#but unfortunately they hate diplomacy and working with governments

[forgetriestowrite]

wait imagine M9 get back from absolutely decimating the evil oligarchical hive mind on Ruidus and they're a team of middle-aged badasses including that obscure weird human duo that's been running around Wildemount solving conspiracies and government corruptions for the past 6 years

and everyone who was in that room in Vassalheim is just like "How have we NEVER heard of you before???? You're like the least subtle people ever??? And you're insanely powerful??? How the FUCK did this slip under our radar???"

[thejoyofseax]

SCA Social Media

Aside from being a cooking nerd, I'm also very interested in communications and information flow. It would be reasonable to say that inasmuch as a Pelican is awarded for any one thing, I got mine in comms and diplomacy. (Or at least, I assume so; I don't have visibility on the discussions the Pelican circle had about me pre-elevation.) I'm also Drachenwald's social media minister.

There's a thing I see cropping up recently among Facebook users in the various social media: a strongly stated dislike of Discord. For context, there's a shift underway in Drachenwald for the bulk of day to day communications, from Facebook to Discord. Discord has a wide range of technical advantages over Facebook, and it's more used by the younger generations who are (gradually) taking over running things from the older folks. But there are many people who will happily state that they hate Discord.

I don't like Facebook, myself. It was a decent enough medium in about 2014; it has gotten worse in every measurable way since (except shareholder value, of course). It's particularly useless for trying to get information to people; every part of it is governed by an algorithm that selects what to show on any given screen, based mostly on what will annoy them most (annoyance leads to more time spent looking at the screen than any other emotion, ergo more time looking at ads, ergo more money for Meta).

Discord (at present; I make zero long-term predictions, and fully expect it to start getting worse at some point) has no such issues - the information flow on it is under the control of the server admin, pretty much, and it's searchable and categorisable as needed. Also, I just like the feel of Discord more; it's a lot more like a real conversation than Facebook's shouting-across-the-corporate-lobby atmosphere.

But this dislike of the new medium isn't new. Humans, for all we're supposed to like novelty, dislike change. I wrote as a comment in one of the discussions on Facebook:

"Facebook was massively polarising when it first started, because it was "taking over" from discussion lists. Discussion lists were massively polarising when they first started because they were taking over (assume scare quotes from here on) from newsgroups and phone trees. Phone trees and newsgroups were absolutely HATED when they started, taking over from paper newsletters (some of which were from before printing and photocopying was a thing, and were produced by mimeographic printing). If I dig around, I can find things written by Crusty Old Peers at each stage of this maintaining that the New Thing Will Destroy The SCA."

And you can extend that beyond the SCA right back to Plato complaining that the written word will prevent people from learning properly as they did in oral traditions.

My current position on this is that we should be using our websites - which are the one medium we actually "own", generally - as the source of actual information. We can then link to that from anywhere else on the internet, social or not. And the conversations can fall where they may, for each branch and household and other grouping, because honestly, that's how it's always been. If people don't like Discord, they don't have to use it, and it's only us unfortunate comms people who have to use all the different media.

(I recognise the irony of posting this on Another Social Medium. But Tumblr behaves more like a website for publication purposes, and comes with many of the advantages for getting information to people - RSS feeds, deep linking, etc.)

I'm also going to teach some classes on how to actually use Discord, I think. I've been steeped in talkers, IRC, and other channel-and-text media as long as I've been online, which is closing on 30 years now, so there are almost certainly aspects of functionality there that I take for granted and which are not evident to people unused to it. Or they're expecting it to work the same way as Facebook does, and don't have the technical experience to jump to a different medium. Either way, a start-with-the-basics actual-demonstration of how to use it is almost certainly useful.

[superbrieflightstudentlove]

My problems with Elias as a character

This might be a highly unpopular opinion but I hate Elias. Not because he has flaws (every good character needs those) but because those flaws are never acknowledged or worked on, so he could become a better and more self-aware person. They are either simply ignored/brushed off as if they never existed in the first place or there is a protagonist centered morality with him at full display, when during the rare instances that someone dares to actually criticize him even a little bit (e.g. Helene for being too naive and idealistic), they get villanized by the narrative. What I hate most about him though except for his womanizing and sexist views and actions towards women, is that he is a selfish, self-centered, self-righteous and amoral hypocrite. I´m sure that the author herself didn´t actually mean to write him that way, but unfortunately to her best intentions, he still came off like this regardless (at least to me). 

