#and its impossible to just remove him from the equation completely

[paintingformike]

apart from mlevens trying to claim the van scene as el’s genuine feelings for mike, one thing that also gets on my nerves is the way they make it seem like all of mleven’s relationship issues in s4 were resolved because mike and el had stellar “communication”....as if the second love interest didn’t do 90% of the work for them 😭 PUT SOME RESPECT ON WILL’S NAME!

[krossan]

So here is the THING...

People often wonder why Dan is my favorite character and the “built-in-character” I often create for him. Most of these questions came after one of my favorite mini-story-panel of Phantom grieving his sister’s grave. I’m refering to this one:

Comments like “why Phantom SHOULD be grieving his sister if he was the one who killed them in the first place?” Well, for this essay, I hope I can change your perception and mind of what truly happen but SPOILER: HE WASN’T THE ONE WHO KILLED THEM. What a shocker. Why I came up with that conclusion, you ask? Let’s dive in with some information given to us in the show and how MADDENING stories that involve time-traveling are.

For starters, I HATE TIME-TRAVEL. I feel like tiime travel is like a simple excuse to misdirect the reader into thinking “Oh, that happened so I shouldn’t think much from that.” TUE is backed up from that which is infuriating to me and how the episode developed itself doesn’t make too much sense. I’m going to leave a quote mention on the DP wikia of exaclty what im talking about:

THIS right here is one of the MOST MEGA FLAW of the show itself. Yes. We know the events that led to Dark Danny was Danny cheating on the C.A.T. and then the NB explosion happen. But DAN DIDN’T CAUSE THE EXPLOSION! Dan didn’t trap his family just to blew up. Dan was out of the equation!

Erase from your minds the fact that Dan was involved on Danny’s timeline for a second and rewind things a bit. It is impossible for Dan to caused that because DAN DID NOT EXIST YET. The events were just about to unfold. For us to follow Dan’s timeline, Danny had NEVER talked to VLAD abt it. He NEVER had any sort of GUIDANCE to prove that he cheating on the C.A.T. was the thing that caused all of it. As the quoted statement of the DP wikia says: maybe what transpire in the Nasty Burger was a COMPLETELY different event that let to one of the boilers to blow. What if- this particular event- maybe the observants send someone else to put a stop to Danny (this also bringing the fact why Clockwork-in a way-is mad at them and you can feel this hatred towards them. And of course as stated by himself, the observants can only see one outcome while Clockwork can see variables.) Now, imagine the loss Danny may have felt after that unprecedented explosion. He had nowhere to go... and so the rest of Dan’s story begins. The only reason why Dan traveled back in time was because he knew this “Danny” from this alternate timeline had guidance from Clockwork. He new that if he cheated, a catastrophy would occur and he would do ANYTHING to prevent it... that was the GUIDANCE Dan NEVER HAD. HE HAD TO WITNESS HIS LOVED ONES DIE.

DAN NEVER HAD THAT “SECOND CHANCE” CLOCKWORK GAVE TO DANNY. OF COURSE DAN WILL BE BLOODY MAD ABT IT. -“I LOST MY FAMILY SO YOU MUST SUFFER THE SAME WAY”

But the overall ending of the episode feels stupid. Like after Danny speaking to Vlad and Clockwork and HE HIMSELF witnessing what was the cause for his family to die... Even if Dan succeded (which may I remind you Dan DID win but Clockwork had to interviene/cheat)

WHY WOULD DANNY GO BACK TO VLAD, GET RID OF HIS HUMANITY... AND BOOM! Have yourself another Dan.

The reasonable explanation to this is, again the OUTCOME.

What if on this case, if everyhing happened the way it was Danny now wanted his ghost to be removed because of the potential risks Phantom had.

He may have became Dark Danny but maybe a different one. One different from the one we all know.

This is my ranting of putting myself on Dan’s shoes for a moment. I hate time traveling episodes just so that they can just “go with it and make a mess out of the story but hey... it’s a cartoon, kids are not going to question anything”. You probably say that I’m overthinking this whole situation but I was once a writer and it is too frustating to me this type of subjects are just not fully solved.

Now with all this, Can you look at the panels and its meaning the same way now? Can you look at Dan the same way?

[aevallare]

what's up. i'm aevallare. you might know me as an idiot. here are some of my links.

ao3 || patreon || carrd

here are my bg3 fics beneath the read more. these are all available on my ao3, linked above. sorry about the white boy of the century.

look at the gold; call it a flex (conscript 38/astarion)

gossamer (ongoing) - post-game. previously unromanced ascendant astarion. changeling tav.

Her eyes flicker from brown to blue.

"Oh, Astarion. Why do you feel the need to control something you already own?"

commitment (complete, 1634 words) - fluff (?) one-shot. astarion overindulges.

38 denies Astarion nothing. Why would she want to? He freed her, made her a crown jewel— he gave her a home and he gives her chances to let blood with reckless abandon. What more could she ask for?

we can live forever if you've got the time (auri/astarion)

kindred (ongoing) - the og. the flagship. bg3, the remix.

auri knows people, and that's how she can tell; astarion is deeply, deeply fucked up.

pour one out (ongoing) - modern reincarnation au.

astarion's immortal. auri is decidedly not. but she's always had a way of doing the impossible.

inevitable (complete, 2102 words) - pwp two-shot. tadpole phone sex.

if she closes her eyes, she’s almost sitting in his lap again.

vow (complete, 5217 words) - pwp one-shot. menstruation kink.

when she’d helped astarion ascend, it had seemed like the right choice for a multitude of reasons.

excuses (complete, 4424 words) - pwp one-shot. sex pollen.

“Astarion, please.” Again, Auri begs. “Something was wrong with that meat I ate. It feels infernal. Everything’s so warm. I can't–”

infinite duress (complete, 2572 words) - pwp one-shot. bratty switch fic.

Astarion’s often the one in charge, but he’s been known to press his luck on occasion. If the tadpole still connected them, he knows exactly what Auri would say as he steps closer to Halsin.

Brat.

the art of scraping through (complete, 2579 words) - pwp one-shot. ascended astarion and auri have a very messy breakup. she has rebound sex with haarlep.

Astarion hates that she’s doing this, but he doesn’t get a say. He lost the right when he became the Vampire Ascendant, when he ended things after Auri refused to become a spawn.

honeysuckle and fresh meat (shadowheart/auri/astarion)

oneiric (complete, 7866 words) - pwp one-shot. sub!shadowheart + sub!astarion.

Shadowheart snorts. Auri can't stop thinking about what Astarion said in bed the other night. She says, “The problem is that I have trouble letting go of control with people that I don't trust. And people that I trust are few and far between.”

Astarion smirks. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult. I tend to be the one doing the controlling, if we can call it that, but letting it go can be just as…” Astarion trails off as if searching for the perfect word. “Fulfilling.”

green-eyed (complete, 2427 words) - pwp one-shot. valentine's day cuckfic.

All sex before was mediocre compared to this. Shadowheart wants for nothing.

Well. Almost nothing.

verdant (aeva/halsin)

impractical (complete, 1200 words) - one-shot.

His savior was a half-drow, as he’d later learn, but there hadn’t been time to reprimand himself for his prejudices. She’d slain his captors with relative ease, assisted by a human warlock, a half-elf Sharran, and a raging tiefling, and when he’d said he couldn’t possibly leave this place without removing the goblin leaders from the equation, she’d tilted her head to the side.

“We disposed of them before we found you.”

adjustments (complete, 1011 words) - one-shot.

The Underdark is beautiful in its own way, but it’s difficult for Aeva to divorce its aesthetic from the realities of living there. She’d been forced to claw her way out from destitution so often that it might as well have torn the nails from her fingers, and if desperation was currency, she would have wanted for nothing.

vital (complete, 1384 words) - one-shot.

Halsin’s dangerous in an unusual way. Being near him makes Aeva feel secure, and that’s never ended pleasantly. A tenday ago, she would have ignored his question outright.

He doesn’t press her for anything else, and for some reason, that loosens Aeva’s lips more.

old habits (complete, 1545 words) - one-shot.

Death to slavers always. That much will never change.

faithless (wyll/nora/astarion)

acumen (complete, 984 words) - one-shot.

Wyll likes to believe that everyone is doing the best they can.

bluster (wisp/gale)

tailwind (complete, 1670 words) - one-shot.

Wisp is loud, obnoxious, and concerned with little but joy and adventure. Stealth eludes her entirely, she’s constantly talking about how she’d feel better if they were on a ship, she never stops talking about how much she misses sailing and the sea, and she’s purported to be a cleric, but Gale has yet to see anything holy about her.

assorted other stuff

hearth (complete, 602 words) - shadowheart/karlach one-shot.

It’s cold tonight. Baldur’s Gate buzzes in the distance, and it’s hard to say what waits for them there. They’ve all still got parasites in their heads, there are two Chosen left, and Shadowheart’s renounced the only thing she knows.

cursed (complete, 1124 words) - gale/astarion one-shot.

When Gale Dekarios was born, there were whispers that he was cursed.

hypotheticals (complete, 542 words) - wyll/astarion one-shot.

in another life, a lot of things could have been different.

the devil in the details (complete, 1241 words) - wyll/astarion one-shot.

“Self-pity is a strange look on the Blade of Frontiers.”

all of your flaws are aligned with this mood of mine (ongoing) - 1/2 chapters. nevestarion modern au for @again-please.

Astarion’s mass of white curls retreats; Neve can just make them out in the darkness, courtesy of the street lamps. The scowl on her face sits firmly. She can’t throw the milk frother at him. But if he’s going to make this a miserable experience for her, then she can certainly give as good as she gets.

[linkito]

hello. my eye is still twitching but GOD the most recent rambles and rp bits that ange posted made my heart ACHE for scar. he's being so completely and totally overlooked here by multiple other hermits (like his own pain and trauma don't matter) and uuughhhghhghhghhg. anyway poking you to talk more about scar's thoughts and feelings throughout that all IF you would so like (so i can sob and weep and cry and continue to distract myself from work)

Oh gosh, it's bad honestly.

Because Scar knows where his heart is at, he knows he'd never do anything purposely cruel to Grian. But he can't speak for Grian's intentions. The Hermits are concerned that Grian is seeking out self-destruction with their antics and well... Scar just doesn't know.

The safest option for him is to simply wait it out. They put a pause to the rougher side of things, and honestly, that's fine! Scar could continue their relationship like this and he would still be happy. But...is it really their decision? Or are they letting other people think for them? People who don't know their experiences. People who don't know what it means, why they do these things in the first place.

But Scar feels like he has to keep these thoughts to himself. It feels impossible to remove his own desires from the equation if he speaks up, and he wants this to ultimately be Grian's choice.

(But keeping quiet means letting the Hermits have all the influence.)

He also feels like he's being held to a higher standard than is fair because of his seemingly violent nature. He has to appear more put-together and tame when he's around the Hermits. He has to hold back the claws, the teeth, the growling, and even his wings because they simply serve as reminders of his battered and ghastly nature.

And isn't it a little ironic to be hiding wings again? Somewhere where they're supposed to be safe to be themselves?

Grian's trauma results in him being withdrawn and skittish. People see that and pity him, which is a whole mess of its own, of course, but... Scar's trauma resulted in him growing defensive and on edge, ready to fight when normally he'd flee. ...It's harder to empathize with.

The Hermits don't realize what it is the two of them had to do to survive. All they see are sharp edges that they think need to be sanded down.

When the sleepover comes around, Scar practices a simple mantra: soft little kitten paws. Keep his claws retracted. Be gentle and charismatic-- all the aspects of the old Scar that the Hermits want him to be. He wears a dress shirt and a cozy-looking sweater vest. He gets a fresh haircut and combs it back. He uses his cane both because he's anxious and needs the crutch, but also because he hopes it makes him appear more harmless.

... and yet things still go wrong.

have a doodle for reading this far </3

[tinkonka]

hellooo!! im kind of new?? to ur blog (i came from ao3 ehxhbrfj) and i was wondering abt what ur top three ships are?? and uhhh what u personally like most about their dynamic orrr what u’d like to see in future events regarding them? thank you!!

UAHH HELLO!! THANK YOU FOR READING MY STUFF ON AO3 <:)) I so happy

okay. get ready for it baebyyy. gonna go 3rd most fave to 1st fave. Guess the #1 fave (Impossible)

3. Akian

im going to be Honest and Admit that i only started shipping it out of spite but as i got more into the game and more into vbs i like. Really fucking appreciate it. Very much. i WILL SAY THOUGH I honestly don't mind consuming it on a platonic context either i JUST REALLY LIKE THE TWO OF THEM

I really appreciate the subtle shows of their care for eachother, akito noticing that something is off with her, an going Specifically TO akito and miku in. in wtwg i believe (i could be remembering this wrong) and in turn an, although she does like to tease him a lot, believes in his ability to contribute to the team and. IDK. THEY CARE ABOUT EACHOTHER!!! THERE IS SO MUCH. LOVE. in their hearts. An made him a cheesecake for his birthday. akito notices she looks tired lately and tells her not to push it. i want to complain about people boiling their relationship down to .. wlw mlm hostility and completely removing any notion that they like eachother . BUT THIS IS A POST ABOUT APPRECAITION SO IWONT TALK ABOUT IT.

even just. like. Vocal wise. their voices go so so well together. Traffic jam is one of my favorite vbs covers. i love the akian rap in it. I love their dynamic . I don't really have. MUCH ? i want down the line. (I do keep up w vbs but theyre not my favorite) so i kinda just enjoy them hwenever theyre on screen

2. Mizumafu

Its such a travesty that i have not written them yet but they are the dynamic i go batshit insane over. The Parallels. the. The Difference in. In how they mask. Their hearts. Their kindness. Its so similar. to eachother. mafuyus little "i havent seen you in a while... im glad" with her little smile. Mizuki saying that it'd just be the four of them at scramble fan festa so mafuyu wouldnt have to mask the entire time i fucking LOVE them

even like on a surface level theyre so freaking cute. girl whos like :D and guy whos like o_o (I love it when they transmasc mafuyu its wonderful) I just love them so terribly. I need them to hug i need them. to kiss eachother maybe.

In terms of what i wantfor them down the line... i'd love to see a sort of thing after ena5 maybe where. Mizukis not been to school in a WHILE and has a lot of stuff to catch up on so mafuyu sits with her and helps her. and mizukis like. kind of low energy but mafuyu doenst question it, just lets her sit there, just helps her with the equations a bit. mafuyu chan. I love them

Ruinene

Go on guys act surprised

GOD WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN. WITH THEM? I think i actually started liking them a while ago by proxy because i had a Friend who liked it.. i dont remember much but it was jun22 (july?) that i got into pjsk and right off the bat i really liked them. and then i got more into it and i liked them even more.

Their dynamic... i've always been a sucker for. "i'd die for you" x "Please live for me" . i love it terribly. I LOVE HOW INTRICATE IT IS i could go on forever about it. actually i am going to. sorry buckle the fuck up

I feel like ... i feel like a lot of Nene's attitude. toward everyone near the beginning of the wxs story. And toward herself really. It's just a big. Culmination of self hatred. She hates herself because she can't even talk to anyone without shaking, can't go on stage, lets people down... and she's bitter toward Rui because she hated that she couldn't do anything about their relationship. Letting people down.

i wanna draw attention to the way she talks about him near the beginning vs after her talk with tsukasa:

Do you see the difference? "he just has to try it out. people avoid him. heres the things hes done" vs "he gets absorbed in his work, and he's alone but i dont think he wants that". One is pointed, the other is sympathetic.

DO I THINK NENE HATES RUI. NO. But that's the thing with her. Her self hatred. she projects it onto others. Like in smile of a dreamer when she snapped at Tsukasa. And rui knows this behavior because he's immediately like "oh you must be worried about emu". because she didnt know what to do.

But then they grow together, and nenes attitude toward herself becomes kinder, and gradually her problems can be shared with them and it all just. becomes better. They Grow. And that's what i love about them. Rui "i've never seen nene shine like that before" kamishiro. Nene "i like your shows" kusanagi. I just i love them so much.

Ruinene i also consume both platonically and romantically but with like. a veer toward romantic. the way i write them is like if theyre dating but i rarely ever establish that fact (like i'll never have them outright say it) unless i'm writing with Explicit Polysho. I jjust. I love them so bad. I write the most for them i. draw the most for them. I love them.

in terms of what i want for future events WELL NENE5 IS LITERALLY RIIIIGHT AROUND THE CORNER and i i OUGH i do want rui to give a little help to her. i want rui to be there for her again. maybe a bit more forward this time because nene might go "oh i should handle this by mself" when shes in need ofhelp. Lalala. God save us all

AND I THINK THATS IT. HTNAK YOU FOR THE ASK>!!! I ENJOYED TALKING

[psychosibyl]

Honestly, I think more than anything this is the result of a series that’s lost sight of its original purpose with its characters. To be clear, I am not saying that Ko’s purpose has anything to do with Akane (though I’m also not implying that mentoring her and seeing her as an ideological beacon weren’t both crucial to his character in the first season). What I am saying is the more complicated your plotlines and the more characters you shove into it, the harder it becomes to know what to do with your original cast and give them meaningful roles. They also wrote him almost completely out of season 2, which is something I still consider a dire mistake even if it did allow us to see Akane’s growth more blatantly.

I’m not at all trying to put down Providence before I’ve even seen it--I just think from a writing standpoint, they’ve tried to do too much without tying up loose ends. At some point, major players are going to suffer.

I’ve completely lost sight of the timeline, but it’s not unrealistic for someone who’s been in a warzone to become more detached and apathetic. Even still, it would be a shame though if his and Akane’s dynamic isn’t utilized to its full potential in the film, and that apathy could be acknowledged and delved into for a more interesting, character-driven angle. Completely removing all “shipping” goggles from the equation, these are two people who complement each other extremely well with a complicated history. Their interactions have always added depth and humanity to the story in the past. It added that much-needed “other” element that separated the audience from the cold, inhuman, cyberpunk hell that represses and punishes humanity--human emotion, feeling, stress, trauma--around them. 

If the writers aren’t going to capitalize on that, then that’s a loss as far as I’m concern. They could potentially balance that more by leaning into her relationship with Gino and the other original, Division 1 members. It’s a different type of dynamic, but it’s still grounded and human. It brings value and warmth where there is otherwise none.

It comes across as a Marvel (Avengers franchise) mimic strategy without the long-standing history and reputations to really back up throwing so many characters into one setting. It gets too messy with too many incompatible threads overlapping and too many characters for the audience to latch onto any to care about.

Ko’s gone from being a major, prominent player in the Psycho-Pass series to being a plot tool and being able to do whatever the plot needs him to do. That’s a real shame and a waste of his character.

I think that also became apparent in the first film when he’d morphed from an intellectual yet practical, brute-force-yet-technical fighter into throwing Mission Impossible motorcycle stunts in the middle of a warzone and doing his new XMA creative form in the middle of a knife fight.

In his mid to late thirties, no less.

Speaking as a martial artist, that’s not exactly an age where your fighting style becomes flashier. 

Ok I’m just gonna say it. My feelings about Kougami up to this point:

(Disclaimer: I have not seen PPP yet so my impressions are based on the spoilers and discussions that all the watchers have had, -and they are subject to change) - also trying to separate my shipper feelings from this but beware of my inherent bias anyway.

Season 1: Kougami is generally very warm and protective towards Akane. He doesn’t see her as a woman yet but they both validate each other to an unimaginable degree. I mean, she risked her life and psycho pass to help him track down Makishima who ppl believed was a ghost. She restored the credibility of his investigative abilities and made him actually think that there might be a better world without the structural divisions that they have. That didn’t stop him from breaking the law but it’s obvious that he especially thought very highly of her even after leaving the country.

Psycho Pass: The Movie: honestly, the movie is so enjoyable with regards to Kougami’s character development. He smiles at Akane so much in this movie, tries to get validation from her and again is really protective of her. They definitely pose Akane as more womanly and more as a equal with him - both in physical and mental abilities. She also impresses him several times in the film. He’s overall amused like “wow, she actually followed me all the way out here. What a woman”

SS Case 3: He sings praises of Akane ofcourse, even in the presence of an undeniable beauty like Frederica. If anything, we can contrast Frederica finding him to Akane finding him in the first movie, and his dialogue and body language alone show how he’s mildly annoyed by or at least resistant to Frederica’s presence. Most of his character arc here is in relation to Tenzing though which I suppose was supposed to teach him to be responsible for more than just himself(?), but that ends up being left open ended during his fight with Garcia (I mean he stabs the man to death before they can conclude the dialogue). Overall though, Kougami’s smiles are for Tenzing here and also when he’s saying that he’ll return to Japan.

