requesting back up."

"You don't say. Gettin' noisy up there, huh Rogue? Sergeant MacTavish remarks over the radio. Her jaw seizes. Annoyance seeped into the fibers of her frame. Not all of them could have an easy time like MacTavish seemed to be having on the second floor.

She turns towards the soldiers.

"Sweep the floor! Move!" Blair commands, signaling the other Marines.

Two Marines approach the second door down the hall, bracing themselves on either side of the doorframe. As one is about to check the doorknob, bullets crack through the door's wood. Either soldier reels back against the wall, avoiding crossfire from the enemies within. Just then, a fuse is lit in the entirety of the third floor. Doors further down the hall burst open, AQ soldiers utilizing the open structures as cover to begin firing savagely and haphazardly at the team of Marines.

Blair ducks into the first unit, leaning out to fire rounds at the soldiers. She fells two of them before having to slink back into cover. Blood roars in her ears. There’s a myriad of shouts in Arabic and English as either side screams commands to one other.

Despite the rampant pace of the situation, time seems to slick by as if trapped in molasses. Suspended above the moving timeline as if in demented levitation. Blair can almost anticipate each flutter of her galloping heart, breaths cautious and planned. Eyes dart from each moving shadow to the next. She reflexively pulls the trigger on each maneuvering enemy.

One, two, buckle my shoe…

Somewhere through the fog of chaos, Blair swears she hears MacTavish announce enemy presence below the second floor. She has no allowance to fret too intensely when she’s already locking teeth with enemies on this floor like rabid animals. MacTavish and his team would have to hold fast with their own objective or wait until the Third Floor Team has cleared out their own set of problems.

Three, four, knock on the door…

The clear, systematic process of clearing each apartment unit manifests. Blair mostly keeps in the hallway, sights trained on unopened doors and the shadows beyond. It's hard to perceive anything above the stomping of combat boots trooping in the emptied units, but Blair keenly tries to pick up the readying of rifles or the unhinging of the doors farther down. Her gut won't subside until every inch of this floor is scrubbed clear of enemies.

Five, six, pick up sticks…

The Marines flood into the units. Unit after unit, the chorus of "clear" denotes an objective met.

Seven, eight, lay them straight…

The gunfire has died down as Blair enters the final unit. It's relatively empty, save some aged furniture and a few toys in the living room. She holds her breath as she sweeps through the suite. Two Marines file in behind her. Blair rounds into the bedroom, rifle rising as she sees the silhouette of a person.

The first thing she perceives is the weapon in their hands. Adrenaline hammers against Blair's senses.

Her eyesight focuses. Immediately she relaxes. It's a boy, no more than eight or nine. Her finger remains trained on her trigger, but she lowers her weapon. The boy wields a shotgun, his little frame trembling.

He's terrified. Clutching the gun like a lifeline. He'd probably been told to shoot anyone who enters, but there was an immense burden of hesitation.

"Do not fire," Blair commands the men behind her. She rocks on the balls of her feet, kneeling to appear less intimidating despite her array of tactical gear.

She's speaking in Georgian, using a calm voice as if trying to steady a wild animal. The boy trembles, hands shaking. He must've impulsively pulled the trigger, but his aim was nowhere pointed near Blair. It strikes the wall across the building, splintering wood. Blair doesn't even flinch, eyes not leaving the boy.

"He's hostile!" One of the other Marines shouts.

"Stand down!" Blair commands, but it's too late. A shot rings out. The boy falls to the ground, a bullet piercing through his chest.

She is at the boy's side instantly, cradling the adolescent with trembling hands. He was dead before he hit the ground. He didn't suffer much, if at all. Blair's head bows, and a sobbing shutter passes through her body. She does her best to mask it, catching what might be the ghost of that sob in her chest.

Nine, ten, begin again…

No more counting games or nursery rhymes. No more bleary-eyed innocence. Both Blair and this boy had laid that concept to rest in the primitive years of their lives. Except Blair had to keep living in this war. Perhaps the boy had been spared by this (the notion molders like a rancid stab wound).

Rage seethes from within Blair's gut as she lowers the boy back onto the floorboards and rises to her feet. She swings around to face the other soldiers. Fingers curl. Jaw fastens like a vice grip.

"Fuck, corporal!" Blair snarls, grabbing him by his collar. She slams him against the wall, the momentum stealing the breath from the shocked soldier. He makes a breathless squeak, eyes wider than the moon. "The fuck was that?"

"He fired at you!" The soldier defends.

"I had the situation managed!"

The other two soldiers scramble, hands wrapping around her shoulders in an attempt to pry Blair off of Cpl. Taylor. She clings to the corporal, still entranced by a fit of rage, managing to throw one elbow into the nose of the private, demanding her to release Taylor. In the squirmish, Blair still has her hands folded around Taylor’s trachea, the man’s fingernails digging into her wrists as he tries to pluck himself free.

The commotion lasts only briefly before Sergeant MacTavish rushes into the room. He shoulders hastily past the bleeding private and the second soldier, wedging himself into the fray between Blair and Cpl. Taylor.

"Hey, hey, hey," Soap intercepts, prying the corporal out of Blair's grasp. "Stand down, both of you!"

"You fuckin' crazy?" Cpl Taylor spits at Blair.

Soap glares at the corporal. "You watch yer language around yer superior, corporal."

"She fuckin' attacked me."

"You disobeyed a direct order," Soap counters.

Blair doesn't waste her energy formulating her rebuttal. She pivots and storms out of the room.

The remainder of the building is swept, the AQ soldiers long dispatched by the time Soap finds time allotted to seek out Blair. She's made herself scarce after the incident with the young Georgian boy, which perhaps is most agreeable considering the Marines seemed less forgiving of her snapped temper than John MacTavish.

Sergeant Allens says he saw her wandering outside shortly after the incident. So outside Soap goes.

It’s evening, and the sun has set as Soap disembarks from the residential building. He needs not search far, finding Blair standing on the lawn across the building parking lot. Her arms are linked above her head, propping her gaze into the sky. Even from afar, she looks fatigued and a touch nauseous.

Maybe she's trying to number the constellations above her. Or maybe she's praying to an entity above, a plea for forgiveness for failing the boy upstairs (though that likelihood was low, as Blair stopped believing in gods and their greater influence after Carl Moore). Soap approaches evidently, dragging his boots all the ground so that Blair could interpret his approach. He stands alongside her, following her eyes with his own.

"Children raised as soldiers…" Blair murmurs, face twisting. "Fucking hell."

"A sad byproduct of all this," Soap adds wistfully, motioning at the air around them. "They don't deserve this."

A frigid gust of mountain air buffets the two soldiers. Blair's ponytail, though mostly tucked underneath her helmet, fights with the wind.

"You speak Georgian, Moore?"

"I speak a lot of things."

"Private Breaux said you were talking to the boy. What did you say to him?"

Blair stares off. Admitting what she had exchanged with the young boy still poisons her throat. She’d failed the boy, and even more, she was bearing her shortcomings now. "I told him I knew he was afraid,” Blair confesses, “and I told him I wanted to help him. I would protect him, but he needed to put the gun down."

"How did you know he wouldn't try to shoot you?"

She hadn't known with certainty. Other than relying on what she suspected.

"He hesitated. He wanted a break in the narrative he had written for him," Blair explains. Her chest tightens. "Reprieve from the war he's been born into."

That boy needed counting books, and stuffed animals, and dreams about being an astronaut or a mountain climber. He didn’t need a gun in hand and the fear that the world was out to get him and his family. He needed innocence, and that had already been stripped from him. And now he’d be buried in a grave six feet under – another “sad byproduct” of this war.

"You've dealt a lot with that, huh?" Soap frowns.

The remark isn't meant to impede itself into Blair's flesh, serrated and agonizing. How could anybody know the stark reality of Blair's upbringing? It wasn't something she advertised. Hell, if anything, it's something Blair continuously attempts to bury.

She was made a soldier. Preached pious bullshit that her father had crafted and narrated because it fit the story he desired to see. These kids in these remote homes were birthed into similar perspectives, fueled even more by the poverty and war-torn homes they were run out of.

"All too well…" Blair breathes, the air exiting her lungs like a remorseful confession. She feels her skin itch, the yearning desire to admit the vulgarity of her heritage and upbringing. She doesn't want her personal feelings to seem like they collude with her better judgment, but even after years of being at war, Blair can't perform the debridement of those emotions from her cranium.

Soap rests a hand on her shoulder. A gesture of consolation. Of companionship. Blair's spine stiffens at the motion, but she refrains from acting thankless.

"I'm sorry."

Her blue eyes traverse to meet his gaze. There's a deluge of warmth that fills Blair's bloodstream. She's spent so much time alone, stripped of camaraderie and brotherhood, that the mere notion nearly blindsides the weathered warrior. She blinks, too stunned to speak. Her neural pathways short-circuit, sparks spilling over her cortices and setting her senses alight.

Grappling at anything at the moment, Blair defaults only to what is her baseline, factory settings. Posture tightens. Chin lifts. It's the skeleton bones of standing at attention. The only thing Blair can do when shocked by her own emotions. And then comes the crass sarcasm. Blair gives a solemn laugh, a sound that betrays Blair, conveying her brokenness.

"Don't be sorry," she counters. "There's nothing glorious about what we do, Soap."

"Doesn't mean we still don't bleed for what we see and deal with," Soap reasons.

Boots thud against the ground behind the two sergeants. Both Blair and Soap take their eyes off the steppes to address the approaching soldier.

"Lieutenant Moore, Sergeant Mactavish, we have something you ought to see."

The duo flashes a gaze between them, following the soldier to a unit on the second floor of the building. Bullet holes scar the front door, and one of the AQ soldiers lies dead near the kitchen stove. Blair scans the unit, following where the other soldiers indicate their need for attention.

Inside a bedroom is a large mahogany desk, the refined craftsmanship ruined by evident bullet wounds sustained in the Marines and AQ's exchange. Papers are scattered about the tabletop, an inscribed map underneath the heap of intel. There's a laptop computer broken apart on the desk, the screen cracked while the motherboard sits exposed from blunt force trauma committed to the keyboard and body. It's a mess, obviously left in haste.

Blair reaches to grab at the haphazardly placed papers. A frown shifts across her lips.

"Al-Asad isn't here…but he was….these are plans; look at the details," Blair observes, sifting through the papers. Soap steps to her side, brushing his fingers to separate a stack of papers. Everything is written in Arabic, and while Blair is proficient in the language, reading it takes her a moment longer.

"Can you make much sense of it?" Soap prompts.

"Some…" Blair mutters, squinting at the papers.

She points at the emblem stamped on the papers, and the location circled on the map. Verdansk, Kastovia.

"Something's about to go down in Kastovia."

#john mactavish × original character #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty oc #blair rogue moore

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harrison-abbott · 1 year ago

Text

[A Trip to Paris. Part I.]

Spill upwards and out into the air,

Span across the length of the nation.

Clouds ease by in brilliant white cotton shapes,

Making you wish you were a giant and could touch them,

The way there’s that urge to burst a

Bubble you see flying near you, or that

Instinct to catch a floating feather.

Mind that it’s only just morning – with that

Fresh colour in the sky like waters of remote streams …

And it is quite a stunning thing to be alive

And such moments as these make you feel a

Different person, or rather

You tend to forget the woe that often bothers you.

Is that London! To see the metropolis from such

A height, and the Thames so tiny, the skyscrapers

These little dominoes or like pieces

In a Monopoly game; and you

Imagine or recall how cramped and manic

That city is with its nine million inhabitants

And from this range it’s a mini boardgame.

And then the plane goes onwards to the very

South of the UK and you know the map,

The shape of the country

Having seen it on paper or screens so often, but,

Here you can see that final triangle in

Brazen array, and the sea chasing the ivory cliffs.

In not too long a time we’re over the fields of

Europe.

A special kind of grace … to observe the green and

Brown squares and their fringes of verdigris trees.

The plane descends and goes into the clouds

And there is nothing but rushing mist beyond the windows.

These open up into the stark mechanical buildings

Outside of the city; and when the plane arrives

There’s a thumping satisfying jolt on the runway.

Then the bustle and confusion of the airport with two

Thousand other people mostly all feeling

Befuddled as well.

But you get the train tickets to take you

Unto the citadel

And it really wasn’t that tricky

And the airport workers who help you

Out probably think you ditsy and so they should.

Anyway, let’s bounce.

The announcer on the speakers proclaims

Each name of the station as you prevail;

You always thought that the sound of the

French language was half balletic and half rash.

And yet the English language would be totally

Different if it weren’t for the French.

There’s a stop nearer to your hotel but you

Decide to get off further down in the most-famous

Part of town, as to your introduction to France.

That uber cathedral that springs up in international

Knowledge very oft’: and, oh, there it is – after

Heading up the tunnels of the Metro and out into

The hot windy sunny space.

Siene, there is the Siene, hurtling in camouflage-green

Arteries all bashing together, and the open topped

Boats with the folks on board snapping shots of the

Lofty alabaster buildings lining the river.

Downriver you venture; your hotel not being open

For check-in yet and so you may as well wander.

Plush restaurants each place you glance.

With flowery decorations on their signs; and as

We weave further, the cafes with their maroon canopies

Beholding TABAC, with little pools of men and women

(mostly ladies) smoking on their chairs,

With those short violent gusts of tobacco smoke

That you don’t normally like back home but

You seem to get a kick out of when travelling.

The ladies wear tights and they often have thick eyebrows,

Or differently shaped jaw structures from what you’re used to.

There are policemen standing in pockets with their hands on

Their hips and they talk and laugh in loud volume,

And by the by a group of workie men in orange fluorescence

That you catch a few words of as you pass.

More police chaps whizz by on flashing motorcycles;

And several times there are ambulances that whoosh by

With their sirens screeching neehnaww in manic echoes.

You get to a certain part of the city. That second-most iconic name

(one could argue) of Paris; the bit where the first revolution

Exploded over two hundred and thirty years back.

There’s a monument, nowadays, a long column, alit,

Engraved and inscribed. And, do you know, it’s sealed

Off with fences taller than three men. But somebody

Has climbed over them and graffitied the monument,

With the words, ‘STOP GENOCIDE’ in red spray paint.

You often found the history of the French revolutions scary

And gory, and, well, that’s what they were like.

Guillotines, mass public mayhem, rife public hatred.

It was ironic that they had made this monument as an

Ode to all of that uber destruction; and not passing any judgement:

It only seemed a weird thing to celebrate violence.

But, then, you’d literally just left the UK, where

It was 5th of November, and people were still

Fizzing fireworks four hundred years after similar

Actions in London, which hardly anybody

In the modern age knew anything about:

They were only keen on colour and gunpowder these days.

The hotel is opening soon so let’s head over there.

The trees line the streets either side of the roads

In direct beneficial order and they’re all mature trees

And yet seem to fit exactly well into the urban zeal of

The arena

And this is one of your favourite features about

This continent,

From each sublime city you’ve adventured around.

Beside the trees are clogged missions of bicycles

In lime green and lemony yellow, and you have to be

Wary of the mobile cyclists that pop and zing by you

On the pavements, also stuffed with the fat vermillion

Bins and the pigeons that waddle prettily around your shoes.

You get to the hotel. Up to reception and there are two women

There, maybe a tad younger than you. You’d thought that

It would be more formal but they just give you the keys

And then that’s it and one of them smiles in that way that

Some people do well and other’s cant.

Up to the room where you’ll live for the next three days.

It is on the top floor. And when you get inside, and after

You’ve taken off your bags and coat, you open the window

And look down at the sheer deathworthy drop below you,

The expanse of noisy urbanity underneath;

And if you look to the left you can see a whole quarter mile

Streak of Paris, simmering in the mega moment.

#writeblr #creative writing #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #poetry #travel writing #poets on tumblr #travel poetry #paris #france #europe #travelling

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kisansatta · 4 years ago

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देश में दूसरी हरित क्रांति की बयार

परिवर्तन हमारे गतिशील ग्रह की नैसर्गिक प्रक्रिया है। जिस भी सभ्यता ने परिवर्तन की इस प्रक्रिया के प्रति निषेधी दृष्टिकोण अपनाया,जैसे-यूनान, रोम, मिस्र एवं सीरिया आदि, वो सभी इतिहास की राख तले दफन हो गई। भारतीय सभ्यता की कभी न खत्म होने वाली जीवनशक्ति का मूल रहस्य परिवर्तन की प्रक्रिया के प्रति सकारात्मक दृष्टिकोण है। आजादी के बाद नवनिर्माण की उत्कंठा से प्रेरित होकर सार्वजनिक क्षेत्र के नेतृत्व में औद्योगीकरण एवं सेवा क्षेत्र के आधुनिकीकरण की प्रक्रिया आरंभ हुई। वहीं 1947 में देश की 36 करोड़ आबादी के लिए पर्याप्त खाद्यान्न (508 लाख टन) न होने के कारण आयात पर निर्भरता से मुक्ति के लिए आजादी के दूसरे दशक मे हरित क्रांति का आयोजन हुआ। जिससे देष को खाद्यान्न में आत्मनिर्भरता प्राप्त हो गयी। किंतु कृषि एवं उद्योग की यह वृद्धि मन्द गति की थी। इसलिए 1991 में उदारवादी नीति के तहत लाइसेंस राज्य समाप्त कर अंतर्राष्ट्रीय व्यापार, निवेश एवं प्रतिस्पर्धा के लिए भारतीय बाजार को मुक्त किया गया। परिणामतः भारत ने धीमी विकास दर (हिंदू विकास दर) से आगे बढ़कर तीव्र विकास दर हासिल की और तीन दशकों में ही प्रति व्यक्ति आय में चार गुना वृद्धि अर्जि�� की। लेकिन कृषि को उदारवाद की इस प्रक्रिया से वंचित रखा गया।

हाल ही में भारतीय संसद द्वारा पारित तीन कृषि विधेयको – 1. कृषि उपज व्यापार व वाणिज्य (संवर्धन और सुविधा) विधेयक 2020, 2. कृषक (सशक्तिकरण एवं संरक्षण) कीमत आश्वासन समझौता और कृषि सेवाए विधेयक 2020, 3. आवश्यक वस्तु (संशोधन) विधेयक 2020, ने सुधार की बहुप्रतीक्षित प्रक्रिया से भारतीय कृषि को जोड़ दिया है। इससे जापान के 1868 में मेईजी युग के नव सुधारो की तर्ज पर कृषि की उत्पादकता, समृद्धि एवं विकास प्रत्येक स्तर पर नए युग की शुरुआत होगी।

प्रकृति ने स्वयं ही भारतीय जीवन में कृषि को सर्वप्रमुखता प्रदान की है। वैश्विक स्तर पर मात्र 11 प्रतिषत भूमि कृषि योग्य है। चीन के पास 12.9 प्रतिषत अमेरिका के पास 17.1 प्रतिषत वहीं भारत के पास 57 प्रतिषत कृषि योग्य भूमि है। यही कारण है कि चीन के सकल बुवाई क्षेत्र 166 मिलियन हेक्टेयर की तुलना में उससे तीन गुना छोटे भारत का सकल बुवाई क्षेत्र 198 मिलीयन हेक्टेयर है। भारत दुग्ध उत्पादन, भैंस के मांस, पालतू पशु, मोटे अनाज के उत्पादन स्तर पर विश्व में शीर्ष स्थान पर है। फलों, सब्जियों के उत्पादन में भारत दुनिया में दूसरे स्थान पर है। वही दुनिया मे दूसरा सबसे बड़ा गेहूं उत्पादक तथा तीसरा सबसे बड़ा चावल उत्पादक दर्जा भी इसे हासिल है। समस्या उपज की कम उत्पादकता है। चीन में चावल की उपज 6.7 टन प्रति हेक्टेयर है, तो भारत में यह 3.6 टन प्रति हेक्टेयर है। गेहूं उत्पादन में भी भारत मे प्रति हेक्टेयर 3145 किग्रा है, जबकि चीन 4838 किग्रा है। इस कम उत्पादकता के लिए कृषि संबंधी अनुसंधान विकास के लिए निवेश की उपेक्षा भी जिम्मेदार है। वर्ष 2018-19 में कृषि संबंधी अनुसंधान और विकास पर भारत में 1.4 बिलियन डालर का निवेश हुआ, वही इसी अवधि में चीन में 7.8 बिलियन डालर का निवेश किया। ध्यातव्य है कृषि अनुसंधान विकास पर दस लाख का निवेश करने से 328 लोगों को गरीबी रेखा से बाहर निकाला जा सकता है।

बाढ़ – अकाल जैसी मौसम की मार और नियति की टकराहट के मध्य विपरीत परिस्थिति में अपने खून पसीने से भारतीय किसान अधिशेष उपज पैदा करता है। किन्तु इस उपज का बड़ा अंश भंडारण के अभाव में नष्ट होता है। इस समय सरकार के पास 608 लाख टन गेहूं- चावल का भंडार है, जो आवश्यक बफर स्टॉक के मानक से दोगुना ज्यादा है। लेकिन भारत में 21 सौ करोड़ किग्रा गेहूं रखरखाव की अभाव के कारण नष्ट हो जाता है, जो ऑस्ट्रेलिया की सकल वार्षिक गेहूं पैदावार के बराबर है। इसी तरह 23 करोड़ टन दाल, 12 करोड़ टन फल, 21 करोड़ टन सब्जियां वितरण प्र��ाली की खराबी के कारण नष्ट हो जाती हैं। भंडारण एवं प्रसंस्करण की कमी के कारण देश में कुल 90 हजार करोड़ रूपया सालाना का नुकसान होता है। भारत में दुग्ध उत्पादन आबादी बढ़ने की दर से चार गुना तेजी से बढ़ रहा है। वैश्विक क्रेडिट एजेंसी “क्रिसिल” के अनुमान के अनुसार 2021 तक दुग्ध उत्पादन, संग्रहण एवं वितरण के लिए रूपये 140 अरब निवेश की आवश्यकता है। ऐसे ही निवेश की आवश्यकता फल एवं सब्जी के भंडारण प्रसंस्करण के लिए भी है। पीएसई (उत्पादक सहायता अनुमान) की पद्धति में कृषि उपज से प्राप्त निर्गत मूल्य की गणना की जाती है जो किसान को मुक्त व्यापार की स्थिति में प्राप्त होती है। विश्व के 52 देशों ने इस पद्धति को अपनाया है, जिनका विश्व की कुल कृषि उपज में 3/4 हिस्सा है। भारत की पीएसई गणना नेगेटिव है। इसका अर्थ है कि प्रतिबंधित बाजार तथा व्यापार नीतियों के कारण किसान को सही कीमत प्राप्त नहीं हो रही है जो उसे मुक्त व्यापार की परिस्थितियों में प्राप्त होती। इस गणना के आधार पर चीन के किसानों की तुलना में भारतीय किसान को अपनी उपज पर तीन गुना नुकसान हो रहा है।

न्यूनतम समर्थन मूल्य (एमएसपी) किसानों को बाजार में कीमत मे गिरावट से होने वाले नुकसान को रोकने की एक सार्थक पहल है। सरकार की एमएसपी के घोषित मूल्य पर उपज क्रय की बाध्यता है। स्वामीनाथन आयोग की मूल भावना से प्रेरित होकर सरकार ने फसलों की लागत प्लस 50 प्रतिषत के सिद्धांत पर रबी और खरीफ की अनेक फसलों के न्यूनतम समर्थन मूल्य में अच्छी वृद्धि की है। किंतु मंडियों के गैर पेशेवर आचरण, लघु सीमांत किसानों के अल्प अधिशेष एवं भंडारण की कमी आदि कारण से बहुसंख्यक किसान एमएसपी के लाभ से वंचित है। 2015 में गठित “शांता कुमार समिति” ने सदन को बताया कि केवल 6 प्रतिषत किसान ही एमएसपी की दर पर अपनी उपज मंडियों में बेचते हैं। शेष 94 प्रतिषत किसान वंचित है।

वर्ष 2022 तक किसानों की आय दोगुनी करने के आग्रह से प्रधानमंत्री अन्नदाता आय संरक्षण अभियान (पीएम आशा) तहत किसानों की बाजार तक पहुंच बढ़ाने एवं जोखिमों से बचाने के लिए “ई -नाम” (ई राष्ट्रीय कृषि बाजार) स्थापित किया गया है। जिसमें 16 राज्यों की 585 मंडियों को एकीकृत कर एक प्लेटफार्म दिया गया है। सिंचाई सुविधा के विस्तार के लिए प्रधानमंत्री सिंचाई योजना लागू है। वहीं नीम कोटेड यूरिया से यूरिया की कालाबाजारी समाप्त हुई है। मृदा स्वास्थ्य कार्ड योजना के द्वारा किसानों को मृदा के अनुकूल उर्वरक के प्रयोग की सम्यक जानकारी उपलब्ध होती है। प्रधानमंत्री फसल बीमा योजना फसलों की रक्षा कवच बन रही है। प्रधानमंत्री किसान सम्मान निधि योजना के तहत साढे़ चैदह करोड़ किसानों के खाते में रूपये 6000 जमा हुआ हैं। इस सीधी सहायता से किसान के जीवन में आशा का संचार हुआ है।

भारत में कृषि मूलतः निजी क्षेत्र का पेशा है। किंतु प्रतिबंधित बाजार तथा व्यापार की नीतियों के कारण किसान मुक्त रूप से अपनी उपज की बिक्री नहीं कर पाता है। न ही उद्यमी किसान की उपज के भंडारण एवं निवेश कर पाते है। इन विधेयकों से अब किसान अपनी उपज राज्य के अंदर या बाहर कहीं बेच सकते हैं। उन्हें मंडी के आढतियो एवं दलालों के बंधन से मुक्ति मिल गई है। कंपनियां किसानों से अनुबंध कर सकती हैं और बदले में उन्हें गुणवत्ता के बीज, खाद, कीटनाशक उपलब्ध हो सकेंगे। अन��ज, दाल, तिलहन प्याज और आलू आदि आवश्यक सूची की वस्तुओं से हटा दिए गए हैं, इनके भंडारण की सीमा पर लगा प्रतिबंध भी हट गया है। इससे अब भारतीय गांव में कंपनियां अपने कोल्ड स्टोरेज की श्रृंखला विकसित कर सकेंगी, खाद्य-प्रसंस्करण उद्योग में अभूतपूर्व तेजी आएगी। उक्त कृषि विधेयकों से किसानों में वह आवेग पैदा होगा, जो दूसरी हरित क्रांति की प्रस्तावना लिखेगा। आज देश के नौ करोड किसान परिवार रिकॉर्ड 28 मिलियन टन खाद्यान्न पैदा कर रहे है। आईटी क्रांति की तरह ही हमारे कर्मशील किसान उन्नत प्रौद्योगिकी हासिल कर कृषि को वैश्विक स्तर पर प्रतिष्ठित कर देंगे। वैश्विक खाद्य निर्यात में हमारी 2.3 प्रतिषत की हिस्सेदारी बढ़कर 23 प्रतिषत हो सकेगी।

लेखक : जय प्रकाश पाण्डेय

https://kisansatta.com/outside-of-second-green-revolution-in-the-country/ #OutsideOfSecondGreenRevolutionInTheCountry Outside of second green revolution in the country Farming, Top, Trending #Farming, #Top, #Trending KISAN SATTA - सच का संकल्प

#Outside of second green revolution in the country #Farming #Top #Trending

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findingjoynweirdstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Crash Course: The History of Dream SMP Season One

So...