Now it has been some time since I read the book, so I might not remember everything fully, but this is at least my view on the whole thing:

At first I sympathized with his plight and his desire to escape his situation by defecting from the empire, since he was only a one man, who despite his best intentions and revulsion to the brutal barbaric ways in which the empire functions, couldn´t change things only by himself as that would be nothing but a foolish suicide that would ultimately help no one anyway. But the moment he was offered the option to possibly be placed in a position of power and influence, from which he could legitimately try to change and improve things for the better, not only for himself, but for others as well, to stay and reform the corrupt system from within, for the sake of those with whom he so empathized and pitied, yet when in the end he refused and couldn´t put his actions where his mouth was, I lost any good will I previously had towards him. Instead of trying to help those who needed it the most, he devised a plan for Helene to become empress instead of him, despite knowing that this position is for life and there is no escape from it once you become a ruler (that´s part of the reason why he himself didn´t want it, because he didn´t want to be "chained" to a scheming, backstabbing court full of vipers, but apparently his best friend can with no problems, despite neither of them actually being trained in how to successfully govern a nation or run a country - no education on politics, diplomacy or economy and trade, only how to kill and destroy) or that she might not be the best person for the job at that time (she was raised and fully believed in the racist, elitist, colonizing worldviews of her ancestors), just so he could escape from any duties, obligations and responsibility to fuck off gods no where, to enjoy a simple peaceful life at the cost of not only never seeing his family and friends ever again, but also deciding to chain his supossed "best friend" to a life she wouldn´t want and would make her miserable without any input from her being allowed (and she already told him to his face that she wouldn´t want it, yet he already decided this for her for his own sake and comfort, so she better just shut up and bear it, who cares for her own wishes, needs and desires to live her life how she sees fit anyway, only what he wants and makes him happy is apparently important) and finally at the cost of him turning his back on the continuous suffering of the very people he was so vehement to lecture others about. It seems that Elias´ empathy is very selective and not as unconditional as people think it is. As long as he doesn´t have to watch them suffer right under his nose, he is fine with turning a blind eye or two. Him running away like that would also mean that he will bring shame and dishonor on his family´s house, namely his grandfather, who personally picked him as his future successor, despite his illegitimate status. What´s more, Elias voluntarily removing himself from the picture like this would also allow Keris Veturia (aka "The Commandant") to become the “new" heir and future head of the Veturius noble family. And we all know what this psychopathic monster does when given too much power.

His selfishness is further demonstrated during the fourth trial when he prioritizes the life of one girl he barely even knows over the well being of millions of people that live in the empire (other scholars and tribesmen included, many of whom have it just as bad as Laia if not worse) who would be completely screwed over if a tyrant like Marcus was ever allowed to rise into absolute power, just because he is lusting over her and wants to get into her pants. He is the sole reason why Marcus even became an emperor in the first place at the end of the book and why Helene ultimately became his "pet slave" and lost almost all of her family. Not to mention the lost lives of all of those other people whom Marcus slaughtered like pigs during his reign. And he dares to be all sarcastic and smartass to Helene´s face and blame her for joining and swearing fealty to Marcus after he literally gave her no choice? After he was the one who put her in that impossible situation to begin with? After she literally begged him to let her do what needs to be done, no matter how unpleasant and wrong it might be, for the sake of the greater good, and he still refused her because for him trying to uphold his own version of "moral purity" and "honor" was more important than a bloodthirsty tyrant rulling supreme completely unchecked over hundreds of thousands if not millions of people? What was she supposed to do, refuse to serve Marcus and be executed as well? Leaving her entire surviving family even more vulnerable to him than they already were by committing a high treason? Served well for Elias I guess.

The final nail in the coffin is during the scene in the cells just moments before Elias´ own execution, when Marcus visits Elias to mock and humilate him one last time, when Elias is finally given the opportunity to kill Marcus right then and there, before he could manage to do any real damage, and he doesn´t take it and I´m paraphrasing "because if he (Elias) has to die, he doesn´t want to die for an actual crime, he won´t give them such satisfaction". So he basically sacrificed a perfectly presented opportunity to rid the world of this maniac by bringing him down with him, because he wants to play a martyr. Because he wants to be perceived by others as the innocent persecuted victim. Once again it´s only about him and his precious reputation, not about the well-being and lives of other innocent people.