Season 3 and First Inspector: He’s either all focused on the investigation at hand or with Akane. Everytime he smiles in this season- it’s for Akane! And not to mention, they don’t even really discuss work or philosophy in their interactions, but more about themselves and what they’ve missed from each other after being separated for years. This is what gave me hope that his emotional intelligence had improved and he would finally find some peace in Akane’s presence.

Providence: Based on what I’ve read, Kougami feels rather out-of-character in this. Like a weird blip in the timeline of his character arc. All the bonus scenes I saw anyway just made his interactions with Akane awkward. I didn’t expect it to be absolutely smooth but where’s the warmth that he initially had for this woman in S1 and the 1st movie??? What is this fuckboi behavior Kougami??? Maybe he’s able to make up for it in the 3rd act of Providence at least based on the notes I’ve read but he’s just so cold. Like he has a point to make?? I’m so confused. The tone of Providence is just cold in general and we keep seeing scenes where Ko and Akane are just on their own, never really together and communicating - the rain, the ice, the cold city drafts - just adds to it. But maybe the fact that S3 and PPFI comes after this gives us hope that he did get his act together and maybe visited her more and actually talked this out with her while she was in confinement. Maybe we’ll get some bonus scenes in a novel format.

I haven’t even seen PPP yet and I already need a season 4 to redeem Kougami’s character like what the hell. (And I’m sure the animation staff are exhausted and I don’t wanna encourage overworking them) - even if it’s like a measly 45 sec scene, I need to see the warm and caring Kougami again.

Providence looks phenomenal though - the team definitely outdid themselves - and I can’t wait to watch it.

[steelycunt]

would the prank have happened if james were the werewolf. hang on now

[hamliet]

I feel like people confuse heroes with what we know here in America as cops lol

What’s so wrong with Hawks killing Twice is that he’s claiming to be a hero. Heroes don’t kill. And people keep comparing them to real life cops who kill when they deem it’s necessary, or whatever.

Now don’t get me wrong I don’t think cops should kill either, but that’s a different discussion. But the bottom line is you can’t call yourself a hero if you can’t find a way to save people without killing someone else, and Hawks is doing just that, and the other “heroes” are allowing it, which in my opinion makes them not *true* heroes.

Why people insist on forcing cop values onto fictional heroes is beyoooond me.

So I got this ask like two months ago (at least; it might’ve been longer) and wrote out a response, but decided not to post it because it is a complex answer. With the diskhorse now revived and rearing its ugly head, I decided to refine a bit of this and post my thoughts. 

I don’t think a distinction between cops and heroes is really important, since as far as we have seen in BNHA... we aren’t really sure of the distinction, plus at least for me as an American, I can’t comment on Japan’s system (and there’s a major racism factor in the US).

We have seen heroes willing to kill in the manga (I mean, they were all trying to kill Tomura), though. This fits with this chapter’s (314) indication of a highly corrupt system. 

I also completely agree with you: in general (look extreme situations exist, but BNHA thus far isn’t in one; it will likely have one towards the end with AFO) if you can’t find a way to save a life without it coming at the cost of another, that isn’t something heroic to be celebrated, and that’s a cheap-ass view of justice (also as a personal value). It’s a tragedy, not something to be admired or inspired by or to aim for, all of which are generally responses to heroism as a concept (within our world and within BNHA). 

This idea--that killing is not heroic--is also reflected in the story for the most part: from chapter one, we are told a hero saves. We can thus conclude that someone who does not save is probably not intended to be seen as heroic in that moment (which is not the same as condemning them as a monster who cannot change). That is clearly a value of the story, so to uphold this, Twice’s death (since this is the scenario wherein this tends to be discussed) has to be wrong, thematically speaking. 

On the correlation of cops/heroes... it is complicated.

In general, I think it’s poor analysis to directly correlate fiction (especially when the work is from another culture than one’s own) to real current events, and particularly when they are so raw, real, and painful. At the same time, I also get that it’s impossible for brains not to make connections and see familiar circumstances in them. However, this doesn’t mean that 1=1 but instead is a blurry reflection in a mirror: the arguments and logic are not entirely removed from the real world, even if not intended to be 1=1 equivalents (by equivalents I mean direct representations of a particular real life event/concept). Even if the author does not intend the reflection, it can still exist and be picked up on by readers, or by the fandom in their respective contexts/cultures. This is not “wrong” of fans; we.all do this.

So, to return to how Twice’s death is analyzed within the specific context of fandom, I’m reluctant to equate it to the real world, while at the same time indeed finding it almost impossible not to shiver at the way the arguments used by hero stans mimic rhetoric from the real world. Personally, I do find it disturbing how many people come to my inbox and make the same exact arguments as “blue lives matter” folks. Of course it is fictional and therefore different, but it can trigger things especially given the current events in the US, where I live. I’m unsettled by said argument even with contextual and cultural changes taken into account, because on a “personal value” level, the arguments are just flat invalid, rooted in a very shallow understanding of justice, and prone to the whims of injustice. Additionally, many of the asks I’ve gotten do indeed draw on the real world “well it’s okay for real world cops/soldiers/etc” directly, which is partially why I think I’ve responded heatedly before, and why I think other meta writers have done the same. 

That does not mean these fans inherently have a certain point of view (many don’t); I’m just saying that the similarities in arguments specifically around the morality of using lethal force against a potential criminal is hella yikes for me personally, and I know I’m not alone in this (and also know that people closer to these issues than myself might feel differently too; there are no monoliths). Anyways, I wish more hero fans would acknowledge this when justifying Twice’s death. It’s fair to discuss it within the realm of the series’ portrayal of morality, and the story has been odd with the framing around Twice’s death: the narrative hasn’t called Hawks out (yet), while also portraying Hawks unequivocally as in the wrong during the actual murder (look at the panels again. Horikoshi drew them that way for a reason). 

But people often revert to real world justice arguments to vindicate Hawks, and... maybe don’t? 

Is Hawks brainwashed? To an extent, yes. He’s not more or less culpable than Dabi or Shigaraki just because the law gives him a license to kill. We can discuss ideological motives and how they impact the degree to which a character will be held responsible in a story because, of course, it is not the real world and is for a message, but that’s for another day. He needs a chance to free himself, but you can’t say that he did not do something wrong by killing Twice. That doesn’t make him a monster.

Anyways I think the fandom ought to be more sensitive and self-aware of the arguments we are making, and where they come from. 

[x-reader-fanfics]

Heyyyy :) I saw your last post w dataxreader, and I was wondering if you’d do another? I LOVED it 😍 maybe one where reader and data aren’t in a relationship yet, but he gets super jealous when someone hits on reader, and then mutual feelings come to light? Eeeek thank you, and if u don’t wanna do this one right away I understand cause u just did one, but thank u anyway, and I love your writing ♥️

🖤 Malfunction 💛

Summary: When a new Ensign takes a romantic interest in you, a new light begins to shine on the seemingly simple relationship between you and your closest friend Data.

Requests are open!

~x~

Data had always preferred working with you.

You understood the nuances of his coding and his odd personality in ways no other officer ever had. Where most would have been confused and perhaps even discomforted by his unusual behavior, you had always found it fascinating, even going so far as telling him it was charming.

“I like hearing things from your perspective. You say such wonderful things, Data.” You had laughed, bumping his elbow with your own as you and him worked for hours side by side.

You were his partner, the completing half of his equation. No one else would get the question right. He needed you, and you needed him.

“Good morning, Data.” You smiled warmly, sliding into his side as you began your shifts together as you always had, greeting him the same way you always had before, kind and soft.

“Good morning, (F/N).” He welcomed you back, cordial and quiet.

Mornings were the moments you always shared together, the small smiles and quick touches which insinuated more but never dared to be recognized aloud.

“I barely slept last night.” You sighed deeply, gently resting your head against his shoulder as your eyes fluttered shut. You reminded him of the Renaissance angels he had often seen in ancient Earth paintings. He should do a painting of you.

“Perhaps a visit to Dr. Crusher would be beneficial.” Data commented idly, refusing to move even slightly, hoping it might persuade you to keep your head buried in the crook of his neck for even a millisecond longer.

Touching you was right. Being with you was right. It was unexplainable, but it was akin to answering a complicated question correctly, or finishing a long project. It was what he had been made to do.

“Hey beautiful.” An unknown voice interrupted Data’s rampant thoughts, causing his golden eyes to flicker toward this intruder into you and his peaceful morning.

“Oh. Hey, Brad.” You slightly sighed, bowing your head politely at him before returning to your work.

“A couple of friends and I are having a party tonight at Ten Forward. I’d love for you to be there.” He grinned, his smile all teeth and his eyes shimmering a bit too brightly.

“A party in Ten Forward. I had not heard of this before now.” Data easily inserted himself into the conversation, cocking his head as he stared questioningly at the Ensign.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Brad rubbed his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable around the android. “There’ll be girls there too. If you’re even into that sort of thing…”

Data missed your eyes shooting towards his, a hopeful but anxious look dancing across your face. You had wanted to admit your feelings to your friend for months now, but your anxieties about his own feelings had always held you back. How could he possibly be interested in other people in such a way? He didn’t even have emotions.

“Tell your friends I will be there.” He smiled, over-animatedly winking as he returned to his work, a small but proud smile on his face. He needed to watch over you and make sure this Brad didn’t try anything which might make you uncomfortable. You were his partner to care for, he nodded satisfactorily within his head, as if needing to justify his abnormal behavior to himself.

You could feel your heart shatter. Data wanted to go to Brad’s stupid party? To pick up girls? You were planning on simply turning the man down and having a quiet night in, but now that Data was going…

“Well you can count me in too.” You had to force yourself to smile, fighting the urge to gag at the way Brad licked his lips and winked at your response. He sauntered away like the cat who had caught the canary, your hands itching to strangle him as you twisted back to your work station, a cheesy smile still plastered to your face.

“Are you interested in Brad sexually?” Data asked with a pleasant smile.

Your mouth fell open, your breath flooding out of you as a wild blush stained your cheeks, hot and embarrassing. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t even breathe!

“W-Why’s any of that your business!” You half-shouted, darting away before he could pry any deeper.

You couldn’t handle it if Data found out you were in love with him.

Ah. Data mused, each and every one of his circuits freezing on one overly-simple thought. It would appear you loved him.

~x~

You hadn’t spoken to Data all day. You were too ashamed to even consider facing him. Running away in the middle of your shift because of your personal feelings was not something a professional Starfleet officer did.

“If I may be so bold,” A familiar voice began, soft and warm in its cantor, “You are positively ravishing this evening.”

Data stood before you, an out-of-character smirk striking daringly across his face as he took your hand in his, lightly grazing his lips against your knuckles.

“Data!” You gasped, barely able to keep yourself from becoming a melted mess.

“What are we doing talking over here when we could be dancing over there?” He smirked, grabbing your waist as he pulled you by the hand towards the dance floor, a grace to his every step.

“What happened to you Data?” You asked, practically breathless.

“I downloaded some new personalities appropriate for such an event.” He dipped you low, brushing his nose against yours as he started deeply into your eyes. “Are you enjoying me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh then, carefree and dripping with affection.

You loved this man.

“Yes, Data. I always enjoy you.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck right in the middle of the dance floor.

Data felt accomplished. Everything was as it should be. You were always meant to be with him, and no one else. It was just what made sense.

You were his closest friend.

“Data, there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you, but I’ve never really been able to.” You grasped his hand tighter in yours, unable to remove your eyes from the floor.

“What is it?” He asked, patient and quiet.

“Pardon to interrupt, but I couldn’t let you keep this beauty all to yourself for the whole night.” Brad smiled confidently, bending his face closer to yours as he attempted to slide between you and Data.

Data refused to budge, pulling you closer against his body. He barely stopped himself from shoving the Ensign across the room.

What was going through his systems? The more Brad talked to you the more Data wanted to never see his face again. The closer Brad got to you the closer Data needed to be to you instead, as if to reassure himself of something.

Any smiles you afforded Brad were meant to be his. He didn’t want you to look at anyone but him.

But such thoughts could only be defined as possessiveness. Something Data knew was inappropriate for friendships.

He released you, giving you one last glance before quickly leaving Ten Forward. He couldn’t bear to see his hands on you, to see the love which would pour out of your eyes for the handsome human, something Data could never compare to.

People did not fall in love with androids.

Even as his system screamed at him to correct things, to take you in his arms and kick Brad halfway back to Earth, he refused to listen. With some simple rewiring he could set his head back on straight.

You were his friend. Somewhere along the way his pathways must have set the wrong link down, convincing himself you might be something more.

His feelings for you were nothing more than a malfunction.

You watched as Data stormed away, confused and hurt by his behavior. One moment he looked ready to clock Brad and the next he was almost throwing you at him.

Did he think you wanted the slime bag?

“He’s never not said goodbye to me.” You muttered almost to yourself, staring after your best friend.

“Maybe he just forgot to.” Brad joked, grabbing you by the hips. “Let’s stop talking about that android and start talking about us.”

You scoffed at him, harshly shoving him away as you ran after Data. You were going to tell him no matter what it took, everyone else on this ship be damned.

You eventually found him in Keiko O’Brien’s garden, his face almost forlorn as he gently caressed an orchid in full bloom.

“Data?” You asked quietly, not wishing to startle him even though you knew that was impossible.

He turned his head to yours, almost in disbelief. “Where is Brad?”

“I don’t know, he’s nobody I’m concerned about.” You stated clearly, stepping towards him. He was so tall, the way he gazed down upon you with such genuine confusion causing you to smother a giggle.

“I do not understand, but it is not a topic I wish to hear more about.” He admitted, returning to his flower.

“And why is that?” You asked hopefully, bunching your dress between your fingers.

He glanced back at you, face blank as he simply contemplated himself, the color of your hair and the look on your face enough to push him over the edge.

“Because I am malfunctioning.” He said simply, stock still as he waited for your response.

You took his hand in your own, holding it as gently as a bird as you squeezed it to your chest. “What if I told you I was malfunctioning too?”

His brows furrowed across his face. “Then we must see Dr. Crusher at once!”

Your jaw dropped, disbelief to the point of amusement dancing across your face as you watched the worry on his face slowly seep into bewilderment.

“I’m not talking about my health, Data.” You laughed, sliding your fingers against his scalp as you pressed your body flush to his. “I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Before you could react he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, pressing his lips against yours hard enough to bruise. He wanted you so badly in that moment he had forgotten to restrain himself, pressing against you fervently as he began to kiss the corner of your mouth, sucking and biting his way to your neck.

He couldn’t believe you would say such a thing to him, that you would allow him to do this. It was such a thrilling and new interaction he couldn’t get enough of it.

Without hesitation he pulled your flesh between his teeth, proudly marking you as his as he bruised your neck.

“Data…” You moaned, unable to do anything but limply hold onto him, knowing he would never let you fall.

“My (Y/N).” He whispered happily against your hickey, giving it a quick kiss, before standing back up properly, still refusing to release you from his hold.

Your whole body felt like jelly. Just from a few kisses Data had swooned you off your feet.

“You are so handsome.” You sighed, not knowing anything else to say but exactly what had been on your mind since you had first met the android.

“And you are so beautiful.” He murmured back gently, knowing he would spend the rest of his life saying those words.

[vanillacaramelhoney]

Different (10)

Pairing(s): Five Hargreeves x Reader

Summary: Klaus chuckled. “Our little psycho.”

Warnings: None

A/N: I have this problem where I lose motivation to write, but the moment I get it back, all I can do is write and I end up mass-posting chapters

Masterlist

Previous | Next

"Three days?"

Luther took the cup of coffee that Allison offered him. "Well, that's what they said," he told her. "Or, Five, I guess."

"The old bastard did mention the apocalypse, come to think of it," Klaus said. "He just left out the part about how soon."

"But can we trust him?" Allison asked. "I don't know if you've noticed, but Five's a little-" she stopped to whistle, pointing to her head.

Klaus chuckled. "Our little psycho."

"And what about his friend?" Allison asked. "Did she say anything about it?"

"She was kind of busy chasing after Diego," Luther told her, glancing at his brother. "But, he was pretty convincing. If they weren't trying to stop an apocalypse, those two lunatics wouldn't be chasing after them."

"That's why they were after them?" Diego asked.

"Yeah." Diego sat back in his seat, jaw clenched at the idea that they were after YN, who probably only had Five to defend her.

"What did they even see?" Allison asked.

Luther looked at her, mouth open, and uncertain of what to say.

"Uh, apparently, we all fought together against whoever was responsible," Luther explained.

It was silent as they looked to him for further explanation.

He clicked his tongue and stood. "OK, so, here's the plan," he started.

Before he could say more, the three were objecting. He looked back at them.

"What actually happened the first time around?"

"Yeah," Diego agreed. "What are you not telling us? Come on, big boy, spit it out."

No one spoke as Luther nervously looked to all of them, then down at his cup. He hesitated, bringing the cup up.

"We died." It was impossible for the siblings to hear.

"What was that?" Allison asked, leaning forward.

Luther coughed. "I said, uh," he stuttered, "we died."

YN climbed through the rubble and snow, trying to get back to the grocery store as soon as possible.

Her body was much more used to the cold than the average person, her powers helping considerably.

The woman was more worried about Five, however, who didn't have the same resistance to the cold.

She had left him alone for the majority of the day in hopes of finding more food before the weather got even worse.

But while she was out, the snow kicked up. She was stuck navigating her way back through a snowstorm, worrying about how Five was doing at the same time.

YN's vision was limited through the falling snow, but she could faintly see the familiar sight of the store.

The building was just a temporary settling place until the weather evened out. It was also more intact than its surrounding buildings, making it the best choice.

YN pushed on, determined to make it back, and confirm that the idiot hadn't managed to freeze himself to death.

She pushed through the door, immediately dumping her bag and heaving a breath.

The room was much warmer than outside, the only reminder of the cold being the shrill shriek of wind heard through the walls.

"Jesus, I didn't think you were going to make it back alive." YN looked over at Five, who looked relieved yet worried.

He was by her in an instant as she wiped off as much snow from her clothes as she could.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assured him. "I was more worried about you."

"What? Why? I'm not the one who was out in the storm."

"You're also not the one that can stand the cold," YN countered. "I had half a mind to think that I would find you freezing to death."

Five tugged her over to a fire that burned and sat her close to it.

"I'm not completely defenseless against the elements," he muttered.

"Your dad teach you guys how to make fires in apocalyptic scenarios?" she teased.

Five rolled his eyes and sat next to her.

"I'm just kidding," she laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek before leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Have I ever told you how hilarious you are?" His words were drowned in sarcasm.

"Oh, thank you very much, sir."

"I must admit, in all the time I've been here, I've never met anyone quite like the pair of you," the Handler spoke as she led Five and YN down a stone path to a roundabout.

People greeted the woman as they passed.

"Hazel and Cha Cha, for example, are talented, certainly," she said, "but they can't see the big picture."

YN zoned out as she droned out, taking in the familiar scenery with dread in her gut.

This was the last place she wanted to be, especially with all that had been going on.

They followed her into the busy building, a man taking the Handler's coat.

"I'd like to discuss the logistics of my family's safety at your earliest convenience," Five told her. "As well as this body replacement."

The three of them climbed the stairs as they spoke.

"Such chutzpah," the Handler laughed. YN gave her an odd look at the word. "It's refreshing, I'll admit. Slow down, Five, all in good time. In fact, now that you've finally agreed to work with us, we've got all the time in the world."

YN leaned in close to Five. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"No, but we don't have a choice, really."

They followed after the Handler as she rambled, leading them up to a specific floor.

"All the people on this floor are case managers, each one responsible for one major event at a time," she explained, leading them down a hall and turning to the first room.

Inside was a long line of desks that seemed to stretch beyond natural possibility.

YN's eyes widened at the sight of it all. "Holy shit."

"So many of them."

"Impressive, isn't it?" the Handler asked. "Being a part of something...so grand."

The clicking from all of the typewriters made YN nauseous.

"Come along." The Handler continued a step ahead of them.

"Whenever someone chooses the wrong path, and the timeline is changed, the Commission gets a report from field agents on the ground," she explained. "These field reports are sorted and assigned to a case manager. They determine if anyone needs to be removed from the equation to assure that their event happens as it should."