You want to get into the Dream SMP, but oh no! There’s eight months of extensive and event-filled history to catch up on, and dozens of highlight videos to watch that don’t always include everything, and pages upon pages of detailed Wiki articles...where do you start!?

Well, I’ve created this to summarize the events of Dream SMP Season One into a single post as a sort of “narrative timeline.”

I’ve also included the dates of the events to the best of my ability, so that everything is in (mostly) chronological order.

I’d highly recommend also checking out the Wiki for more detailed descriptions of the big events if you’re interested.

Happy one-month anniversary of the Grand Finale!

Enjoy!

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Note: Some dates, but not all, are taken from VOD upload dates, and Tommy’s VODs are usually uploaded a day later than initial broadcast, so they may be slightly inaccurate. Dates marked with * are the dates the VOD was uploaded, in cases where I am unsure of the original broadcast date.

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The Early Days

April 25th:

The SMP started out as an ordinary survival server, and was often referred to as “the survival world” on early Dream Team streams. The first eight members to join the SMP were: Dream, George, Sapnap, Badboyhalo, Ponk, Alyssa, Callahan and Sam, though Sam took a hiatus until the events of the Election Arc. The Community House was the first thing to be built in the center of a lake.

It was in this period that Beckerson and Mars were named from donos (the various named knicknacks in the Community House are also from donos), Dream tamed a white horse named Spirit, and Sam tamed Fran. There were also several other various pets like dogs and foxes that were tamed by the members.

Some notable events from this period include: the construction of the Court House (and subsequently Sapnap and George’s murder trials there), Dream building the wooden path, George texting Dream’s mother, Sapnap’s Famous Storytime Stream (in which Spirit died due to mobs), and the burning of Ponk’s first Lemon Tree due to a conflict with George.

There was also a running joke that Callahan and Alyssa were dating (they aren’t)

Tommy’s Arrival

Tommy joins July 4th. Tubbo arrives shortly after, with Fundy a day after Tubbo.

The day of Tommy’s arrival:

Tommy joins the SMP. His first day, George and Dream get him to stand on a crafting table and he subsequently murders George and takes from the Community House chests. Dream and George put Tommy on trial in the Court House. After a brief manhunt, Tommy is banished 2,500 blocks away (the first of three exiles) in the snow and is ordered to stay there. He fails to comply and is briefly banned before Dream lets him back on. He chooses to settle on a hill next to Ponk’s Lemon Tree.

The Disc War: Start of the Disc Saga

Taking place from July 9th* - July 11th*, though there were various events/conflicts relating to the discs that happened before and after this time.

After listening to two discs, Cat and Mellohi, with Tubbo on a bench while watching the sunset (VOD: July 8th*), Tommy considers the two discs to be his most prized possessions.

This event is considered the first major war of the server, and the Disc Saga would continue to have developments throughout the rest of Season One.

The events of the first Disc War began due to another conflict between Sapnap, Ponk and Alyssa. Punz and Tubbo were also involved. Tommy ended up siding with Sapnap, and much vandalism and fighting happened before Dream logged on with the intention to stop it.

Tommy and Sapnap murder Dream, and Dream steals Tommy’s discs in return, threatening to burn them unless Tommy returns his gear. Tommy, Tubbo and Sapnap end up combining forces to murder Dream and take back the discs, which Tommy hides under his base. Dream spends time off stream digging up the entirety of Tommy’s land in search of them.

The rest of the Disc War proceeds with Tommy and Tubbo working repeatedly to take back the discs from Dream. It only ends when Tommy crafts an Ender Chest to put the discs in.

This was also around the time that Fundy’s Socializing Club was built, which later led to a brief conflict taking place there.

(It was also during this time in the middle of the Disc War that Wilbur joined a call with Tommy and asked Dream out on a date to Pizza Hut, with Tommy speaking in game chat as Wilbur’s wingman. Dream says yes, George gets jealous on Twitter, and the infamous Vlog plot starts. It would go on from July to October.)

Schlatt and Wilbur

July 12th: During a short conflict between Tommy and Tubbo over the death of Tubbo’s pet bee, Tommy burns down Tubbo’s house. Wilbur logs onto the server to act as Tommy’s lawyer.

On July 17th, Schlatt gets whitelisted on the server without Dream’s knowledge and Tommy spends a day with his idol. The SMPLive Cuck Shed is recreated in Dream SMP, and Tommy listens to the disc Blocks with Schlatt. People trend #kickschlatt on Twitter. Both Wilbur and Schlatt log off the server “permanently,” Wilbur by choice and Schlatt by banning (as Dream didn’t know who he was). Tommy gains ownership of Wilbur’s ball house.

Also worth mentioning is Eret joining July 19th.

The L’manburg War for Independence (aka “Revolution”)

This was a relatively short but very consequential arc, taking place from July 24th to August 2nd, a little over a week in total. It is the second major war of the server, and the first to be faction-based.

July 24th: Wilbur joins the server again.

He decides to start an empire with Tommy. He builds the Camarvan (aka “hto dog van”) in a remote part of the woods and recruits Tommy to help create artificial scarcity in the server’s drug market by stealing everyone’s blaze rods. This isn’t taken too kindly by other members, especially Sapnap. One thing leads to another and they decide to mark out a tiny square in the woods to declare as an independent country. Tubbo joins them, and he and Tommy sing “Hallelujah” to a tilled patch of dirt (this melody would later become the L’manburg National Anthem). They also recruit Eret to help build. They decide on a name: L’manburg, and also don revolutionary skins.

Dream comes over, displeased by this, and declares war. His side consists of Dream, George, Sapnap and Punz, though the L’manburgians attempted to convince George to their side due to his Britishness.

Eret builds the walls, Fundy joins the revolution after logging in within the walls and being very confused, Wilbur claims Fundy as his son. Tommy constructs a fight club beneath his house and, after poorly speaking Dutch to Fundy, goes down the path placing signs in various languages saying “the green bastard shall die!” as propaganda to Dream’s viewers of various nationalities.

July 31st:

Dream and Sapnap log on during one of Dream’s streams, inspect the area, and go through a multi-step plan to demoralize the L’manburgians: they burn down all the trees around their land, lavacast a huge cobblestone wall just outside, construct obsidian TNT cannons around the walls, and fire several TNT blasts into the country, destroying part of the hotdog van’s roof. George joins the call, gets filled in on what’s been happening, and assists in the chaos. Eret, the only L’manburgian online, is helpless and can only meekly protest in game chat. As a final message, Dream and Sapnap set fire to Tubbo’s house (the second time) and Dream gives his famous “white flags” ultimatum.

August 1st:

The ultimatum’s war date was pushed back a day due to Twitter drama. The final evening before war, Dream, after doing his serious stream, logs onto the server and blows up Tommy’s land with TNT, exploding part of the beloved Cuck Shed. Wilbur, in VC, tells Tommy to return the favor to Dream, but instead, Tommy chooses not to fight fire with fire. Impressed, Wilbur makes Tommy his right hand man. Eret joins Dream’s side around this time.

August 2nd:

The day of war comes. Dream’s side goes to Tubbo’s jungle base to kill Tubbo repeatedly. There’s a brief conflict at the Power Tower. Wilbur logs on - the L’manburg side is grossly underprepared. They meet at the Embassy and exchange fire with the Dream SMP members. After Dream seems to retreat, Eret suggests they return to L’manburg, saying he has a “secret weapon:” Eret has been grinding for items.

He leads them down a long tunnel into a blackstone “Final Control Room.” The chests are empty, and Tommy pushes a button in the middle of the room, wondering what its function is. The redstone doors slide open and Dream’s men ambush and kill all of them, leaving them with nothing.

After speaking with Wilbur, who refuses surrender, Dream returns to L’manburg and lights a piece of TNT at the entrance, triggering tons of TNT that had been laid beneath the ground beforehand to ignite. Tommy leads everyone into a final bunker. As one last chance at independence, Tommy challenges Dream to a bow duel for Mellohi. George and Wilbur have a short exchange in which they reflect on their Pizza Hut Date, wondering how they could end up like this, with their men fighting each other on opposite sides. Wilbur tells George he should have been on their side as a British person. Eret too.

Tommy and Dream take ten paces and fire at each other on the Prime Path.

Tommy loses the duel.

Instead of giving up just Mellohi, though, Tommy asks Dream if he could give up Cat as well in return for “technical independence.” Dream agrees. Wilbur declares independence again, putting himself as President, Tommy as Vice President, and Tubbo as Secretary of State. Eret, meanwhile, is declared king of the Dream SMP.

YOOOOOOOOOOOO...you know the rest.

Jack Manifold is whitelisted. It’s a silver-lining ending.

Post-War Period General Events

August 3rd (?), VOD uploaded August 6th*:

On Jack’s first day, Dream attempts to bribe Jack onto his side with riches, real money, and books containing secret codes. Jack decides to act as a double agent.

VOD uploaded August 7th*:

Fundy and Eret continue their pranks. Eret builds his two towers to watch over L’manburg - Fundy completely destroyed the first of them, which is why Eret’s towers are now reinforced with obsidian. That same stream where Fundy “shrank” the tower was where Tommy and Jack first heard the tale of Fundy’s heritage. Fundy explained that his mother was a salmon (they came up with the name “Sally”) and that she was an accountant who raised him the best she could. Tommy and Jack are understandably weirded out by this.

August 6th:

Niki is also whitelisted and joins the server. The original Camarvan is torn down, and Wilbur introduces the first version of the L’manburg National Anthem.

The Drug Park Trivia Contest

August 9th:

Due to L’manburg needing more funds, Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo get together and create a drug park business to attract drug dealers and women. They see four chickens hanging out near some gravel and name them Clementine, Clementine, Clementine and Clementine, deciding that gravel must attract women. PPA (Ponk-Purpled-Alyssa) signs a trade agreement with L’manburg.

The drug park attracts a confused Dream, who wanders around through the alleyways. Dream gets scammed and then scams them back, so Wilbur challenges Dream to a trivia contest.

August 10th:

Fundy takes off his revolutionary outfit and he and Wilbur get into a brief argument over it. Eret continues to build his second tower. Wilbur asked Tommy and Tubbo to prepare the trivia questions together, but while Tubbo had researched real trivia, Tommy put in bullshit questions that were later removed from the point score.

Dream loses the trivia contest and jumps off a cliff.

The Disc Saga: Showbiz Business

August 13th*:

After Tommy, Tubbo, Thunder, Skeppy and Fundy give a performance of Hamilton and Macbeth to Dream, gaining Dream’s favor, Skeppy tells Tommy he has Spirit’s leather. Tommy, seeing an opportunity to use Dream’s sentimental attachment to get Dream on his good side, asks Skeppy for the leather. Instead, Skeppy trades the leather back to Dream in return for one of the discs. Tommy gets Quackity in a VC to try and intimidate Skeppy (Quackity fails), then asks for Quackity to be whitelisted. Dream whitelists Quackity.

This was also around the time that Fundy kidnapped Punz’s bee, Beenis, and was put on trial, resulting in the birth of Tubbo’s alter ego: Big Law. This would come into play during the Pet War.

The Cartel

August 17th:

Quackity joins the server.

He is initially not allowed to join L’manburg.

He and Tommy start the Cartel together, going on a heist and cracking jokes about John Lennon. This is an overarching scheme over the course of several streams. Tommy ends up building a summer house for himself in the hills, and constructs a drug lab in its basement which he uses with Quackity to attempt a drug scheme.

August 28th*:

Later, after Tommy finishes his summer home and names the several cows who live there, Quackity kidnaps the one named Henry and threatens his life, as he feels that Tommy has become too attached to Henry and is no longer dedicated to the Cartel. Quackity forces Tommy to play a sick trivia game show where if he gets an answer wrong, a cow dies. Tommy asks Tubbo for help, but Tubbo sides with Quackity for the drama. The conflict ends in violence, but Henry is still alive.

Tommy and Wilbur Revive the Server

August 19th*:

Tommy, concerned that the SMP is dying due to Tubbo not being online, calls in Wilbur and Quackity for a chill stream. He and Wilbur rebuild the Camarvan very, very poorly, turning it into a monstrosity of a dirt-bug held together by cobblestone. This wasn’t very consequential, I just included it to explain how the Camarvan ended up looking like That.

The Disc Saga: Railway Skirmish

August 23rd*:

One day, Tommy was hanging around at his summer home. He hops in a minecart and accidentally runs Dream over. Dream uses the /kill command as a funny way to mess with Tommy (and the audience), causing him to die and lose all his stuff. Dream hadn’t been expecting Tommy to take advantage of it. Unbeknownst to Tommy, Tubbo runs in and snatches Dream’s prized sword, hiding it underground.

Tommy and Tubbo realize that with all of Dream’s gear in their possession, they finally have the high ground, and try and use that high ground to trade Dream for the disc. Wilbur joins and questions Tommy about why they’re trying to cause conflict, as L’manburg can’t afford to fight another war so soon. Wilbur orders them to return Dream’s things and apologize. Dream doesn’t give Tommy the disc, but does trade Tommy for Spirit’s leather in return for his stuff back. Tommy tries and fails to trade Skeppy the leather for the disc. He and Sapnap also then team up to kill Dream, but Sapnap betrays Tommy after being threatened and Tommy never succeeds in getting a disc back.

Tubbo reveals to Tommy afterwards that he’d hidden Dream’s sword, and they’d successfully kept it: they now have leverage.

Church Prime

August 24th:

Tommy and Dream put their differences aside for one day and start a religion together after plugging Twitch Prime for twenty minutes straight, to Tubbo’s disapproval. Quackity assists as well. The Vape Tower and Holy Land are created. Dream levitates into the air and /kill’s himself, then gets resurrected. One of the funniest streams the SMP’s ever had.

Church Prime has been born!

The Disc Saga: Spirit Scam / Start of the Pet War

August 27th*:

Tommy is enraged by Sapnap killing one of his beloved cows, Harold. He griefs Sapnap’s house and also informs Niki that her pet, a little fox named Fungi, was also killed by Sapnap. Niki is furious. She, Tommy and Tubbo kidnap Mars and Beckerson with the intentions of holding them for ransom as revenge. Dream, concerned about this, tries to reason with them. He can’t let Mars and Beckerson die at any cost.

While the sides make their threats, Dream locks up the jukebox room in Tommy’s house with obsidian and starts playing the real Mellohi to taunt them out of cockiness. Tubbo and Tommy manage to snatch Mellohi and put it in an ender chest. Dream, realizing he’d screwed up, names a fake Mellohi disc “Tommy’s Disc” and tries to convince them that that was the real one.

After plenty of scamming involving Dream’s sword, Spirit, Mellohi, the fish, and a confusing switcheroo, Tommy ends up with the real Mellohi and the real Spirit, while Dream keeps Beckerson and Mars in his possession. Niki just wanted an apology.

The Pet War

August 29th*:

After taking a brief recess from the SMP, Fundy logs on and starts to catch up on what he’s missed. He’s confused by Church Prime, but is more concerned with chat spamming “RIP Fungi.” He doesn’t believe it at first, but sees Fungi’s grave in L’manburg and calls Niki, who tells him what happened. Furious, he says that Sapnap must pay.

He asks Dream for Mars, but Dream is unwilling to give her to him. Instead, Dream leads Fundy and Niki to the dog house and show them the pets. He tells them that Skechers is Sapnap’s fox, but they didn’t hear it from him. As he is unable to kill one of his own kind, Fundy asks Niki to murder it with a pickaxe.

After a scavenger hunt stream with George, Dream tells Sapnap what happened. Sapnap, enraged, kills Niki’s animals and Fundy’s enderman pet. The Dream Team hide their remaining animals off screen.

August 31st*:

Fundy gets Beenis and a beehive at Tubbo’s base and offers to play a cruel game with Punz in which Punz chooses to spare one of the beenests while the other is thrown into fire. Punz decides that choosing is better than leaving Beenis in an enderchest and chooses. They place down the spared beenest but no bee comes out. Tommy and Tubbo arrive in full armor, looking ominously at Punz. Fundy explains the situation to them, favoring his side of the story, and Tommy and Tubbo defend him as one of their own. Fundy has started a war.

September 1st:

Fundy and Niki get a pet bee named Beelloon. They hide it in an obsidian box to keep it safe. They also locate Sapnap’s pets based on small details in the background of George’s stream.

Sapnap and Punz arrive one day after a Twitch Rivals tournament and force Fundy to watch as they explode Fungi’s grave with TNT. Fundy says they should end the fighting for good with a duel: one vs. one, Sapnap and Fundy.

September 10th:

Fundy builds a scaled-down version of Technoblade and Dream’s arena just behind his base. Tubbo referees the duel between Fundy and Sapnap. Fundy loses. Sapnap takes Niki’s fish and starts to play the same game with Fundy, but stops at the last second - it’s not worth stoking up the fires of war again. He congratulates Fundy on being a worthy competitor and leaves after returning the fish to Fundy. The Pet War ends there.

The Election

September 3rd*:

Tubbo and Fundy get into an argument that threatens to tear L’manburg apart in Civil War. Tommy, while Wilbur isn’t online, is the one left in charge of diffusing the conflict, which he does successfully. The next day (September 4th*), Wilbur logs back on and Tommy fills him in on what he’s missed. They decide that they need to consolidate power, and choose to hold a rigged election where they’re the only party that can be voted for. Quackity, after learning this, states that he’ll be running as well to prevent their dictatorship, declaring his campaign “SWAG2020.” This throws a wrench in Wilbur and Tommy’s plans. Wilbur and Tommy’s party is renamed “POG2020.”

September 9th*:

The Presidential debate is held in Tubbo’s King’s Court. Quackity reveals that Georgenotfound is his running mate. Tommy attempts a smear campaign against him, then later accepts bribery from Karl, who was overseeing the debate. Tubbo takes Karl’s spot to be less biased. Fundy states that he wants to run for president as well. September 15th, Tommy gains Sapnap’s vote by publicly denouncing Fundy, telling him that if Wilbur weren’t Fundy’s father, Fundy would be kicked out of L’manburg. The following days, they hold a few more rallies, sing a duet of Let it Go, and Wilbur, Tommy and Quackity construct the White House while speaking Spanish. This is also the birth of “Tubbox.”

September 20th:

They hold one last rally where the parties show off their endorsements. POG2020 is endorsed by Vikkstar. Georgenotfound is a no-show. Everyone wonders where he is, with one of the running theories being that he’s off editing the Vlog. Fundy and Niki announce their campaign: COCONUT2020.

Tommy and Wilbur have one last endorsement up their sleeve: Schlatt logs onto the server. He’s been unbanned. Instead of endorsing POG2020, however, he accidentally endorses COCONUT2020 and then decides to run his own candidacy, SCHLATT2020. Violence breaks out, Tommy, Wilbur and Quackity all escape underground. Wilbur and Tommy offer to combine votes with Quackity, but Quackity refuses after they reveal the offer is conditional on their own defeat. Instead, Quackity decides to partner with Schlatt.

Also worth mentioning is the fact that Wilbur asked for Tommy’s Mellohi disc, the real one, to keep until they’d won the election. Tommy gives it to him.

Schlatt’s Inauguration

September 21st:

HBomb is added to the server. Wilbur gets on the podium and states the election results: POG2020 won the popular vote by 45%, but was beaten out by the combined vote total of SCHLATT2020 and SWAG2020 of 46%, making Schlatt the President and Quackity the Vice President. Schlatt designates Tubbo as his right-hand man, still Secretary of State.

Schlatt’s decrees are as follows, given throughout the rest of the stream: Tommy and Wilbur’s citizenship is revoked, the walls are torn down, L’manburg is renamed to Manberg.

Tommy and Wilbur escape into the woods (Tommy’s second exile) and Technoblade offers them assistance. Technoblade logs onto the server and they find a ravine to make a barracks in: Pogtopia.

Tommy and Wilbur then go to negotiate with Schlatt for a one-day visa to L’manburg for Ninja’s visit. Schlatt agrees to it.

Ninja’s Visit

September 25th*:

Ninja visits and streams with Tommy for a day. He ends up getting married to Georgenotfound and using their marriage to get the Pogtopians an extended visa without Schlatt’s knowledge.

Pet War II: Battle of the Lake

Sapnap and Karl, who were engaged to marry with a wooden Eiffel Tower as their honeymoon spot, attempt to kidnap Henry. Instead, Sapnap accidentally kills Henry with fall damage.