Elias might view himself as a "good man" but all it takes for an evil to win is if good men do nothing, which is exactly what Elias did and contributed to. He is also a horny idiot who cannot think with his head instead of his penis. With his terrible decisions he caused much more suffering than he ever did any good. That´s not a "hero" I want to root for.

Edit: I know that Helene also wanted to make Elias into an emperor, but before someone accuses me of having double standarts, I gave Helene a little bit more slack on this because unlike with what Elias intended, she actually planned to stay with him and help him rule to the best of her ability, she wouldn´t just ditch him in a highly hostile unknown political environment full of dangers with no protection. She wouldn´t abandon him which is more than can be said of Elias who wouldn´t have any problems to feed Helene to the wolves as long as it benefits him. She genuinely thought that he would make a great ruler and only wanted the best for the man she loved. Her intentions were very selfless in a way, no matter how misguided, while Elias was just using Helene as a tool to escape and be free. That being said, neither of them is a saint but the difference between them is that Helene is meant to be problematic (at least in the beginning) while Elias is meant to be seen as unquestionable hero and a role model to follow. Helene is the only main character out of the trio that is acknowledged as gray and treated as such by both the narrative as well as other characters around her.  

Thanks for reading if you got this far and sorry for the rant.:)

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[aros001]

Read through light novel vol. 14. Random thoughts.

I haven't read/watch a lot of harem stories. My exposure is mainly from Rosario+Vampire, Negima, UQ Holder, and maybe Code Geass and Overlord (I'm not sure if I should count Konosuba). So my perspectives on how harems typically work in stories is a bit limited. That said, I do like how Naofumi's "harem" differs from the norm I'm aware of.

Most harem MCs: Has many girls after his heart/wang and is either oblivious to it, can't make up his mind as to who he actually likes, or doesn't have the time for love/booty.

Naofumi: "Will you people f**king leave me alone?!"

I just love the concept of Naofumi's "harem", where a second person who likes him romantically isn't even introduced until volume 10 and Naofumi is absolutely annoyed with every member who joins his "harem", save for Raphtalia.

I tend to forget Naofumi has a brother because it isn't brought up that much, even though I did like that backstory for Naofumi we got in vol. 1 regarding him. It does make me wonder how much time is passing in his old world vs. this new one. With the other three heroes, they died, so they don't really have lives they can go back to. But for Naofumi's parents and brother he could theoretically be missing for months or years by the time if or when he goes back. But back on topic, I do like him drawing parallels to his family and Sadeena's, how his brother compares and contrasts with her and her sister when it came to the pressure from the parents. I already like Sadeena but it was nice to see her and Naofumi actually getting to bond a little over something that was very personal to one of them, without romance or attraction being the main drive of their interaction like it usually is. Honestly, there were some nice parallels drawn between characters throughout. Naofumi's brother with Sadeena and her sister. Sadeena and Raphtalia's father with Shildina and the child emperor. Even a little bit with Raphtalia's status in Q'ten Lo with Naofumi's in Siltvelt. It's a good thing she's not staying too long or she might end up in a harem bath like he did (even though, given the difference between male and female biology, there wouldn't be much point in that. She'd get her selection of guys but can only get pregnant with one at a time).

I'll admit, most of this book I was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me, mainly because of Naofumi's comments throughout of how well the invasion was going and how stupid the enemy was being. I was waiting for it all to be some kind of trap or manipulation but...nope, their government really was just that bad and the victory was just that easy. On the one hand, it does make it feel like less of an earned victory, since they didn't have to fight too much to achieve it until the very end (and in that case it was mostly Sadeena and Raphtalia against technically the same single opponent), but on the other hand, in regards to the overall story, a comment from Naofumi does make an argument for why it works, comparing Q'ten Lo and its ruling class to Queen Melromarc. A respected ruler whom is very skilled at diplomacy and manages to work with or at least create truces with other countries, even those hostile to hers like Siltvelt, vs. the child emperor of a completely isolated country (save for some imports from Siltvelt) whom is placed on the throne far before he's ready and puppeted from behind the scenes by a very self-serving individual. There is certainly a very (unfortunately) real argument to be made as to why the latter would be already be on the verge of falling apart from such greed and sort-sighted actions. Wisdom and long-term planning vs. greed and short-term gains.