She led them to another room, lined with pipes. A woman stood inside, doing her job.

"Based on that determination, the case manager sends instructions via pneumatic tube to temporal assassins like the two of you formally were. Any queries so far?"

She looked at the two.

"Yeah," Five said. "Who was the case manager handling us?"

"Ah, you mean the apocalypse!"

They were led back to the case managers and down the line to a woman.

"Five, YN, meet Dot." The woman looked at them with a bright smile, which YN couldn't help but return. "Dot is responsible for all apocalypse matters. In fact, it was Dot here who first flagged your appearance in 2019."

"No hard feelings," Dot said.

"Well, you pair certainly put us through the wringer," the Handler smiled. "Outsmarting two of our so-called best temporal assassins. If that doesn't spell leadership material-" the woman paused as her voice picked up, bringing everyone around to a stop, "-I just don't know."

Everyone resumed their work as the Handler showed them to their new desks that happened to be placed inconveniently far from each other.

The two settled in their respective seats, having no choice but to work.

----Taglist

@fancytravelerbird @megasimpleplan4ever @yikes-matey @we-all-are-strange @flowertoty @rasberrymay @lilacs-lavender​ @margotsfandoms @nibbles7192​ @colie-babi​ @thegirlwholikestomanythings​ @halparkebitch​ @faith-quake​ @aesthetically-hailey​

[girlboss-molina]

Be Who You Are (No Conpromise)

A Julie and the Phantoms Modern Royalty AU

Chapter 9: Stand Tall

Ao3 Link

Words: 10158

Luke POV

…

Luke’s jaw clenched as he helped Alex fix his tie.

He wasn’t sure if he was angry, sad, scared, or some hellish combination of the three, but he wanted it to go away.

He felt hopeless. Guilty. Angry at the world, at the entire situation. He’d tried so many things, but nothing had worked. Alex and Julie were still being forced to get married. He didn’t get to be with her. Alex didn’t get to be with Willie. At least, not like they should’ve been able to.

Even his impulsive attempt to lessen the pain Julie would feel had failed. He was grateful, truly, but also angry because she was so damn stubborn. He knew he was being an idiot, but she didn’t deserve any of the pain, and she wouldn’t let him try to remove himself from the equation to hurt her less.

Luke wouldn’t pretend to understand how she felt. And part of him knew that leaving would’ve been an insanely stupid thing to do. But he just felt so hopeless.

“Luke,” Alex said, pulling him out of his head. “Breathe.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alex pulled him in for a hug. “I know what you’re feeling, and it isn't your fault.”

“But it is! If I’d-“

“Luke,” Alex said calmly, “if you start spiraling about how it’s all your fault because you agreed to be my guard or come to Dahlia with me, and how you falling for Julie was a horrible decision as if you had any control over it, or how you’re a horrible person, I’m going to smack you.”

Luke scowled and looked away. That wasn’t exactly what he was going to say, but it was annoyingly close.

“Look,” Alex sighed. “I’m not going to pretend this is a great situation. But it isn’t your fault in the slightest. You didn’t propose an arranged marriage, my parents did. You didn’t approve it, the Dahlian council did. You, Luke Patterson, stood by my side through the whole ordeal. You stood by Julie. You were here for us the entire time, and I can only hope we were there for you as much as we should’ve been.”

“Since when are you the rational one?” Luke grumbled.

“One of us had to do it. And, let’s face it, it wasn’t going to be you.”

“It’s true, but you didn’t have to say it.”

…

Luke had eventually made his way back to the guards’ quarters to make sure he was completely ready.

He wasn’t sure that would ever happen.

His classic black and white suit was identical to Reggie’s, Willie’s, and Erik’s. As the groomsmen, they all had to be matching. Each one part of a set.

Luke did his best to ignore the nausea as he walked back to the ballroom and took his spot next to Erik, Willie, and Reggie next to the altar. To their left were Flynn, Carrie, and Mira, each dressed in soft violet dresses.

After a few minutes, the huge double doors to the ballroom opened and the crowd hushed.

Alex looked absolutely regal in his suit. The white jacket had glittering gold embroidery that shone in the sunlight filtering through the crystal-cut glass windows.

As Alex made his way up to the altar, Luke caught his eye and gave him a small, reassuring nod. Alex gave his best attempt at a smile, before his eyes wandered away.

And then there was Julie.

As she opened the doors, walking with confidence, Luke’s heart soared and sank at the same time, falling into the pits of the sky.

Everything about her was perfect.

Her dress was perfectly tailored, golden accents shining with her eyes, hair done to perfection, and the way she carried herself was befitting of a queen.

Luke had to stop himself from stopping the officiant as he stepped up to the altar and recited the vows.

Alex’s forced, choked “I do” broke Luke’s heart. Ever bone inside him wanted to wrap him in a hug, but he restrained, even through the distracted, resigned “I do” of the girl he loved.

When everyone held their peace instead of speaking out, Luke felt like crawling into a hole and falling asleep for eternity.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-

Then, Luke’s heart dropped. He wanted to be unsure, but there was no mistaking the clear voice.

“Wait.”

-----

Reggie POV

…

Reggie adjusted the cuffs of his suit jacket, looking up at his ceiling and willing himself not to cry. There was nothing else he could do but wait.

He sat down on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He wondered if he could count every line in the polished wood, every fluffy strand in his rug.

One.

Two.

Three.

The grain of the wood swirled, lines mixing and meeting and dividing, as was natural. Nothing was perfect and orderly. The lines were impossible to number; it would’ve been an easier task to find the line between love and hate, if it existed at all. Both rooted in passion, just taking different courses, he supposed they were branches of a tree. Nay, there was no line between them, because they were intertwined.

There seemed to be a lot of that.

He took his bass from its stand, fiddling with the strings and playing out notes as they came, letting his fingers work through how he felt. The major key and note combination felt much too cheery and hopeful for the current situation. That wasn’t to say that major keys were always upbeat and minor keys melancholy, but the persistent feel of the music shook something inside of him, something telling him not to give up, to stand tall.

Then again, maybe that was exactly what he needed.

…

The ballroom was packed with people from all over Dahlia and Tambor. As he worked his way through the crowd, searching for someone he knew, the voices of hundreds of people echoed through the room, laughter bouncing off pillars of polished marble.

He finally made his way next to the altar with Erik, soon followed by Luke and Willie. Reggie stuck his hand in his pocket, fiddling with a stim toy so he didn’t start fidgeting more visibly in such a formal setting. He also just needed to distract himself until the inevitable moment when it all came crashing down.

An eternity must have passed before Alex pushed open the ballroom doors, but it wasn’t nearly long enough. It might’ve been foolish to want to prolong the inevitable, but then Reggie supposed he was a fool. Any lasting moments of freedom had to be cherished.

His heart broke as he watched his friend stiffly walk to the altar, and those pieces were crushed as Julie entered the ballroom with Ray beside her, an elegant bouquet in her arms.

Jaw clenched through the forced vows, Reggie willed himself not to cry. He held himself together for his sister, however miserable she may be, he didn’t want to make it worse. All he could do was be there for her through all of this, try and make it easier-

Or so he thought.

Because just before it was made official, he heard a voice telling the officiant to wait.

-----

Willie POV

…

Willie hated his suit.

It was stunning, of course. But it was all wrong. The tucked shirt was too tight, and the cufflinks on his jacket were too stiff. The tie around his neck felt like it was suffocating him, even though he could breathe fine.

His shaking hands refused to obey when he tried to adjust his tie, and he finally sat back down.

He felt Alex’s arms wrap around him from behind, and he immediately calmed at the touch. Alex’s head found his shoulder. Willie smiled softly as he turned around.

“Hey, Lex,” he whispered. He leaned up to give him a kiss.

“Hey,” Alex replied with a smile. “You okay?”

“No, you?”

“No.” They both smiled again, but the sadness laced in was tangible.

“We’ll be okay,” Willie finally said. “Right?”

“Yeah, we will.” Willie melted at the certainty in Alex’s voice.

“The wedding is just for show,” he added. “Julie and I have talked about it a million times. It’ll be complicated, with all the publicity, but we’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

…

Willie’s spot in the ballroom was to the right of the altar, between Luke and Reggie. Erik, stationed to Luke’s left, caught his eye and gave an indecipherable look; somewhere between hope and sorrow.

Willie was silent, as were the rest of their group, groomsmen and bridesmaids alike. Willie straightened his back and adjusted his cuff, hating the stiff fabric.

He felt trapped. Even with the huge room, the cool, crisp Dahlian Autumn air, and the hum of excitement echoing around him, Willie felt like he was suffocating. The tightness in his chest, the pain every time he inhaled, it felt like when he was sixteen and had been struck by an out-of-control driver. He still remembered the blunt impact of metal going thirty miles per hour, the blinding headlights, the aching in his ribs.

This wasn’t very different, he supposed. There was a tight feeling in his chest that he couldn’t locate or breathe away, and the glowing chandeliers were far too bright for this grim situation.

In a way, he missed being a normal baker. He missed the routine of mixing batter and buttercream, decorating cakes and laughing in the sweet-smelling room.

But, then again, if he were still some random baker, he never would have met Alex. He never would’ve had the privilege of falling for him, never would’ve known the risk of reciprocating feelings forbidden by force.

He just wanted it to all be okay again.

When Alex entered the ballroom, Willie’s breath caught in his throat.

He was stunning.

The white suit jacket was perfectly tailored, golden accents lining the sleeves, collar, and chest. His perfectly done hair was sleek but lively, and he carried himself with confidence, even if it was just a facade trying not to crack.

When their eyes met, the gaze was full of all the words left unsaid, apologies and promises and hopes and dreams, all left to rust in the frozen air.

And then there was Julie, walking with such poise that it was impossible to believe she wasn’t already the queen, dressed in a simple but elegant gown with matching gold embroidery, golden and violet tulle laced into the skirt.

As they lied through the vows, Willie clenched his jaw and blinked back a tear, only letting it fall when his eyes opened in surprise, unprepared to hear such a direct denial and order.

“Wait.”

-----

Alex POV

…

The room was dark. Not pitch black, but enough to trick the eye out of sight.

Blank.

Quiet.

Alex was never scared of the dark as a kid. He was scared of the things that used it to hide. But now, he knew the only things hiding in the dark were his own thoughts.

His thoughts, and the crushing weight of silence, broken only by his shaking breath.

He felt like he was floating. The silence around him was deafening, no longer cut by his breathing, He was detached from the world, in an endless abyss of uncertainty and love and containment, shackled to the nothingness by chains of obligation.

He pulled at the iron chains on his wrists, trying endlessly to break free, trying, trying, trying, until the skin on his wrists had been rubbed raw, pain pulsing as the chains grew hotter, like coals in a fire.

Alex tried to scream, but he couldn’t find his voice. Every shout and cry, begging to be let out, every bit of sound was swallowed by the void, sentenced to an eternity searching for someone to hear them.

A voice pulled him out of his head, but it took a moment to register.

“…x?”

“Alex, can you hear me?”

Alex blearily opened his eyes to find that the room was not, in fact, dark. He was sitting in one of the prep rooms at the west wing of the ballroom, staring at the table.

“Alex?” He looked up to find Erik with his hands on his shoulders.

“Hi, sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Thanks.”

“The others are still finishing up getting ready, but we’ll have to go to the ballroom soon. I probably have to go now,” he added, glancing at his watch. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. See you soon.” Erik walked to the door, hesitating at the last second.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was something else I could do.”

Alex nodded, unsure what to day. He felt pathetic.

Erik left.

…

Alex could hear the chatter of the crowd from the prep room, and it was too much for him to handle alone. He figured he should pay julie a visit in the other prep room.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed to. It was tradition for the groom not to see the bride until they were at the altar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Besides, what were they going to do? Exile him?

He focused on the tapping of his shoes on the hard floor as he made his way to the other prep room, finally knocking.

“Come in,” Julie said. Her voice sounded authoritative; she was going to be a perfect queen.

Alex opened the door.

“Hey,” he said pathetically.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, and before Alex knew it, she’d sat him down in her chair and was wiping his tears away with a cold washcloth. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying.

“Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said. It was true; her white silky dress fit her perfectly, with elegant off-shoulder straps and a small v-neck as the dress hugged her and then flared at her waist. Golden embroidery matching his own decorated the bodice, and violet dahlias lined the bottom of the layered skirt.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. He grinned.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know. I just… I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. I wish we could choose what we do with our lives, choose who we love for once. Or at least do it without committing treason.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie laughed, but Alex knew it was a facade.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else. How’s Willie doing?” Alex looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat.” Alex felt so bad for him. Willie had been nothing but kind, loving, and supportive through an impossible situation. He didn’t deserve any of this.

“Luke is sulking and blaming himself,” he added, knowing Julie would be wondering about her idiot of a boyfriend.

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time. He’d almost forgotten the feeling.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing, as did Alex.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

As he closed the door, Alex sighed and wiped his eyes.

There was nothing to do now but wait it out.

…

As he waited outside the ballroom, Alex listened to the muffled voices of the guests. He hated this whole situation, but something about hearing people calmed him, which he never would have expected in a million years.

And yet, as he heard the laugh of a child, playful arguments between friends and couples, it reminded him that everyone in that room had their own life, just as complex as his. Everyone was going through things.

The thought made him feel a little less alone.

“Mijo,” Ray said from behind him. Alex hadn’t even heard him enter. “They’re ready for you.” He took a shaky breath.

“Okay.”

As he stood and walked to the huge, wooden doors, he hesitated. Ray put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I did everything I could.”

“I know. Thanks.” He tried again to bring himself to open the door, but he just couldn’t.

Without thinking, he tackled Ray in a hug. He was worried he’d done something wrong; he’d just hugged the king without warning. But Ray wrapped his arms around him immediately, and Alex did his best not to cry.

He felt safe. Warm. Protected.

Was this what a dad’s hug felt like?

He didn’t have time to dwell on that.

When he pulled away from the hug and met Ray’s eyes, Ray nodded.

“It’ll be okay,” Alex decided.

Then, without hesitation, he pushed open the ballroom doors.

…

Alex could feel people’s eyes on him the moment he stepped into the ballroom. But he squared his shoulders and walked with authority, just like he’d been taught.

His heart broke when he met Willie’s eyes. His hair was pulled back into a bun, suit tailored to perfection, but it was all wrong, It wasn’t him. Alex wanted to cry, to run to him and hold him, but he couldn’t.

It’ll be okay, Willie mouthed. Alex gave a small smile and nod, finally stopping at the altar.

Now, he just had to wait for Julie.

Then the nightmare would be over.

He stood up straight and closed his eyes, waiting for the sound of the doors opening.

Then, far too soon, there they were.

As Julie pushed open the doors, standing tall and strong, she looked like the queen she was always meant to be.

Ray followed her in and took her arm, handing her a bouquet of dahlias, roses, and orchids, all wrapped in white silk.

She looked beautiful.

And yet, Alex could see how forced her smile was, how she inevitably let it fall as she walked up next to him.

Ray looked at him and nodded. Alex nodded back, and Ray walked back to the side.

Alex’s eyes flicked to his parents.

They were in the first row, both dressed to perfection, sat with poise. His father, Xavier, wore a pressed suit with two medals pinned to it, his golden Tamborian crown at its place on its head, where it had been for twenty years.

His mother, Claire, wore a pale gold dress with silver threads, like a combination of moonlight and a sun ray. Her crown matched his father’s.

Both of them looked so damn proud of themselves.

His father’s piercing blue stare met his, and there was no love in Xavier’s eyes. Alex could tell what he wanted to say.

Don’t screw up.

He wanted to yell. Didn’t he get a choice? Why did his parents, the people who were supposed to love him no matter what, see fit to marry him off?

Some parents they were.

But next to them was his sister. Ava.

She looked beautiful.

Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a jagged bob, gently styled with a bit of flair. Winged eyeliner accentuated her grey eyes, and her aqua gown wasn’t too fancy. The layered skirt was manageable, and she had a white denim jacket with gold buttons over her shoulders.

Alex bit back a grin when he saw the toes of her Doc Martens peeking out from underneath her dress, and was even more pleased with his father’s disproving glare.

As the officiant walked to the altar, Alex’s jaw clenched, but he relaxed his hands as he took Julie’s.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“Today marks the union of two countries, two people. Her royal highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, has grown up into a strong young woman, one led by her father, King Ray. She will soon ascend to the throne, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will lead us into the future.

“His royal highness, Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor, has been a close friend of hers for years, and their relationship will no doubt hold strong, as will our countries. Prince Alexander has stood alongside Tambor as his parents, King Xavier and Queen Claire, have held a righteous, unshakeable reign.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Alex met Julie’s eyes with a sad smile.

“Alexander Mercer, son of Queen Claire and King Xavier, do you take Julie to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to stand by her in sickness and in health, and aid her as she ascends to the throne, no matter what happens? And do you swear to hold true to her, as she would for you, as a faithful ally, confidante, friend, and husband?”

Alex hoped the tear rolling down his cheek would be mistaken for one of joy as he swallowed, the pit in his stomach growing deeper and more hollow.

“I do.”

“And do you, Princess Julie Molina, daughter of King Ray and the late Queen Rose, heiress to the Dahlian throne, take Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to care for him in sickness and in health, to trust him with your life as he would do for you? As you ascend to the throne, do you swear to care not just for your people, as the compassionate queen, but also for your betrothed, as a loving friend and wife?”

Alex looked at Julie, her brown eyes filled with sorrow and grief and anger, but above all, filled with hope and compassion for her people.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Alex wished he could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Five agonizing, silent seconds passed. Alex wished someone would speak, let go of their peace and intervene.

But nobody did.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

Alex’s heart dropped and soared at the same time.

Gasps echoed throughout the crowd, and Julie seemed confident as ever as she let go of Alex’s hands and turned to face the onlooking people.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia, I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people,” she said. Alex’s grin widened.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage. We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“King Xavier and Queen Claire of Tambor raised the idea of an arranged marriage to us and my father two years ago. We all protested. But when it was passed by the Dahlian council, there wasn’t much else we could do.

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

Alex couldn’t stop smiling as he looked at Julie. He remembered when they first met years ago, the little girl with frizzy hair and missing front teeth. Even then, she’d been so strong, so passionate.

And now? Now, she was all that and more. She was a powerful, intelligent woman born to lead, to stand tall and make her voice heard.

“No,” he agreed. “I won’t.”

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd.

“Alex, sweetie,” Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. He’d had enough. “Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen. But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Alex knew he was being harsh, but it was true. And he was done letting his parents disrespect him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Alex rolled his eyes. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?”

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.”

That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected. It felt powerful to admit it, to tell the truth so openly.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before his dad could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

“You know what,” Alex said, “I would be okay with it. But even if I weren’t, wanting privacy doesn’t mean you’re scared, nor does it mean you have ill intent. It’s just choosing what of your personal life to share.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Julie agreed. “And, for the record, we aren’t scared. Not anymore. If we were, we wouldn’t be coming out at all. Us being okay with going public about our side of the story doesn’t mean the other people involved are obligated to.”

His mom was pale as a sheet, and his dad looked like he was going to explode. Alex almost felt bad. But then he remembered all the times they’d belittled him, tried to control every part of his life, and reminded himself that this was him taking control.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted, and Alex beamed. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out. Alex had to resist the urge to hug Ray for standing up for him.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind him. Alex whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward, looking confident as ever.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him.

Alex just about broke down crying. He was so happy, so proud, so enamored, everything inside of him was bursting with elation as Willie stepped forward and took his hand.

The crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers, surprising himself with the words but knowing they were truer than they’d ever been. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and Alex gasped with laughter, wishing he’d been the one to say that, especially after seeing the look on his dad’s face.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Alex ignored the horrified glares from his parents, instead focusing on Ava’s proud smile and applause.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” Julie declared as the crowd quieted, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband.” Alex grinned; he never thought he’d be so happy to hear a denied wedding vow.

“Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“If I may,” Ray announced, stepping forward to the altar. “Julie has trained her entire life to be a leader, and she has done that and so much more. Since she was little, she has had a passion for life, for love, for hope. She has taught me and so many others to stand tall even in the face of adversity. And, given her display of bravery, intelligence, and pure nerve, as well as the prepared ballroom, I see no reason why that moment should be delayed.” Alex was practically vibrating with excitement. He knew where this was going.

After Julie and Ray had exchanged a few words of confirmation, she knelt down as he took off the crown.