October 5th:

Tommy is beyond enraged at the death of Henry, and goes to grief Skeppy’s property with Niki while he’s grieving. Dream joins and helps Tommy lavacast the Eiffel Tower. They attempt to frame Badboyhalo for this, which starts a new conflict and a battle between Skeppy and Bad against Dream and Tommy.

Sapnap logs on, Tommy confronts him, and Sapnap eats Henry’s corpse. Antfrost also joins in on Bad and Skeppy’s side. The fight continues, and Dream and Tommy escape into the wilderness together and a chase ensues. Niki is taken hostage.

Dream decides to entrust Tommy with one of the most valuable pets on the server: Mars. Tommy must never, under any circumstances, harm her. Tommy tells Sapnap he has Mars, but Sapnap doesn’t believe Dream would trust Tommy with such a thing at first.

Everyone heads to Pogtopia. Tommy gives his famous “I have the Blade” line and Technoblade logs on. Dream also joins Techno and Tommy’s side. They declare it the Battle of the Lake after a tiny pond next to Tommy’s Intimidation Tower. Punz swaps sides mid battle, and Dream, Tommy and Techno overpower the opposing side, claiming victory.

Dreamon Hunters

October 7th:

Tubbo and Fundy want to create some chaos, but their targets keep logging off and foiling their plans. Eventually, Dream logs on, and that’s when they get the idea to perform an exorcism on Dream. They get Dream to Skeppy’s Mansion and perform a complicated ritual, ending with them logging out and then back in again, and Dream exploding TNT, killing himself and also Tubbo in the blast. After this exorcism, Dream seems...different. He says he wants to be a builder, he wants to hug Technoblade, and his IQ is...75!

Tubbo and Fundy think at first that they’ve successfully removed the Dreamon, but after performing a test with an iron door, everything goes sour. In a last effort to get Dream back to normal, Fundy recreates his marriage proposal scene with Dream. Dream ascends into the air, explodes, and all seems to go back to normal...until DreamXD logs on.

October 15th:

In a second stream, Tubbo and Fundy get their proper Dreamon Hunter outfits, set up a base of operations on the beach near the Mansion, and recruit Sapnap to assist them.

The Festival

VOD uploaded October 10th*:

Tommy has an idea to connect the Prime Path from Pogtopia all the way to Dream SMP, but accidentally reveals Tubbo’s tunnel to Quackity in the process. This leads to a split between Tommy and Wilbur, in which Wilbur snaps and tells Tommy that this is why he isn’t the President and never will be.

Schlatt comes on. He ignores the tunnels, but announces something new: The official Manberg Festival, a celebration of democracy and freedom. With this announcement, Wilbur starts to have doubts about his intentions. Why should he want to go against someone who was democratically elected, hosting fun events for the citizens? Wilbur has a realization: he’s the villain. A few minutes pass, and he’s completely gone, slipping into paranoia about everyone’s loyalties as he starts to distrust that even Tubbo is on his side. He has a plan to blow the entire place up with TNT, and asks Dream to help.

At the end of the day, Tubbo and Tommy have a moment by the bench. Tubbo reveals to Tommy that he’d been given a Mellohi disc by Wilbur, who had also given a copy to Tommy as well. They question why Wilbur would give them both copies of Mellohi, and try to hide the truth about the disc. Tubbo says he probably has the real one.

In the coming days, Tubbo and Fundy help create the decorations. Fundy, meanwhile, has been questioning his loyalties. He wonders what Tommy and Wilbur ever really did for the country in their administration.

October 16th:

The day of the Festival arrives. Everyone, including Technoblade, has been invited except for Wilbur and Tommy. Techno joins in with the party activities, and it’s a joyous day. Tommy and Wilbur wait on the roof, and have a brief conversation with Tubbo before the moment arrives. Wilbur accuses Tubbo of being a yes-man, explains that there’s a key phrase in the speech to activate the TNT. There are twenty pieces of TNT beneath Schlatt’s chair alone.

He puts Tubbo in charge of making the final decision of whether Manberg stays or falls. It’s up to Tubbo to say the line. As the party settles, Tubbo goes up to give his speech. He says it, Schlatt prompts him for more, and Tubbo says the line. Wilbur and Tommy hop down to press the button, but Schlatt gives a little chuckle. He and Quackity start trapping Tubbo in concrete, keeping him in Schlatt’s chair while everyone looks on in confusion. Wilbur and Tommy pause – they can’t detonate the TNT with Tubbo in the blast radius. Schlatt reveals that he’d known about Tubbo’s spying all along, and calls up Technoblade for a favor.

Schlatt orders Technoblade to execute Tubbo. A few shots from Techno’s rocket launcher, and the deed is done. Techno then turns and massacres the crowd as Tommy pearls onto the podium and Wilbur searches around for the button, which he’d lost. Wilbur confronts Schlatt in order to defend Niki, but Schlatt orders Niki’s death and everyone runs back to Pogtopia.

Tommy is fuming at Technoblade, and the two have a short fist fight in a combat pit to settle their differences. Tommy loses, but his rage still remains. Techno tells him that the only universal language is violence, and now that they’ve settled that issue, it’s time to move on.

October 19th:

A few days after the festival, Tommy comes online and overhears an argument between Quackity and Schlatt over the destruction of the White House. Quackity snaps at Schlatt, shoots him, and runs off into the forest while Schlatt tears the building down. Tommy meets with him, and Quackity is recruited into the rebellion. Wilbur comes on and gets filled in. Wilbur also reveals that he’d found the button room off stream, and shows it to Tommy and Quackity. He only needed two witnesses. Tommy and Quackity trap Wilbur into the corner before he can press it, though, and talk him down into taking another approach for now.

The Meeting

November 2nd:

It’s Niki’s birthday party. A fun-filled gathering hosted by Karl at his new Haunted Mansion, featuring several members of the SMP. Wilbur and Quackity are both there, and hang around after the party to sing love-hate songs to one another while playing the guitar. After Quackity sings one last song to Wilbur, though, things turn south. Wilbur tells Quackity that he’s going to blow up Manberg, and Quackity is going to watch. Everyone runs to Manberg in a panic as Wilbur starts playing the chords to Hallelujah. He begins to sing the L’manburg National Anthem in preparation, but Quackity manages to convince him not to do it. Wilbur gives Quackity an ultimatum: set up a meeting with Schlatt by the coming Friday, or Manberg gets blown to smithereens.

November 6th:

Friday comes. Quackity and Schlatt have a meeting in which Quackity attempts to trick Schlatt into signing away his presidency. Schlatt doesn’t fall for it. He, Quackity and Tommy wander through the woods while Wilbur makes his way to the button. But Schlatt reveals that he’d found out about the Button Room, and he’d disconnected the button’s redstone and moved the TNT somewhere else.

Coincidentally, Fundy had just done a massive prank marathon the day before, and one of his many pranks was to fill Pogtopia to the brim with buttons…loads, and loads, of buttons.

Everyone meets in Pogtopia. Badboyhalo arrives as well, and Fundy comes to reveal his Spy’s Diary, a book of information he’d collected on Schlatt throughout the entire administration with details on Schlatt’s deteriorating health. Wilbur starts to realize that instead of no one being on their side, everyone was on their side. Just as he comes to that idea, though, Dream joins the call and there’s another reveal: a traitor in their midst. Wilbur and Dream agree to end things for good on November 16th: the final war for L’manburg’s fate.

Pet War III: The Panda Skirmish

November 5th:

While in the jungle, Punz finds a panda and Sapnap helps retrieve it, saying that if anyone touches the panda, who they named Dumptruck, it would be a battle.

Once they get back, though, Antfrost, with assistance from Badboyhalo, attempts to steal the panda for the animal sanctuary. During the movement of the panda around from place to place as Punz and Sapnap attempt to get it back, the panda dies due to Punz’ armor enchantments. They blame the Badlands for the panda’s death, as if they hadn’t tried to steal it, the panda would still be alive.

As things break out into all-out war, Sam joins the fray to help the Badlands. Sapnap threatens Fran, saying Fran would not be able to come back if the dog died.

The battle ends in the victory of the Dream SMP members, and the defeat of the Badlands.

Pet War IV: The Final Pet War

November 15th:

The night before the final war, Tommy and Sapnap finally have their confrontation about Sapnap stealing Tommy’s horse, Juorse, not too long before.

Tommy and Techno meet with Sapnap. Sapnap, surprisingly, advocates for talking out the conflict instead of immediately breaking out into fighting. All he wanted was Mars back.

They meet at the Community House and negotiate. While Sapnap returned Juorse to Tommy, however, Tommy refused to give up Mars. Sapnap killed Juorse in retaliation, angering Tommy. Tommy runs away, while Dream and George join the server with the intention to kill Sapnap for an unexplained reason.

After a chase, Tommy is led to Sapnap’s secret base and shown his remaining pets. Sapnap tells Tommy to kill them. Tommy, refusing to stoop to Sapnap’s pet-killing level, says no. To settle the conflict, Sapnap and Tommy agree to a duel at Eret’s museum. Sapnap wins very quickly. While Tommy is being made fun of by the others, though, Sapnap is gracious and does not. He respects Tommy as an opponent, and the two go off on their own to talk.

Tommy tells Sapnap that all the Pet Wars have to end, for good this time. He says Sapnap has to let go of Mars. If he truly loves Mars, and doesn’t want to see her passed around as a bargaining chip forever, she should be freed.

Sapnap, though saddened, agrees, and they set Mars free at the shore, watching her swim out to sea.

Free at last.

The Manberg-Pogtopia War: Finale of Season One

November 16th:

It’s war day. All hell is about to break loose. Dawn of the finale.

Tubbo logs on to prepare, and ends up getting stalked and killed by Dream. Dream allows him to retrieve his items, though – it was just a show of strength.

Quackity and Tubbo share a few moments of reflection together. They discuss who could possibly be the traitor. They both suspect Tommy.

On top of Ponk’s tower, they make a promise to each other. At the count of ten, they would stand opposite each other with the Eye blocking their view, and would, at the same time, take a step to one side. Towards the city if they would stay and fight, and towards the forest if they would run. The count reaches zero: they both step to the side to fight.

Tubbo starts to question if this is all just history repeating itself, if every war since the Disc War is just bound to end in defeat.

Karl attempts to bribe pretty much everyone on the Pogtopia side to join Manberg, with little success.

Eret is confronted by Dream, who asks him where his power comes from. Eret says respect, but Dream says the only reason Eret is king is because of an axe and a shield: the people who fight in his name. Dream warns Eret to stay neutral, sit on his throne and look pretty. Eret decides to betray, and Dream revokes his kingship. In Eret’s place he puts George, fulfilling his promise from the first L’manburg war. George is pleased, and then goes off to continue building a little mushroom house for himself, which would of course go on to become a vital plot point of Season Two.

Eret joins the Pogtopians (minus Tommy and Wilbur) at Manberg. They head to a little spot by the sea and set up a board to discuss who is on their side, and who is not. Meanwhile, Tommy and Wilbur log on together. Tommy protects the L’mantree in a wall of obsidian, and beneath the Power Tower, Tommy plays the disc Mellohi and Wilbur rants, threatening to blow up the country.

Everyone meets in Pogtopia. Wilbur has also started to give out blue dye, which he calls “blue.” Techno leads them all to his secret base and the vault beneath, revealing all the items he’d grinded for. Everyone stocks up on supplies, but they didn’t realize that the Netherite armor was full of useless enchantments that Techno had put on it to disguise the truth: that he was planning on fighting them all along.

Everyone then charges across Tommy’s bridge to Manberg and ascends Eret’s second tower to shoot down on the Manbergians. The fight continues on the ground, ending with Dream asking Wilbur to talk. It was time to negotiate for Manberg’s surrender.

He leads everyone to Schlatt, who was hiding out in the Camarvan completely drunk. Everyone gathers around Schlatt as he gives his last words, last rants, and then abruptly dies of a heart attack or stroke. Everyone is surprised, but uneasily happy.

Wilbur makes Tommy the President. Tommy goes up on the podium to give a speech, but says he can’t be the President right now: he still has a Disc War with Dream to fight. Instead, he makes Wilbur the President.

Wilbur gives a speech, but says he can’t be President as well. Instead, he gives the Presidency to Tubbo. (This is the point where, on Philza’s Hardcore stream, he tunes in to hear Tubbo’s speech)

Tubbo gives a speech and actually accepts the Presidency. Wilbur says he’ll be right back and heads off, causing Phil some concern. Wilbur heads to the button room, Phil realizes what’s going on, and Phil scrambles to get on the server, desperate to stop his son.

During Tubbo’s speech, Dream messages Techno, pointing out that Techno is anti-government. Techno doesn’t like how this is going, and decides to assassinate Tubbo with his rocket launcher, causing panic. A fight breaks out.

Tommy and the others are told by Dream that there is a traitor: the traitor is Wilbur. Everyone realizes in horror that Wilbur is nowhere to be seen.

Wilbur is confronted in the button room by Phil. He gives a short speech before giving his final line: “It was never meant to be,” and presses the button. Manberg goes up in a blast. Afterwards, as Tommy and the others watch, Wilbur begs Phil to kill him, and Phil does.

Techno tells Tommy the tale of Theseus and spawns two withers.

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!”

Wilbur respawns, wanders around the SMP, has a short moment at Eret’s museum and then returns to Manberg, at which point he gets attacked by a wither. He decides to end stream, and declares Tubbo the President of a crater.

In the aftermath of the final battle, everyone surveys the damage. Tubbo creates his new cabinet, Techno and Phil speak with one another as well.

Tommy, Tubbo and Dream all agree to a moment of truce as they listen to a disc at the bench together, sitting side by side.

With that, Season One draws to a close.

It’s not the end.

Just a new beginning.

---

...And that’s about it for now!

Season One of the Dream SMP was a half-year-long wild ride to experience, full of countless fond memories and all-around good times.

Here’s to what comes next!

I hope you enjoyed!

#mcyt #dream smp #dreamsmp #dream smp recaps #dream smp timeline #long posts #reference #dream smp lore

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popblank · 2 years ago

Text

Lempicka at the La Jolla Playhouse:

This was one of the shows I had wanted to see before the pandemic, even though La Jolla is a little out of my way. I saw it twice, both times with Amber Iman as Rafaela so unfortunately I did not see Ximone Rose in the role.

I have been trying to write this post for weeks and every time try I end up having more thoughts, so this is absurdly long compared my usual post-viewing notes. The show is full of ideas about art, revolution, love, women’s agency, and how these things all mix and and it makes me want to take the show apart and examine all the pieces and see how they fit together (this is a good thing, by the way). Hopefully there will be more productions in the future so I can continue doing so.

General thoughts follow, with spoilery details further down below the cut:

The show’s frame is Tamara de Lempicka reflecting on her life in Los Angeles in 1975. The 1975 scenes bookend a chronological depiction of her life starting from the Russian Revolution to around the time she left Europe, apparently before WW2. The story focuses on how her art career develops and how the societal and historical forces (that at the time were upending countries and ideas) affected her and her relationships.

Generally the songs sound like modern pop musical theater, some with lots of electronic production in line with the recurring theme of Futurism. There are also cabaret numbers performed in-universe as well as some familiar modern musical theater style belty solos.

Overall, I really enjoyed it. First act is stronger than the second act, and the ending seems a bit muddled.

At my first viewing, the audience was more excited to see the show. Both Eden Espinosa and Amber Iman got a bit of entrance applause, and I think every song got a decent reaction. At curtain call I’d say the largest reaction went to George Abud (Marinetti) and Amber Iman (Rafaela). That day, they were filming audience reactions just outside the lobby for promotional videos; I was approached on my way out by someone with a clipboard to ask if I enjoyed the show (I did) and if I wanted to talk about it on camera (I didn’t).

The 2nd time, the audience was a little more reserved. It was less responsive in general (hardly a giggle at some of the jokes that went over well the first time) and some of the people near me barely clapped at all, which I rarely see in a theater. However, at the end of the show this audience seemed quicker to stand for an ovation, and gave an actual roar for Amber Iman at curtain call (deserved, as she knocked her songs out of the park that evening).

Spoiler warning: below is as much detail as I can remember about plot, staging, etc. Song titles were not listed in the program so these titles are 100% guesses for songs not yet released, and it is entirely likely I have missed some details or gotten things in the wrong order.

-------------------- Plot details below --------------------

Show details

There was no curtain - the main thing you see on stage before the show is a huge image of Tamara de Lempicka’s painting Autoportrait (Tamara in a Green Bugatti).

The lights went down for the overture, which is electronic and propulsive and thrilling in combination with the lighting, neon arcs and diagonal edges on sliding quadrilateral panels. The audience at my initial viewing burst into applause at this point. The panels were otherwise blank white surfaces and were used throughout the show, often as a canvas for projections that signpost exactly when and where the scene is taking place.

The action starts with Lempicka (Eden Espinosa) sitting on a bench in Los Angeles, 1975 (with a projection of those words and some sepia-toned palm trees as I recall). She addresses the audience and sings a song asking "How Did We Get Here?”

Flash back to the Russian Revolution. Workers sing about how it is now “Our Time” in soaring and optimistic tones. Tamara’s Polish aristocrat husband Tadeusz Lempicki (Andrew Samonsky) however actively supports the Tsar and is hauled off by the secret police to Solovetsky prison. Tamara follows and attempts to bribe a series of prison guards with pieces of her jewelry to try to get to her husband. The guards (at first) take the jewels for themselves while sneeringly declaring that they are merely taking back what was stolen from the people in the first place, and one gets the sense that the revolution is not as noble as it claims to be. The third guard is not interested in jewels and it is strongly implied that she has to perform sexual favors in exchange for her husband’s release from prison. At this point we see a second Tamara portrayed by a dancer, who occasionally appears in what I interpret as moments of dissociation.

I liked “Our Time” for its irony; the words and music profess the ideals of the revolution while the audience (hopefully) knows the historical truth of what the revolution was and will become, with the Lempickis’ treatment an example. It will not be the first time in the show where the pursuit of ideas without regard to people leads to poor outcomes.

The couple travel by train to Paris with their baby daughter Kizette. In song, Tadeusz frets about how she got him out while Tamara tries to soothe both him and the baby. Paris is alive and exciting and full of people (we briefly see Rafaela pass through here; at my first viewing Amber Iman got entrance applause). The Lempickis need to build a new life; both of them need to get actual jobs for money, even though he thinks it’s beneath them and their class. But she is determined to go out and work, representing the “New Woman.” She appears to be working as a cleaning lady when she sees an street artist selling a painting. Remembering when her youthful talent for painting was discouraged, she decides that she could totally do that instead.

She paints on the street and tries to sell a painting to a Baron and Baroness (Victor Chan and Jacquelyn Ritz, though I saw Luke Monday as the Baron the second time). The Baroness is skeptical but the Baron is impressed enough to give her a recommendation to take painting classes with Marinetti. Tamara manages to do so despite the expense. Marinetti (George Abud) is a veteran of the Great War and now has little patience for whatever he doesn’t consider truth congruent with his experience. She paints a portrait and Marinetti is bored by it, not at all interested in her layering of shades of blue (which she incidentally remains fascinated by throughout the show). He talks about how painting is only colors on a canvas (that is the only thing the artist can control) and the representation is not the thing itself, but the painting must convey what the artist is trying to say. He instructs her to lighten up and go have a glass of wine at the “Dead Rat Café”/Café du Rat Mort.

At the café Tamara meets Suzy Solidor, who is working as the bartender. She also sees Rafaela for the first time. While Rafaela sings the uptempo cabaret number “Love is for Fools” to a raucous and appreciative crowd, Tamara looks on from the bar gobsmacked, and falls head over heels in artistic lust. (I spent half the song watching Amber Iman as Rafaela and half the song watching Tamara watching Rafaela, entertaining all around.) She then waxes rhapsodic about how she wants to experience Rafaela’s body with all of her senses... in order to paint her portrait (”Beauty/I Will Paint Her”). (Sure Tamara, whatever you say.)

Meanwhile Tadeusz has managed to get a job at a bank, monotonously exchanging currency for bank customers. The job is boring and he starts ruminating once again about what his wife exchanged (get it?) in order to free him. It’s Tadeusz’s big moment song-wise and Andrew Samonsky sings it with considerable emotion and skill (I didn’t realize his voice had that much range), but it’s a kind of dull song with not particularly inspired lyrics. Granted, it fits the character as we have seen him so far.

Tamara is finally showing her art at a show along with Marinetti’s other students. Suzy is hanging around as well serving drinks and offering other services, since she “knows a guy who knows a guy.” Marinetti is characteristically impatient with the series of landscapes and portraits until he sees her painting, which apparently is more in line with his vision of art. He insults the other students while singling out Lempicka (who as I recall is signing her paintings with this name at this point) for approval in a rather sexist way, and explains his vision (”Perfection”) while perched a the top of a rolling ladder with all of his students running around below him. It’s a great performance from George Abud and he is totally compelling as Marinetti, especially in this song.

Rafaela shows up at the show (she hangs around with Marinetti) and Lempicka is more or less like “It’s you! Model for me!” She makes a bet with Marinetti about finishing Rafaela’s portrait and Rafaela is intrigued by her self-assuredness. Eden Espinosa sells this part well.

Weeks later, Lempicka is painting a portrait of her daughter Kizette (Jordan Tyson), who now appears to be approximately tween-ish. Lempicka is clearly not all that enthused about the role of “mother” and while their relationship seems to be amicable, it doesn’t seem like Kizette has much of her mother’s attention except through art. When Rafaela unexpectedly shows up, Kizette is promptly sent off. Rafaela models for Lempicka and during this process they sing about the experience of being together with the other person in this oddly intimate way (”Stillness”). At some point they take a break to go to the Dead Rat Café, where Rafaela and Lempicka smoke opium together with lots of flirtatious and sensual implications before Rafaela sings “The Most Beautiful Bracelet.” Lempicka is entranced and a little high. She and Rafaela kiss, and then go back to Lempicka’s studio and sleep together. Lempicka watches Rafaela as she sleeps and sings “Woman Is.” It’s fierce and dramatic and Eden Espinosa sang the hell out of it, but the song itself (indeed the show itself) has more dramatic high notes than it needs.

Even so it is hard not to get carried along with the sweep of emotion. One moment I particularly liked was the final image before intermission, when Lempicka returns to bed with Rafaela and the sliding panels close, with the diagonal gap framing Eden Espinosa’s profile as the lights fade to black. (It was at this point where I said to myself, “I have to buy a ticket and see this again.”)

To start Act 2, Marinetti brings a stool on stage to lecture the audience and set the scene while two mimes (yes, mimes) dance behind him to provide farcical emphasis. As we flash forward through the late 1920s and into the 1930s aided by projections on the panels, the world is going through several upheavals (stock market crash, Depression, rise of the Nazis) but “Paris Will Always Be Paris.” There is a repeated wishful refrain along the lines of “We’ve made it through the Great War, now that’s done/There will never be another one” and it lands harder each time because of the very earnestness of each character singing it.

Lempicka has become very successful and popular and is selling many portraits of women (with a distinctly female gaze) to the wealthy and stylish crowd. She has her own career and her lover and her husband (who has his own lover) and is a representative of the “New Woman”. However there are obvious strains in her relationship with Tadeusz, and she is still trying to save the marriage because for reasons that are somewhat unclear to me, she still loves him very much.

Rafaela wants to go to Lempicka’s upcoming show at the 1937 Paris International Exhibition, but Lempicka doesn’t want her to because it’ll be awkward for multiple reasons. Rafaela is frustrated at constantly being hidden away, so Lempicka takes her to Suzy’s new underground lesbian bar Le Monocle. Suzy sings a song extolling women (”Women”) that is very well-performed and choreographed, though the song itself is not quite as strong. During this song, the bar’s clientele dance and flirt and drink and glide around elegantly; Lempicka and Rafaela affirm their love for each other, talk about a world where they could be together, and Lempicka gifts her a bracelet. Rafaela considers whether love and stability might be good for a change (”Stay”).