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Alex clapped with the rest of the crowd, even his disgruntled parents.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin. He bowed, and Alex quickly followed suit. Soon enough, the entire ballroom was dipped in a bow, pulsing with respect and hope.

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Alex was content to just hold Willie and sway to the music.

“We did it,” he said softly, gazing into Willie’s deep brown eyes.

“We did,” he agreed. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I’m happy for us,” Alex decided.

“You’re such a dork.”

“I know.”

‘It’s part of why I love you,” he whispered. Alex’s heart soared, dancing in the constellations.

“I love you too.”

…

“Julie?” Alex asked, grinning as she laughed at Carlos for some silly antics.

“Ye-“ before she could finish, Alex tackled her in a hug, holding her tight.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…” he tried to find the words but just couldn’t. Nothing seemed to be enough, not to describe how he felt, nor how amazing she was, how selfless everything she had done had been.

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.” Alex shook his head.

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

-----

Julie POV

…

Julie sat on a soft, cushioned chair in a small room next to the renovated ballroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Flynn and Carrie sat next to her on a leather ottoman, holding her right hand with theirs. Mira stood behind her, fixing her hair until the braids were perfectly woven from her temples to the base of her head, the rest of her hair gently coiling in a poof at the base of her neck.

She thought she would’ve cried; this wedding was the opposite of what she and Alex wanted. But her eyes were stone dry, her makeup untouched by what she felt. Mira’s hands fell to her shoulders, gently tracing circles along her skin.

“Thank you,” she said. “Mira, this is amazing.” She tried to smile, really, she did, but her face fell.

“Of course,” Mira whispered. “Jules, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

“No it won’t,” she replied quietly. “But I’ll live. We’ll manage.” Mira nodded.

Flynn sighed and wrapped her arm around Julie. Julie put her head on her shoulder.

She could’ve stayed there forever. Even though Flynn’s shoulder wasn’t exactly comfortable (seriously, how was she so bony?), it was preferable to just about anything else at the moment. Here, she was safe. She wasn’t being forced into a wedding with one of her best friends. She wasn’t being pulled away from the person she loved. Here, resting on Flynn’s shoulder, she had Flynn, Mira, and Carrie by her side, holding her close and whispering reassurances in her ear. Here, she was safe.

A knock on the door pulled Julie out of her trance.

“Yes?” she asked.

“It’s me, sweetheart,” came the choked voice of her father. Mira looked at her and when she nodded, went to open the door.

“Hi, dad.” Ray scooped her up in a hug, burying his head in her shoulder. She held on as tight as she could.

“I’m so sorry, mija. I did everything I could.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you for trying.” Ray inhaled like he was going to say something else, but just held her closer.

Julie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but it certainly wasn’t long enough. She immediately felt colder when he let go.

“You look beautiful,” Ray told her. She gave the most convincing smile she could.

“Thanks,” she said as she twirled. She hadn’t been hopeful, but Mira was some sort of sorceress. In a matter of days, she’d turned a heap of white silk and satin from a mess of pins into one of the most gorgeous dresses Julie had ever laid eyes on.

The off-shoulder straps met under her collarbone, leaving a small v-neck for the top of the dress. The slim fit was comfortable and elegant, flaring at the waist into a beautiful layered skirt with transparent violet tulle woven in. Golden embroidery shone on her shoulders and chest, and the purple dahlias that had been subtly added to the end of the skirt added the perfect amount of flair.

She’d refused a veil, despite traditions; her wedding day wasn’t the day she stopped hiding. She’d never hidden herself, and didn’t intend to start now.

“It’ll be over soon,” he told her. She nodded.

“I’m sorry this has stressed you out so much.” Julie sat back down and fiddled with the hem of her skirt, ignoring Mira’s disapproving look.

“Mija, if anything, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve any of this.” Ray put his hand on her shoulder.

“I know. But I’ve been told since I was a kid, being a princess comes with responsibilities. It’s amazing, being able to lead and help people the best I can, never having to worry about money, but there are always drawbacks. I feel bad complaining. So many people have it so much worse.”

“Dahlia is reaching zero homelessness sooner than projected,” he reminded her. “At this rate, we’ll be completely housed by Spring. And,” he added, “our wealth equality is some of the best in the world.”

“And that’s incredible! But I’m still incredibly lucky. I’m healthy, privileged, and one of the leaders of a wealthy, harmonized nation. That’s not to mention people in other places around the world, who have to worry about having food on the table or being killed for who they are. Just because we’re doing well doesn’t mean the whole world is.”

“Julie,” Ray interrupted before she could spiral. “You’ve always been so passionate about helping other people. It’s one of the things that will make you an amazing leader. But you can’t do everything at once. And even if you could, having a better situation than other people doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be in pain.”

“Yeah,” Carrie chimed in. “Think of it this way: if you have the flu, but someone else has the flu and a broken leg, that doesn’t mean you don’t have the flu. It still sucks, and just because someone else has a situation that objectively sucks more doesn’t mean your situation is awesome. You’re allowed to be upset.”

“Thanks,” she sighed. “I get it, and I really appreciate it. I just feel like I have so much going for me that this is trivial in comparison.”

“Do you think that Alex being upset is trivial, given his situation?”

“Of course not! He-“

“Has the right to be upset,” Carrie finished for her. “Exactly. He has privilege too. So why does he get to be upset but you don’t?” Julie didn’t have an answer.

“I don’t know,” she finally said.

“You hold yourself to such a high standard, Julie,” Flynn added. “You’re so much stronger than I ever could be, but you need to allow yourself to accept that this sucks. Sometimes, no matter how good your life may be, things suck. Just try to remember that, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

She felt like there was something else she should say, but she couldn’t find the words. So she stared at the mirror, busying herself with the task of making sure everything looked good and ready for the wedding of hell.

…

After Ray had left to prepare everything else and greet guests, Flynn, Carrie, and Mira had to go and change. They were Julie’s bridesmaids. She and Alex had decided not to have a Maid of Honor or Best Man, because neither of them felt that they could choose. Everyone in their group had helped them so much, been there for them the entire time. It wouldn’t have been fair to honor any above the others.

Julie sat alone in the prep room, surrounded by tubes of makeup and baskets of accessories, none of which she touched.

Someone knocked on the door, and she sat up straight and put on her professional voice.

“Come in.”

Alex opened the door, and Julie could see that he’d been crying. It wasn’t glaringly obvious, but his eyes were a bit red and swollen.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” Julie stood up and wrapped him in a hug. He trembled, stiffening his shoulders to try and hide it.

“Here,” she said, bringing him to her chair and sitting him down. She took a washcloth and ran it under cold water, squeezing it out and gently dabbing at his eyes, tear streaks but a distant memory, bloodshot eyes calmed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay to be upset.” Alex nodded, swallowing.

“You look beautiful,” he finally said.

“So do you,” she said with a smile. His perfectly tailored suit had the typical white shirt and black pants, but the jacket was white with matching golden embroidery on the cuffs. Alex smiled.

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” he admitted, “but the guys had to go get ready, and I couldn’t just sit there alone.”

“I know the feeling,” Julie agreed. “And I know I’ve said it a million times, but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve this.”

“Neither do you.”

“I know. I just… I wish I had a magic wand that could fix everything. I wish we could choose what we do with our lives, choose who we love for once. Or at least do it without committing treason.”

“Yeah, treason isn’t high on my to-do list.” Julie gave a halfhearted laugh, but her smile fell.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alex sighed.

“Not much else to talk about. You?”

“Not much else,” she agreed. “How’s Willie doing?” He looked down.

“He’s trying to keep up the act. You know how he is. He tries to be lighthearted and upbeat, but he’s trying to stay afloat. And Luke is sulking and blaming himself.”

“But it isn’t his fault!” Julie protested.

“Oh, I know,” Alex agreed. “I’ve told him as much. But he’s annoyingly stubborn. He feels like he screwed everything up.”

“He’s an idiot.” Alex laughed for real that time.

“Yeah, I’m beginning to question your taste in guys.”

“For real. How I fell in love with such a dumbass, I’ll never know.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” Alex reasoned. “He’s got that going for him. Doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together, but hey, at least he’s cute.” Julie burst out laughing.

“I’m pretty sure our entire group shares a brain cell, and Carrie is the only one who ever has it.”

“You’re probably right.” They sat for a moment before Alex sighed.

“I should probably go,” he groaned. They’ll want me in the ballroom soon.”

“Probably. Unless you feel like faking your death last-minute.”

“Tempting,” he admitted, “but I think now we just have to grit our teeth and wait for it to be over.”

“Yeah. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Julie was alone.

…

The incessant chatter of the crowd was white noise behind Julie’s humming brain. It felt like a radio that, no matter which way you turned the antenna, only blared static.

Her dad’s voice snapped her out of it.

“Mija?”

She hadn’t registered that she’d been walking to the ballroom, but there she was, with a huge pair of gilded oak double doors protecting her from the choirs of hell.

“Mija?” Ray asked again.

“Hi. Sorry. Zoned out.”

“It’s okay. Julie, I…” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up and saw his eyes shining with regret and sorrow and anger.

“I know,” Julie whispered. “Thanks for trying.”

Ray scooped her up in a big hug, and she let herself soak up the warmth and relish it while it lasted. Maybe she could just stay there forever instead.

“You look beautiful,” he remarked as he let her go. Julie smiled and twirled.

“Mira really is amazing,” she agreed. “I had my doubts, but she somehow turned a heap of lace and silk into a dress.”

“You could say she’s a Mira-cle worker,” Ray quipped with a grin and a wink. Julie groaned, but couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Now I know where Reggie gets it.”

“He learned from the best,” Ray agreed.

Julie’s face fell.

“I have to go in, don’t I?” She already knew the answer, but her father’s resigned nod crushed her.

“Do you want me to walk you up?” he asked.

“Yes please,” she whispered.

“Okay.”

“But,” she added, “I want to open the door. I need to show them that I’m a leader, not just a girl in a dress.”

“Done,” he agreed. “You are a leader. And if they can’t see that, they’re blind.” Julie smiled for real that time, squared her shoulders, and finally pushed open the doors.

I’m a leader, she reminded herself as she took the bouquet from her dad and took his arm. They can’t tell me who I am.

And without her even prompting it, the gears in her head started turning.

…

Alex’s hands were cold and clammy, and Julie could see that his jaw was clenched. She tightened her grip on his hands, gentle but firm, making sure to pull him to reality. It seemed to work, too, because his jaw softened and he took a breath.

Julie finally risked a glance to Luke, and he gave a weak smile, which she did her best to return. His hazel eyes were full of love, anger, and melancholy, all warring behind earthy windows.

Julie looked back to Alex, wishing the officiant would shut up as soon as he started speaking.

“We are gathered here today,” said the officiant, “to bear witness to a beautiful, historic union. A union of peace, of harmony, of love.”

Yeah, right.

“Today marks the union of two countries, two people. Her royal highness, Princess Julie Molina of Dahlia, has grown up into a strong young woman, one led by her father, King Ray. She will soon ascend to the throne, and there is no doubt in my mind that she will lead us into the future.

“His royal highness, Prince Alexander Mercer of Tambor, has been a close friend of hers for years, and their relationship will no doubt hold strong, as will our countries. Prince Alexander has stood alongside Tambor as his parents, King Xavier and Queen Claire, have held a righteous, unshakeable reign.

“And now, this wedding seals an unshakeable bond between our two countries. Shall we move onto the vows?”

Julie looked back up to Alex, hating the resigned hopelessness in his eyes, even more so than the tear rolling down his cheek.

“Alexander Mercer, son of Queen Claire and King Xavier, do you take Julie to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to stand by her in sickness and in health, and aid her as she ascends to the throne, no matter what happens? And do you swear to hold true to her, as she would for you, as a faithful ally, confidante, friend, and husband?”

Julie closed her eyes as Alex tried to speak, finally managing an “I do.”

“And do you, Princess Julie Molina, daughter of King Ray and the late Queen Rose, heiress to the Dahlian throne, take Alexander to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to care for him in sickness and in health, to trust him with your life as he would do for you? As you ascend to the throne, do you swear to care not just for your people, as the compassionate queen, but also for your betrothed, as a loving friend and wife?

No, she wanted to say. I do not.

But when she heard the hushed whispers in the crowd, laced with excitement, when she remembered the bright eyes of civilians as the announcement of a union had been released, she bit back the truth.

“I do.”

The officiant smiled, and Julie wished she could do the same.

“Wonderful. If anyone here today can see just reason why these two should not be wed, speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

The gears in her head were turning into overdrive, grinding thoughts and memories and emotions into her head and heart like an overloaded system.

Flashes of hazel eyes, crinkled with laughter, shining with hope, puffy with tears in the rain.

Blips of hands interlocked, the quiet voices of a baker and a prince, glances between a princess and a guard.

Voices that she could hear like it was happening before her.

“Actually, I win.”

“Hey there, boss.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Not a fan of coffee?”

“Understandable, have a nice day.”

“Technically, you’re not a trainee.”

“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

“You’ll never lose me.”

Everything played in Julie’s mind on repeat, unshakeable and incessant, like the rushing of a river in Spring.

And then she heard the officiant’s voice.

“Then here, under the witness of citizens Dahlian and Tamborian alike, I now pronounce you husband and-“

“Wait.”

She’d known that words had power, but never in a million years would Julie have guessed that one word could be so big.

“As the rising queen of Dahlia,” she began as she let go of Alex and looked out at the shocked crowd, “I have spent my life advocating for peace, equality, and freedom among all our people.” She took a deep breath, catching her father’s eye, heart soaring with the pride radiating off of him.

“Neither Alex nor I wanted this marriage,” she continued. “ We care about each other, yes. He's one of my best friends, and will be for the rest of my life. But he loves someone else,” she added, “as do I.

“Dahlia and Tambor have been allies since our foundation, and we have always valued the peace and freedom of our citizens above all else. So why, may I ask, was an arranged marriage necessary?

“King Xavier and Queen Claire of Tambor raised the idea of an arranged marriage to us and my father two years ago. We all protested. But when it was passed by the Dahlian council, there wasn’t much else we could do.

“I accept that, as a leader, I have duties and obligations to my people. But I will not let who I marry be one of them, and nor will Alex.”

“No,” Alex agreed. “I won’t.” She turned to him, a huge smile on her face, heart racing.

We’re doing this.

“This is nonsense,” interrupted Xavier furiously. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, they’re just teenagers. Continue with the vows,” he commanded.

“You are in my kingdom,” Julie reminded him tersely, shoulders squared and voice echoing with authority, “and while your title certainly demands respect, you are not in power here. And, if I may, if we are just teenagers who can’t even understand what we’re talking about, why should we be married off?”

Murmurs of agreement rang out through the crowd, and each one flew into her like lightning bolts of confidence.

“Alex, sweetie,” Queen Claire began. “We want only the best for you-“

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he snapped. Julie was surprised; she’d never heard Alex snap like that. But she let him speak.

“Mom, you’ve always been a compassionate queen.,” Alex said with a sigh. “ But you never cared about what I wanted, you cared about what would help your reputation.”

More gasps rang out through the crowd. Julie didn’t budge, holding her post beside him.

“Look, mom, dad, Dahlia and Tambor are each other’s strongest allies. We always have been. You know that. The wedding was never about allyship, it was about control.”

“You are acting extremely ungrateful,” his dad snapped. Julie raised her eyebrows and took a step forward, suddenly feeling protective of her friend. “What woman could you, an immature nineteen-year-old, be so gone for that you would refuse marriage to a princess?” Xavier interrogated.

“Who I love is none of your business. I don’t owe you anything.” Julie bit back a huge grin; even though she wanted nothing more than to snap back at Alex’s parents too, she had a feeling it wouldn’t be appropriate.

“That aside,” Julie added, “neither of us would reveal who they were without being sure that they were okay with it. I am speaking out against this wedding because I want no part of it,” Julie reminded him.

“Nor do I,” Alex interjected.

“Exactly. Alex and I are both okay with saying this. We both love other people. But those other people have the right to privacy, if not under basic decency, under the Dahlian constitution. I would know,” she said before Xavier could reply. “I was there when it was revised three years ago.”

“And would you be okay with them revealing themselves?” Xavier retorted. “I assume they’re in this room. Would you have them reveal their identities, or are you scared of public revolt?”

“You know what,” Alex said, “I would be okay with it. But even if I weren’t, wanting privacy doesn’t mean you’re scared, nor does it mean you have ill intent. It’s just choosing what of your personal life to share.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Julie agreed. “And, for the record, we aren’t scared. Not anymore. If we were, we wouldn’t be coming out at all. Us being okay with going public about our side of the story doesn’t mean the other people involved are obligated to.”

Claire was pale as a sheet, and Xavier looked like he was going to explode. Ray, however, was glowing with pride.

“King Ray,” Xavier said smoothly, like he was trying not to lose it, “surely you cannot be okay with this. Your daughter-“

“My daughter is a strong, independent, intelligent woman,” Ray interrupted. “She is a leader, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop her from doing just that: leading. She is the future queen of Dahlia. She has every right to decide who to marry, if at all. What I’m not okay with is the fact that you are so hellbent on controlling her, not to mention your own adult son.”

Xavier stammered furiously, one arm held by Claire, who seemed like she was trying not to pass out.

“Do you really want to know who’s stopping your precious wedding,” chimed in Luke’s voice from behind her. Julie whipped around to see both him and Willie stepping forward.

“Do tell,” Xavier said with a hysterical laugh.

“We are,” Willie informed him. And before Julie knew it, Luke was by her side, clasping her hand with his. Willie marched next to Alex and did the same.

And, to Julie’s shock, the crowd started clapping.

It was hesitant applause at first, led by a few, but soon the entire audience was on their feet.

“It’s our lives,” Alex shouted over the excited cheers. “We get to lead them!”

“Damn right we do!” Julie agreed. Luke and Willie laughed in amazement.

“I beg to differ,” Xavier screamed hoarsely. The entire crowd booed.

“Yes, you heard me! With royalty comes rules. I. Beg. To Differ .”

“Then beg,” Julie snapped back, and the shouting of the crowd was deafening as people “OOOH”- ed, laughed, and generally lost their shit.

Willie and Alex held up their clasped hands, and Julie quickly did the same, holding up Luke’s.

“I, Princess Julie Molina,” she declared as the crowd quieted, bubbles of elation radiating through the room, “do not take Prince Alexander to be my husband. Instead, I take my life into my hands and give him his. Instead, I swear on my very life to lead you into an era of prosperity, livelihood, and health, as my father has done.

“As he completes his reign, I choose to stand tall and step forward, whenever that time may be.”

“If I may,” Ray announced, stepping forward to the altar. “Julie has trained her entire life to be a leader, and she has done that and so much more. Since she was little, she has had a passion for life, for love, for hope. She has taught me and so many others to stand tall even in the face of adversity. And, given her display of bravery, intelligence, and pure nerve, as well as the prepared ballroom, I see no reason why that moment should be delayed.” Julie’s heart soared, eyes widening.

“Papa, are you sure?” she asked him quietly.

“I am. Are you?” Julie took a breath and let go of Luke’s hand, turning toward the gleeful crowd as she knelt down on one knee, her father standing beside her as he took off his crown.

“The responsibilities will be challenging, but I have no doubt that they will be handled gracefully. Heavy lies the crown, yes, but strong is she who embraces it, not with hunger for power, but with compassion.

“Citizens of Dahlia, may I present to you, her Royal Majesty, Queen Julie Molina.”

As Ray placed the crown on her head, Julie’s heart set with determination. She rose, back straight, looking out to the crowd.

“Your majesty,” Luke said with a cocky grin from next to her. She turned to him and he dipped in a bow, eyes laced with love and respect.

Then, before she knew it, Alex was bowing too, soon followed by Willie, Flynn, Mira, Carrie, Erik, Reggie, and the rest of the crowd.

Her father.

Ray stood before her, smiling with the power and pride of all the stars. As he bowed, Julie smiled and knelt down, taking his hand and pulling him back up into a hug.

“I love you, papa,” she whispered.

“I love you too.”

…

The dancing started soon afterwards. Claire and Xavier kept to themselves, sitting at a table in the corner and ignoring glares from the crowd, and Julie danced with Luke without fear of being seen. Alex and Willie held each other, swaying to the music, not even talking. Just smiling.

As soon as she and Luke separated to dance with others, Reggie tackled her in a hug.