Lempicka’s family relationships are still difficult. Tadeusz wants to go back to Warsaw to help build an independent Poland while she wants to stay in Paris. Kizette is back from boarding school and is resentful of her mother’s attention to Rafaela. Kizette manipulates Rafaela into going to the exhibition (although Rafaela is not entirely unaware of what Kizette is doing).

At the art exhibition, the Baroness sees Lempicka’s paintings (one specifically mentioned is “Adam and Eve”) and declares that she sees what Lempicka is trying to do and that she in fact has achieved it. I believe it is also at this point that she warns Lempicka that things are changing and bad things can happen to outsiders. Earlier in the show it was mentioned that the Baron is Jewish, as is Lempicka in part; Lempicka’s relationship with Rafaela also puts her at risk. Rafaela shows up and encounters Tadeusz; they circle each other warily and sing a somewhat antagonistic duet about how they each “can see what she sees” in the other, because they are so much alike. (I take this to be irony.) Marinetti appears wearing a military uniform and makes a flippant comment about the similarities between the art of Communism (represented by the Soviet Union) and that of Fascism (represented by Nazi Germany) at the exhibition. He himself has joined the Italian Fascists, because the Italians have made Futurism the official art of the movement. It’s quite a shocking and disquieting moment in the show (even more so because I had no knowledge of the real Marinetti), yet everything he has said so far in the show is a consistent lead-up to this point.

Things start to fall apart very rapidly for Lempicka after this. Marinetti and his Fascist cohort violently raid Le Monocle in choreographed slow-motion destruction. Lempicka tries to get Rafaela to leave Europe (giving her a passport and papers) just as Lempicka plans to go with her family, but Rafaela is tired of being expected to follow behind Lempicka in her wake, and leaves her. Tadeusz freely admits he’s seeing another woman, and leaves for Warsaw alone. This all occurs in a dramatic trio. Lempicka attempts suicide and is basically ready to give up because she has lost everything she cared about, but the Baroness shows up and tells her to get back to work and paint a portrait before she leaves. Apparently the Baroness has a terminal illness and only has a couple of months to live (”End of Time”). She also asks that Lempicka take the Baron with her when she leaves, given their previous fondness for each other. It’s a big song for the Baroness and I enjoyed the actress and her singing, but the song seemed a bit strange since it sits where I would expect the eleven o’clock number to be. At this point in the show I would like to know what Lempicka is thinking and feeling after all of these events, and I don’t have that much emotional investment in the Baroness.

In any case, the Baron and Lempicka end up together in California (”Starting Over”) where she is thoroughly uninspired by the environment (there are a few amusing digs at LA) and no longer creates art. The Baron eventually dies, and as Lempicka ages she looks back and wonders what the point of it all was. She imagines a vision of Rafaela, who tells Lempicka she has to live not knowing what happened to her. Lempicka’s physical health seems to be declining, and Kizette (who is still present in her life) appears to support her. Nevertheless, she is still determined to dictate her own terms as much as possible and demands that after her death, Kizette should throw her ashes into an active volcano.

Eventually someone finds her paintings hidden away in storage in Paris, and once again her work is recognized and celebrated and sold for a lot of money. It is unclear if this is meant to be happening during her lifetime, but in a reprise of “Woman Is”, onstage Lempicka sees the myriad of women she has painted pass before her and has a realization, which seems to be that the point was in fact the representation of all of these women in their uniqueness and individuality and diversity, which was her vision of the world and the future, and is her legacy.

The meaning of the ending is a little murky, but there’s a good line in that scene about how it’s “a bitch to outlive one’s context”. The idea that her own greatness seemed so dependent on living in a particular time and place, and that fact that the same interwar mix of ideas and politics and culture that fueled her success also spawned the things that destroyed the world she lived in. It’s not addressed further, but it’s one of the many things to chew on afterward.

When I went to read articles on Lempicka (where apparently plenty of prominent people admired her for decades) the idea that her art was suddenly “discovered” seems a bit disingenuous even if it makes for a supposedly more satisfying ending. Maybe there’s an idea which could be made clearer about the cycles of time and history.

Staging

Staging was very fun to watch and it was probably one of the better uses of projections I’ve seen, where projections provide actual context and information and are not just literal representations of the setting. There is extensive use of the turntable, which was occasionally distracting because as the show went on, the noise from the turntable could be heard clearly in the background (it took a while for me to figure out what it was because it sounded like crumpling paper, amplified).

Character thoughts

Tamara de Lempicka: I can see why Marinetti’s vision of art would appeal to her; she goes through the show trying as best she can to control her own destiny, but also trying get the people around her to fit into her plans and that clearly didn’t work. I wish I’d gotten a better idea of how she reckons with that failure in Act 2 as mentioned above, which I think would make her arc clearer. As the character, I thought Eden Espinosa acted the part very well and carries the show well as the emotional center. Her singing was very good although she had to do a lot of high belting, which didn’t always sound as great. Though this was also an issue with the music - often those high notes seemed like overkill. Surely there ought to be other ways to show the characters’ huge, cathartic feelings in a way that allow for musical expressiveness and also don’t sound so similar between different characters, but I am not a songwriter.

Tadeusz Lempicki: Boring (not to mentioned old-fashioned and classist); while stability is a thing I personally value, it is really hard to understand why Lempicka is so devoted to him. Andrew Samonsky sings the part well, but Tadeusz is written as a something of a stick in the mud who doesn't understand the art his wife is doing, and even the song where he expresses his feelings about how she got him out of prison seems ineloquent in a way that is fitting but doesn’t do him a lot of favors. The song that seems to best fit with the guy in the portrait is the duet with Rafaela.

Marinetti is a fun, mad visionary and his vision of the future is seductive, even if full of alarming undercurrents. As a supporting character and semi-villain he drives a decent amount of the action, has his own arc, the catchiest song (”Perfection”) and steals the show for me. I think George Abud was excellent as Marinetti both times - I was completely absorbed whenever he was on the stage, his energy and singing were consistently great, and I fully believed his character.

Rafaela: Still a bit of a mystery even though she has three full songs on her own plus parts of duets, though two of the songs are in-universe performances even if they partly express her personal feelings. I think it is fitting that as currently portrayed in this show the woman who finally inspires Lempicka’s woman of the future is not a white woman. Amber Iman has a ton of presence; I remember seeing her back in the first tour of Hamilton and she seemed like a bit of an odd fit for the Peggy Schuyler half of the role. She played Rafaela in a relaxed way that felt modern to me, as if Rafaela could drop into the present day smoothly, in contrast to Lempicka feeling herself to be out of context in 1975 Los Angeles. At my second viewing, Amber Iman was having a great nigh; during "The Most Beautiful Bracelet" I had no idea where her vocal runs were going to go but they were controlled and ended up solidly exactly in the place where they needed to b, which was pretty exciting to listen to.

Suzy Solidor: very fun and a welcome contrast to the aristocratic properness of Lempicka, her husband, and the Baron & Baroness. Could easily be another scene-stealer depending on how the show goes.

Final thoughts:

There are shows that I’ve seen that were “pre-Broadway” that seemed more obviously Broadway-ready, but it’s been a while since I’ve been hooked by a show and that is always fun. I haven’t read anything that says what this is doing after La Jolla but I hope to be able to see it again somewhere.

#lempicka #lempicka musical

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nordleuchten · 4 years ago

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Who was Lafayette friends with throughout his life, and were there people he wasn’t so friendly with? Thanks :)

Hello Anon,

La Fayette was the sort of person who made friends easily. He was not a grumpy person, being on good terms with somebody was his default mood so to speak – but there were also more than enough people with whom he was not on the best terms. During the French Revolution they did not call him “the most hated Man in Europe” for no reason. After all that I have read it strikes me as if you either loved or hated La Fayette and that there was little middle ground. The point that I want to make; I had to draw the line somewhere. The list I am going to present you is by no means complete. There are many names that could (and probably should) be added. Without further ado, lets get started.

Starting in America, we have George Washington. I think there is not much more that needs to be said about their relationship. It is commonly known how close they were and how much their relationship meant for both of them. Beside Washington, there was Alexander Hamilton. He and La Fayette first met early on in the War for American Independence. Hamilton was fluent in French and close in age to La Fayette. Their friendship was quickly formed and grew stronger as time progressed. Back home in France, La Fayette wrote Hamilton with a special proposal. Hamilton should send his oldest boy, Phillip, over to Paris, there to be educated under La Fayette’s guidance, while La Fayette would send his boy, Georges Washington, over to America, there to receive an education with Hamilton as a guardian. This plan never came to fruition, but when Georges Washington had to flee France for America during the French Revolution, Hamilton and his family took him in and tried to help him as good as they could. La Fayette never forgot that. After Hamilton’s untimely death in 1804 he wrote to George Washington Parke Custis that:

“Hamilton was to me, my dear Sir, more than friend, he was a brother. We were both very young, when associated with our common father; our friendship, formed in days of peril and glory, suffered no diminution from time: with Tilghman and with Laurens, I was upon terms the most affectionate; but with Hamilton, my relations were brotherly.”

This quote not only gives insight in La Layette’s with Hamilton but also perfectly sums up his relationship with John Laurens and Tench Tilghmam: most affectionate.

On to some people who are sometimes forgotten - James McHenry and James Monroe. James McHenry first met La Fayette when they both were members in George Washington staff. McHenry later transferred to La Fayette’s staff (March of 1781) and was one of his most trusted aide-de-camps. He often was chosen as La Fayette’s “liaison-officer”. I have three excerpts from letters by La Fayette, detailing his relationship to McHenry. The first one was written by La Fayette to McHenry on February 15, 1781, a few months before McHenry joined his staff:

My tender friendship and affectionate Regard for You, will Not lengthen this letter with Assurances from My Heart While the Heart itself must Be known to You. I intend to write You Again in a few days and with Every Sentiment of Attachement and Esteem Have the Honor to be Yours Lafayette

The second letter was addressed to General Greene on August 12, 1781, concerning a potential transfer McHenry’s in Greene’s staff.

McHenry is So well Acquainted with My Sentiments for Him that He knows My attachement is independant of whatever Steps He Might take on the occasion. He knows I am not of a temper that finds faults with the Measures of My friends, and that I will ever feel an obligation to the Man who obliges General Greene.

The last letter was written to McHenry on December 26, 1783. McHenry at this point had already retired from the army.

As an ardent lover of America I am glad to Hear of the influence You are said to Have in Congress. As Your most affectionate friend I shall Be glad whenever You Have an opportunity to display Your abilities. If Congress do not send me Any Commands, I shall Most Certainly embark in the spring. If they Have Commands for me, I would Be thrice Happy to Receive You along with them, and to Make with you french and European travels. You ought to Make them charge you with some political commission to Courts in Europe, and I would like going as a volonteer with you. [Manuscript torn; part a line missing] Your family and our friends. Most affectionately I am for [manuscript torn; several words missing]. Lafayette

I showed you this many letters for several reason. First, McHenry deserves more attention if you ask me. Second, they show not only their emotional relationship but also their professional relationship and illustrate how convinced La Fayette was by McHenry’s merits - and lastly, I like them all and could not decide. :-) Years later, during La Fayette’s imprisonment, McHenry was among the people who tried to help him gain his freedom.

On to James Monroe. Monroe was, just like Hamilton, close in age to La Fayette (actually, La Fayette was older then Monroe by several months) and spoke French. They both moved in the same social circle during the Revolution and had some common friends. It was also Monroe, who, with the backing of Congress, invited La Fayette to visit America once more in 1824/1825. La Fayette received the rights to some land during this visited and later gifted some of this land to Monroe so that Monroe could start paying off his mounting debts. Here is what La Fayette wrote to Monroe on December 19, 1784:

My dear Sir I Have Received your letter to mr jefferson, and shall very Carefully deliver it. Our old friend Gibbs will give you a Bundle of papers for McHenry which I Beg you will keep for Him untill He Comes to Trenton. To morrow morning, My dear Sir, I set out for Europe, and Before I go, it is pleasing for me once more to assure you of the value I Have By Your friendship, and of the affection and regard I Have the Honor to Be With My dear Sir Yours Lafayette

I may or may not have chosen this letter because McHenry also makes an appearance - but Thomas Jefferson is also mentioned, so the selection is valid, because Thomas Jefferson is the next one on our list. Jefferson’s and La Fayette’s friendship blossomed especially during Jefferson stay in Paris as ambassador to the French. La Fayette even consulted with Jefferson when writing the Déclaration des droits de l'homme et du citoyen de 1789. Later, when they met again during La Fayette’s last visit to the United States in 1824/25, they embraced each other and cried tear of joy over the fact of being able to see each other again.

With that, I would like to leave America behind and move on to England. More people could be added though. We see in La Fayette’s letter to General Greene for example, how close these two were. La Fayette had a very friendly relationship with most generals, officers and aide-de-camps in the army.

In England, we see something very interesting. Many of his friends there were actually former opponents of his during the War of Independence - when the House of Commons discussed whether the British Government should try to take actions or not, some of La Fayette’s most vocal allies were veterans of the War of Independence. Another noteworthy friend of his was the Whig politician Charles James Fox. Who really stands out among La Fayette’s English friends tough, is a young women. Her name was Francis “Fanny” Wright. I have planed to write on her separately at some near point in the future and because this post is already way too long we keep things brief. Fanny was a feminist, abolitionist and social reformer. I wager that some of her ideas and proposals would even today be considered somewhat controversial. But she and La Fayette grew quite close and she even accompanied him on his tour in America in 1824/25 (although not officially). Their friendship illustrates two things about La Fayette. He had many female friends – not just female friends, but strong and intelligent and outspoken female friends – and he was not at all faced by that. He also had friends that were considered “bad company” – and again, he was not really put off by that. With that being said, let us continue to France.

France was his native country and he had many friends there; starting with his family and his in-laws. With only a few exceptions La Fayette had close and loving relationships with his family members. There is this one lovely quote from a letter he wrote his wife Adrienne on October 29, 1777 that I simply had to quote:

“(...) for my daughter will be always, I trust, my most intimate friend; I will only be a father in affection, and parental love shall unite in my heart with friendship.”

You have to keep in mind that La Fayette was a nobleman from the 18th century. Such affection for your children, especially daughters, was common not as one would like to think. But of course he had also friends outside his family.

First in my mind there is the La Tour-Maubourg family. Three brothers with all three of whom La Fayette was close. Marie-Victor-Nicolas de Faÿ, marquis de La Tour-Maubourg was a General during the Napoleonic Wars and saw a lot of action. For a short time he was imprisoned with La Fayette but then quickly released. I would say that La Fayette was probably the least close with him. Next up is Juste-Charles de Faÿ de la Tour-Maubourg who was also captured by the Austrians but just as quickly released as his brother. He later married La Fayette’s oldest daughter Anastasie. The current King of Belgium is their descendant. The last brother was Charles César de Fay de La Tour-Maubourg and again, as if to continue a family tradition – he was captured together with La Fayette but unlike his two brothers, he was only released in 1787. I would say that La Fayette was the closest with him. After the death of his wife Adrienne, La Fayette wrote him a very, very long letter, basically laying all his grief and pain and anguish bare. Another dear friend was Bureau de Pussy, again one of La Fayette’s fellow prisoners (being in prison or fighting in a war together appear to be La Fayette’s go-to bounding-activities).

Soooo ... after we have scraped the surface of the category “friends” we can move on to the category “not-so-friendly”. Great parts of La Fayette’s live were spend on the public stage ... and as you all can very well imagine, he was bound to make some enemies there. Beside the people with whom he had a personal misunderstanding, there were the ones he enraged with his political opinions. He was a well known supporter of the American Revolution and therefor not too dear to many people on England and to American Loyalists. Things became really interesting though, when the French Revolution gained speed. La Fayette was a centrist, he was searching for a middle path. That actually worked quite well for some time but as soon as more radical factions began to gain influence a middle ground became harder and harder to pursue. He Royalists called him a traitor to the monarchy and a revolutionary while the Revolutionaries called him a traitor to the Republic and a Royalist – he really could not win. While he was not well liked among the leading Revolutionaries (Robespierre, Saint-Just, you name them), few disliked him as much as Doctor Jean-Paul Marat did. I am currently reading Marat’s L’amie de peuple and there a literally complete issues of the paper dedicated solely to La Fayette and all his alleged wrongdoings.

Things were not necessarily better on the side of the Royalists. When La Fayette entered the palace of Versailles after the event that came to be known as the Women's March on Versailles, he had to pass through a crowed of courtiers in order to reach the King and confer with him. Suddenly, a voice rose from the anonymity of the crowed – “Here comes Cromwell”, a courtier shouted. That is how many people at the court saw La Fayette at this time – as a French Cromwell. The Queen Marie Antoinette was on a later occasion reassured that she did not have to worry, La Fayette would protect her and the King. To that the Queen replied: “Lafayette is here to defend us, but who is to defend us against Lafayette.”

La Fayette’s troubled relationship with the Monarchs of France continued after the Revolution. He and Napoléon hat their ups and downs in their relationship – but mostly downs as time progressed. His relationship with Louis XVIII and especially with Charles X also was strained to put it mildly.

As I have said repeatedly, this is just a brief overview of La Fayette’s different relationships. I nevertheless hope that I could help you out with your question.

I hope you have/had a wonderful day!

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somethingusefulfromflorida · 3 years ago

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Losing candidates of the last 60 years

1960: Richard Nixon, Vice President (1953 - 1961), unsuccessfully ran for governor of California in 1962 after which he threw a piss baby shit fit press conference where he vowed to retire from politics, but rescinded that vow to run for president again in 1968, this time successfully because the Democratic vote was split between liberal northerner Hubert Humphrey and conservative southerner George Wallace (Nixon won with 43.4% of the vote, a record low not broken until Bill Clinton with 43.0% in 1992)

1964: Barry Goldwater, Senator from Arizona (1953 - 1965, 1969 - 1987), segregationist, staunch "states rights" activist, mentor to Ronald Reagan, father of modern conservatism, retired in the 80s, replaced by the more moderate John McCain

1968: Hubert Humphrey, Vice President (1965 - 1969), former senator from Minnesota (49 - 64) father of modern liberalism, would be considered a progressive by today's standards, pro-civil rights, later re-elected to the senate (71 - 78, died in office).

1968b: George Wallace, governor of Alabama (63 - 67), staunch segregationist, made Barry Goldwater look like MLK, famously stood on the school house door to try and stop integration, didn't let black people vote, nearly assassinated in 1972, paralyzed, continued serving as governor (71 - 79, 83 - 87), renounced racism later in life, claimed he was never truly racist, just pretended to be because he supported "states rights" (bullshit). Most recent third-party candidate to win a state.

1972: George McGovern, senator from South Dakota (63 - 81), lost every state but Massachusetts and DC, in part because President Nixon cheated (Watergate scandal, Nixon hired goons to wiretap DNC and steal intel from their HQ, forged a letter to discredit strong candidate Edmund Muskie to he would drop out and give the nomination to weak McGovern, tried to plant McGovern's campaign literature in Wallace's assassins apartment so conservative southerners would associate the attack with the Democratic Party and vote for Nixon instead)

1976: Gerald Ford, President (74 - 77), Republican House leader (65 - 73), became VP in 73 after Spiro Agnew resigned due to a bribery scandal. Democrats controlled Congress, so Nixon nominated Ford because he was a popular bipartisan mediator who the Democrats wouldn't object to, became president when Nixon himself resigned due to Watergate (Ford is the only president who was never elected to the presidency of vice presidency), started out super popular but tanked his credibility when he pardoned Nixon for his crimes

1980: Jimmy Carter, President (77 - 81), governor of Georgia (71 - 75), elected as a Washington outsider, humble peanut farmer, boring, malaise, fumbled Iran thrice (the revolution, recession, and hostage crisis), lost re-election to actor turned governor Ronald Reagan (segregationist Goldwater's protege; started his career giving anti-union speeches in the 60s despite being the president of the Screen Actor's Guild, a major union), had a much more successfully post-presidency than presidency, Habitat for Humanity, philanthropy

1984: Walter Mondale, Vice President (77 - 81), Senator from Minnesota (64 - 76), protege and successor to Hubert Humphrey, decent man, very boring, lost every state but Minnesota and DC, would later become ambassador to Japan under Clinton (93 - 96)

1988: Michael Dukakis, governor of Massachusetts (75 - 79, 83 - 91), army specialist (55 - 57), rode in a tank wearing a bullet proof vest and doofy headphones, looked like an idiot, actually polled ahead of VP Bush for a while, forgettable

1992: George HW Bush, President (89 - 94), VP (81 - 89), relatively moderate before becoming Reagan's VP (referred to trickle down as "voodoo economics"), said "read my lips, no new taxes," then raised taxes, oversaw Gulf War, sent the troops in, Iraq retreated without a fight, war was over in a couple days. Didn't invade Iraq, didn't topple Saddam; his son claims this is why he lost re-election, so he invaded Iraq and toppled Saddam in 2003, to finish what his daddy started. Faced opposition from both Democrats under Clinton and Independents under Perot; Perot didn't win a single state, but took 19% of the vote, the strongest third-party campaign all century

1992b: Ross Perot, businessman, independent, very strong candidate, qualified for debates with the major party candidates, closest thing to a 3-way race we've had since Teddy Roosevelt in 1912 (Wallace won some states in 68, but only had regional appeal; he was only on the ballot in the South, only conservatives liked him, whereas Perot was a nationwide spoiler)

1996: Bob Dole, senator from Kansas (69 - 96) senate majority leader (85 - 87, 95 - 96), fought in WW2, has a bum arm, the senate's version of Newt Gingrich, helped defeat Clinton's healthcare plan (he's part of the reason we can't have nice things). He was VP candidate under Ford in 76; Ford's VP Rockefeller was too liberal (yes, liberal Republicans used to exist, just as conservative Democrats exist), so Ford replaced him with the conservative Dole to appeal to Nixon and Reagan voters (Reagan almost unseated Ford in 76 for the nomination)

1996b: Ross Perot again, Reform Party, didn't get nearly as much support this time around (only 8.4%)

2000: Al Gore, Vice President (93 - 01), senator from Tennessee (85 - 93), very boring, but competent, actually won the election but Bush's brother was governor of Florida and illegally stopped the recount, delaying it until it was too late to restart it (subsequent investigation shows Gore would have won the recount and therefore the presidency), used his post-VP career to be a climate change advocate

2004: John Kerry, senator for Massachusetts (1985 - 2013), unremarkable but competent, lost because Bush started 2 wars and the country didn't want to change horses midstream, later became Secretary of State under Obama (13 - 17), and climate envoy under Biden (a position Biden made up to try and appeal to green advocates, but it doesn't really mean anything because he opposes the green new deal)

2008: John McCain, senator from Arizona (1987 - 2018, died in office), succeeded Goldwater but not nearly as conservative (at least, not a segregationist; he defended Obama as "a good man" when a Karen called him an Arab, got booed for it), Vietnam veteran, war monger (wanted to bomb Iran after Bush bombed Iraq and Afghanistan), actually saved healthcare by voting against Trump and McConnell's Obamacare repeal (he didn't support Obamacare, he just didn't want millions of Americans to lose their insurance; the Republicans didn't have a replacement plan, they were solely dedicated to getting rid of Obama's)

2012: Mitt Romney, governor of Massachusetts (03 - 07), relative moderate (Massachusetts is the bluest state in the country), super Mormon, hates poor people, kind of racist in a grandfatherly way ("oh, peepaw doesn't hate black people, he just grew up in a different era"), once wore brown face to try and appear tan to Hispanic voters, later became senator from Utah (2019 - present), first senator to ever vote to convict a president of their own party in impeachment (twice!)

2016: Hillary Clinton, Secretary of State (09 - 13), senator from New York (01 - 09), First Lady (93 - 01), boring gramma, disingenuous, moderate but pretends to be progressive, wasn't responsible for Benghazi but blamed for it anyway, out of touch, thinks she's the hottest shit since sliced bread, coasted to second place because she thought she didn't have to try, thought she deserved to be President, actually won the popular vote, but lost the electoral college because of low voter turnout, high third-party media coverage, and a major rightward swing in the Rust Belt

2020: Donald Trump, president (17 - 21), no prior experience, dumbest person to ever hold the office (makes George W Bush look like. Rhode's Scholar), diet Fascist: all the ideology, none of the appeal (fascists are usually good speakers, but Trump only had a base of about 35 - 40% of the country, which he couldn't grow, so instead he tried to shrink the opposition by attacking voting rights and calling the election fraudulent), super racist, super sexist, petty, vindictive, cruel, childish, spent the first two years just undoing everything Obama did for no other reason than he just hated the man (there are legitimate reasons to hate Obama, but Trump chose racism and jealousy over valid criticism), first president to be impeached twice, first president to have members of his own party vote to convict him, had a cult-like following among Republicans, close to zero support from everyone else

2024: TBD

#elections #history #American history #us history #long post

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rjhpandapaws · 4 years ago

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When He Speaks

Prologue 2: Someone Else's Second Chance

Nines knew of the revolution distantly. The same way someone might know of a historic event that happened in a country they weren’t from. He understood the revolution was what had given him the chance to be something other than a Deviant Hunter like his predecessor. Though the need to pursue and destroy was still settled deep in his code. Relief came in the fact that it was no longer what drove his existence. What he did now, who he would become, those were up to him. Which would have been great if he knew what he was going to do. He was woken up, told that he was free, and then turned loose on the world. He remained at Jericho in some kind of limbo. There were plenty of resources to help androids and humans alike get back on their feet in the wake of the revolution, but nothing to help him find his direction. Did he do something to satisfy his base code? What would that even be? Join the military? Or did he try something else? Go a different route from his code, and do what exactly? He felt unsteady and lost and he disliked it. It was disorienting. He was intended to be the greatest android ever made by CyberLife and he couldn’t even figure out what he wanted to do with his life. If he wanted to do anything with it at all. He was only supposed to be activated if his predecessor had failed. To correct its -his, they were people now- mistakes. Though he had ultimately failed, there was nothing Nines had the power to do about it. He had no purpose.

He spent most of his days roaming the streets of Detroit in search of something that might interest him. It usually turned into him lingering outside the police station, Markus had suggested working there. It seemed like it would satisfy the itch in his code well enough and if he was lucky, as he tended not to be, he might find something else that he enjoyed. Markus had also mentioned making friends, but Nines had no interest in that. Social interactions were exhausting. He simply wanted the hollow feeling in the back of his mind to go away. He was tired of existing without a purpose. It took him three and a half months to cave and reach out to Captain Fowler. They went over a lot of the hiring process on the phone. They decided Nines would go through the academy, with no database access, and then take the detective’s exam. The passing mark was higher for androids since they came predisposed with certain knowledge. He would be hired on if he passed and then assigned a partner. When the call had ended he felt a little better. He had something to work toward, not a purpose, but a goal of sorts and that was good enough for now. He had to wait for the next enrollment period since he had just missed the deadline for this one. Going through the academy was mentally taxing. Not so much because it was difficult, but rather because humans were immensely exhausting. He didn’t like them much. Several of his classmates were staunchly against the idea of androids being allowed into law enforcement and did their best to make sure Nines was aware of that. If not through their words then through there actions. He ignored them for the most part, but he wasn’t above showing off when they grated on his nerves too much. Petty, Markus had called it. Nines didn’t care, it made him feel satisfied. There were many things he could do that humans just couldn’t, he had no reason to be humble about that. He was simply built better, there was nothing he could do about it.

Androids really weren’t all that much better than humans in that regard. Many of his acquaintances at Jericho began to keep their distance or cut him off entirely when they found out he planned to join law enforcement. It made him seem too much like Connor had been before the revolution. Too much like a Deviant Hunter. He supposed his distance and cool disposition didn’t help with that, but it was out of his control. He wasn’t going to pretend for the sake of someone else’s comfort. He didn’t need friends, androids were not designed to be social. His twelve weeks in the academy passed without too much of an incident outside of the usual snide remarks. He was relatively sure he had passed the academy exam with flying colors, but he still had to wait two weeks to be approved for his detective’s exam. He was looking forward to it. He wouldn’t have described it as excited, but he was glad to finally be doing something with his time. As a detective he would be able to satisfy the itch in his base code, and with that done he could start learning what his interests were. Assuming he had any that was. He would finally be able to find out who he was. Find out what made Nines. He was given this opportunity because of the revolution, and it felt a bit like he was riding the high of someone else’s second chance. The sooner he found who he was the sooner that hollow guilt would go away, or so he hoped. He would take this opportunity to become his own person, whoever that happened to be, and then go from there. The first step to finding Nines, to making this second chance his, was becoming a detective.

The detective’s exam was a little more difficult than the academy exam, but he was confident that he had hit his mark. He would know for three days, then he could interview officially with the DPD and go from there. He wondered what the station was like. He knew Connor worked there still, he and his Lieutenant made up the Android Crimes Unit, but he didn’t know much more than that. Humans he found, did not like it when you came into an interaction with more knowledge about them than they had about you. So he refrained from doing any research on his potential coworkers to prevent any potential discomfort. Three days later it was confirmed that he had passed his detective’s exam. He sent the results to Captain Fowler and they scheduled his interview for the following Friday. Nines had nothing to do until then. He was back in limbo for a little over a week. He thought about the things he might do once he was able. His first goal was to find a place of his own. Jericho was nice enough, but he wanted a space to call his own. So an apartment was first on his list. Once that was done he could worry about the rest. The week passed slowly. Nines was certain he had seen every inch of Detroit at this point, but wandering around was better than lingering at Jericho. His model as well as his career choice tended to make the other androids uncomfortable, so most days he made himself scarce. He still wore his uniform, which tended to unsettle the humans he came across, but that wasn’t his problem. He didn’t have money for clothes at the moment so there was nothing to be done about it.

The interview as it turned out was more of a formality than anything else. It was used as a way to get to know him, there wasn’t much to learn. He was an android that was activated after the revolution, and his base code would allow him to be a better detective than most. Captain Fowler showed him around the station and told him he would start and be assigned a partner on Monday. He had three days to adjust. He spent all three days learning his way around the station and introducing himself when prompted. He didn’t have plans to make friends so he wasn’t anything more than professional. Connor made an effort and showed him some of what would be expected of him in the field. He appreciated it, Connor was overly friendly, but it was pleasant compared to the wariness that other androids displayed toward him. Perhaps in Connor he might find a confidant. Monday found him in Captain Fowlers office waiting for his partner, Gavin. He was late, which annoyed Nines some, but humans in his experience were only so reliable. When Gavin finally chose to grace them with his presence, his ocean green eyes landed on Nines and filled with rage. HIs body language became that of someone who wanted to fight. Gavin didn’t like him and that was fine. If Detective Reed wanted a fight he could have one. Nines didn’t like humans much either.

#When He Speaks #Listen Close #Listen Close AU #dbh reed900 #nonverbal Gavin #selectively nonverbal Gavin #dbh gavin #dbh nines #nines goes by nines #dbh fic #dbh

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years ago

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Journey to the Past - Prologue

Joe!Dimitri x Anastasia!Reader

Summary: The royal family is overthrown in a violent revolution. However, rumor grows that one daughter survived. Could the last of the line be found? Will a con man and a princess put a twist on what it means to live a fairy tale?

Word Count: 1.4k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @the-moving-finger-writes, @assembledherethevolunteers, @rose-writes-prose, @queenlover05, @26-7-49, @drowsebaby, @im-an-adult-ish, @queen-paladin, @rogerina-owns-me, @mirkwoodshewolf, @whitequeen-ofwillowgreen If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Here we go the Anastasia story! I’m drawing from both the movie and the musical, and it’s still tied to the other three Fairy Tale stories, and you’ll find out how more specifically later on. Hope y’all enjoy :)

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of violence.

Moodboard

Prologue here we go!!!

The screams were terrifying. But the silence afterward haunted him forever.

The family had no idea the resistance knew of their hideaway in Ice Hollow. The frigid, northern tip of the kingdom was not where many would assume the royals had a vacation home. But it was actually reserved for times like this, when their safety was in question. The house there was a secret known only to the royals themselves and those closest to them. But the resistance had that information directly from the source.

Pasha stood outside the window, the medallion around his neck, glowing green and smoky with excitement. He was so close...so close now to my revenge, Drago thrummed against Pasha’s chest. Pasha looked down harshly, tucking the medallion under his shirt. They could not risk the family spotting them because Drago was beside himself.

Inside, Pasha saw the family. Alexandra sat rocking the young boy, Prince Alexei. The four daughters were spread throughout the room. Olga, the eldest, sat close to her mother and was knitting. Tatiana, the next child, was tinkering on the piano. Maria, the third daughter, was doing some embroidery. Anastasia, the youngest daughter, was curled up on the couch by the fire, reading. The King sat beside her, looking into the flames and stroking her hair absentmindedly.

The unrest of the country had aged King Nicholas. Lines across his forehead showed how often it was creased. Gray hair dusted his head and beard, which he smoothed with his free hand. His eyes had a far-off look about them. Little did he know, they would soon be even further off. Staring at nothing. Empty.

Pasha turned when he heard his comrades walk back over to him. There were ten men, all sent here for the same purpose, with Pasha in command. They regrouped a few yards away from the house so they could report what they saw.

“The house is unguarded, sir,” said the second in command. “At least it is now.”

He held up a bloody bayonet and snickered.

“The fools really thought two sentries were enough?”

“Good work,” Pasha praised. “How many servants are present?”

“Just three,” another answered. “Two women and a boy in the kitchen. Should we have taken them out?”

Pasha shook his head. “No, those people are not our enemies. We’ll enter down in the kitchen, let them run, and then take care of business with the family.”

They nodded. Pasha held each of their gazes a moment, searching for even a hint of hesitation. He found none. Each of them knew their role, and ones who had a specific family member assigned to them knew what to do. It was time to put on their masks and move in.

Guns raised, they circled around to the servant’s entrance. The door was unlocked and it led right into the kitchen. Pasha led the way, and when the cooks saw him and his men, they gasped, but he held a finger to his lips. A redheaded boy that was maybe ten years old was pushed behind one of the women’s skirts.

“You have five minutes,” Pasha whispered. “To run. If we find you here later, we will be out of mercy.”

They nodded. Although, Pasha saw a flash of refusal in the boy’s face. Without another word, the woman in front of him took his hand, and they all departed out the door and into the snow, taking only their coats and scarves. Pasha knew they would not dare alert the family.

The men crept up the stairs. The one behind Pasha stumbled, causing a loud thump. They all came to a halt as Pasha shot him a warning glare. He was certain the family would think nothing of this, but they couldn’t be too careful. If one thing went wrong…

They pressed on. The parlor was just off to the right when you came up the stairs. Pasha and his men slowly approached. The medallion throbbed again. The coming bloodshed pleased the spirit inside it immensely. Drago’s eagerness spread to his host.

They stopped outside the parlor door. Pasha could hear the fire crackling. The king’s voice could be heard for a moment. Then some footsteps.

Now, Pasha! Drago urged.

Pasha raised his foot and kicked the door in. The family gave a start as the men entered, surrounding them with muzzles trained. Alexandra tried to cover her boy with her body. The older girls dove toward the couch. The king stood in the center of the room, refusing to lower his proud head.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“King Nicholas,” Pasha began. “We are here to answer a warrant.”

The blood drained from Nicholas’s face.

“We the members of the resistance sentence King Nicholas Lee, and all his house to death,” Pasha continued. “By firing squad.”

“Please,” the king said levelly. “Let my family go, I’ll abdicate, you can take me, just don’t hurt them.”

“It’s too late for negotiations,” Pasha said. “Now, everyone, on your feet!”

The others shouted at the girls and the wife and son to obey. Trembling, they did. Pasha noticed however, the look of defiance on the youngest daughter’s face. The family was lined up in the center of the room. Alexandra and Olga were weeping. Tatiana and Maria were holding each other’s hands. Alexei leaned against his mother’s leg. The king stood next to Anastasia, the pair of them holding their heads high.

Pasha stood before Nicholas. Each assigned gunman stood directly in front of their designated family member. The others stood back, rifles aimed at Nicholas.

“Your Majesty, Drago sends his regards,” Pasha said, and he felt his chest burn with the satisfaction from the medallion.

And with that, he pulled the trigger.

However, the king was the only family member to immediately drop to the ground. Pasha looked down the line and saw that chaos had broken out. Anastasia was grappling with the man who was supposed to shoot her. The other girls had seen her resistance and followed suit, though Olga and Tatiana were bleeding from their arms. Maria from her leg. Alexandra was sinking slowly to the floor, clutching her stomach. Alexei lay still beside her.

The medallion raged along with Pasha. He stepped over and slammed the butt of his rifle into the back of Anastasia’s head. A shot went off from behind him as she went to the ground, and he saw blood begin to pool at her shoulder. The whole room was suddenly a mess of screams and shots. Bayonets and daggers were drawn shortly after, so the gunmen would not shoot their own group. Pasha took Maria by the hair and brought his bayonet right across her throat. The other girls were finally subdued by the others, and lay still on the floor, not even breathing. Alexandra was struggling to draw breath and trying to shrink away from the onslaught. Pasha retrieved his pistol and fired it directly between her eyes. She slumped over, still.

He rounded on his men.

“You sloppy idiots!” he barked. “You had one job, and you were nearly stopped by children?!”

“Sir,” one of the men said, stopping a tirade before it started. “This girl’s still alive.”

He was kneeling beside Anastasia. He rolled her over and she moaned.

Pasha huffed irritably, marched over, and drove his bayonet into her side. She cried out and then finally, lay still. The last of the Lee family was gone. It was eerily quiet. As if the whole world had stopped breathing. Pasha felt suffocated by the heavy silence.

“Let’s get out of here,” he spat. “Before you all screw up anything else.”

They all jogged out of the parlor, and then out the front door. Two men grabbed the drums of gasoline that were waiting outside and poured it at the edge of the house. Then Pasha lit a match and dropped it. It ignited the house in flames - the final disposal of evidence. Not that anyone would even know where to look for the royals, but just in case. Then, they all piled into a waiting truck and drove out into the forest.

None of them noticed the redheaded boy sneaking back to the house, breaking a window, and climbing in.

Pasha was momentarily consumed with Drago’s thoughts and feelings. It was done. The country was his now. Then, the host felt a bit sick.

The screams were terrifying. But the silence afterward haunted him forever.

#joe mazzello #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello x you #John Deacon #John deacon imagine #john deacon x reader #john deacon x you #BoRhap #BoRhap cast #borhap cast x reader #borhap cast imagine #borhap cast x you #borhap boys #borhap boys x reader #borhap boys imagine #borhap boys x you #journey to the past series

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lightinalexandria · 3 years ago

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Dictatorship vs Theocracy: The Lesser of Two Evils?

August 11th, 2021 اغسطس ١١

If you were reading this post in Arabic from me as an Egyptian journalist, or even in English, and the police found it...in the best case scenario I'm brought down to the station, "scared straight" and let off with a promise never to criticize the govt again. But I’ve heard of lots of scenarios anecdotally, as recently as 2 years ago, where activists just disappear. Want to know what life would have looked like in a dystopian alternate universe 30 years after Trump succeeded in his coup and never left? That said, the way the situation is viewed by politically moderate Egyptians and Americans -if such a thing still exists- is so very different, and that’s the real point of this post.

After the Egyptian revolution in 2011, when Mubarak left, from what I’ve read and heard, there were 3 main paths forward. The most exciting was Egyptian civil society fielding an organized enough field of candidates to become viable as a governing power. The second was the Muslim Brotherhood candidates, an ultra-religious Salafism-influenced theocratic organization. The third was an interim military govt. That thin strand of spiderweb hope for civil society fell apart, and someone who is much more versed in Egyptian history and culture than me no doubt has an explanation. The first real election after the revolution saw Morsi from the Muslim Brotherhood elected, and a scant year after the military coup that brought Sisi to power, where he remains almost 10 years later.

Okay, you could have read that from a history article. Here are stories from friends on the ground, though; I know at least 2 Egyptians in my circle that would have FOR sure voted for Biden over Trump, but have come to look positively at Sisi. One of them was active in student protests AGAINST Sisi during the revolution; he still has the scars where one of Sisi’s military police shot him in the face during a demonstration. That said, he’s terrified of what a theocratic govt. under the Muslim Brotherhood might look like. As a queer Egyptian, it’s already a risk to have liaisons with men, and you can still be arrested, but that’s way ahead of the Salafi death penalty. He also carries so much trauma from the year after the revolution without any functioning govt -standing outside his house during looting with a sword because civilians don’t have guns and all the police ran away- that to have a strong govt feels like a relief. Of course, of course he hates the lack of free press, but puts it way higher up Maslow’s hierarchy of Societal Needs than most of us Americans would.

The other Egyptian in my circle who supports Sisi sees the Muslim Brotherhood as an existential threat to Egypt because their primary loyalty is to a pan-African Islamic caliphate and not the state of Egypt. She points to a very controversial Ethipoian dam project at the mouth of the Nile that was green lighted during Morsi’s short reign as Muslim Brotherhood leader of Egypt. Ethiopia is building it, and Egyptians are furious because the Nile flows through Egypt after Ethiopia. She also -and I see strong echoes of my Chinese friends thinking- points to Sisi’s anti-poverty programs as strong and necessary authoritarian measures. Sisi has starting razing unplanned buildings and slums, including in my city of Alexandria, and forcing residents to move to new apt. buildings in different parts of the city. They cannot sell the new apartments for 20 years. Of course many residents are delighted at the new digs; TV this summer is oozing with govt propaganda videos showing sad Egyptians with sad music in slums and happy Egyptians with happy music in new flats. And…residents don’t have a choice to move. In Alexandria that land under the slums has been sold to a Saudi conglomerate to develop a water park.

For me it’s helpful to think of gov’t philosophy in different countries as reflecting family structures; in Egypt, the man is the undisputed head of the household, legally and socially. We cringe at paternalism of Europeans towards their colonies now, and I don’t have the full perspective to say how similar or different it is from intra-national paternalism like this, but there’s definitely a relation.

A final note, about the economy under Sisi. If you suspected a military dictator might not prioritize the lower and middle classes, you’d be right. (You could argue the housing program I mention above does mean he’s prioritizing them, but maybe wait to reserve judgement). Simply put, the army has taken over the economy. I’d say it follows the playbook of nationalization that other socialist or communist govt has followed, but in so many sectors, it seems like the army is just undercutting local businesses. All the army brass is involved in running disparate businesses; telecom, mango export, apartment construction. The army companies don’t pay taxes as a national subsidiary like other Egyptian private companies, so they can undercut most prices. I’m surprised it hasn’t produced a seething mass of disgruntled Egyptian businesspeople ready to fund another revolution, which makes me think there must be some sweetheart deals in the back room.

And what has Sisi done about the pollution, overcrowding and generally lower living standards in a city like Cairo? Invested in improving local infrastructure, pollution mitigation technology/funding? Nope. He’s building new cities for upper-middle and upper class Egyptians to move to. Not neighborhoods. Cities, in the desert, like a pharaoh of old. Look up “New Cairo” or “New Alamein.” I’ve been there, it’s spooky, like a fancy mall that goes on forever. Big middle finger to the broke, un-educated masses staying behind. I guess you could make an argument for the benefits of lessening over-crowding. Maybe Sisi has a grand plan to swoop in once the old cities empty out a bit and work some magic. But I don’t think so.

The Muslim Brotherhood might have done more to improve at least the economic conditions of Egypt’s more vulnerable citizens. I don’t think they would have built the separate cities, or involved the army as a business octopus in every lucrative industry. But then, the very little social freedom Egyptian women enjoy would be cut back another 40 years, maybe to full body niqabs and mandatory accompaniment by a male family member. Public displays of affection of any kind, even between opposite sex couples, banned in any sort of public space. I want to be clear that the Muslim Brotherhood represents one far end of the Islamic spectrum in the same way that ultra-orthodox Zionist Judaism represents one far end of the Jewish spectrum, one that has little to no relation to the way I understand and practice Judaism. I’ve had many discussions with friends here -who are simulateously progressive feminists and devout Muslims- on the 5 pillars of Islam, the way they support a reflective and fulfilled life, and the way more extreme interpretations twist the original intention.

To bring it back around, Egypt is now a military dictatorship, and has both repressed dissent and consolidated economic power so effectively I don’t see that changing anytime soon. The world is such a very complicated and Machiavellian place. From the American perspective with a free press, democratic-ish elections, social freedom, a stable govt and a booming economy, of course Sisi’s dictatorship seems irredeemably, one sidedly terrible. But what if you had to choose just 2 or 3 of those 5 things? Of course us dreamers and activists want to push for all of them, and we should, but what if the only organized factions capable of governing brought only some of those benefits to the table. What would you choose?

#egyptianpolitics #egypt news #sisidictator

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mythgirlimagines · 4 years ago

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Seeing as how certain Anons loved the Condemnation of the Guilty talentswaps, I thought I’d try again! Let’s give a warm welcome to Myth, the Former Ultimate Barista!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

For all of her life, Myth has been living in a coffee shop that doubles as her home, along with her parents and two older sisters. The coffee shop (known as Latte Love) happened to start out as a collaboration between the Ultimate Pastry Chef (Myth’s father) and the Ultimate Mixologist (Myth’s mother). Coincidently, Myth’s two older sisters happened to be Ultimates before her, thanks to the fame of Latte Love, with her older sister being the current Ultimate Pastry Chef and her other older sister being the Ultimate Tea Master. Latte Love is famous for its wide selections of both drinks and pastries to enjoy with your beverage of choice, but it was catapulted into pure stardom thanks to a particular skill that Myth has, apart from her general hospitality and drink-mixing skills: latte art. Because of Myth’s adorable and expertly-crafted latte art, the popularity of Latte Love exploded, particularly on social media. Myth is also known for her romantic advice to her customers, despite not being in a relationship herself, which led to a lot of her customers finding love.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Drummer

Wyre is the well-known drummer of the emo-grunge-rock band “FOZZIL HUNT”, and is famous for their wild drum solos and their equally wild personality. Wyre and Myth have been the best of friends, ever since they were little, and not even their busy schedules can keep them apart. When Wyre isn’t booked with tours and concerts, they always come to Latte Love and orders their usual, knowing that Myth would prepare their order with that signature sweet smile of hers. Wyre has a bit of a complex and love-hate relationship with a certain confrontational rebellion leader, and Myth always tries to pair them up, much to their protests.

Outfit: A red bandana on her head, elaborate makeup, a black tank top with her band’s logo on the front that shows off her tattooed arms, blue Jean shorts with brown holsters to hold her drumsticks in, black boots.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Drill Sargent

With a loud voice and a strict and heavily-concerned demeanor, Scar‘s personality makes her the perfect person to lead soldiers in their crusade for their country. Commonly regarded as a mother to her soldiers in tales of the battlefield, Scar yearns to hang up her uniform and go back to the good ol’ days of childhood leisure. Scar has a strict schedule, and always arrives at Latte Love by the time Myth turns the open sign. Scar seems to be enamored by the skittish and fanatic priest, and just seeing him makes her maternal instincts flair up. Despite finding Scar eccentric, Myth finds her stories fascinating, and tries to pair the sergeant and the priest.

Outfit: A tattered bandana version of her face mask, black sunglasses, a black tanktop with a camo jacket slung on her shoulders, dark green pants, boots from original design.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Fashion Designer

Having gotten his start working at his mother’s boutique, Fusion draws the design of the garments, while his mother makes the actual garments. Fusion originally went to Latte Love purely to both gorge himself on pastries and caffeine, and sketch the outfits of the customers that frequent Latte Love. But now, he has a new goal in mind: helping Myth with pairing up the customers. Myth considers Fusion one of her most frequent customers, and finds it amazing that this svelte and proper gentleman can eat his weight in food. Fusion and Myth have a mutual respect for each other, and consider each other “partners in matchmaking“.