“Reggie!” she shrieked, stabilizing herself so she didn’t fall over.

“WE DID IT!” he exclaimed, and Julie couldn’t contain her laughter.

“We did!”

“I’m so proud of you,” Reggie told her. Julie wrapped him in a hug.

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, to be honest.”

“That just makes what you did even more awesome, though! In the face of danger, the honorable Julie Molina made her move and took her life back into her own hands!” Julie cackled.

“I’m not a TV character, Reg.”

“Are you sure? Because you’d be a pretty damn awesome one.”

“Well, then you’d be my amazing brother,” she said, deciding to humor him. Reggie beamed.

“Oh, speaking of brothers-“

“JULIE!” came Carlos’s excited voice from behind her, and before she knew it, she was being tackled by a skinny fourteen-year-old prince.

“Carlos!”

“Dude. You’re the freaking Queen now!”

“I know! It’s kinda freaking me out, but in a good way.”

“Duh. Also, I expect lots of queenly presents. And a shoutout.”

“A shoutout?” she inquired. “Carlos, you already have millions of middle school girls simping over your Instagram page.”

“Just trying to get my name out there,” he reasoned. Julie picked him up despite his protests and nods to his left, where Julie spotted Annie Danforth-Evans laughing. She grinned.

“Man, Carlos is so adorable and little and smitten?” Julie said loudly. And in situational perfection, the only person who seemed to hear her was Annie.

“You’re the worst,” Carlos informed her as he wiggled out of her arms. Julie laughed and let him go.

“I’m not little,” he said to Annie once he reached her, puffing out his chest as if to prove his point.

“Julie?” Alex asked, interrupting her laughs at her brother. She turned and faced him, mirroring his smile.

“Ye-“ she couldn’t finish before being tackled in a crushing hug.

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “You’ve been an amazing friend throughout all of this.”

“So have you. I’m just…”

“I know. I don’t have the words either.”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a smile.

“So… will you be going back to Tambor? Because if you want to, I completely understand, but I’d love for you to stay here in the palace.”

“Oh, I’m staying. Don’t worry,” he said, elbowing her in the side. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

…

As the sun rose, the last of the guests went home, and Julie stood on her balcony, wrapped in a white dress of rebellion, graced by the warm light of a new day, a new era.

Luke’s hand on her shoulder anchored her to reality, followed by Alex’s on her other shoulder, Flynn’s arm around her waist, and Reggie ruffling her hair. Julie took a deep breath of the cool, crisp air, closing her eyes and letting her heart set.

This wasn’t the end, it was the beginning of something wonderful and new.

So as she stepped into the next part of her life, she reminded herself to stand tall, and remember that she wasn’t doing this alone.

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Coffee and Star Trek

Just a quick extra note to say that the Litograph Challenge requests are coming along nicely! I’ll be posting some tomorrow :) Keep sending me requests, check out the pinned post for more info :) 

ANYWAY, I had a lot of fun with that Logicality one-shot I wrote before. So I’ve written an Analogical one-shot based off an incorrect quote I posted, which I’ll put in the comments :D

It’s a kinda College AU, and a tad longer than the previous one- but I’m pretty happy with this one! Hope you like it :)

Coffee and Star Trek.

927 words.

Logan was stressed. There was no other word for it. Just undeniably stressed. He had been working through his college textbooks for at least three hours. Every time he had completed what he needed to from one book, it looked like another five books just appeared out of nowhere, tormenting him. He sighed and took a sip from his cup only to find that, to add to his other problems, he’d already finished his coffee. Today really wasn’t his day.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he shouldn’t have another coffee… he needed to get this work done, so there was no other choice according to his already exhausted mind.

He stumbled his way into the kitchen, his sight blurred from staring at textbooks and just about managed to pour the coffee into his cup. He promised his boyfriend Virgil that he would start drinking decaf, but he was still at work for another half an hour, so Logan could sneak in another cup before he returned home. He stared at the coffee for a moment, should he have decaf instead? He shrugged, took a sip and grimaced before walking back to his mountain of work.

By the time he had drunk half of his coffee, he heard the familiar sound of Virgil coming back into their house. The sound of Virgil sighing, dumping his bag on the floor and kicking his shoes at the wall one after the other was enough to drag Logan out of the world of quadratic equations.

“Hey, I’m back.” Virgil called out in a rather defeated voice. He walked behind Logan and wrapped him up in a bear hug while kissing him on the cheek. “How’s the work going?” he enquired.

“It’s okay.” Logan placed his hands over Virgil’s, sinking into the embrace. “Everything is blurring into one now though… I have feeling I haven’t been concentrating for about twenty minutes.” Logan sounded exhausted and his words were slurring together slightly.

Virgil removed himself from the hug and he looked incredibly concerned. He turned Logan around to face him and placed a hand on his chest. His heart was beating rapidly, too rapidly. He put his other hand softly under Logan’s chin, looking into Logan’s eyes.

“How much coffee have you had today? Did you have decaf like we talked about?” He asked quietly, even though the anxiety was impossible to hide.

“5… maybe 6 cups? I don’t know. I was going to have decaf, but I really wanted to get as much work done as I could before you got home.” He pouted. “My heart is beating so fast… Maybe that coffee was just too strong…”

“It’s because you’ve had way too much coffee today in general, Pocket Protector” Virgil said fondly running his fingers through Logan’s hair.

“Really? I thought it was because I was staring at the most beautiful man in the world.” Logan retorted in a slightly sarcastic, but flirty voice that Virgil secretly loved.

“Come on, you need to take a break. You also need to stop drinking this.” Virgil attempted to take Logan’s cup away, but he held it up above Virgil’s reach.

“No! My brain wants its fast juice!” Logan whined, trying to copy their friend Patton’s puppy dog eyes.

“Nope. No way Prof. That’s not working on me. This is not up for debate!” Virgil managed to grab the cup and put it in the sink. He stared at Logan seriously. They both immediately started giggling and Virgil wrapped Logan in another big hug. Virgil rested his head on Logan’s shoulder as Logan squeezed his boyfriend tighter. He was the first to part and finally gave Virgil a kiss which he melted into.

“Come on.” Said Virgil, holding out his hand which Logan took. “You need to take a break, right now.” He started to drag the exhausted Logan towards the sofa.

“I can’t, I really need to get this work done.” Virgil sighed, he loved the man but boy, he sure could be stubborn.

“We both know that’s not true. You’re ahead in all your classes, I think you can stop working yourself into the ground for one night!” Virgil used his best argumentative voice to try and get the thought into his boyfriend’s stubborn head. “Besides…” He quickly ran to his bag and returned with a large DVD box. “I’ve got Star Trek!” In a sing song style voice.

Logan gasped, grinned, then picked Virgil up and spun him around. “I can’t believe you brought it!” His voice giddy with excitement.

Virgil laughed and pulled away to set up the DVD player. “Tell you what, we’ll watch one season and if you then want to go back to working afterwards, you can complete one more textbook. Does that sound fair?” He knew Logan wouldn’t be able to resist.

Logan sighed “Fine. If it means I get to snuggle up with you, it’ll be worth it. Do I get my fast juice back though?” He chuckled; he’ll never call it coffee again.

“Nope! Just my special hot chocolate for you” Virgil shouted from the kitchen as Logan sat on the sofa getting the cushions and blankets ready. He came in with their hot chocolates and started the DVD. As they settled down, Logan took Virgil’s hand and held it softly.

“This is why you’re my absolute favourite person in the known universe.” Whispered Virgil.

“And you are mine, forever and always, my Storm Cloud.”

No more work was completed that night, just as Virgil had predicted.

<3

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 1 - Heal

Wounds, in their purest form, can be seen on the physical plane. Each wound can have varying levels of severity, but bleeding all the same. Sometimes all it takes is one’s own self to close the wound, but sometimes it takes the help of others to fix the problem. But not all wounds can be seen. What’s to be done about those ones? The same rules apply to these as they do to physical wounds, they just require more care.

Life moves on, and in turn, so did Kingsmen Mechanics. Even in the aftermath of becoming a battlefield for one vengeful ghost, a vampiric plant woman, and a murderous kitsune.. God he could barely believe it all himself. Had he not been there himself, he probably would have scoffed at such a claim. It hadn’t been a figment of his imagination, the ‘boom’ of the shotgun echoing, shells ‘tinking’ down to the metal of the truck’s floor. Hate filled, and hollow, eyes fixated on the one that dare place a new hole in its heart.

Lance never did understand the kinds of things his nephew chose to pursue along with his friends, and more recent events made it seem like it was far more trouble than it was worth. But that wasn’t the biggest issue, far from it. It was Arthur himself. If there was one thing that kid was good at, it was keeping his feelings to himself. Who would want to worry those closest to him with his own problems as he always put it. The one thing that never seemed to get through his thick skulls was that family and friends would never push someone away for that.

They were there to listen.

Despite this, there were cues to show something was off with him. Having those friends of his had been the best thing that ever happened to him, taking a reclusive nerd and getting him out into the world. Tragedy had struck them, and of course his nephew didn’t take it well. He still recalled the way he behaved both in and out of the hospital after his accident. Strain on the mind and body to all present parties, but even that had turned around.

He very well couldn’t stop his determined nephew, not when he was so adamant in finding the missing person that made them all complete. There was no trio without a third body.

Now?

His nephew was at the shop again. He was working on his little projects into the late hours of the night. He was content in his uncle’s company. None of his recent actions would make it seem like something was off, but it was so obvious to the older man. Arthur was avoiding them.

The ones that would listen to him talk, following along as if they could understand all his techno babble.

The ones that got him roped into adventure after adventure, even if he was scared out of his wits. He kept going back for them.

The ones that brought him so much joy.

Enough was enough. How much time was it going to be before his nephew thought it might be a good idea to make the first move? Why did it have to be him? Well, even if they were to try and reach out to him, what’s to say the blond was going to reach back for them? He would have to take some initiative.

And so, the short, yet elder Kingsmen stalked through the garage of the shop. It wasn’t hard to spot Arthur, his signature yellow pants peeking out from the underside of one of the cars. It didn’t really matter what the vehicle was in for, his nephew wasn’t going to have to worry about it anymore. Lance stepped over to the side of the car, giving a knock of his hand against the metal to get the younger man’s attention, “Hey kid.”

Arthur slid out from under the car, body still resting against the creeper, as if he were ready to get back to work once they were done chatting. His head turned enough to show that he had his uncle’s attention, “Yes Uncle Lance?”

God, even the tone of his voice was masked so well. He didn’t show any sign that something was wrong. It was like today was just another day at work.

“I want ya to take the rest of the day off.”

His nephew’s head tilted, confusion flashing over his face, “I don’t understand.”

“Ain’t hard to understand. Get out of here.” A bit harsh sounding, but only to those that didn’t understand how their dynamic worked. He cared, but it was harder for him to show it. Arthur sat up, seeming to get it, but he still wasn’t moving, “I really should finish this one up.”

“I can take care of it.”

“What am I supposed to do Uncle Lance?”

“Why not see what yer friends are doin’?”

Hesitation and a sideways glance. There it was. He was contemplating it, but not moving, “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea…”

Ok, maybe a different angle then, “Ya miss them don’t ya?”

“Well of course but…”

“So go on kid. Ain’t goin’ to do ya any good sticking around here all the time.”

He could see Arthur’s eyebrows furrow in thought, bouncing the pros and cons in his head before he came to a decision. He finally pushed himself up from the creeper, pacing across the garage to retrieve his signature orange, puffy vest. He mumbled a bit, but loud enough to hear, “Ok.. Ok.. yeah I can do that.. I’ll see you later Uncle Lance.”

Lance watched his nephew leave, a small smile forming between the hairs of his beard. That kid was a smart one, but sometimes he just needed a push in the right direction.

Arthur reached into the pocket of his vest, pulling out the keys to the van. Go see your friends. Yeah, that was easier said than done. Then again, how could he have expected his uncle to understand the complexity of the situation the four of them had managed to get themselves into? Vivi’s memory could still be unpredictably spotty. Mystery had been holding secrets from them. And Lewis…

Metal hand paused on the door handle. He found his eyes trailing down to the metal, glaring at it for a brief moment. Maybe if he gazed at it hard enough, the sleek silver would be replaced with the peach color of flesh that was meant to be there. But of course, even now knowing ghosts and magic were as real as science, such a thing was impossible. He’d long since accepted it, but one doesn’t just see their own possessed arm and not feel like life has dealt them an unfair hand.

Never in his life had he ever felt so angry. It was such a strange feeling, almost as if it had come out of nowhere.

He finally pulled the door open, settling down against the soft seat. The door shut, and now he was truly left alone with his own thoughts. He’d done so well to hide them, just as he always had. That’s how he got through life. When something was bothering him, he shut it away, pretended like it didn’t exist. And when that didn’t work, he physically removed himself from the equation. That’s what he did when he was growing up, and what he did when Lewis and Vivi started getting so close with each other.

And here he was doing it again.

He was avoiding the problem instead of facing it.

Fingers gripped at the steering wheel, a small tremble wracking his body. He cared about them so much, daring to say that he loved them. They gave him so much, but so much had been damaged. Vivi down her memories. Him down an arm. Lewis down the life he had waiting for him. He had found them after being alone for so long. How could he ever want to go back to that again? But what choice did he have?

No, he always had a choice. So long as he was still breathing, he had a choice.

Arthur finally removed one hand from the wheel, taking the keys, and slipping them into the ignition. Everything that led up to this very moment had been nothing more than a domino effect. Once one fell over, the rest tumbled after.

And it all started with him.

Was it some unspoken obligation that now made him think it was his responsibility to fix everything? Or maybe because deep down, he hated the distance. The only thing keeping him from being truly alone was himself. Go see your friends. Yes… and he knew exactly where to start.

With the turn of the key, the van roared to life. He pulled out of Kingsmen Mechanics, eyes following up the side of the hill where the guard rail still had yet to be repaired. At least there was another blockade back up, rather than the broken down one. He had been avoiding that road, just like everything else recently. Not anymore. His foot hit down on the gas, guiding the van up to that road, following it until asphalt turned to dirt.

Arthur took a deep breath before letting his eyes finally fall on the beating mansion. Just the sight of the place pulled his mind to the first time the van stopped in front of its doors. A thing of beauty, yet full of danger. A sigh passed through his lips, finally finding the courage to pry himself from the steering wheel and seat. He now stood beside the van, eyes wandering among the subtle movements in the windows. This wasn’t going to go very well, but he hoped, for once in his life, to be proven wrong.

His feet dragged, but he stood firm in front of the double doors. Fight or flight began to kick in, his body hoping he would choose to flee, run away like he always did. No. Not this time.

Metal hand raised up, prepared to knock on the door…

Yet met air as the door opened before he could do so, the ghost himself standing before his friend.

Lewis’ gaze peered down at the blond standing outside his home. Arthur was just as he remembered him, save for the metal arm that replaced his real one. Blinding anger kept him from noticing the sheen of that arm before it had begun sparking. It alone had caused so many questions to surface. That, and a green arm wandering around a body wearing a familiar wristband. No one else he knew wore the same ones day in and day out. How funny that once everything was said and done, he would adopt the cowardice that his murderer friend had been known for.

When did he get so brave?

Neither one of them said a thing, just allowed their eyes to meet before retreating to the side. When the silence got to be too much, he broke it, “What are you doing here?”

The unnatural echo of his voice must have unnerved the blond by the way he gave a small tremble. He wasn’t sure even he was used to the way his own voice sounded now. Arms crossed, waiting for what this spineless idiot had to say. Amber eyes found their way back to him, “I.. I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

You know exactly what he’s here to talk about. It doesn’t matter what he has to say.

It didn’t matter before, but it matters now? We used to talk about anything and everything.

“I just..” He stopped, as if he were trying to find the right words to say. Just how much time had he poured into finding his ‘missing friend’ only to find out he wasn’t alive anymore? To find out his friend hated him more than anything in the world? Just how much nonsense remorse would spill?

“I’m sorry.”

Two words, but they said so much more than anything else could.

It doesn’t matter if you are sorry. Sorry doesn’t fix what’s happened to me. Sorry doesn’t give me back everything you took from me. Sorry doesn’t make up for your weakness.

He didn’t mean to do it. How could I blame him for something beyond his control? None of us knew what we were getting into. He’s guilty about it.

When Lewis said nothing, the blond seemed to take this as an opportunity to say more, “I can’t.. change what’s happened, as badly as I want to.. but I want to make up for it.. I want to fix it.”

You can’t fix this. What could you possibly do to help anyways?

Fix it.. He’s making an effort. Only a friend would do that. It wasn’t even his fault to begin with.

“You can’t fix this.”

“I know.. I know I can’t, but I still want to try.”

Such determination.

As if Arthur thought he could defy the impossible and fix his condition.

No, that’s not what he means. He means us.

Conflicting thoughts were always getting in the way, but what could be done about it? He was split, like two personalities constantly arguing with one another on what to do. Death has a way of changing a person, and festering like his rotting corpse back in the cave. You spend so much time hating someone, only to find out all that hatred was misplaced. Even if the true threat was gone, the anger never subsided, all pointing to the one person who wanted nothing more than to mend what was broken. It’s what he did with machines, so why not with anything else?

No.

Yes.

“We can try.”

It wasn’t a no, but no confirmation that anything was going to change in the long run. It seemed to be enough to bring a smile to Arthur’s face, like that was exactly what he needed to hear. Maybe it was. He glanced over to the van, then back to Lewis, “Do you.. Would you like to see how Vivi’s been doing?”

No, I can’t trust you with her. You’ll just backstab her like you did to me.

He said he wanted to fix things. He couldn’t have only meant with me. He wants to see Vivi too. He wants us to go to her together.

“Fine.”

Both left the doorway of the mansion, heading back to the van. The ghost simply phased through the door, leaving Arthur to settle in once he pulled the driver’s side open. He shut it, eyes peering up to the rear view mirror to the flamed hair peeking over the top of the back seats. Yeah, probably not a good idea to have the skeleton man sitting in the front seat with him.

Go see your friends.

The drive to the Yukino family home wasn’t a long one, but one full of silence. Even with clear intentions to mend things, neither one of them mustered the will to make conversation. It wasn’t like before when they would chat about what was going on in their lives, or just any nonsense to pass the time.

No one was around as the van pulled up to the home. Arthur slipped out of the driver’s side, and Lewis out the same side of the van, just further down the wall. The ghost dawned his human guise, a pair of sunglasses to cover his eyes. Man and ghost walked up to the front door, giving a knock. It had been another blond that answered from the other side. Arthur gave Mrs. Yukino a smile, “Is Vivi home?”

She turned her head back into the house, “Vivi, your friends are here.”

The sound of speedy footsteps was a good indication that she was on her way. They were led inside, the girl dressed nearly in all blue from head to toe making her grand entrance. She looked at each of them in turn, one with happiness, and the other with lingering bitterness. She practically pulled the two of them with her, “Well come on then.”

Just as quickly as she pulled them into her room, the door was shut behind them. Open arms made their way to Arthur, him seeming surprised by her gesture, “It’s so good to see you Art. I was wondering when you were going to come out of hiding.”

Before the blond even got a chance to say anything, her once loving eyes narrowed on the ghost, “You haven’t done anything to him have you?”

She was not as blind as others might have been led to believe. She was there when she saw the ghost trying to barrel into her best friend when he was cornered in the mansion. She was there when that otherworldly truck stalked them along the road. She was there when they had been sent flying off the road. She was there when that same ghost appeared again, three friends reunited to face down the three-eyed kitsune. It was kind of hard to ignore the anger the ghost had for Arthur.

As starry eyed as she got over him, she couldn’t just bypass everything he had done. She couldn’t trust him.

She must have struck a bit of a nerve when the ghost bit back, “No, I haven’t.”

“Good.”

“Vivi..”

She looked at her best friend. Oh Arthur. She cared about her friend, and would never want anything terrible to befall him, not even from the hands of their other best friend. She rubbed a fist through his spiky hair, “It’s fine Artie, I’m just making sure.”

There was a roll of the eyes behind the sunglasses, “I don’t know why you bother.”

“Uhh because he’s our friend? That you’re supposed to be too?” Even though you’re the one who stole my memories. If Arthur had been the thief for stealing everything from Lewis, then the ghost was the thief that stole what he actually meant to her.

“Right, of course.”

She hadn’t noticed that Arthur’s head turned away from her, probably because she had let go of him, leaving her to focus on the ghost. Lewis’ sarcasm bled from his words. Hands moved to her hips, “Don’t use that tone with me mister.”