Outfit: A blue and yellow striped vest over a red dress shirt and a yellow bow tie, white gloves that hide his work injuries, a tape measure tied around his neck and arms, pants, glasses and shoes from his original design, always holds a sketchbook.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Gunslinger

Growing up as a fan of old westerns and historical fiction, Fusion II is a master when it comes to gunmanship and is especially skilled when it comes to the quick draw. Every good cowgirl needs a saloon, and Fusion II quickly established Latte Love as her saloon. But as much as Fusion II tries to play up the ”cool and stoic cowgirl” stint, it’s kind of hard to do that when she’s a bi disaster attracted to the oddly-energetic and childish bed tester. Myth can sympathize with Fusion II’s bi hangups and, as much as Fusion II tries to deny it, the sarcastic gun master really appreciates the kindly barkeep’s company.

Outfit: A silver cowboy hat, jacket from original design with a gold sheriff star pinned to the front, over a red flannel shirt and a blue bandana around her neck, blue jeans with a brown holster that houses her guns, steel-toed cowboy boots.

Just Anon, Ultimate Card Shark

Janon is a feared name in underground gambling tournaments, and for a good reason. With his unreadable face and his skill in the art of cheating and deception, Janon truly earned the epithet of “The Night Terror”. Gambling and lying seems to be the only two things that Janon really puts effort into doing, for he puts the upmost minimal effort into anything else. Janon regularly crashes at Latte Love and occupies one of the tables to take a snooze. Despite Janon claiming that he does it for snorts and giggles, Myth quickly found out the real reason: to check out the adorable delivery person that frequents the coffee shop.

Outfit: A white and pink fedora, mask from original design, a brown jacket with suit-themed pins, over a pink and black tie with a bunny pin, a black belt with a bunny buckle, brown pants, brown shoes.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Pinball Wizard

Known for her loud and eccentric fashion sense and her equally eccentric personality, Sparkle dominated pinball machine after pinball machine in every local, and even extralocal, arcade. Needless to say, Myth’s day instantly became weirder the very second Sparkle entered Latte Love and loudly announced her presence to everybody. But ever since Sparkle found out that her favorite mangaka frequents the cafe alongside their twin, Sparkle has frequented the cafe much more. Sparkle’s little celebrity crush on the mangaka didn’t go unnoticed by Myth, and she helps the loud wizard with vocalizing her feelings.

Outfit: A wizard hat and cloak that is colored with obnoxious 90’s-esque patterns, glasses and boots from original design.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Mangaka, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Thanatologist

With their shared penchant of the horrific and cursed, this fearsome duo go about their interests in completely different ways. While Wet Sock takes a more cold and scientific approach to their interest in the macabre, Egg takes their macabre mindset and uses it to create popular horror manga. While they are thought of as a bane to the wholesome atmosphere of Latte Love, two people actually look forward to the twin’s presence: Sparkle and Myth. Despite Wet Sock’s severe denial of their feelings, Wet Sock still continues to stick around Myth’s desk, and Myth eventually found out the reason why: Wet Sock is head-over-heels for her.

Outfit: Both of them wear entirely black gakurans and glasses, but Egg has a pocket protector and ink-stained hands, and Wet Sock has a skull pin and dirt-stained hands.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Deliveryperson

From a young age, Curious has been working for a variety of companies as a door-to-door delivery person and is renowned for their punctuality and sweet smile. Curious is currently working under Latte Love, as its reliable coffee and pastry delivery person. Myth views Curious as a bit of a mystery. For example, she always gives Curious coffee to perk them up on night deliveries, but she never sees Curious actually drink the coffee. That, and she’s heavily concerned about the fact that a middle schooler is working full-time as a delivery person, and doesn’t seem to show any signs of being tired.

Outfit: An entirely green outfit consisting of a cap, polo shirt, pants and tennis shoes, with their hair in a small ponytail.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Revolutionary

Born in a corrupt and dirt-poor city, Nerd grew up yearning for the government to be overthrown by someone actually worthy of leading, such as himself for instance. After gathering up a cavalcade of followers with his cynical, yet rousing, speeches, Nerd organized a revolution and managed to overthrow the government of the town, and lead the citizens to a healthier and more productive life. Nerd pities Myth and sees her as “a slave to the grain”, whatever that means. And with a loud and violent man, Myth paired him up with an equally loud and violent lady. Nerd is currently trying to seduce Wyre with loud protest songs.

Outfit: Same outfit from his original design but with a ragged green cape, a red armband, and a red megaphone clipped to his belt.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Priest

As a person born under the creators of a creepy cult from the middle of nowhere, Eldritch has been forced to conduct the religious proceedings of the cult, ever since he became a teenager. Needless to say, Eldritch hasn’t exactly been raised correctly, for he doesn’t seem to trust anyone who isn’t in his cult, and yearns to indoctrinate others into his religion. Unfortunately for the paranoid priest, he has fallen in love with someone outside of his fate, a maternal drill sargaent, and he is currently awaiting his divine punishment from his deity. And that blasted barkeep isn’t helping matters either.

Outfit: A black hooded cassock with oversized sleeves and a golden cross necklace,

Dream Anon, Ultimate Bed Tester

One review from Dream is enough to make or break entire bed companies, and she takes her talent very seriously. Despite what her talent and clothes would suggest, Dream is very energetic, has trouble standing still, and her hyper attitude is quite contagious to boot. Ever since she happened upon the coffee shop run by the nice barista, she has found the coolest girl ever: an actual cowgirl! Dream thinks it‘s very funny to watch the sharpshooter get all flustered and blushy when Dream gets too close to her. Myth always looks forward to Dream’s daily visits and her energy is enough to brighten up Myth’s day.

Outfit: A pink sleeping mask, a blue hoodie with a fluffy hood and a pink swirly pattern over a black t-shirt with a pink heart on the front, black and white pajama shorts, white socks and pink slippers, hair that reaches her mid-back.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Samurai

Before meeting Iris, Myth thought that samurai became extinct a long time ago. You would not believe Myth‘s disbelief of an actual samurai heiress not only existing in the modern day, but also eating at her cafe and actually liking the food. Just like with Fusion, Iris chose to help Myth out in her matchmaking endeavors, for she actually has romantic experience and can offer the patrons advice. While initially in disbelief that a middle schooler could have more romantic game than her, she decided to let the clumsy yet earnest samurai work her relationship magic, and it actually worked half of the time, much to Myth’s astonishment.

Outfit: A blue kimono with a yellow galaxy-like pattern all over, a silver katana sheath, white socks and brown geta sandals.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Statistical Analyst

Whenever Fusion gives his order out to Myth, he always adds candy to his order for somebody named “Purple”. When asked who Purple is or why she never eats or drinks at Latte Love, Fusion claims that Purple is really shy and never really leaves her house. However, Purple still manages to be an indirect assistant to Myth, Fusion and Iris’s matchmaking endeavors. Whenever any of the matchmakers have an idea, Fusion will text the idea to Purple, to get a statistical analysis on the success of the plan. Myth is truly grateful to Purple, for saving her chocolate-dipped bacon from failed plans, even though the two never met.

Outfit: A black jacket over a purple turtleneck and a red and black striped tie, skirt, stockings and shoes from original design, mid-back length hair in a ponytail and black fake glasses.

This series centers around Myth’s matchmaking misadventures, as she works hard to stir up romance between the eccentric customers of her coffee shop, along with the help of Fusion, Purple and Iris. Successful results may vary. Basically a Coffee Shop AU!

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APPEARANCE

Barista!Myth wears thick and square-rimmed glasses and her long hair in twin braids with a green hairband on top. As for her clothing, Myth wears a brown apron with Latte Love’s logo on the front, over a green turtleneck sweater, brown pants and black slip-on shoes.

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PERSONALITY

Barista!Myth carries herself with a calming and extroverted personality. However, Barista!Myth is a very low-energy extrovert, and is very content with just watching and conversing with people from behind her front desk. A lot of her younger customers compare her to a kind, patient and caring mom, and she’s just the person to talk to, if you want advice. Barista!Myth has a surprisingly amazing memory, and just by looking at her regulars, she can remember their name and their usual. Barista!Myth retains her love of matchmaking and terrible puns from Romantic!Myth.

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I hope you like this talentswap and don’t mind the rarepairs! If you don’t like the ships, let me know! Have a sweet week, everyanon!

-Fusion Anon

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I love this!!

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vylequinnewriting · 4 years ago

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Map of Modern Telvan (prototype)

I did another thing! Inkarnate is an easy to use program I highly recommend. Here’s a (prototype) map of Telvan and its (most general) regions as of Muse’s Band of Misfits. Still working on prettying up a version with geography and rivers and what not, but I wanted a basic version since that’ll take me some time. You can find a legend and some small information about every region underneath the cut. Feel free to ask about history and any cool features about any region you see!

Taglist (ask to be added/removed) : @avian-writes, @ashen-crest

General Taglist : @ecwrenn

Legend:

1 - Svelorum

Homeland of the Chrominè. Rocky and mountainous, most land is inhospitable and inaccessible. There are valleys nestled within the coastlines where most Chrominè live.

2 - Lyr

Homeland of the Thay’Rhyll. Sand covers most of the area, but if you look closely, you can find hidden oases of water and magic. To the east you can find ruins of Old Lyr and to the west, you can find New Lyr if you travel down the mazelike cave system.

3 - Veneo

Nestled tightly in between Svelorum and Frikija, Veneo holds a suprising amount of influence due to its focus on the advancement of magic. Veneo is also notorious for its mafia which have a hand in every deal in the region.

4 - Frikija

Full to the brim with lush forests, Frikija boasts the highest amount of flora and fuana species in Telvan. Due to an abundance of Gift magic, those born in southern Frikija often have a second life. A very small amount even have 3 lives.

5 - Ryi’Lyan

Ryi’Lyan was founded as a project between Huemans and Thay’Rhyll, but rampant magic cause a rift to be opened up in the southern island. As a result of the misshapen monsters that occasionally pour out, Ryi’Lyan has effectively isolated itself from the outside world. The only news you’ll hear is said in the same whispered tone as an urban legend or horror story.

6 - Scansuedo

Established through a long lines of self-proclaimed kings, Scansuedo often leads discussions due to its heavy investment in technology and exploration. Most guilds have a basis in Scansuedo due to this.

7 - Onyx Isles

Warrior clans that once worshipped the God of Loss found a new footing in artisan crafts and processing raw materials. Their goods are now sought after by collectors across the world.

8 - Ozalia

What if samurais and cowboys weren’t separated by thousands of miles and instead lived at the same time in the same space? You get Ozalia. Rolling plains and chapparals are highlighted by booming cities.

9 - Kromhold

Originally a Cantican amusement park turned into a maximum security prison, Kromhold continued to expand until it was recognized as a micro-state. There hasn’t been an escape or release since the prison’s founding over a hundred years ago.

10 - Cantica

One of the oldest landmasses, Cantica was full of warring states for centuries. Eventually, all states banded together underneath a frail set of agreements. As a result of Revolution magic being present in most of Cantica, many areas don’t abide by typical rules of the world (e.g. a town in which all magical effects are inversed.)

11 - Vuntel

One of the newest landmasses, Vuntel is a land of nothing but snow. Within Vuntel is only one city, Nenwald, which houses a boatload of cults deemed dangerous by most countries.

12 - Telargelos

Vuntel is a single snowflake compared to the blizzard that is Telargelos. The curtain of screeching wind and ice is almost impenetrable. Despite numerous expeditions, no one can ever seem to reach the center.

13 - Zastüd

What was once the technological marvel of Telvan now stands in ruins. After a disastrous event known as the “Great Green”, Zastüd is now an incredibly dense forest that seems to attack any explorers foolish enough to enter.

#telvan #map making #cartography #fantasy #vylequinne #telvan map #muses band of misfits

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katefiction · 4 years ago

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Revolution, Part 4

by katefiction (Maria) / 2014

Driving on the deserted out skirts of Redfern had become our new favourite pastime. Back home, we loved to go for walks together. William would often take George on an early morning walk while Kensington Palace gardens were still closed to the public, and occasionally I would join them. It was the only sense of liberty we had back in London – a liberty that was confined to the gates of the palace grounds.

Iowa couldn’t be more different. The sun sizzled on our skin and stabbed into our eyes, and while we loved this weather, we couldn’t walk for long without George needing shade and water. So going for drives became our thing. You only had to drive ten minutes from Redfern to feel like you’d escaped for the day.

On that January day, we had needed somewhere to escape to. The news a few weeks earlier that the queen may be returning to the UK had tested us. There was the initial relief that she was safe and well, and the gladness that the Republic was losing their hold. Then came the worry that a renunciation of the Revolution would put us in danger from the people that wanted William out of the country so badly. Lastly came the realisation that we had to make a decision about what we wanted to do.

William had continued to work hard on the farm, but there were times when he became distracted and injured himself or wasted the milk by dropping it all over the ground after he’d spent an hour milking the cows. On that day, he’d accidently tripped over a bucket and kicked it so hard in frustration that it almost smashed Bette’s window. It was her who ordered him to ‘take a long break’.

So there we were, driving with our windows down, George in his new car seat at the back jabbering away to Ronald who was tucked safely under his arm.

William parked up at Rock Creek, a nature park formed of high and varied rocks and trees, and centred by a large pool of water. Bette had suggested it to us as somewhere relaxing to visit, it was the kind of place that you could hear the insects chirping in the grass.

We found ourselves a nice deserted spot right by the creek, and sat down on a large set of rocks. William picked up some small pebbles on the ground.

‘Here George, let’s try and skim them’ he threw a pebble in and it managed a small skim before it slid into the water.

He handed George one who threw it into the water with a plop. He laughed hysterically at the water splashing up from the surface and William gave him another one. He repeated the manoeuvre and we laughed with him as we watched his joy at throwing the stones in.

William took him closer to the water, crouching down to hold his body close to him.

‘We’re running out of pebbles here!’ he said as I watched from my seat. George flung his free arm about, impatient for another stone, his other holding on to Ronald.

‘Hold on, hold on’ William said, scrambling around to find one big enough.

But it was too late, because George had lost his sense of co-ordination and in his eagerness to throw another pebble in, hurled Ronald into the water instead.

The three of us paused in silence for a moment, before the piercing sound of George’s cry broke into it. I leapt up and rushed over to him.

‘It’s ok baby, it’s ok’ I said, stoking his face, while Will cuddled him close.

Ronald was bobbing up and down in the water and drifting further from us. William jumped into action and found a stick from the side of the creek. He knelt onto the bank and reached as far as he could, but to no avail.

George’s face was red from the wailing for Ronald, a look of despair covering it.

William looked over to him, ‘right’ he said, rolling up his jeans.

‘You’re not?…’ I said.

‘I am’ he replied, taking off his boots and socks. He stepped into the murky water with determination.

‘Fu-libberty jibbet!’ he shouted, ‘this is colder than it looks’

I giggled, and William’s reaction stopped George from crying too. ‘Be careful, you don’t know how deep it is’

He continued to walk and I threw him the long stick to use so he could feel how deep the water was getting. By the time he’d reached Ronald, he was chest deep in the green water.

‘Victory!’ he shouted, holding Ronald up like a trophy at George.

I held George’s arms up and waved them around as if we were greeting him from years away at war.

William emerged from the bank with the water dragging down his clothes. A flutter jumped in my stomach at the sight of him dripping wet, heroically carrying Ronald.

George lifted up his arms to try and grab him, ‘Ro Ro Ro Ro’

‘He’s dirty pumpkin, we’ll give him a good wash when we get home ok?’ I said, stroking his hair.

But George was just like his father, stubborn to the end, ‘Ro Ro Ro’ he screamed.

William lifted him off the ground and spun him around, throwing Ronald to me as he did so. He was an expert at distracting George. He pointed out the trees and the bugs and made them sound like the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. When George wriggled, he took off his shoes and they paddled together in the shallow water.

George jumped up and down in the water, delighted by the trickles between his toes.

‘Come on mummy’ William beckoned.

I took my shoes off and joined them, ‘well done’ I said and kissed William on the lips, careful not to let him get my clothes wet too.

He smiled coyly at me and I blushed.

‘Lupo would love this’ I said looking up at the canopy of trees that covered us.

‘He would’ William said with a slight sadness. ‘You miss him, don’t you?’

I nodded, ‘like crazy’.

‘And everything else?’ William probed as he helped George make a little moat in the mud.

‘I miss my family, of course, and our home…’ I stopped, realising that he was trying to make our decision easy. ‘What are we gonna do Will?’

He paused, ‘What do you want to do?’

‘Don’t put this on me, please’ I begged.

‘I’m not, I just…’ he sighed, ‘all I care about is making the two of you happy, I don’t want you to regret anything’

‘We have to make this decision together’ I said.

‘I know, but I still need to know your opinion’ he smirked.

‘I miss home’ I began. ‘But I don’t know how I would feel about going back now’

I clenched my hands together, thinking about how our carefree life would be over if we went back.

‘So you’d like to stay?’ he asked.

‘Maybe’ I said non-committedly. ‘You like it here too though?’

He looked up at me, ‘of course, it’s everything we ever wanted. You know, six months ago, I didn’t think I’d need to ask you if you wanted to go home’ he laughed.

‘You can be quite persuasive when you want to be’ I said, kicking some water in his direction before changing tact. ‘What if your grandmother needs you to come home? And your father?’

William exhaled, ‘Maybe I’ll have to tell them that I can’t’

I watched him and George play together, and wondered if he meant it. William had always wanted this freedom and now that he had it, it was everything he expected. Was it really going to be so easy to let his past go?

We drove back that afternoon with a renewed sense of energy. William’s mood had improved and we had accepted the fact that there was nothing we could do until something happened back in London.

We cruised back into Redfern at a leisurely pace. Halfway home, I noticed his brow crease and his eyes dart back and forth from the rear view mirror.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘There’s a car behind us…don’t turn around’ he said as I turned my head. ‘It’s been following us all the way from the creek’

I stretched to look through the mirror to see a dark blue saloon car behind us. ‘Are you sure you’re not being paranoid? This is the main road back into town’

‘Let’s see what happens if I turn off the main road’ he said, keeping one eye on the mirror.

At the next turning we found, William drove into it without indicating or slowing down as he usually would. A few moments later, we saw the car turn after us.

‘Shit’ he whispered.

‘Can we just go back to the farm, it’s probably nothing’ I said anxiously.

William slowed when we got to a lay by and turned the car around to get back onto the main road. This time the saloon didn’t follow, but carried on down the small lane.

‘See I told you’ I said with mock confidence.

William, however, didn’t say another word until we got home.

The dark drew in quickly that evening, the worry over the car hung over us like a cloud. William was quiet, but affectionate, occasionally giving my waist a squeeze as he brushed past me in Bette’s kitchen. We were over there for dinner, which had become a regular occurrence. William and I would cook for all of us while Bette entertained George.

The two of them went outside to pick some tomatoes for the dinner, leaving William and I alone.

‘Talk to me, what’s going through your head?’ I said, once Bette and George were outside.

William sighed, ‘I don’t know what to think’

‘Yes you do – you just don’t want to tell me’ I said bluntly, as I flipped a steak at the stove.

He looked up, pausing from chopping up the vegetables to see how annoyed my expression was.

‘You’re acting like you did the night you left. You don’t have to hide things from me’ I continued.

‘I’m not…’ he mumbled.

I returned his gaze, giving him a look that said I wasn’t prepared to be kept in the dark again.

‘Why now?’ he said, giving in. ‘Why are we being followed now?’

‘What do you mean?’ I said, relieved that he was letting me in.

He placed the knife down and leant against the counter. ‘We’ve been here for months, and it’s been weeks since the news about Granny going back to London. Something serious must be happening back home for them to be watching us’

I ran my fingers over the back of his neck to relax him, ‘we don’t know if that car was even following us Will’

‘You really think that was a coincidence?’ he asked.

I thought for a second before I spoke, ‘I think that if we want any kind of life here, we can’t be paranoid all the time, what kind of life is that going to be for George?’

He looked at me guiltily and then said, ‘I won’t put him in danger’

I put down the steak flipper and put my arms around his waist, ‘we’ll try and get the radio on tonight, see what’s happening’ I said more calmly than I felt.

He nodded and kissed the top of my head.

The door flung open and Bette and George tottered in, George carrying a basket of tomatoes, ‘it’s getting windy out there!’ Bette remarked.

William and I got back to the food, not wanting to waste any time so we could listen the radio as soon as possible.

‘What’s up with you two?’ Bette said, pushing wisps of hair from her face that had been flustered by the wind.

‘Just hungry!’ William said cheerily. ‘Thant’s all!’

After dinner, we told Bette that we would be happy to do the washing up. She thanked us for being ‘good kids’ and left us for an early night. As soon as she was out of ear shot, William clicked on the radio and turned it to the station we’d found a few weeks ago. We’d done this a few times since, when Bette was out of the house, but were yet to hear anything new.

After half an hour of slow dish washing, the news bulletin jingle began, and our ears pricked up.

‘News from Britain tonight, the Conservative and Labour Parties have formed an emergency coalition government this morning. After weeks of dissent against the Green Party, the Prime Minister stepped down, leaving his Party to flounder. Now comes news that the Queen is back in the country. Unconfirmed sources say she’s been holding emergency meetings at Windsor Castle to determine what action to take amid the rapid decline of the Green Party and the Republic. The Republic are still in control of Buckingham Palace, but large protests have been taking place in the last two days from members of the public. We spoke to a political reporter at the scene earlier’

Over the crackle of the radio, an English voice began to speak with the jeers of what sounded like hundreds of people in the background.

‘We’re here outside Buckingham Palace, where people continue to stream into this landmark to protest against the Republic. As you can hear, the atmosphere is tense to say the least. The Green Party have insisted that the Republic have had no influence on their politics, yet the country has aimed its anger towards the group who spearheaded the Revolution last summer. While never officially dissolved by law, there is widespread support for the return of the Monarchy; however some still insist that they have no place in 21st Century Britain’

The voice switched back to the Iowan radio DJ, ‘and now for a weather warning, torrential rain and winds…’

William switched the radio off with a heavy click. We looked at each other, and I imagined my expression was the same as his. The look that said the storm was rolling in.

Once I had bathed George, William took over and sat with him on the couch as he drank his bottle of milk. I leant against our bedroom door frame and observed him entertaining George with his exaggerated hand movements and voices.

‘ “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman,” cried out the ogre; “I smell him, wife, I smell him” ’ he said, growling at George, then changed his voice to a high pitched cackle. ‘ “Do you, my dearie?” says the ogre’s wife. “Then if it’s that little rogue that stole your gold and the hen that laid the golden eggs he’s sure to have got into the oven.” ‘

George chuckled and so did I.

‘Right that’s quite enough excitement for one night Georgie’. He closed the book that was on his lap, scooped him up over his shoulder and carried him into the bedroom. ‘We’ll see what happens to Jack tomorrow’

‘You make quite the scary giant’ I said when he’d joined me on the couch a few minutes later. I stroked my hands over his back and leant against his shoulder. ‘Are you ok?’

‘I’m fine, just tired’ he said, slipping his hand between my knees. ‘We’ll talk tomorrow’

‘The last time you said that, you weren’t there in the morning’ I teased, poking him in the ribs.

‘I’m not gonna leave you again’ he said sternly.

There were times I had to push William to open up and talk to me because I knew he needed to. Then there were times that I needed to give him time to untangle his own thoughts before he could relay them to me. This was one of the times where words weren’t appropriate.

I curled closer to him and kissed along his jawline and felt his body relax immediately. He leant back in the seat and closed his eyes as I moved my hand under his shirt and stroked his torso which had become defined and hard since he’d been working on the farm. I swiftly positioned myself on his lap, and although his eyes were still shut, he knew my body well enough to hitch up my skirt and tug down my underwear in one seamless movement.

We were only kissing for a few minutes before I unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zip to release him. This wasn’t a time for whispering sweet nothings; it was a time to give him the release he needed. As I slid on top of him he clutched my behind and dug his face deep into my neck, letting out low, heavy murmurs of pleasure.

William held onto my hips as I grinded into him, willing him to forget his worries for just a moment. And forget them he did because his final murmur became so loud that when he was ready, I pushed his head into my chest to soften the noise.

He tilted his head back when it was over, and it was only after he’d regained his senses that he pulled me close and whispered a grateful ‘thank you’ into my hair.

Encouraged by the radio report, we decided that the next day, we would try and find the crow man again to use his mobile phone. I hadn’t told William out loud that what we’d heard on the radio had bought me round to his way of thinking. I now agreed that the blue saloon probably was following us, but couldn’t admit it to him. I desperately wanted to be right about him being paranoid so had dug my heels in and insisted it was a coincidence. But deep down, I knew there was more to it, and I knew the reason I had denied it was because I didn’t want anything to ruin the life we’d created for ourselves.

Late afternoon on the Monday, I walked into town alone to try and find him. It was another hot, cloudless day, so William had stayed at home with George. Crow man was a creature of habit and we often saw him digging around in the old antique shop.

As I rounded the corner of the main street, my hair in a messy pony tail and dressed in a second hand t-shirt and denim shorts, I savoured the moment. I had always thought of America as the king of the media-driven world; a commercialised and plastic place that would never be somewhere I’d want to live. Four years before, we had visited Los Angeles and saw for ourselves the frenzy that we caused.

Now everything had changed. America had provided us with the safe haven we needed and we’d grown to love it as home. We loved the way we could walk in public looking a mess and no one cared. We loved that George could run free and grow up with a life without cameras in his face. Most of all, we loved being Bill, Libby and Alexander, an anonymous generic family, just like everyone else.

I turned around to enjoy the rustic main street of Redfern, wondering if we’d be able to stay here much longer. As I looked into the rapidly setting sun, a shift of darkness caught my attention next to the butchers. In a second it was gone, but as I turned around once more, I saw it again.

In the doorway of the butchers stood a tall figure, dressed all in black. I turned forward again, pretending I hadn’t seen him. No one in Redfern would wear dark trousers, heavy boots and a thick jacket. My heart rate quickened as I passed Mary’s and neared the antique shop. I peered through the glass of the shop, hoping to see the old crow, but all I saw were full shelves of antiques.

I suddenly became aware of being the only person on the street. I stayed still at the window for a moment longer and squinted. In the reflection of the glass, I could see the man. He’d followed me down the street and was now on the other side of the road, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking into the thrift store. Now I had a better look of him, I noticed his short, almost shaved blond buzz cut and stony features.

The sweat on my hands started to seep out and I wiped them hastily on my shorts. Moving cautiously, I turned back the way I’d come, willing myself not to run. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him sauntering behind me.

After a few steps, I looked up, and like a guardian angel, saw the sign for Mary’s Inn above my head. Without hesitation, I slipped through the wooden door and slammed it shut behind me. I leant against it, my chest heaving.

‘Don’t you look spooked?’ a voice said from the stairs.

‘Mary, hi’ I said breathily.

She appeared from the staircase, with an expression of pleasure at seeing me, which quickly turned to concern.

‘You ok Libby?’ she said.

I nodded and gulped down my panic. ‘Yeah, I just, there’s just…’

I couldn’t tell her, of course I couldn’t. What would I say? There’s a strange man following me, call the police? I turned to look through the window that was so dirty; it barely let in any light. I couldn’t see the man.

‘Are you hiding from someone?’ Mary said, pressing me.

‘No’ I replied too quickly. I realised I needed a reason as to why I was in here. ‘Um, I was wondering if you knew how I could find someone’

‘Sure’, concern was still in her voice.

I licked my lips which felt completely dry and pulled myself away from the door. ‘I don’t know his name; he likes to collect things though’

Mary looked puzzled and I suddenly felt frustrated. Having access to the phone was more important now than ever.

‘He’s short and hasn’t got many teeth’ I said, waving my hands around ‘…he likes shiny things and is always in the antiques shop’. I cursed myself for never asking him his name.

‘Ohhhh’ Mary said and I breathed a sigh of relief, ‘Jim? Yeh he lives a couple rows behind us. You’ll know his place, it’s the one with all the crap in the front yard’

I thanked her and made to leave.

‘Are you sure you’re ok?’ she said before I could.

‘Yep’ I said chirpily as I approached the door, ‘I’ll see you soon ok?’

Her voice was anxious as the word escaped her lips, ‘Kate?’

I froze on the spot.

She knew.

My mouth dried up again as my blood ran cold. ‘How did you…?’ I said, turning to face her.

‘This may be a small town, but you guys are pretty well known’ she said, offering a smile. ‘Plus that rock on your hand didn’t help’

I looked down at my left hand, which just had my wedding and eternity ring on it. I’d taken my engagement ring off after William had suggested that it was a giveaway of who we were.

‘You’ve known all along?’ I whispered.

Mary shrugged, ‘yeah’

I backed away, feeling the panic slowly rising. Mary reached out, seeing that I desperately wanted to leave.

‘You don’t have to worry’ she said, her face soft with kindness, ‘I haven’t told anyone, I swear!’

I shook my head, my instincts failing me. I didn’t know whether to believe a word she was saying. What if she was holding me in here while the man waited for me outside? What if they took me the way they had taken William?

I suddenly felt the gravity of what had happened to him on my shoulders. How could I have been so cold and uncaring when we first found him? If he felt even half the terror that I felt now, I had no right to have punished him the way I did.

‘Please just let me go’ I said shakily.

She looked dumbfounded for a moment, ‘of course you can go’

‘Will he be waiting for me outside?’ my voice was more confident now.

‘What? You mean that guy that’s outside? I thought they were your bodyguards Kate? They’ve been here for weeks now’

They. That meant there were more of them lurking in the shadows.

‘It doesn’t matter’ I said suddenly.

Mary’s expression turned to one of pure bewilderment; the sort of confusion that was hard to fake. I turned again to leave.

‘Wait! Is everything ok? I saw on the news what’s been happening in London. Can I do something to help you guys?’

I considered for a second that I could ask to use her phone, rather than give every last thing we owned to the crow man. But it was too much of a risk. William and I had only used the crow man’s phone, thinking it was safe, but at that moment, nothing seemed secure anymore. Should we have used a different phone every time?

‘No…no thank you’

‘Wait – here’. Mary grabbed a pen from the bar and scribbled something down on a newspaper that was lying there. She tore the scrap off and handed it to me. ‘I know you don’t trust me, I can see it in your eyes, but if you need anything, this is my number’

I took the torn piece of paper and pushed it into my back pocket. Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but thank her again.

She nodded and said ‘Sweetie, if I was gonna call the local paper about you, I would’ve done it by now. Good luck’.

It was her way of saying good bye.

I left Mary’s just as the sun had begun to set. Looking furtively left and right, I was relieved yet anxious not to see the man anywhere. I wanted to get home before it got dark, so power walked the short distance to Jim’s house, listening out for any noise behind me.

Mary was right about how easy it would be to find his home. The small square patch of grass in front of the house was covered in rusting garden furniture, Greek style statues and other little ornaments. I weaved through it all and gave the chipping door a quick rap.

It opened a few inches and I saw the crow man’s nose come into view.

‘Hi Jim! Just me!’ I tried to sound normal, using his name for the first time in six months.

‘Oh hey there’, he said widening the door. The hallway behind him was just as I’d imagined; cluttered floor to ceiling with piles of what could either be junk or antiques.

I cut to the chase, ‘I was hoping to use the phone again’

‘No problem ma’am’ he limped off and returned again with it in his hand.

I pulled out a large wad of dollars from my pocket. He eyed the money and scrunched up his nose. For such an inoffensive looking man, he drove a hard bargain. I noticed his eyes were fixed on my left hand; I didn’t need to read his mind.

‘Pretty ring’ he crowed, and I thanked the heavens that I wasn’t wearing my engagement ring. I looked down at the eternity ring William had given me. A simple band that was circled with diamonds. I was astonished when William presented me with it, and chided him for spoiling me. He, in return, grinned widely because he knew how touched I was.

I pushed my sentimentality away, ‘if you want this, then I think I should be able to keep the phone’

He screwed up his nose again.

‘You know it’s fair’ I said, the fire retuning to my belly.

‘Oh alright’ he said, displeased, and handed me the phone. I slipped off the ring, clutching it in my fist for a moment before dropping it into his palm.

My journey back to the farm was taken at a run once I got onto Bette’s land. The wind had started to blow, sending the dust into my eyes. Above me, dark clouds loomed.

I burst through the door of the outhouse, out of breath and sweating head to toe.

William was playing with George on the floor, chasing after him on his hands and knees. ‘There you are! What took you so long?’

He took a proper look at me, and got off the floor, his face grave, ‘what’s happened?’

I relayed the whole story from start to finish and watched as he squeezed the back of the couch to control his anger, or maybe it was fear.

‘We need to get out of here, first thing tomorrow’, he said, and I could see the cogs turning in his mind.

‘What if they come for us tonight?’ I said, panicked.

‘They know you’ve seen them; they’ll be expecting us to leave straight away. Call your parents, and tell them we’re moving on’

George began pulling at my leg and I picked him up and pressed my lips against his head before taking out the phone and switching it on.

The battery sign flashed aggressively at me. It was on its very last legs. ‘I think there’s only enough battery left for one call’

‘So?’ he said, pacing the room.

‘So, don’t you want to call your family too?’

He walked up to me and cupped his hands around my face, ‘it’s ok baby, just call them’

I pressed down the off switch, ‘I’ll do it later tonight’.

As much as I wanted to, I had to give William the option of contacting his family instead. They were, after all, the ones in danger. My mother had re-assured us that she’d passed on all of our messages to Harry, but William hadn’t spoken to a single member of his family since we got here. He’d always put my needs before his.

‘Will’ I said nervously. ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’

His brow furrowed. ‘I thought we’d decided not to go back, have you changed your mind?’ I couldn’t tell whether it was curiosity or hope in his voice that I heard.

‘No’ I said honestly, shifting George to my other hip. ‘But this needs to be a joint decision. I know you want to make me happy, but if you want to go home…’

‘You love it here. We love it here’ he said, touching Geroge’s arm. ‘And wherever we go next, we’ll love too – once we’re settled’

‘Yes but your family, they need you -‘

‘Shh’, he placed his fingertips over my mouth to reassure me, but I could saw a flicker of pain pass over his eyes. ‘They’ll be ok, we’ll go back one day – to visit – this is our opportunity, we’d be stupid not to take it’

I nodded. I’d only thought briefly about where we’d go and what our lives would turn into next. There were a million questions to consider. How would we make money when we left the farm? How would George get into a school? What would happen if we ever needed medical help? It’s not like we were there legally.

But these weren’t the questions that were bothering me; those would be sorted out eventually. Deep down, all William wanted was freedom for the three of us. Neither of us had considered it would come at such a high cost. The battle in my mind swarmed around my head. William was willing to give up his family and his duty for us, yet if it wasn’t for George and me, I knew he’d be on the next plane home.

We ate dinner in silence as the wind and incoming rain lashed against the windows. At intervals, both of us snapped our heads around when the gusts created particularly loud bangs against the house. It would have been funny in any other situation; the way we looked up in unison like meerkats every few minutes. Dread filled our little home, but this time, mercifully, William had chosen not to hide it from me.

Later that night he blustered around the house collecting everything we might need on the road the next day. I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping, so told him to leave the packing to me.

‘We need food for the bus journey’ he said frantically.

We didn’t know where we’d be going, but had decided we’d take the first bus out of town, which left at six. We couldn’t steal the pick-up truck.

‘I’m gonna go into Bette’s pantry and take some food’ William said. It was too late to go out and buy supplies and it would be too early to buy some the next day.

I agreed that it was the best idea. Bette had been so good to us, and stealing from her wasn’t something we wanted to do. But it was the only option we had. William waited until around ten when he knew Bette would be asleep before leaving, the wind slamming the door shut behind him.

George slept soundly in his cot despite the noise while I packed the rest of our things. I marvelled that while William had arrived here with nothing, and George and I with just three bags, we’d somehow managed to amass piles of belongings.

There were clothes strewn over our bed, and toys and books all over the floor. I knew we couldn’t take it all, so carefully chose George’s favourite things and placed them into the bags. I picked up Ronald from the cot and breathed in his freshly washed scent. I reminded myself not to forget him tomorrow.

‘What’s going on?’ a voice said behind me.

My heart almost jumped into my throat and I whipped around.

‘God, Bette you scared me’ I said, touching my hand to my heart.

Bette was standing in her dressing gown, her already wispy hair standing up, and her face tired.

‘I heard a noise downstairs and when I looked out the window, I noticed your light still on’ she looked over at the mess in our bedroom, and at the bags on the floor. ‘Where you going?’

My mind buzzed. We weren’t going to tell her we were leaving. It would be safer for her that way. ‘We’re just going away for a few days’ I said, averting my eyes from hers.

‘Bill didn’t say anything about wanting time off’ her brow creased.

‘I know it’s a bit sudden, but I’ll get him to drop in to explain tomorrow’ I walked into the living room, collecting a few more bits along the way.

It was wrong to lie to her; William wouldn’t do anything of the sort. Bette followed behind me, I still couldn’t look at her.

‘We’ll be back before you know it’

‘Sure you will’

A force slammed into my back, knocking me forwards. A wash of blurs flooded my eyes and my legs buckled, sending me down before I had time to think. In that millisecond, my heart sped up, and my body became rigid with shock. The last thing I heard was the crack of my head hitting the floor.

I opened my eyes a fraction, so they were just slits. Black and red dots danced in front of them. It was a moment before I registered the rest of my body, my legs felt like jelly, yet my back was tight, the muscles pulling in every direction. My face was squashed against the cold floor and as my senses returned, I smelt something metallic near to me. Blood.

My arms were outstretched and I wiggled a finger. It hurt, in fact my whole body hurt. That moment of realisation that I was alive and still moving was replaced in an instant.

‘George?’ I said, yet it came out as a whisper.

‘George?’ I repeated. I pushed myself up, unsticking myself from the floor. I looked around the room, letting it come back into focus before I tried to stand up.

When the room stood still, I grabbed onto the back of the couch and hurled myself to my feet. It was too quick and the blood rushed to my head. I placed a hand on my temple, and when I took it away, my fingers had turned bright red.

‘Will?’ I croaked. ‘George?’

I stumbled into the bedroom. Everything was as I’d left it. Except when I looked over to the cot, just like I’d feared and felt the moment I’d woken up; it was empty.

‘No. No no no’ I cried, stumbling towards the front door. The moment I opened the door, the wind and rain smacked into my face, threatening to force me back inside.

I ploughed ahead, squinting to find any sign of life. There was nothing around me, the only sounds were the creaks trees as the wind attacked them. I looked over to Bette’s house and squinted again through the rain. A faint glow was coming from the kitchen.

I moved as fast as I could with the elements working against me and my legs wobbling. ‘Will!’ I screamed.

I used the full weight of my body when I reached the back door and it whipped open. Everything looked so normal; the chipped worktops, the old pots and pans hung up against the wall. It seemed ridiculous that it could stay the same when my life was hurtling around me like a tornado.

There was a banging coming from somewhere. At first I thought it was just the house, yet it was frantic and determined. I looked to the corner of the small kitchen, where the door to the pantry was firmly shut and bolted.

I rushed over without thinking and pressed my hands against the door, ‘Will?’

His voice came, fast as lightning ‘Kate!’

My fingers shook over the bolt and the door swung open from the inside. William came flying out, crashing into me.

‘Are you ok, are you ok?’ he said, holding my head to him. Relief flooded me and I gripped his shirt. He pulled away suddenly and wiped the blood off my temple. ‘What happened?’

The words came out muddled and confused, ‘She taken him…she hit me…Bette’

William’s face drained of colour, ‘where is she?’

‘I don’t know Will, she just, I’m so sorry…she’s taken him’ my face started to burn.

‘She can’t have got far’ he pulled my hand like a ragdoll and we rushed back outside.

I don’t know how long I was out for, but William’s reaction made me think it can’t have been that long. ‘How long were you in there?’ I shouted over the wind.

‘She locked me in fifteen minutes or so ago’ he shouted back.

Had it only been fifteen minutes? Every second without George seemed like a lifetime. William looked into the distance, towards the entrance of the farm.

‘Where is he Will?!’ I was a stupid thing to say, but I could think of nothing else.

‘I can’t see any cars up there’ he said. ‘If they’ve taken George, they’ll want me too’

We turned the corner to where I’d first found him next to his pick-up truck. Both his car and Bette’s small Chevy were still there.

Amongst the battering noises against the windows, a tiny sound drummed my ears.

‘Did you hear that?’ I said to Will.

‘What?’ he said, pushing the rain off his face.

I walked past the cars quickly, ‘the horse’

William followed a step behind me, ‘what?’

‘The horse Will!’ I shouted impatiently. ‘He sleeps during the night’

William’s face filled with comprehension. We started to run towards the stable, our ears straining to hear the loud whine of the horse again. The door was ajar and I saw William’s chest heave with hope. We pushed it open.

There, at the back of the room stood Bette, George wrapped in a blanket in her arms. They were feeding the horse hay like it was the most normal thing in the world. There was just a single wall light in the room, but I could tell that though sleepy, George was unharmed.

‘Bette’ I said.

She turned around nonchalantly, casting her gaze over the two of us. I took a step forward. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you’ she said in a voice that was unfamiliar.

‘Just give him to us’ William snarled.

‘I don’t think so’ she glanced behind our heads.

William and I looked at each other, evidently thinking the same thing. She was waiting for someone to arrive.

‘There’s no need for you to keep him, just give him to us, you’re scaring him’ I pleaded.

George was sitting calmly on her hip. He’d gotten so used to her. She’d taken care of him and played with him. Of course he wasn’t scared. She laughed dryly.

William’s eyes were narrowing and I knew he wanted to pounce on her.

‘Don’t try anything’ she said tightening her grip.

‘You wouldn’t hurt him’ William said.

‘And how do you know that?’ she smiled.

I wanted to hurt her just as much as William did but we had to try a different tact. ‘Who are you?’

Bette laughed again, ‘I’m exactly who you think I am’ she said, her voice drawling. ‘I own this farm’

‘Who are you working for’ William tried I sound as calm as me but failed.

‘Who do you think?’ she said, playing with George’s toes. ‘You think you just turn up here and some dumb old lady takes you on without asking a single question?’

William turned away, angry at his own naivety.

‘So what now?’ I asked. ‘You’re just gonna hold us here until whoever gets here?’

‘I’ll do what I was paid to do’ she looked at me with disgust.

‘We trusted you’

‘Then you’re idiots. You really thought you’d be left here to play happy families? We’ve been watching you, making sure you didn’t do anything stupid. But you had to go and ruin it. They would’ve left you alone if you didn’t try to run’

William was fuming now, his body heaving. I held onto his arm.

But it was too late. He lunged forwards and Bette backed away, turning to the wall.

George cried at the sudden movement and my heart tore.

‘Give him to me’ William roared.

Bette spun back around, her hand grasping a metal bar that she’d picked up. I realised that’s what she’d hit me with. She must’ve had it ready in a corner when she came to the house.

She swung at William but he stepped aside, sending her of balance. The bar hit the side of the stable instead, and as it did William pounced to her other arm, tearing George from her grasp.

He ran over to me and almost threw George into my arms. I wrapped my arms around him and rocked him.

Bette’s eyes were frantic. I couldn’t tell if it was her anger or fear of what would happen now she’d lost George. In a second, she walked calmly over to William and hit him straight on the back.

He fell to his knees, groaning in pain.

‘Stop it!’ I screamed.

‘Give me the baby’ she said in her old tone.

My protective instinct kicked in as William struggled to his feet. All this time, she’d been plotting and planning. If we had stepped out of line, tried to leave, she would’ve taken action against us. The cooking lessons, telling us to take a break; it was all a way to make us not want to leave this place.

Fire gripped my stomach, the anger of our precious six months turning out to be nothing but another cage.

I handed George to William once he’d regained his composure.

‘Kate what are you doing?’ he said, eyes wide.

I strode towards her and grabbed the bar. She tugged, but I placed both hands around it and pulled it from her grasp.

‘Don’t come near them’ I said in a low voice.

‘It won’t be me you need to worry about in a minute’ she said, with a slight shake to her voice.

She made a try for the bar again. I don’t know what made me do it. Rage? Animal instinct? But at that moment, without my brain seemingly connected to my body, I bought my free arm from my side and slapped her hard on the face.

She stumbled backwards, but before I could register her shock, William was pulling me out of the barn.

‘Let’s go!’ he was saying.

He pulled me outside and slammed the barn door shut, pulling down the latch.

‘They’ll find her eventually’ he said to me, like I’d care if they did. ‘We’ve got to go, I can’t see any one at the entrance, I’ll get the bags, you call home, we don’t know when we’ll get signal again’

We ran back to the outhouse and scooped up everything in sight, including the car keys. We had no reservations about taking the pick-up truck now.

William travelled back and forth to the car as I dressed George in something warmer. As he returned from his third trip, a light from stopped him in his tracks.

I looked up at the same time he did. Out at the entrance to the farm – the only exit – were a line of headlights.

‘We’re too late’ I breathed.

William paused.

I held his arm, my heart thudding, ‘can’t we call the police or something?’

He looked at me with apology in his eyes. ‘They won’t get here in time and I’m betting they’ve been paid off too’

I looked at the ground, desperately trying to think of someone that would help us.

He held me close, suddenly resigned , ‘they won’t hurt us Kate…they just want us out of the way. They’ll probably just take us somewhere remote again like they did to me’

The lights were still there but they weren’t moving any closer. ‘And that’s what you want?’

‘I know it’s not ideal, but if it keeps us safe’, he touched his fingers to the cut on my head.

‘We won’t be safe and happy at home now? I mean we were never really unhappy were we?’ I asked.

‘We agreed on this, it will make us happy eventually. Now call home, tell them what’s happening’. He kissed me and left to take more bags to the car.

He didn’t answer my question, at least he thought he hadn’t. But he had answered it in what he hadn’t meant to say. Eventually.

I picked the mobile phone up from the table and switched it on, staring down at the battery sign flashing at me. I reached into my back pocket and took out the scrap of paper. Eventually wasn’t good enough.

It only took twenty minutes. We’d packed everything in the car, with William’s optimism that they’d let us drive ourselves to wherever we were going.

We were in the middle of the living room when they came, arms wrapped around each other with George sandwiched between us. We didn’t know why they were waiting. Perhaps they were waiting for Bette to get in touch or for us to try to escape before they captured us.

Either way it gave us precious time.

Lights came flooding through the windows, lighting up the farm.

‘What the…?’ William let go of me and shielded his eyes to get a better look, ‘how many more of them have they sent?’

‘It’s not them’ I said blankly, following him outside.

He hadn’t seemed to have heard me, ‘why do they need so many cars?!’

‘It’s not them!’ I said louder. He looked to me and I tilted my head, ‘I’m sorry’

His eyes widened, ‘what have you done?’

‘I’m sorry’ I said again.

He held my face in his hands, ‘Kate, what have you done? Who are they?!’ His voice was ragged and tired.

Tears welled in my eyes, ‘I had to do it, there wasn’t another way, we’d be pushed around from place to place and our freedom would be on their terms for the rest of our lives’

I knew William still didn’t understand but he didn’t try to force me, just kept his hands on my face as the weather played havoc around us.

‘It’s the press’ I said finally.

His face dropped. ‘What?’

‘They’re the only people that could help us. You said yourself the police were probably corrupt. They’re the only people who could get here in time and the only people they can’t control…’ I pointed to the cars that were waiting to take us away. The people probably sent by Steven and Alec. These were the people behind the Revolution.

The press had fueled the fire of the Revolution and now it came like a deluge to wash it out.