“Sorry. Still getting used to this.”

“Should put a little more effort into it.”

“I am. Why else would I be here?”

“To see me.”

“No. Well.. yes… but why else would I be here with him?”

“Well I don’t know. You were pretty hellbent on getting revenge on him not too long ago.”

“Vivi.” His tone was sharp as he spoke her name. Part of him hated the way he had done so.

“Lewis,” her’s bit back just as much to match his own tone.

“Hey Vivi, where’s Mystery?”

The two bickering turned their attention on the blond. So that’s who he had been looking for. Her wonder for the kitsune hiding as her own pet dog kept her from tossing him out. Then again, why should she? Yes, he hid something major from the three of them, but he was just as much a part of her family, and a part of their team as Arthur and Lewis were. He was always there when she needed him. How could she turn a blind eye when so much of what happened to him had been out of his control?

Didn’t that sound familiar?

She gave a sad sigh, “He’s been moping around the house. I have been trying to give him some space, but I’m at a loss.” How was one supposed to help a depressed kitsune? This went beyond just researching something in one of her many books, but rather something on a much more personal level. What could be done to lift his spirits again? The three of them looked among themselves. What help could they really be in this situation? No one knew Mystery better than Vivi.

Then a spark almost seemed to hit her. Perhaps it was because all of them were standing together, in the same space without the threat of malice hanging in the air. In the heat of everything, there had been one key thing she failed to notice. Now it made sense. Gripping their wrists, she pushed the door open, pulling them out, “I’ve got an idea. Come on!”

As they raced through the house, the blond caught sight of the black and white dog. His head was hung, eyes moving up briefly to catch their figures passing by, then went back down. He knew that look. He knew it because he had lived it for plenty of his life. Mystery looked so down.

No, he looked alone.

Arthur dug the heels of his shoes into the floor, tugging back on his wrist, “Vivi wait! Maybe.. Maybe I should stay with Mystery.”

That seemed to catch them both off guard. He noticed not only the surprised look in her eyes, but the narrowed ones behind the darkness. Of course he would look annoyed. After being brave enough to walk up to the mansion and claim he wanted to fix things, now here he was seeming like he was ditching them all over again. All that anger wasn’t going to vanish in an instant, and he would have been a fool to believe that. No, he had another reason for this choice. He could feel the grip on his wrist loosen, as she was kind enough to grab the flesh one over the metal one, “Are you sure?”

One more look over to the dog solidified his answer, “Yes.”

“Alright then. Come on Lew.”

Once the two were gone, the blond stepped towards the brooding dog. Each step was met with more hesitation than the last. It was hard to forget that the kind canine he knew for so long had also been the one to rip his arm off. Mystery had saved him, but it didn’t negate any of the pain he had to regulate. His hand gripped at the metal, now standing over the disguised kitsune. Red eyes trailed up until they met amber, “You should have gone with them.”

“Maybe… but you.. you looked like you could use some company.”

Nothing.

“How about a walk, Mystery? I bet it’s been.. a while since you and Vivi took one.”

The dog looked up, seeing the small trembles the blond was trying to hide. He wondered if Lewis had seen them too. He wanted so much to help, giving up everything he had just so that he could fix things. So that he wouldn’t be alone. No, so that all of them could be whole again. How could he say no?

Man and dog walked down the nearly empty street, side by side. Two who had been wounded by the same entity, but didn’t allow it to bring them to ruin. If anyone could understand one another, it was the two of them.

“Arthur.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

Maybe their wounds could heal after all.

[theculturedmarxist]

Below is the story of my day touring Tema with Prince Philip, in this chapter from my book “The Catholic Orangemen of Togo”. You may be surprised to read that I rather liked him.

The African Queen

One morning I was sitting in the lounge at Devonshire House, with its fitted wool carpets and chintz sofas. I was drinking the tea that our steward, Nasser, had brought me. I heard movement in a corner of the room, and thought it must be Nasser cleaning there. But looking round, I saw nobody. Puzzled, I got up and walked towards that corner. Rounding a settee, I nearly stood upon a thin, green snake. About four feet long and just the thickness of your thumb, it was a bright, almost lime green colour. There was not much wedge shape to its head, which rather tapered from its neck. Its tongue was flickering toward me, perhaps a foot away, its head raised only slightly off the floor. I took a step backwards. In response it too retreated, at surprising speed, and zipped up the inside of the curtains.

I stood stock still and yelled “Nasser! Nasser!” This brought Nasser hurrying into the living room with Gloria, the cook. “Nasser, there’s a snake in the curtains!” Nasser and Gloria screamed, threw their arms in the air, and ran together into the kitchen and out the back door of the house. This was not altogether helpful.

I remained where I was to keep an eye on the snake, not wanting it to be lurking inside the house unseen. After a while the front door opened and somebody, presumably Nasser, threw in Nasser’s scruffy little dog. The dog was normally banned from the house, and celebrated this unexpected turn of events by immediately urinating against the hall table. Then the dog too ran into the kitchen and out of the back door.

Abandoning my watch, I went out and recruited the reluctant gardeners and gate guards. They armed themselves with long sticks and came in and beat the curtains until the snake fell onto the floor. As it sped for cover under a sofa, Samuel the youngest gardener got in a solid blow, and soon everyone was joining in, raining down blows on the twitching snake. They carried its disjointed body out on the end of a stick, and burnt it on a bonfire.

Everyone identified it as a green mamba. I was sceptical. Green mambas are among the world’s deadliest snakes, and I imagined them to look beefy like cobras, not whip thin and small headed like this. But a search on the agonisingly slow internet showed that indeed it did look very like a green mamba.

The important question arose of how it had entered the house. With air conditioning, the doors and windows were usually shut. Nasser seemed to have solved the mystery when he remarked that a dead one had been found last year inside an air conditioner. The unit had stopped working, and when they came to fix it they found a snake jammed in the mechanism. That seemed the answer; it had appeared just under a conditioner, and it seemed likely the slim snake had entered via the vent pipe, avoiding the fan as it crawled through the unit.

This was very worrying. If anti-venom was available (and we held a variety in the High Commission) an adult would probably survive a green mamba bite. But it would almost certainly be fatal to Emily, and possibly to Jamie.

A week or so later, I was constructing Emily’s climbing frame, which had arrived from the UK. A rambling contraption of rungs, slides, platforms and trampolines, it required the bolting together of scores of chrome tubes. I was making good progress on it and, as I lifted one walkway side into position above my head, a mamba slid out of the end of the tube, down my arm, round my belly and down my leg. It did this in no great hurry; it probably took four seconds, but felt like four minutes.

There was one terrible moment when it tried an exploratory nuzzle of its head into the waistband of my trousers, but luckily it decided to proceed down the outside to the ground. It then zig zagged across the lawn to nestle in the exposed tops of the roots of a great avocado tree. Again the mob arrived and beat it to death with sticks. I persuaded them to keep the body this time, and decided that definite action was needed.

I called in a pest control expert. I was advised to try the “Snake Doctor”. I was a bit sceptical, equating “Snake Doctor” with “Witch Doctor”, but when he arrived I discovered that this charming chubby Ghanaian really did have a PhD in Pest Control from the University of Reading. As Fiona had an MSc in Crop Protection from the same Department, they got on like a house on fire and it was difficult to get them away from cups of tea to the business in hand.

He confirmed that the dead snake really was a green mamba. We obviously had a colony. They lived in trees, and he advised us to clear an area of wasteland beyond the boundaries of our house, and build a high boundary wall of rough brick at the back, rather than the existing iron palings. He also suggested we cut down an avenue of some 16 huge mature trees along the drive. I was very sad, but followed this sensible advice. That removed the mamba problem from Devonshire House. But I continued to attract mambas on my travels around Ghana.

The second half of that first year in Ghana was to be almost entirely taken up with preparations for the State Visit of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh in November 1999. A huge amount of work goes into organising such a visit; every move is staged and choreographed, designed for media effect. You need to know in advance just where everybody is going to be, who will move where when, and what they will say. You need to place and organise the media to best advantage. You need to stick within very strict rules as to what the Queen will or will not do. Most difficult of all, you have to agree all this with the host government.

I had been through it all quite recently, having paid a major part in the organisation of the State Visit to Poland in 1996. That had gone very well. The Poles regarded it as an important symbol that communism had been definitively finished. It was visually stunning, and at a time when the Royal Family was dogged with hostile media coverage, it had been their first unmixed positive coverage in the UK for ages. I had handled the media angles, and my stock stood very high in the Palace.

I am a republican personally; I was just doing my job. The Palace staff knew I was a republican, not least because I had turned down the offer of being made a Lieutenant of the Royal Victorian Order (LVO) after the Warsaw visit. I had earlier turned down the offer to be an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) after the first Gulf war.

Rawlings was delighted that the Queen was coming. He craved respectability and acceptance in the international community, which had been hard to come by after his violent beginnings. But he had turned his Provisional National Defence Council (PNDC) into a political party, the National Democratic Congress (NDC), and had fought elections in 1992 and 1996 against the opposition New Patriotic Party, which had an unbroken tradition running back to Nkrumah’s opponent J B Danquah and his colleague Kofi Busia. There were widespread allegations of vote-rigging, violence and intimidation, and certainly in 1992 the nation was still too cowed to engage in much open debate.

Even by 1999, social life was still inhibited by the fact that nobody except those close to the Rawlings would do anything that might be construed as an ostentatious display of life, while Rawlings had sustained and inflated the personality cult of Nkrumah still further (he is known as Osagyefo, “the conqueror”.) Open discussion of the disasters Nkrumah brought upon Ghana was almost impossible. It is still difficult for many Ghanaians today, after decades of brainwashing. As Rawlings had gradually liberalised society, the increasing freedom of the media, particularly the FM radio station, was giving a great boost to democracy. But there was still much prudent self-censorship. The media was particularly reticent about investigating governmental corruption.

The NDC government was massively corrupt. There was one gratuitous example which especially annoyed me. A company called International Generics, registered in Southampton, had got loans totalling over £30 million from the Royal Bank of Scotland to construct two hotels, La Palm and Coco Palm. One was on the beach next to the Labadi Beach Hotel, the other on Fourth Circular Road in Cantonments, on the site of the former Star Hotel. The loan repayments were guaranteed by the Export Credit Guarantee Department, at the time a British government agency designed to insure UK exporters against loss. In effect the British taxpayer was underwriting the export, and if the loan defaulted the British taxpayer would pay.

In fact, this is what happened, and the file crossed my desk because the British people were now paying out on defaulted payments to the Royal Bank of Scotland. So I went to look at the two hotels. I found La Palm Hotel was some cleared land, some concrete foundations, and one eight room chalet without a roof. Coco Palm hotel didn’t exist at all. In a corner of the plot, four houses had been built by International Generics. As the housing market in Accra was very strong, these had been pre-sold, so none of the loan had gone into them.

I was astonished. The papers clearly showed that all £31.5 million had been fully disbursed by the Royal Bank of Scotland, against progress and completion certificates on the construction. But in truth there was virtually no construction. How could this have happened?

The Chief Executive of International Generics was an Israeli named Leon Tamman. He was a close friend to, and a front for, Mrs Rawlings. Tamman also had an architect’s firm, which had been signing off completion certificates for the non-existent work on the hotel. Almost all of the £30 million was simply stolen by Tamman and Mrs Rawlings.

The Royal Bank of Scotland had plainly failed in due diligence, having paid out on completion of two buildings, one not started and one only just started. But the Royal Bank of Scotland really couldn’t give a toss, because the repayments and interest were guaranteed by the British taxpayer. Indeed I seemed to be the only one who did care.

The Rawlings had put some of their share of this looted money towards payments on their beautiful home in Dublin. I wrote reports on all this back to London, and specifically urged the Serious Fraud Office to prosecute Tamman and Mrs Rawlings. I received the reply that there was no “appetite” in London for this.

Eventually La Palm did get built, but with over $60 million of new money taken this time from SSNIT, the Ghanaian taxpayers social security and pension fund. Coco Palm never did get built, but Tamman continued to develop it as a housing estate, using another company vehicle. Tamman has since died. The loans were definitively written off by the British government as part of Gordon Brown’s HIPC debt relief initiative.

That is but one example of a single scam, but it gives an insight into the way the country was looted. The unusual feature on this one was that the clever Mr Tamman found a way to cheat the British taxpayer, via Ghana. I still find it galling that the Royal Bank of Scotland also still got their profit, again from the British taxpayer.

So while the State Visit was intended as a reward to Jerry Rawlings for his conversion to democracy and capitalism, I had no illusions about Rawlings’ Ghana. I was determined that we should use the Queen’s visit to help ensure that Rawlings did indeed leave power in January 2001. According to the constitution, his second and final four year term as elected President expired then (if you politely ignored his previous decade as a military dictator). We should get the Queen to point him towards the exit.

Buckingham palace sent a team on an initial reconnaissance visit. It was led by an old friend of mine, Tim Hitchens, Assistant Private Secretary to the Queen, who had joined the FCO when I did. We identified the key features of the programme, which should centre around an address to Parliament. A walkabout might be difficult; Clinton had been almost crushed in Accra by an over-friendly crowd in a situation which got out of control. A school visit to highlight DFID’s work would provide the “meet the people” photo op, otherwise a drive past for the larger crowds. Key questions were identified as whether the Queen should visit Kumasi to meet Ghana’s most important traditional ruler, the Asantehene, and how she should meet the leader of the opposition, John Kufuor. Rawlings was likely to be opposed to both.

The recce visit went very well, and I held a reception for the team before they flew back to London. Several Ghanaian ministers came, and it ended in a very relaxed evening. Tim Hitchens commented that it was the first time he had ever heard Queen and Supertramp at an official function before. It turned out that we had very similar musical tastes.

Planning then took place at quite high intensity for several months. There were regular meetings with the Ghanaian government team tasked to organise the visit, headed by head of their diplomatic service Anand Cato, now Ghanaian High Commissioner to the United Kingdom. We then had to visit together all the proposed venues, and walk through the proposed routes, order of events, seating plans etc.

From the very first meeting between the two sides, held in a committee room at the International Conference Centre, it soon became obvious that we had a real problem with Ian Mackley. The High Commissioner had been very high-handed and abrupt with the visiting team from Buckingham Palace, so much so that Tim Hitchens had asked me what was wrong. I said it was just his manner. But there was more to it than that.

In the planning meetings, the set-up did not help the atmosphere. There were two lines of desks, facing each other. The British sat on one side and the Ghanaians on the other, facing each other across a wide divide. The whole dynamic was one of confrontation.

I have sat through some toe-curling meetings before, but that first joint State visit planning meeting in Accra was the worst. It started in friendly enough fashion, with greetings on each side. Then Anand Cato suggested we start with a quick run-through of the programme, from start to finish. “OK, now will the Queen be arriving by British Airways or by private jet?” asked Anand. “She will be on one of the VC10s of the Royal Flight” said Ian. “Right, that’s better. The plane can pull up to the stand closest to the VIP lounge. We will have the convoy of vehicles ready on the tarmac. The stairs will be put to the door, and then the chief of protocol will go up the stairs to escort the Queen and her party down the stairs, where there will be a small reception party…” “No, hang on there” interjected Ian Mackley, “I will go up the stairs before the chief of protocol.” “Well, it is customary for the Ambassador or High Commissioner to be in the receiving line at the bottom of the aircraft steps.” “Well, I can tell you for sure that the first person the Queen will want to see when she arrives in the country will be her High Commissioner.” “Well, I suppose you can accompany the chief up the steps if you wish…” “And my wife.” “Pardon?” “My wife Sarah. She must accompany me up the steps to meet the Queen.” “Look, it really isn’t practical to have that many people going on to an already crowded plane where people are preparing to get off…” “I am sorry, but I must insist that Sarah accompanies me up the stairs and on to the plane.” “But couldn’t she wait at the bottom of the steps?” “Absolutely not. How could she stand there without me?” “OK, well can we then mark down the question of greeting on the plane as an unresolved issue for the next meeting?” “Alright, but our side insists that my wife…” “Yes, quite. Now at the bottom of the steps Her Majesty will be greeted by the delegated minister, and presented with flowers by children.” “Please make sure we are consulted on the choice of children.” “If you wish. There will be national anthems, but I suggest no formal inspection of the Guard of Honour? Then traditional priests will briefly make ritual oblations, pouring spirits on the ground. The Queen will briefly enter the VIP lounge to take a drink.” “That’s a waste of time. Let’s get them straight into the convoy and off.” “But High Commissioner, we have to welcome a visitor with a drink. It is an essential part of our tradition. It will only be very brief.” “You can do what you like, but she’s not entering the VIP lounge. Waste of time.” “Let’s mark that down as another issue to be resolved. Now then, first journey…”

The meeting went on for hours and hours, becoming increasingly ill tempered. When we eventually got to the plans for the State Banquet, it all went spectacularly pear-shaped as it had been threatening to do. “Now we propose a top table of eight. There will be the President and Mrs Rawlings, Her Majesty and the Duke of Edinburgh, The Vice President and Mrs Mills, and Mr and Mrs Robin Cook.” Ian positively went purple. You could see a vein throbbing at the top left of his forehead. He spoke as though short of breath. “That is not acceptable. Sarah and I must be at the top table”. “With respect High Commissioner, there are a great many Ghanaians who will feel they should be at the top table. As we are in Ghana, we feel we are being hospitable in offering equal numbers of British and Ghanaians at the top table. But we also think the best plan is to keep the top table small and exclusive.” “By all means keep it small,” said Ian, “but as High Commissioner I must be on it.” “So what do you suggest?” asked Anand. “Robin Cook” said Ian “He doesn’t need to be on the top table.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Neither could Anand. “I don’t think you are being serious, High Commissioner” he said. “I am entirely serious” said Ian. “I outrank Robin Cook. I am the personal representative of a Head of State. Robin Cook only represents the government.”

I decided the man had taken leave of his senses. I wondered at what stage can you declare your commanding officer mad and take over, like on The Cain Mutiny? Anand was obviously thinking much the same. “Perhaps I might suggest you seek instruction from headquarters on that one?” he asked. “Anyway, can we note that down as another outstanding item, and move on to…” I don’t know whether Ian secretly realised he had overstepped the mark, but he didn’t come to another planning meeting after that, leaving them to me and the very competent Second Secretary Mike Nithavrianakis.

The most difficult question of all was that of meeting the opposition. Eventually we got the agreement of Buckingham Palace and the FCO to say that, if the Queen were prevented from meeting the opposition, she wouldn’t come. But still the most we could get from Rawlings was that the leader of the opposition could be included in a reception for several hundred people at the International Conference Centre.

I had by now made good personal friends with several Ghanaian politicians. Among those who I could have a social drink with any time were, on the government side John Mahama, Minister of Information and Moses Asaga, Deputy Finance Minister, and on the opposition side John Kufuor, leader of the opposition, his colleagues Hackman Owusu-Agyemang, Shadow Foreign Minister, and Nana Akuffo-Addo, Shadow Attorney General.

In the International Conference Centre the precise route the Queen would take around the crowd was very carefully planned, so I was able to brief John Kufuor exactly where to stand to meet her, and brief the Queen to be sure to stop and chat with him. As he was the tallest man in the crowd, this was all not too difficult.

Once the Queen arrived and the visit started, everything happened in a three day blur of intense activity. Vast crowds turned out, and the Palace staff soon calmed down as they realised that the Queen could expect an uncomplicated and old fashioned reverence from the teeming crowds who were turning out to see “Our Mama”.

The durbar of chiefs in front of Parliament House was a riot of colour and noise. One by one the great chiefs came past, carried on their palanquins, preceded by their entourage, drummers banging away ferociously and the chiefs, laden down with gold necklaces and bangles, struggled to perform their energetic seated dances. Many of the hefty dancing women wore the cloth that had been created for the occasion, with a picture of the Queen jiggling about on one large breast in partnership with Jerry Rawlings jiving on the other, the same pairing being also displayed on the buttocks.

After the last of the chiefs went through, the tens of thousands of spectators started to mill everywhere and we had to race for the Royal convoy to get out through the crowds. Robin Cook had stopped to give an ad hoc interview to an extremely pretty South African television reporter. Mike Nithavrianakis tried to hurry him along but got a fierce glare for his pains. Eventually everyone was in their cars but Cook; the Ghanaian outriders were itching to start as the crowds ahead and around got ever denser.