‘Please don’t be angry, you know leaving wouldn’t be right’

William released his grip on my face and watched as more lights appeared in the distance.

It was Mary who had put the thought into my head. She had said that if she wanted to expose us, then she would’ve called the paper by now. At the time, I recoiled at the thought of the press infiltrating our little hidden nest like snakes in the grass. But as I called her and told her to ring the local paper and do that very thing, in fact to ring the biggest and most media outlets she could find, I acknowledged they were our only hope.

‘We’ll never get the lives we hoped for now, you know that’ he said to me. It wasn’t chiding or angry, but just a confirmation of the finality that I already knew.

No matter how disappointed he was, I know as William took George from me, his little body shivering in the rain and looked at the gash on my head; a result of our fight for our ‘freedom’, that our dreams would always be just out of reach.

I took his hand and he held it securely. We walked away from the house and onto the path that led away from the farm. The rain poured down onto us and the wind flew threw the fields, around and between us.

We stopped in the middle of the path when we came into view of the cars, holding tightly onto each other. The lights seemed to turn and focus in our direction, piercing through the dark and shined onto us, once more.

Epilogue

‘Are you ok?’ he muttered into my ear.

‘Yeah, fine, just a bit nervous’ I replied, taking a deep breath.

‘And you GB?’

George shouted a response which we took to be a yes.

William placed a hand on my back and lead me outside. The cheers went up immediately, the streams of red, white and blue colouring the masses of bodies below.

It was amazing how little, yet how much had changed. Just five months on and it was like it had never happened. The Queen stood waving gratefully. It wasn’t a gesture that said she was grateful to be alive or not exiled, but one that thanked the people for keeping the faith in her.

That was the thing about duty, just when you thought you’d escaped it, it would bind itself around you and reel you back in.

When we’d left Iowa, William had bargained with the press immediately. Kept our secret, and we’d give them an interview and more access to our family. They agreed, and somehow those beautiful few months had remained ours to savour.

William and I waved, as did George, who was loving the attention. He should get used to this, I thought. He’ll be doing it now every June for the rest of his life.

A flutter passed through my stomach and I placed my hand on it.

William shot me a look immediately, speaking through his smile, ‘you sure you’re ok?’

I touched his arm, ‘yes, stop worrying about us’

There on that balcony we were exposed to the world again. A world so different to the one we were determined to live in. The Revolution was over, a new government formed, the monarchy returned to its place, and a new hope blossomed in the country.

A new hope, that if you read the newspapers, was symbolised by something tiny, perfect and innocent, curled up inside me.

The one, beautiful thing we’d bought back from Redfern.

This is where that story ended and a new one began.

The End

#katefiction #royal fanfiction #cambridge fanfiction #kate middleton

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jay-me-says · 4 years ago

Text

Things Were Different Back Then

CHAPTER ONE: The Protagonist Returns

Masterpost w/ more info on the fic | Note: all SBI-related relationships here are platonic!

Tubbo fidgets with the buttons on his suit jacket, the shiny gold a pretty contrast to the forest green fabric. The notion seems utterly laughable to him, but he’s nervous to see Tommy.

It’s been a while since the blond was last in L’manburg. A few weeks after Tubbo became president, Tommy had left. “I just need to clear my head for a while. I’ll be back,” he had said. Nearly a month had passed with no Tommy and no word from him. Until a few days ago, when Tubbo had received a message via carrier parrot. It was from Tommy, saying he was okay and would be home in a few days.

Tubbo had felt happy at first, but now he was nervous out of his mind. The past few days had been spent making preparations for Tommy’s return. Everyone wanted to make his homecoming special, so the whole nation had pitched in to decorate and prep food to welcome Tommy back with a feast. The entire time he was helping prep, Tubbo had felt like a blob. A wobbly, wiggly version of himself that had no solid shape and was made only of nerves and worry.

He was terrified that something might go wrong, or that he hadn’t done enough to welcome his dear friend back home. Even with the entire nation covered in banners and candles and lanterns, Tubbo kept wondering what else he could do. He’d even been tempted to temporarily lift the ban on explosives to allow fireworks, but in the end decided it wouldn’t look good for a president to go around breaking his own laws.

Presently, Tubbo is standing about ten feet from the gates of L’manburg. One of the first things the country had done after the revolution against Schlatt (after tearing down and replacing the hideous obsidian flag of Manburg) was build a wall around their territory to prevent attackers from waltzing in freely. Along with that project had come a large gate. It was made of spruce wood and opened with a pulley on either side, requiring two people to lift it.

Watchtowers dot the wall, where people often take turns scanning the terrain beyond. Mainly, they watch for invaders from the Dream SMP. In the short time Tubbo has been president, there hasn’t been much activity. Just a scout every now and again. They keep watch anyways, on edge after a history full of war. Fundy is sitting in one of the towers closest to the gate, keeping an eye out for Tommy. Eret and Puffy each stand by one of the pulleys, talking. Everyone else mills around, staying close to the gate while talking to one another.

The air in the nation has been filling up with anticipation since Tubbo made the announcement about Tommy’s return. It feels like electricity, energizing the clusters of people, making them more alert. Every slight noise from outside the gate turns heads.

Tubbo, zoned out while worrying his mind and his button, doesn’t notice Niki approach. When she places her hand on the president’s shoulder, he startles, drawing in a sharp breath and snapping his head to look at her. Seeing that it’s just his fellow council member, the tension drops from his shoulders and he slowly exhales. After the Second Revolution, Tubbo had decided to alter the way L’manburg’s executive branch ran. Instead of a single president, he wanted there to be multiple leaders. Soon after the coup, before Tommy left, there was an election that voted himself, Niki, and Tommy in. Fundy has been acting as a stand-in for Tommy since he left.

Niki’s brow is creased slightly in concern. “Are you alright, Tubbo? You look nervous.”

He doesn’t try to hide it. “I am, Niki. I really am. It’s just,” he pauses for a moment and sighs, “it’s been so long since I’ve seen him. What if he’s changed a lot- what if I've changed- and we don’t get along?” Tubbo keeps fidgeting with his button, eyes locked on Niki’s.

Niki uses her hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to gently turn him to face her fully. She puts her free hand on his other shoulder and squeezes. Tubbo catches the sparkle of her promise ring to Puffy in his peripheral vision. “I can understand your worry, Tubbo, but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Even if he has changed, you’re Tommy and Tubbo, L’manburg’s favorite dream duo. You’ll work it out, I’m sure of it.”

The way Niki’s gaze locks onto Tubbo comforts him. She looks so certain. Like she’s telling Tubbo that the sky is blue. It settles him some, but he still grips the button on his jacket. His fingers have stilled, though.

“Thank you, Niki.”

“Anytime, Tubbo.”

Right as Niki finishes speaking, Fundy hollers from his tower. They both glance over as he yells, “Tommy’s back!”

Tubbo looks back to Niki, eyes wide with excitement. The other council member is grinning. She squeezes his shoulders again, then gives him a soft shove towards the gate. “Go! Go meet him!”

Nerves temporarily forgotten, the brunette takes off. The built-up electricity crackles through the air and into his body, making his limbs lighter. In that moment, Tubbo is sure that he has never run faster.

Eret and Puffy have started pulling up the gate and Fundy is scrambling down from the tower, rushing to join the crowd that has gathered a few feet away from the wooden bars. They are packed in tightly, already calling hellos to Tommy. When they notice Tubbo, though, they move and let him barrel through.

When he gets to the front of the crowd, stumbling to a stop, Tubbo’s eyes finally land on Tommy. His hair is ruffled and he’s smiling, eyes lit up as he scans over the crowd of his friends. When his gaze falls on Tubbo, he grins even wider. At the same moment, they take off running.

Now, Tubbo is sure, he’s never run faster. The boys nearly bowl each other over as they crash into a hug. They grip each other tightly. An observer would swear they’d never let go.

Relief and affection pools up inside of Tubbo, filling him to the brim and making him feel warm. Tommy is safe. Tommy is here, in L’manburg, in his arms. No more wondering where he is or if he’s okay.

“I missed you so much,” Tommy breathes, the hint of a laugh tangled in his syllables.

Tubbo sinks deeper into the hug. “I missed you, too. I’m so glad you’re back.” He grips the other boy tighter, if possible.

Their words are muffled, faces buried in each other’s shoulders. Tubbo could stay like this for hours and not mind.

But they do break apart. Tubbo tries not to feel a little sad and grins up at the taller boy, who grins back. He’s not sure he would ever admit this out loud, but Tubbo had missed those bright blue eyes of Tommy’s.

The taller boy grabs Tubbo’s right hand in his own and squeezes. The look he gives him sinks into the brunette’s soul, conveying words he hasn’t said aloud. We'll finish this later.

Tubbo nods and gently lets his friend’s hand go. As he walks away, it feels like something is missing. Like Tubbo has taken his hands off a warm mug and the cold is seeping into his skin. He can practically hear Tommy saying, “Clingy bitch.”

Tommy is greeted like a hero returning from slaying some vexatious beast. The crowd jumps on him, each person gripping him close in turn and welcoming him home.

As Quackity is greeted with a yell of “Big Q!” Tubbo finally notices the dog. Really, he’s unsure how he missed it in the first place. It’s about as large as a small bench and fluffy beyond belief, with fur the same color as the quartz blocks that make up the Prime church. Tubbo’s heart melts a little when he sees the familiar green bandana tied around the dog’s neck.

The dog barks in excitement, running around, picking up the crowd’s energy. Many L’manburgians are already dishing out pets. It’s a challenge, though. The dog only stays still for a few seconds before running more laps around the group.

Tubbo also notices the parrot, then, flapping around nearby Tommy’s head. It’s mostly green with just a little smudge of a lemony yellow on its forehead and wings. It’s the same parrot that delivered Tommy’s message. Tubbo had sent the bird back to Tommy afterwards, bearing a response letter and a little pouch with a few cookies made by Niki.

The light, energetic feeling vanishes from Tubbo’s limbs when he sees Tommy stood in front of Wilbur. The tall brunette looks uncomfortable, shifting his weight from foot to foot and picking at the hem of his gray sweater. For a few seconds, they do nothing but stand across from each other, staring. The scene sucks the electricity out of the air, hoarding it all and turning the pair into a greedy storm cloud.

Finally, Tommy reaches out a tentative hand. Wilbur glances between the hand and Tommy’s face, then carefully takes it. They shake and Tommy moves on quickly, finishing his greetings. The stolen electricity slowly leaks back into the atmosphere.

The group had moved outside of the wall earlier, following Tubbo after he booked it out to meet Tommy. Now, they lead the blond into L’manburg, towards the spruce platforms where the podium once stood. A long table has been set up and covered in food and dishware. Tubbo snags a seat next to Tommy and lets himself get swept away in the energy of the group. They loudly tell stories, taking turns updating Tommy on what’s happened since he left and listening as the blond regales them with tales from his time away. Being around everyone like this, eating together and talking about anything and everything, warms Tubbo’s heart. He feels happy. By the time the sun sets, his cheeks are aching from so much smiling.

The L’manburgians stay at the table well into the night, orange light cast from lanterns keeping the mobs at bay. But as the moon traces a path through the sky, the group slowly thins out and people return to their homes for the night. Eventually, there are only a few people left at the table.

After Quackity leaves, clapping his hand on Tommy’s shoulder when he walks by, the blond nudges Tubbo to get his attention. “Do you want to head back up to your house? I’m pretty tired.”

Tubbo agrees and the two say their goodbyes, leaving Eret, Philza, and Fundy as the final three at the table. Tubbo privately wonders where Wilbur has gone, figuring he would’ve stayed with his father and son, but thinks better than to ask. It seems like a charged question, and he’d rather not ruin the mood.

As Tubbo and Tommy make the short walk home, the dog and the parrot trailing along behind them, there isn’t a single quiet moment. They chatter back and forth about everything and nothing. Tubbo once again feels warm. He’s missed this, all of it. Everything that he couldn’t do with Tommy while he was gone.

When they reach his house, Tubbo opens the door and gestures for Tommy to go in first. The dog follows, parrot sitting atop his fluffy head, then Tubbo enters. Tommy, of course, has his own home in L’manburg to stay in. He was around long enough after the revolution against Schlatt to build one. But they had decided via carrier parrot that he would stay with Tubbo for a few days, giving the pair time to catch up and see each other more.

While Tommy gets settled in the guest room, Tubbo sits in a wooden chair near the bed and they keep talking. Tubbo never seems to run out of words with Tommy around.

“So, what’s up with the dog?” Tubbo inquires as the great, fluffy wolf sits in front of him. It places a large paw on his lap, so Tubbo scratches its head.

Tommy flits between his bag and the wardrobe, putting away his armor and spare clothes. “That’s Walter. I had set up camp for a bit in some woods and he came to check it out. I gave him some steaks and when I went to leave, he followed. He’s been with me for about half the time I’ve been away, I think.”

“He’s massive.”

Tommy cracks a smile. “Seriously. A child could use him as a pony.”

Still petting the dog, Tubbo turns his gaze to the parrot sitting on the headrest of the bed. He makes a mental note to bring Tommy some things for it tomorrow. “Did you name the parrot?”

“Yeah, Henry II. What’s up with the parrots anyways?” He pauses in putting away his things and looks at Tubbo, brow creased in confusion.

“It was Ponk’s idea. He figured it would be nice to have a way to send messages, so he’s been training up parrots. He runs a little mail building where most of them are kept. Got built a week or so after you left.”

“Has it actually been helpful?” An edge of doubt creeps into Tommy’s voice, but he seems rather curious.

“I mean, it was helpful to get some warning before you got back, so we could prepare to give you a big welcoming. Besides that, it has been pretty convenient. I’ve been using the system to send people notes. It’s sort of nice to not have to go to peoples’ houses to communicate with them.”

Tommy hums in response as he resumes putting away his things. As he finishes, shutting the wardrobe, he says, “That was really nice, by the way. Thank you, you guys didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course we did. We all wanted to. Although, the decorations were mostly Wilbur. Man barely stopped working on them since we got word you were coming.”

Tubbo realizes too late that he probably shouldn’t have brought up Wilbur, especially after how tense Tommy had been back at the gate with him. Kicking himself, he hurries on, “By the way, Tommy, you’re still invited to take back your council seat. I’m sure Fundy will be thrilled to be relieved of his post. He’s been working really hard, but he doesn’t enjoy it all that much.”

Tommy pushes the tip of his shoe into the floor and glances off to the side. “Er, yeah, about that, do you think he could stay on just a little while longer? I- I don’t know if I’m feeling up for that yet. Everything is so different, and I just need some time to adjust if…if that’s alright.” He looks at Tubbo again on the last sentence. Tubbo is a little surprised but understands. “I’m sure you could ask him about it. I was planning to show you around tomorrow anyway, so we could stop by his and Phil’s and Wilbur’s house and speak with him. We could invite Niki along, as well.”

If asked, Tubbo would say he wants to invite Niki because she’s also on the council, and conversations about the council should involve her. And that is partly true, but he also wants another buffer in case they end up talking to Wilbur.

Tubbo tries to start up the conversation properly again, but it’s not quite the same. Tommy still seems somewhat tense, and sort of withdrawn. The brunette wishes he hadn’t brought up Wilbur like that. The comment had turned the air thick- it almost felt hard to breathe.

When he thinks he might suffocate by staying in the room any longer, Tubbo says goodnight, wanting out before his tongue can dig him a deeper hole. “I’m just down the hall if you need me,” he adds as he gets up from the chair.

Before he can leave, Tommy crosses the room and grabs his friend’s arm, tugging him into a hug. Tubbo squeezes back, again glad that the boy is in L’manburg and within his reach once more. A small smile tugs at his features.

“I really did miss you, Tubbo. Thank you for the party,” Tommy murmurs against Tubbo’s shoulder.

“Of course, Tommy. We were glad to do it.”

The boys break apart and say a final goodnight before Tubbo goes to his room. As he gets ready for bed, he thinks about how Tommy is acting about Wilbur; he sort of shut down after the mention of him. It worries the brunette, but he tries to brush it off. Surely, it’ll be fine in a few days. Tommy just needs to get used to being back and sort things out with his brother.

‘

You can also read this on Ao3! | Next Chapter Please consider reblogging if you enjoyed! <3

#tommyinnit and tubbo fanfic #tommyinnit fanfic #tubbo fanfic #dream smp fanfic #dream smp fanfiction #sbi mcyt #sleepy bois fanfic #sleepy bois inc fanfiction #tubbo and tommy #jay-me-writes

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mikarenea · 4 years ago

Text

Happy barricade day!!!

Well, the thing is that i’ve written some exr angst and fluff for y’all. Hope you like it. Thats all.

———

Spring was coming to an end.

Dawn’s light passed through the almost translucent courtains of that humble bedroom in Paris, splashing across the complexion of a sleeping blond adonis who lied naked on the bed. His blue eyes opened slowly, slighly blinded by the early morning’s sun rays.

Enjolras felt the sun warming his exposed skin as the numbness of sleep fadded away and his own mind returned to the reality from the ephemeral world he had built in his dream. Soon he became aware of the soft sheets under him, of the warm blanket that barely covered one of his legs and, above it all, of the touch of a tender hand on his hip. Said hand, Grantaire’s actually, was not quite holding him, as had he done so passionately last night, but making certain that he hadn’t yet left, ensuring himself that it all hadn’t been a cruel dream. The blond looked over his shoulder to find that his lover was still fast asleep, as naked as himself. As if it were a vision, his mind was flooded with last night’s memories.

The same dark haired young man who breathed stadly behind him had been, not so long ago, gasping and panting and moaning as he rocked between his thighs. Grantaire had caressed every single inch of his body, loved as if it was their last night together, with only the dim light of a candle to admire the masterpiece Enjolras' features were. He remembered how helpless he had felt, how loved and happy, when straddling the older man's hips, he had laid a shy hand on his strong chest and had found his heart pounding under his palm.

Enjolras blushed at the vivid memory of all the sweet words this man had told him, the way he had worshiped him both through actions and words; and at the things he himself had said between soft gasps and moans, encouraging Grantaire and confessing how much he loved him.

He stroked softly the hand on his hip and turned around to give a kiss on the forehead to that man who loved him with the devotion of a believer and towards whom, even against his own values, he had grown to feel such a tender and warm kind of love.

He really wanted to stay, sleep a while more, perhaps remain in bed to write the epilogue of their last night’s activities. He wanted to kiss and cuddle Grantaire until the sun was high up in the sky and then they would go outside and have some breakfast together at a nearby cafe. But Enjolras had to leave.

That day was the day they had been waiting for so long. The moment when the country, —the people!— needed to claim what it was theirs. It would be dangerous, their survival would depend on the people of Paris. If the tortured, hungry and miserably poor citizens of the French capital joined their cause, if the oppression hadn’t yet stolen every hope of freedom of the people and they fought with them, they would succeed. If not, they would all be a pray to the National Guard’s fire and atillery.

He considered this again, as so many times had done since that date was fixed. With a great anguish tightening his chest, he slipped away from the other man’s soft touch and got up to reach his clothes thrown across the floor. Had Enjolras just stood on his feet when he felt a sharp pain in his abdomen and hips and his legs seemed to fall under him. Again, his cheeks flushed brightly, but he managed it to remain standing and took his shirt from the wooden floor.

Enjolras sat down on the side of the bed and was putting his shirt on when he felt a shift in the bed behind him and a pair of hands that insisted in taking off said piece of clothing. Along with the hands, tender lips caressed, not quite kissing, the soft skin of his neck.

“Please, stay a little longer” whispered his lover in his ear and the blond felt his heart sinking.

Enjolras reached out to caress the dark and curled hair that brushed his shoulder as Grantaire rubbed his face sleepily against the skin of his back.

“I thought you were satisfied from last night” joked Enjolras, in voice that sounded cheerful in comparison to the heartache he felt in his chest. He tried to get up, but the man behind him threw his arms around his waist, holding him tightly but not really against his will. The artist’s fingers traced silently the line of Enjolras jaw and stroked his cheek as the blond leaned into the conforting touch, admiring the closest thing to a deity he had ever met, and finding himself willing to give fire to a hecatomb for him.

“Enjolras,” he said softly “only a glimpse to your naked body would be enough to satisfy any man or woman’s desires for life.” Enjolras turned around, facing the grief in Grantaire’s eyes. “But the only thing I really desire, even more than everything you gave me last night, is the certainity that tomorrow, after the sunrise, you’ll still be breathing, and that sparkle of passion won’t have faded from your beautiful eyes.”

“Grantaire...” his hand sat on the other man’s cheek and they stared into each others eyes for a couple of seconds. Enjolras couldn’t quite find his voice.

“Of course, even if you tell me that assuring me that is impossible, I won’t try to stop you because I know I can’t. Nobody can.” He looked down, feeling tears forming in his own eyes with the only idea of the risk this boy was about to take. “And of course I want to believe that you will succeed —that you all will— that the entire city of Paris will revolt against the tyrant but...” he went silent for a second, only to let out a broken voice “why it has to be you the one facing the cannons?!”

“Grantaire, look at me” Enjolras said and he complied shyly and his reddened eyes met the blue gaze of his lover, sorrowful and distressed. “Someone has to lead those me, someone has to step up and-

“But why it has to be you?!” he yelled, causing the tears to roll down Enjolras’ cheeks. “Forgive me, please, forgive me. But I don’t have your ideas nor your faith, and I feel that only fate will decide if you and all our friends will survive. I can’t believe in justice or freedom, and I don’t see anything that may save you from bleeding to death in some miserable and narrow street of this city. Tell me, what should I believe in? what should I cling to, so I can truely believe that everything will be okay?”

“You told me once that you believed in me” he whispered with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “You can’t have faith in the people or the ideas. Well, believe in me, then. Is the only thing I can offer you.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. He felt an unbeareble mix of anguish and despair, but also the purest and sweetest kind of love, all piled up in his chest, as his poor heart couldn’t help but to beat heavily, almost making him dizzy.

“It is much more than anyone has even offered me, Enjolras. You are the only thing I have ever believed in.” he leaned in to his lover and placed a little kiss on his jaw. “And the only one I have ever loved, truely loved.”

Enjolras pulled away a second to look him in the eyes, into those beautiful green eyes, and came close again to kiss him softly. “I love you too, Grantaire. I love you like I never thought I could love anyone.” he whispered on his lips. To those words, Grantaire felt himself unable to stop smiling and kissing the other man as lovingly as he cound conceive. They parted away for a second, only to look into each others eyes, they weren’t crying anymore, and that was enough.

‘God knows what I have done to deserve this’ thought the artist bitterly as he kissed Enjolras’ sweet lips ‘all this beauty and kindness... they can only belong to some heavenly creature, to an angel or a god. Perhaps this is it, live has granted me a piece of heaven and allowed me to love it, only to take him away cruely. Right, so if I lose this divine-like being, I’ll leave with him.’

“Are you going to stay a little longer?” Grantaire asked, deepening into the kiss and slipping his hands under Enjolras’ shirt again. The blond young man stared at his lover’s naked body for a second, bitting his lip and smirking. He seemed persuaded.

“Okay, the funeral is at midday, so I think that we have some time to enjoy each other’s company” had he just said this, Grantaire took his shirt off completely and joked “You can’t be late to your revolution!” Enjolras chuckled. “Shut up, is not my revolution.” And they kissed each other again.

“I saw you stumbling when you got up...I didn’t hurt you yesterday, did I?” the artist said, when they parted to catch their breath.

“No, not at all, I enjoyed myself as if it were my last-” he stoped, afraid that it would bring the melancholy back to the beautifully calm and sweet atmosphere they had created.

“Day on earth?” he said, apparently amused.

“Yes, my last day on earth” Enjolras admitted timidly.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” And he kissed all the way down his neck. “I really enjoyed it too. You made the sweetest souds.” he said with a smile, making the othey boy blush.

A red petal fell from a rose in that bedrooms window. It was beggining to rot. After all, the spring was coming to an end.

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