But where was Cook? We delayed, with the Queen sitting in her car for two or three minutes, but still there was no sign of the Secretary of State or his staff getting into their vehicle. Eventually the outriders swept off; the crowds closed in behind and we had abandoned our dilettante Foreign Secretary. Having lost the protection of the convoy and being caught up in the crowds and traffic, it took him an hour to catch up.

Cook was an enigma. I had already experienced his famous lack of both punctuality and consideration when kept waiting to see him over the Sandline Affair. His behaviour now seemed to combine an attractive contempt for protocol with a goat-like tendency – would he have fallen behind to give a very bland interview to a male South African reporter? He was also breaking the tradition that the Foreign Secretary does not make media comments when accompanying the Queen.

When we returned to the Labadi Beach Hotel, there was to be further evidence of Cook’s view that the World revolved around him. He was interviewing FCO staff for the position of his new Private Secretary. Astonishingly, he had decided that it would best suit his itinerary to hold these interviews in Accra rather than London. One candidate, Ros Marsden, had an extremely busy job as Head of United Nations Department. Yet she had to give up three days work to fly to be interviewed in Accra, when her office was just round the corner from his in London. Other candidates from posts around the World had difficult journeys to complete to get to Accra at all. I thought this rather outrageous of Cook, and was surprised nobody else seemed much concerned.

The port town of Tema, linked to Accra by fifteen miles of motorway and fast becoming part of a single extensive metropolis, sits firmly on the Greenwich Meridian. As far as land goes, Tema is the centre of the Earth, being the closest dry spot to the junction of the Equator and the Greenwich Meridian. You can travel South from Tema over 6,000 miles across sea until you hit the Antarctic.

There was in 1999 a particular vogue for linking the Greenwich Meridian with the Millennium. This was because of the role of the meridian in determining not just longitude but time. Of course, the two are inextricably linked with time initially used to calculate longitude. That is why Greenwich hosted both the Naval Academy and the Royal Observatory.

The fascination with all this had several manifestations. There was a BBC documentary travelogue down the Greenwich meridian. There was a best-selling book about the invention of naval chronometers, Longitude by Dava Sobel, which I read and was as interesting as a book about making clocks can be. There were a number of aid projects down the meridian, including by War Child and Comic Relief. Tema and Greenwich became twin towns. And there was the visit of the Duke of Edinburgh to Tema.

I think this was the idea of my very good friend John Carmichael, who was involved in charity work on several of the meridian projects. It was thought particularly appropriate as one of the Duke of Edinburgh’s titles is Earl of Greenwich – though the man has so many titles you could come up with some connection to pretty well anywhere. We could make it a new game, like six degrees of separation. Connect your home town to the Duke of Edinburgh.

Anyway, Tim Hitchens had warned me that the Duke was very much averse to just looking at things without any useful purpose. As we stood looking at the strip of brass laid in a churchyard which marks the line of the meridian, he turned to me and said: “A line in the ground, eh? Very nice.”

But we moved on to see a computer centre that had been set up by a charity to give local people experience of IT and the internet (providing both electricity and phone lines were working, which thank goodness they were today) and the Duke visibly cheered up. He was much happier talking to the instructors and students, and then when we went on to a primary school that had received books from DFID he was positively beaming. The genuinely warm reception everywhere, with happy gaggles of people of all ages cheerfully waving their little plastic union jacks, would have charmed anybody.

We returned to Accra via the coast road and I was able to point out the work of the Ghanaian coffin makers, with coffins shaped and painted as tractors, beer bottles, guitars, desks, cars and even a packet of condoms. The Prince laughed heartily, and we arrived at the Parliament building in high good spirits. There he was first shown to a committee room where he was introduced to senior MPs of all parties. “How many Members of Parliament do you have?” he asked. “Two hundred” came the answer. “That’s about the right number,” opined the Prince, “We have six hundred and fifty MPs, and most of them are a complete bloody waste of time.”

The irony was that there was no British journalist present to hear this, as they had all thought a meeting between Prince Philip and Ghanaian parliamentarians would be too boring. There were Ghanaian reporters present, but the exchange didn’t particularly interest them. So a front page tabloid remark, with which the accompanying photo could have made a paparazzi a lot of money, went completely unreported.

On a State Visit, the media cannot each be at every occasion, as security controls mean they have to be pre-positioned rather than milling about while the event goes ahead. So by agreement, those reporters and photographers accredited to the visit share or pool their photos and copy. At each event there is a stand, or pool. Some events may have more than one pool to give different angles. Each journalist can probably make five or six pools in the course of the visit, leapfrogging ahead of the royal progress. But everyone gets access to material from all the pools. The FCO lays on the transport to keep things under control. Organising the pool positions ahead of the event with the host country, and then herding and policing the often pushy media in them, is a major organisational task. Mike Nithavrianakis had carried it off with style and only the occasional failure of humour. But he had found no takers for Prince Philip in parliament, which proved to be fortunate for us.

I should say that I found Prince Philip entirely pleasant while spending most of this day with him. I am against the monarchy, but it was not created by the Queen or Prince Philip. Just as Colonel Isaac of the RUF was a victim of the circumstances into which he was born, so are they. Had I been born into a life of great privilege, I would probably have turned out a much more horrible person than they are.

Prince Philip then joined the Queen in the parliamentary chamber. Her address to parliament was to be the focal point of the visit. I had contributed to the drafting of her speech, and put a lot of work into it. The speech was only six minutes long (she never speaks longer than that, except at the State Opening of Parliament. Her staff made plain that six minutes was an absolute maximum.) It contained much of the usual guff about the history of our nations and the importance of a new future based upon partnership. But then she addressed Rawlings directly, praising his achievements in bringing Ghana on to the path of democracy and economic stability. The government benches in parliament provided an undercurrent of parliamentary “hear hears”.

But there was to be a sting in the tale: “Next, year, Mr President,” the Queen intoned, “You will step down after two terms in office in accordance with your constitution.” The opposition benches went wild. The Queen went on to wish for peaceful elections and further progress, but it was drowned out by the cries of “hear hear” and swishing of order papers from the benches, and loud cheers from the public gallery. There were mooted cries of “No” from the government side of the chamber.

I had drafted that phrase, and it had a much greater effect than I possibly hoped for, although I did mean it to drive home the message exactly as it was taken.

For a moment the Queen stopped. She looked in bewilderment and concern at the hullabaloo all around her. The Queen has no experience of speaking to anything other than a hushed, respectful silence. But, apart from some grim faces on the government benches, it was a joyful hullabaloo and she ploughed on the short distance to the end of her speech.

Once we got back to the Labadi Beach Hotel, Robin Cook was completely furious. He stormed into the makeshift Private Office, set up in two hotel rooms. “It’s a disaster. Who the Hell drafted that?” “Err, I did, Secretary of State” I said. “Is that you, Mr Murray! I might have guessed! Who the Hell approved it.” “You did.” “I most certainly did not!” “Yes you did, Secretary of State. You agreed the final draft last night.”

His Private Secretary had to dig out the copy of the draft he had signed off. He calmed down a little, and was placated further when the Queen’s robust press secretary, Geoff Crawford, said that he took the view that it was a good thing for the Queen to be seen to be standing up for democracy. It could only look good in the UK press. He proved to be right.

The State Banquet was a rather dull affair. Ian Mackley’s great battle to be on the top table proved rather nugatory as, in very Ghanaian fashion, nobody stayed in their seat very long and people were wandering all over the shop. There were a large number of empty seats as, faced with an invitation to dinner at 7.30pm, many Ghanaians followed their customary practice and wandered along an hour or so late, only to find they would not be admitted. This caused a huge amount of angst and aggravation, from which those of us inside were fortunately sheltered.

Mrs Rawlings had chosen a well known Accra nightclub owner named Chester to be the compère for the occasion. His bar is a relaxed spot in a small courtyard that features good jazz and highlife music, and prostitutes dressed as Tina Turner. It was a second home for the officers of the British Military Advisory and Training Team (BMATT).

Chester himself was friendly and amusing, but amusing in a Julian Clary meets Kenneth Williams meets Liberace sort of way. Chester says he is not gay, (regrettably homosexuality is illegal in Ghana) but his presentation is undeniably ultra camp. It is hard to think of a weirder choice to chair a state banquet, but Chester was a particular pet of Mrs Rawlings.

Chester was stood on the platform next to the Queen, gushing about how honoured he was. His speech was actually very witty, but the delivery was – well, Chester. I turned to Prince Philip and remarked: “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two Queens together before.” To give credit to Chester, I gather he has been telling the story ever since.

High camp was to be a theme of that evening.

Fiona and I accompanied the Royal party back to the Labadi Beach Hotel to say goodnight, after which Fiona returned home to Devonshire House while I remained for a debriefing on the day and review of the plans for tomorrow. By the time we had finished all that it was still only 11pm and I retired to the bar of the Labadi Beach with the Royal Household. The senior staff – Tim and Geoff – withdrew as is the custom, to allow the butlers, footmen, hairdressers and others to let off steam.

The party appeared, to a man, to be gay. Not just gay but outrageously camp. The Labadi Beach, with its fans whirring under polished dark wood ceilings, its panelled bar, displays of orchids, attentive uniformed staff and glossy grand piano – has the aura of a bygone colonial age, like something from Kenya’s Happy Valley in the 1930s. You expect to see Noel Coward emerge in his smoking jacket and sit down at the piano, smoking through a mother of pearl cigarette holder. It is exactly the right setting for a gay romp, and that is exactly what developed after a few of the Labadi Beach’s wonderful tropical cocktails.

We had taken the entire hotel for the Royal party, except that we had allowed the British Airways crew to stay there as always. Now three of their cabin stewards, with two Royal footmen and the Queen’s hairdresser, were grouped around the grand singing Cabaret with even more gusto than Liza. Other staff were smooching at the bar. All this had developed within half an hour in a really magical and celebratory atmosphere that seemed to spring from nothing. I was seated on a comfortable sofa, and across from me in an armchair was the one member of the Household who seemed out of place. The Duke of Edinburgh’s valet looked to be in his sixties, a grizzled old NCO with tufts of hair either side of a bald pate, a boxer’s nose and tattoos on his arms. He was smoking roll-ups.

He was a nice old boy and we had been struggling to hold a conversation about Ghana over the din, when two blokes chasing each other ran up to the settee on which I was sitting. One, pretending to be caught, draped himself over the end and said: “You’ve caught me, you beast!” I turned back to the old warrior and asked: “Don’t you find all this a bit strange sometimes?” He lent forward and put his hand on my bare knee below my kilt: “Listen, ducks. I was in the Navy for thirty years.”

So I made my excuses and left, as the News of the World journalists used to put it. I think he was probably joking, but there are some things that are too weird even for me, and the lower reaches of the Royal household are one of them. I have heard it suggested that such posts have been filled by gays for centuries, just as harems were staffed by eunuchs, to avoid the danger of a Queen being impregnated. Recently I have been most amused by news items regarding the death of the Queen Mother’s long-standing footman, who the newsreaders have been informing us was fondly known as “Backstairs Billy”. They manage to say this without giving the slightest hint that they know it is a double entendre.

The incident in parliament had made the Rawlings government even more annoyed about the proposed handshake in the International Conference Centre reception between the Queen and John Kufuor. My own relationship with Ian Mackley had also deteriorated still further as a result of the Royal Visit. I had the advantage that I already knew from previous jobs the palace officials and Robin Cook’s officials, and of course Robin Cook himself, not to mention the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh. All in all, I suspect that Ian felt that I was getting well above myself.

As the party formed up to walk around the reception in the International Conference Centre, Ian came up to me and grabbed my arm rather fiercely. “You, just stay with the Queen’s bodyguards” he said. I did not mind at all, and attached myself to another Ian, the head of the Queen’s close protection team. I already knew Ian also. Ian set off towards the hall and started ensuring a path was clear for the Queen, I alongside him as ordered. Suddenly I heard Sarah Mackley positively squeal from somewhere behind me: “My God, he’s ahead of the Queen! Now Craig’s ahead of the Queen.” If I could hear it, at least forty other people could. I managed to make myself as invisible as possible, and still to accomplish the introduction to John Kufuor. The government newspaper the Daily Graphic was to claim indignantly that I had introduced John Kufuor as “The next President of Ghana.” Had I done so, I would have been in the event correct in my prediction, but in fact I introduced him as “The opposition Presidential candidate”.

As always, the Queen’s last engagement on the State Visit was to say farewell to all the staff who had helped. She gives out gifts, and confers membership of the Royal Victorian Order on those deemed to merit it. Only once in the Queen’s long reign had she ever been on a state visit and not created our Ambassador or High Commissioner a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order – that is to say, knighted him. Ian and Sarah were to become Sir Ian and Lady Sarah. This seemed to me to mean the world to them.

The day before, Tim Hitchens had turned to me as we were travelling in the car: “Craig, I take it your views on honours have not changed.” “No, Tim, I still don’t want any.” “Good, you see that makes it a bit easier, actually. You see, the thing is, we’re trying to cut down a bit on giving out routine honours. The government wants a more meritocratic honours system. We need to start somewhere. So, in short, Ian Mackley is not going to get his K.” I was stunned. Tim continued: “And as well, you see, it hasn’t exactly escaped our attention that he has … issues with the Ghanaians, and some of his attitudes didn’t exactly help the visit. Anyway, if you were to want your CVO, then that would be more difficult. Ian Mackley is going to have one of those. So that will be alright.”

No, it won’t be alright, I thought. You’ll kill the poor old bastard. For God’s sake, everyone will know.

I wondered when the decision had been taken. The kneeling stool and the ceremonial sword had definitely been unloaded from the plane and taken to the hotel: that was one of the things I had checked off. When had that decision been reached?

We were lined up in reverse order of seniority to go in and see the Queen and Prince Philip. I queued behind the Defence Attaché, with Ian and Sarah just behind me. She was entering as well – nobody else’s wife was – because she was expecting to become Lady Mackley. Tim was going to tell them quickly after I had entered, while they would be alone still waiting to go in.

You may not believe me, but I felt completely gutted for them. It was the very fact they were so status obsessed that made it so cruel. I was thinking about what Tim was saying to them and how they would react. It seemed terribly cruel that they had not been warned until the very moment before they were due to meet the Queen. I was so worried for them that I really had less than half my mind on exchanging pleasantries with the Queen, who was very pleasant, as always.

If you refused honours, as I always did, you got compensated by getting a slightly better present. In Warsaw I was given a silver Armada dish, which is useful for keeping your Armada in. In Accra I was given a small piece of furniture made with exquisite craftsmanship by Viscount Linley. Shelving my doubts about the patronage aspect of that (should the Queen be purchasing with public money official gifts made by her cousin?) I staggered out holding rather a large red box, leaving through the opposite side of the room to that I had entered. Outside the door I joined the happy throng of people clutching their presents and minor medals. Mike Nithavrianakis and Brian Cope were Ian Mackley’s friends, and they were waiting eagerly for him. “Here’s Craig” said Mike, “Now it’s only Sir Ian and Lady Sarah!” “No, it’s not, Mike”, I said, “He’s not getting a K” “What! You’re kidding!” It had suddenly fallen very silent. “Ian’s not getting a K, he’s only getting a CVO.” “Oh, that’s terrible.” We waited now in silence. Very quickly the door opened again, and the Mackleys came out, Ian with a frozen grin, Sarah a hysterical one beneath the white large-brimmed hat that suddenly looked so ridiculous. There was a smattering of applause, and Sarah fell to hugging everyone, even me. We all congratulated Ian on his CVO, and nobody ever mentioned that there had been any possibility of a knighthood, then or ever.

Personally I don’t understand why anyone accepts honours when there is so much more cachet in refusing them.

[ghostofsin13]

Untouched (pt2)

A/n: OOOOOKKKAAYY yes. So I have been chipping away at this because I have like 20 other Fics I'm working on at the same time in between the videos I'm making. But part 2 is finally here! Hopefully part 3 will come much faster.

TW: child marriage I guess. manipulation, lies, torture

It was several hours later before Boss joined Kai in the lounge for tea. Yui  had fallen asleep on the couch next to him, her tea half finished and cold.

Boss took in the scene of the two of the two children across from him as he sipped his tea.

Seeming to come to a decision he placed his cup down on the table. 

“I am glad to see you getting along with someone your age Kai.”

“She is…. Interesting.” Kai replied, his eyes moving to the sleeping girl next to him. 

“Indeed.” Boss sighed heavily, “as much as I hate to admit it, her dirtbag father was correct about her being beneficial to us.”

“Will you be adopting her into the family then?”

Boss sighed again and scrubbed a hand over his face in a rare show of fatigue. 

“No. Not exactly.” He straightened his shoulders and locked eyes with Kai. “She will be marrying into the family.”

The statement shocked Kai. It wasn’t like Boss to marry a child off to an adult for power. 

“Don’t you think she’s too young. A child bride and a grown man…”

Boss blinked and let out a booming laugh. 

“It seems you misunderstood my intentions. She would be marrying you Kai.” 

“What?”

 “As my successor you will need someone beside you. Even as strong as you are. I realize you both are young. But you are both strong. And as your guardian I want to make sure you don’t miss out on the same things I did.”

Kai sighed and closed his eyes briefly, processing.

Opening his eyes  he looked back at his adoptive father. “You’ve already made up your mind on this haven’t you?”

Boss crossed his arms over his chest, his expression firm. “Yes. This is the best choice. For both of you and the future of the group.”

Kai stood and made his way to the door. “If that is what you want then I have no ground to object. But I can’t speak for how Yui will take the news.”

Yui didnt make any objections to Boss’ request. How could she!? He was going to take car of her, and he had removed her horrible father from the equation. She was nothing but grateful for the protection he was offering, even if it meant she became a pawn in the greater scheme of things. 

The wedding was held a week after Boss had made his decision, in secret and within the walls of the yakuza. It was a formal but extremely small affair. 

The two exchanged rings which they wore on chain necklaces. Yui kept examining the ring Kai had given her after the ceremony, rotating it around between her fingers as she walked down the hall with Kai toward their rooms. 

“If you keep doing that it will tarnish” he commented with a sigh.

“Oh, sorry. Its just…its really pretty. I’ve never had jewelry before.” A slight embarrassed blush colored her cheeks. 

She was so adorably honest with him, it was becoming habit for him to drop his guard and get comfortable with her. 

“Then I’ll teach you how to keep it from tarnishing. So it stays pretty.”

Yui smiled at him, “Thank you Kai. I’ll take good care of it.”

****************************************** 6 years later *****************************************

Yui was making her bed when there was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Yui, its Kai. Can I come in?”

Blushing she grabbed her silk robe off the closet door and pulled it on, quickly closing the front and tying it closed.  She exhaled to calm herself.

“Yes of course, come in” Yui sat down on her bed. 

Kai entered her room, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. She supposed she shouldn’t have expected any less, since it wouldn’t be like him to come see her in his sleepwear, but she was still surprised he was already fully dressed. 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you about.”

“Is this about me using the kitchen again? Look, I told you I want to cook for you. I get bored and I found a cookbook in the library. I don’t see what is so wrong with me learning-“

“Calm down, I’m not here to scold you for learning how to cook. You can keep doing so if that’s really what you want to do. But it’s not necessary. We have people who will cook.”

She grabbed a pillow, hugging it to her chest. “So you’ll let me keep cooking!?”

“If that’s what you want to keep doing then yes. I’m not going to stop you from having hobbies.”

“Thank you Kai!” 

“You don’t need to thank me for something as basic as this you know”

Yui just smiled at him in response. Kai sighed, though he was glad she was at least happy.

Kai crossed the room and sat next to her on her bed, putting his elbows on his knees and threading his gloved fingers together. It was a very relaxed and casual posture that was rare for him. 

Though it had become habit for him to feel comfortable in her space and around her, her quirks passive benefits cleaning the very air around her; soothing his anxiety about the dirt and germs. 

“So what was the thing you wanted to tell me?” 

“Well, to put it simply you and I are moving. I purchased a house outside of the compound for us.”

“Oh! How exciting! When will we be moving then?”

Kai smirked at her reaction behind his mask “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow! But we haven’t packed. And how is the house ready? Didn’t you just buy it?”

In general Yui had learned not to question Kai’s ability to do the impossible, or to doubt him when he would ask something impossible of her, but this entire development had taken her by surprise. 

“I commissioned the build a few months ago. Its completely finished and ready to move in. Don’t worry about packing. Someone will take care of it. We leave tomorrow morning so be sure to take anything with you that you want immediately.”

She seemed a bit anxious, squeezing her toes tightly against the carpet. Kai reached over, capturing a lock of her long long hair between his gloved fingers, “you seem nervous.”

She nodded slightly, hugging the pillow tighter. “Its just so sudden…. I can’t help but feel your keeping something from me”

Kai’s fingers around her lock of hair froze from their slight caress. It was moments like these he hated. He hated how damn perceptive she could be even without any information.

“I see. I suppose it does seem sudden. It had been on my mind for awhile. You know I’m taking over for Boss when he passes. As it is with his current health I’ve been handling most of the business. I just feel having a home for us off the compound, away from where I handle dangerous business, would be safer.” He brought his hand up to caress her cheek. 

“Im really not keeping anything from you Yui.” He lied, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“I just want to keep you safe from any unsavory characters that come here” Kai fed her half truths, his focus on reassuring her that everything was fine. 

She didn’t need to know about his dealings with the League of villains, his plans to revive the yakuza, his experiments with Eri’s quirk, the war he was waging and intended to win. He wouldn’t subject her to those horrors. Truthfully he hadn’t even been angry at her for cooking for him. He had just used it as an excuse because she had nearly caught him coming up from the secret basement with his arms covered in Eri’s blood.

Keeping Yui in a house away from the group was for the best to move their agenda forward. She would be free to pursue whatever hobbies she desired in their new home, away from dirty dealings and prying eyes.The house would have guards on the grounds and all the comforts they would need. 

Kai looked into her sunset eyes, and the image of a bird in a cage appeared in his mind. He frowned behind his mask. 

No. 

No, she wasn’t a bird in a cage. She was just… important. She needed to be kept safe. 

He had promised to keep her safe. And he would.

[awkwardpenguinproductions]

Stealth Chapter 3: The Injustice

Part 5 of Dragon of the Yuyan

Read on AO3 | Series Masterpost

The third time is because of an injustice.

After ten months of living in the Stronghold, Zuko has the entire complex mapped out in his mind, every room and corridor, and every possible means of entrance and exit for all of them. He knows that the higher up the Central Tower one goes, the higher one's rank must be to be permitted entrance. Colonel Shinu's office, and the offices kept for visiting officials on military business, are on the second highest level. The highest security holding cells, the ones meant to hold powerful benders, are on the highest level. Zuko visits both those levels every couple of months, to keep his hand in and keep the soldiers assigned for guard duty on their toes.

Right now, though, he's in a much lower level of the Tower, in the vents above the dorm occupied by one of the companies of infantry that are stationed long-term at the Stronghold. Jun Company, if he remembers correctly. The company is on downtime, and most of the soldiers are gathered around their captain's bunk as he hands out their mail. Once the captain is finished with his task, the crowd disperses and he picks up his own scroll.

The soldiers read their letters eagerly, commenting on bits of news, both good and bad, from their families and friends. Zuko listens intently, curious at what life is like for people outside the palace city or the Stronghold. A lot of the soldiers of Jun Company come from the outer islands of the Fire Nation archipelago, and their news involves lots of boats and fishing and weather. Many others come from towns and cities on islands deeper in, and they talk more about trade, and crafting, and complaints about various officials. Everyone talks about their parents, siblings, children, spouses. On the whole, everyone seems pretty pleased with what they read, although some are simply happy to hear from their loved ones, even if their news is bad.

However, the captain in the corner growls and crumples his letter in his hands.

"Everything okay, Captain Daichi?" A nearby sergeant asks.

"My aunt says they haven't received any of my cousin's death gratuity, and it's been over a year," the captain sighs, placing his head in his hands.

"Your cousin was in the 41st Division, right Cap?" Another soldier asks, and Zuko's blood freezes in his veins. "My sister said that one of her neighbors had a kid in the 41st, and they haven't heard or gotten diddly squat after the initial death notice."

Other members of the company chime in with comments as well, all similar in subject: none of the families they know who had a son or daughter in the 41st Division have gotten the payment of gold the survivors of soldiers killed on active duty are owed, nor have they gotten any notice of when they can expect it.

Zuko slips away, shimmying back to a spot he can exit the vent, and then sticking to the shadows as he retreats to the Yuyan dorm. Various members of the Troop glance his way, but aside from a few waves of greeting, no one bothers him. He slips into his bunk, hugging Pandan to his chest and pulling the blanket over his head.

Zuko has to breathe shallowly to keep his firebending from responding to his fury. It's bad enough that Father (should he even call him that anymore? Commander Toshiaki and Captain Hiroki have acted more like fathers in the months he's known them than Fire Lord Ozai has acted in years) has gone ahead with the horrible plan to kill an entire division full of kids Kai's age for no reason at all; but to not even compensate their families for the trauma of losing their loved ones? Or even tell the survivors why they're not being compensated? Zuko knows, in an intellectual way, that some people join the Fire Nation Armed Forces not only for patriotism, but as a way to support their families. As bad as it would be to lose a loved one, and Zuko knows all too well how badly that hurts, it must be at least as horrible to lose the income that person provided, and to not at least get an explanation why… it would look like the Fire Lord doesn't care about the lives that could be in danger because they have no way to make ends meet.

And Zuko knows that the Fire Lord doesn't care, but the people don't know that, and the Fire Lord can't afford to alienate such a huge swath of the Fire Nation's population. He would have ensured that proper protocol was followed, if only to keep up the appearance of a sympathetic and benevolent ruler to his people who sacrifice so much for their nation.

Which means that something within the bureaucracy has gone wrong. And Zuko is going to find out just exactly what.

A few more days of spying around the infantry barracks and asking some carefully worded questions, and Zuko is positive that this is more than just a bureaucratic mistake. The problem is too widespread and affecting too many people. But knowing about a problem and being able to do anything about it are two different things, and the first is far easier than the second.

Until the Finance Ministry official arrives at the Stronghold.

He comes in a fancy carriage pulled by a dragon-moose, wearing Caldera Court robes instead of sensible traveling clothes, and clutching a box to his chest. He demands to be taken immediately to see Colonel Shinu, and is promptly escorted into the Central Tower. Zuko is immediately burning with curiosity and suspicion, and slips away. Ten minutes later, he's laying motionless in the vent that opens into Colonel Shinu's office, listening to the official (Sota by name) announce that he will be conducting a financial audit of the Stronghold and its operations, and requires a secure office in which to conduct his work. Colonel Shinu's face turns to stone at this pronouncement, but he can't really say no, since doing so would make the slimy rat-viper think that he has something to hide and be that much more obnoxious about his audit. Easier and less headache to just let the guy do his thing and get him out of everyone’s hair as quickly as possible.

Except that he doesn’t get out of everyone’s hair. Zuko watches as Minister Sota moves into an office, and continues watching for a month, but the minister never shows any visible sign of moving out. Zuko’s suspicions continue to grow with each passing day. He doesn’t know how long it takes to perform an audit of a base’s finances, but he can’t imagine it taking more than two or three weeks, since Colonel Shinu keeps impeccable records and ensures that his entire command staff does the same. Commander Toshiaki takes two days to compile his report on the Troop’s finances—Zuko knows this because the Commander asked him to assist the last two times it had to be done. The only reason it takes that long at all is because the Commander, who can perform archery tricks that should be impossible according to every known law of physics, has to write down every equation before he can laboriously calculate them with his fingers. Minister Sota’s job is all about mathematics, it shouldn’t take him over a month to check calculations that are already complete.

And then there’s the minister’s behavior. He’s as snooty and insufferable as anyone can expect a government official to be, but he also refuses to allow Stronghold custodial staff to clean the office he occupies without his direct supervision, declines any and all invitations to join the Colonel for dinner or even a drink in his quarters, and creeps around the Stronghold like he constantly expects someone to drag him off to be fed to tigerdilloes at any moment. As far as Zuko can tell by listening to the mutterings of the Stronghold's clerks, Minister Sota is ordering financial ledgers to be delivered to his office, and then when he orders them removed, they appear as though they hadn't been touched at all in the hours (or days, or weeks, in one case) between delivery and retrieval. It's like the man is only pretending to do his job, but if he's not doing the work that he says he came to do, then what exactly is he doing instead?

Zuko wants to find out, but there's no way that Colonel Shinu would allow a search of Minister Sota's office and quarters without really good reason, and simply because the man is acting suspicious is not a good reason.

Six weeks after Minister Sota's arrival, Zuko is called to Colonel Shinu's office ten minutes before light's out. He enters the office to find Commander Toshiaki is already there, and Zuko freezes. Is this it? Almost a year of training and living with the Yuyan Archers, and now they decide to kick him out? Will he be able to say goodbye to his squad, and Master Ryoichi, and the rest of his friends? Will he be able to keep his weapons––the bow he's finally able to shoot with consistent accuracy, the dual dao that had appeared on his bunk a week after joining Chihese Squad, the four sets of throwing knives he'd received for his fifteenth birthday? He's much more confident in his ability to care for himself than he was a year ago, but… he loves living at the Stronghold. He doesn't want to leave.

He doesn't want to be alone again.

He doesn't realize that he's hyperventilating until Commander Toshiaki's hands land gently on his shoulders and his dark Yuyan eyes meet Zuko's own bright gold.

Peace, Cadet Zuko, he signs, movements slow and easy. Nothing is wrong. The Colonel and I have a mission for you.

Well now Zuko feels really stupid. With a sharp mental shake, he forces his dry mouth to swallow, and bows with the Flame in salute to the Colonel. The Colonel returns the salute with a much shallower bow.

"Commander Toshiaki tells me that you're the most skilled infiltrator he's seen in several years," the Colonel begins, standing at parade rest with his hands behind his back. "You originally entered this facility in the back of a supply cart, correct? And then there's the matter of the tank that mysteriously ended up on the roof of the Central Tower several weeks ago, but since no one has seen fit to come forward to take responsibility for that incident, it is merely speculation and not worth wasting time on." The Colonel's expressionless mask cracks with a small smirk, and Zuko fights down the urge to blush and merely blinks in return, not twitching from his own parade rest.

The Colonel goes to sit at a low table where tea is laid out. "At ease, both of you."

Zuko and the Commander both sit at the table, and the Colonel pours tea for the three of them. Winter has arrived again, and Zuko wraps his hands around the cup and savors the extra warmth.

"I'm sure you've noticed our esteemed guest, Cadet Zuko?" He asks.

Zuko nods, and almost lets go of his teacup to sign before remembering himself and gripping it tighter.

"You have permission to speak freely, Cadet." Colonel Shinu's tone is knowing, and Zuko is sure that he's hiding a smirk behind his cup.

Still nervous, Zuko slowly raises his hands. With all due respect, Colonel, he signs, just barely remembering to use the proper sign for "commanding officer" instead of the teasing slang the Archers use outside the Colonel's presence, for all that the esteemed minister is rarely seen outside of his assigned quarters and office, it would be hard to miss his presence. He does his best to keep his face as serious and professional as possible, so that they don't think he's trying to be impertinent, but Commander Toshiaki's lips twitch anyway, and Zuko feels his shoulders tighten.

The Colonel raises an eyebrow. "I have a feeling that I'm going to regret allowing you to speak freely," he says, but this time he doesn't hide his small amused smile behind his teacup.

Commander Toshiaki places a soothing hand on Zuko's shoulder before signing, I know that you've been keeping an eye on the minister when you've had the opportunity. Please report your observations, Cadet.

Zuko is now really confused, but obeys the order. The minister rarely leaves his assigned office, and only to go to his quarters. He avoids letting anyone into his office without him being there, not even the custodians. He avoids socializing with anyone, even when it could be advantageous to him. It's like… he's hiding here. Not just hiding something, he's taking advantage of the Stronghold's security to hide himself.

Now the Colonel's amused smile has turned surprised and impressed, and Zuko doesn't try to stamp down the pleased flush he feels, taking a sip of the tea. It's not quite as good as what Zuko remembers of Uncle’s brews, but it's warm and he feels awkward just holding the cup.

“Very perceptive, Cadet,” the Colonel praises. “Minister Sota has been acting quite suspiciously, and I agree that he’s definitely hiding something. However, I can’t order a search of his office based only on suspicious behavior. And I don’t want to spook the man into doing something foolish by making it obvious that I suspect him. Which is why I asked Commander Toshiaki to suggest someone who could be counted on to make a discreet investigation of the minister's office, and report on what they found."

Zuko nearly chokes on his tea. Before now, his missions for Commander Toshiaki have been mere exercises to pinpoint and rectify issues with the Stronghold's internal security. This is real espionage, and something entirely different.

And yet… if the Commander hadn't called him into this meeting, he probably would've resorted to something like that anyway. Over the past month and a half, more letters have arrived about the surviving families of the 41st Division not receiving their due compensation, and the overall tone of the letters has been increasingly frustrated and desperate. It can't be a coincidence that this suspicious-acting Finance Ministry official shows up just as this issue is gaining traction with the population. He doesn't know if the Colonel and the Commander are aware of the situation with the 41st's survivors' compensation, and he doesn't want to bring it up without proof, but this is the perfect opportunity to find out if there actually is something behind his suspicions without potentially alienating his commanders.

Zuko bows with the Flame. I am honored by the confidence Commander Toshiaki has in me, he signs.

My confidence is well deserved, the Commander replies with a warm smile.

"I understand if it takes you some time to prepare and perform the task, but I'd like you to keep in mind that your target could decide to vacate the Stronghold at any moment," the Colonel says. "Commander Toshiaki is going to let your squad leader know that you've been tapped for a mission at my request, but changing your duty roster in any way might trigger suspicion in the target."

I understand, sir, Zuko replies, completely unsurprised.

"Excellent, I look forward to your report. Dismissed, Cadet."

Zuko stands and bows with the Flame again, before turning on his heel and marching out of the office. He's got work to do.

It takes another week to do his surveillance and formulate his plan. Some careful questioning of the custodial staff reveals that despite his apparent paranoia, Minister Sota keeps to a rigid schedule: rise at two hours past sunrise and go immediately to his borrowed office, eat all three meals at his desk, loom over the custodial staff as they work, and at an hour before midnight return to his quarters. It's the period of time between the hour before midnight and sunrise that interests Zuko––that seems to be the only time all day that Sota vacates the office, and therefore is the best time to enter and perform his search.

As much as it puts him on edge, he schedules the operation for the next new moon, two weeks after his meeting with the Colonel and Commander. He watches the target even more closely in the interim, hoping to get some warning as to whether the coward is going to bolt, but Sota seems firmly entrenched and disinclined to go anywhere.

The night of the new moon arrives, and Zuko slips out of the Yuyan dorm and to the bathroom. It takes him mere moments to transform from bedraggled teenager in dark pajamas to charcoal-colored shadow in a blue mask.

The lights in the corridors of the Stronghold are almost entirely extinguished, in respect to Agni’s slumber, and most firebenders would be hard-pressed to find their way without much more light than is available. But shadows have always been Zuko’s friends, both Before and After, and he slips in and out of them silently, with the ease of long practice.

He arrives at the target’s borrowed office with ten minutes to spare. He spends them crouched just around the corner, eyes closed, waiting patiently for the target to emerge.

Sota does, at precisely an hour before midnight, slamming the metal door shut with a clang that echoes down the corridors and alerts the entire Stronghold that he’s turning in for the night.  His heavy footsteps stomp in the opposite direction of Zuko’s location, and he can’t decide for a moment if Sota is really that arrogant or if he’s just a complete idiot. Could be that he’s both.

He gives the moron fifteen minutes to remember something he’d forgotten and return for it. When he doesn’t, Zuko strides forward silently and tries the door. It opens easily, and while Zuko appreciates not having to pick the lock, he puts another tally in the "Sota's an idiot" column.

The office he enters is cluttered with scrolls and ledgers, and for a moment Zuko despairs of actually finding anything in the mess. Then he remembers the box that Sota had arrived with, and decides to start there. It takes some fancy footwork to weave around the stacks of paperwork and books without disturbing anything, but he has the time to be careful.

He finally finds the box in honestly the stupidest place––under the desk. There's another check for the "idiot" column. Maybe two checks, since the office comes equipped with a safe that Zuko still needs more practice to crack. He should probably check the safe anyway, just to be thorough.

Focus, dum-dum, Zuko chides himself, and studies the box, memorizing its position before he moves it. It's the ugliest thing he's ever seen, glossy red lacquer painted all over with gilded phoenixes and covered in shiny brass hardware. It would look right at home in a stuffy noble's mansion, and here in the utilitarian Stronghold it sticks out like a sore thumb. It's also got a massive iron padlock on it, which just screams "OPEN ME, I'M IMPORTANT".

He's just about to slide the box out from under the desk when a noise out in the corridor makes him freeze. Footsteps. Not the arrogant stomping of Sota, thank Agni, and a Yuyan would never announce himself so obviously, not even that moron Zheng. A regular guard, then, doing his rounds. Zuko channels his frustration into the vertical leap he makes to catch hold of the exposed iron pipes near the ceiling, pulling himself up and stretching out along the length like a pygmy puma lounging along a tree branch. He breathes silently and waits.

The door opens, and the guard takes a step inside, glancing around, before exiting and closing the door again. Zuko makes a note to suggest that the guards be reminded that they aren't to be making simple cursory searches on their rounds. That guard's bad habit is Zuko's gain, however, so he supposes he'll let it slide this time.

Once the guard's footsteps fade away, Zuko drops silently back down to the floor and pulls the gaudy box out from under the desk. The lock is hilariously simple to pick, and he has it done in seconds. He opens the box to find…

Scrolls.

For a moment his brain blanks on why a bunch of scrolls would be kept in a ridiculously ostentatious box secured with an iron padlock, and then he picks up one of the scrolls and unrolls it a bit.

41st Division Roster. Commanding Officer: Major General…

Zuko rolls the scroll back up and puts it back in the box. Another scroll lists the next of kin of every member of the 41st, with village names and home islands included, while others are covered in columns of numbers. Some of the columns don't add up. His rage is burning in his chest, but he carefully tucks a scroll dated a month before the minister showed up (it takes a month to sail from Capital Port to this area of the Earth Kingdom, so this scroll is probably the most recent Sota has in his possession) into his sash, and keeps his breath shallow to avoid giving his inner fire any more fuel.

Okay, he has the proof he needs, now he needs to get out of here and report to the Colonel. And quickly—the sun will rise in about two hours, and Zuko needs to be back in the Yuyan dorms before anyone realizes he’s gone.

Zuko has to use the ductwork to avoid the increasing patrols as the Stronghold wakes up. He takes a detour to Colonel Shinu’s office where he writes a brief outline of his findings and leaves it on the Colonel’s desk along with the stolen scroll. Almost as soon as he scrambles back into the vent, the Colonel himself enters the room. Zuko doesn’t wait around to see the man’s reaction.

He makes it back to the dorm with about ten minutes to spare. He’s so focused on trying to sneak back to his bunk without waking any of the light-sleeping Yuyan that he almost doesn’t notice the eyes boring into the back of his skull.

Almost. The hairs on the back of his neck raise, and he snaps around into an automatic firebending stance.

Commander Toshiaki raises a hairless eyebrow.

Zuko freezes in place.

The Commander smirks and silently strides out of the dorm.

Zuko shivers for a moment, then transforms himself back into sleep-rumpled teenager as fast as he can. He stuffs everything in his footlocker, yanks off his boots, and dives into his bunk as the gong signaling wake-up sounds.

A week later, Colonel Shinu orders an inspection of the entire Stronghold, and according to the base gossip chains, Minister Sota is caught with a box full of highly incriminating documents and a safe full of Fire Nation gold pieces. He, the documents, and the gold are put on a ship bound for the Fire Nation within the day.

Three months after Sota is shipped out, Zuko is called back to Colonel Shinu’s office and informed that Sota has been found guilty of embezzling from the Fire Nation Treasury. He had stolen the gold meant to be given to the surviving families of the lost 41st. The lost gold has been recovered, and Sota’s assets seized as well, and the survivors are scheduled to receive their payments by the spring equinox. Sota himself is banished to the colonies. Zuko’s not sure how he feels about that, but it’s not really any of his business, anymore, so he puts it out of his mind.

The Colonel congratulates Zuko on a job well done, and hands him a small but bulging money-sack. Payment, he says, for services rendered.

Zuko hides the sack in the deepest, darkest corner of his footlocker, and goes to hang out with the rhinos for a while.

Mission accomplished.

That is the third time.

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