This is going to sound weird but Motoyasu #2 reminds me a little of Bakugo from My Hero Academia, in regards that they both fill a similar trope, where the character (a non-villain) is very unpleasant and easy to hate but you, the audience, do have to acknowledge, even begrudgingly, how good and skilled they are at what they do. He's a horrific perv and womanizer but his blacksmithing abilities are genuinely impressive, especially with how he handled that cursed blade from the Hydra and his explanation of life force applied to smithing. I don't think we've had another character quite like that yet in this story. The other three heroes were also unpleasant and easy to hate but after the first wave battle they never really showed anything the audience is forced to give them props for, at least in comparison to what Naofumi and party could already do. They were unpleasant and were useful only in what they could potentially be once they got their heads out of their asses, not for what they were currently. I imagine we'll get something similar to the trope with Trash at some point, as even the Queen herself talked about how brilliant a strategist he once was. Though Bakugo grew as a character as time went on and the unpleasant parts of his character slowly winded down. I'm not sure we'll see that with Motoyasu #2 and Trash. Trash is maybe more likely but he'll have more of a journey he'll have to go through after how unpleasant (and kind of unhinged) he's been.

The parts about Naofumi's character that I like the most have almost nothing to do with him being a hero. I love that he's a really good businessman, both of the good and shady parts of it, and that he's a really good cook, even when he's not adding life force to the dishes. For as much as he wants to go home, of the four heroes he'd be the one who'd have the easiest time settling down in the new world once the waves are gone, since being the Shield Hero just makes what he does a little easier and it's not absolutely essential to do it. He can use his shield to improve the quality of medicines or compound it for him but he still can make good medicine on his own.

Also that he can't stop basically adopting kids despite flatly denying that he is any sort of parental figure or that he should be seen as such.

"I'm not your mother!" He says as he wears an apron and cooks and dishes up delicious hot meals every day.

"I'm not your father!" He says as he teaches them confidence and toughens them up against those who'd ever try and hurt them again.

"I'm your owner! I'm a tyrant! A dictator! I'll make you work off every penny I've spent on you!" He says as he keeps them safely protected from the dangers of the world they can't yet handle and offers them a place of peace and security like they've never had before, taking the time out of his day to play with and entertain them when they ask him enough.

Naofumi collects son and daughter figures like Lilo and Steven Universe collect father and mother figures. No wonder Raphtalia and so many women like him. He's a business owner, can cook, never gets drunk, and is good with kids and animals (and threatened to feed a kid to an animal! That's double points right there).

That reminds me. I'm not sure how much time passes between when each group/generation of Holy Heroes is summoned but I'm curious when we'll meet (or if we've already met) a child/decedent of one of the previous heroes. A previous Shield Hero apparently really like his harems so I'm sure he must have sired at least a few children (unless the shield also offers protection against pregnancy (Condom Shield!)).

So...Makina. Bitch #3 or Kyo #2? I think either would fit, though I suppose Bitch #2 is just my nickname for Kyo and not one Naofumi ever gave him. Honestly, from just the short bit she was in the story, she kind of feels like if Kyo and Bitch had a baby.

...I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I kind of love Ren and Rishia being exposition buddies, just exclaiming aloud all the techniques and magics that are happening during a fight.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fm85q5/read_through_light_novel_vol_14_random_thoughts/

[neednothavehappenedtobetrue]

so! the Fun Thing I am currently writing:

you know Isabelle if you've been here a while, but this is Slightly Different Nearer Future Worse Political Situation Isabelle, so I will describe her as she is in the relevant thing

-Isabelle is the wife of the American president. she is a wheelchair user.

skills: being Just So Fucking Smart, deliberately hiding her intelligence enough that people think she is just regular smart and underestimate her, writing speeches and other political media, poise in public, manipulating people by talking at them.

weaknesses: remembering that she personally is a human being with needs and feelings, knowing what her her feelings are, communicating about her feelings instead of keeping everyone six feet away behind a facade.

how is she so good at Making Other People Have Feelings but so very bad at "knowing that she even has any of them?" because sometimes it's like that.

but, she is married to Robert, who is President. if they were not married, he would be like, maybe a congressman? he is not stupid at all, he is a competent man and would be a competent politician on his own merits, but also, power couple.

-he is somewhat better than Isabelle at coming off as warm and genuine because he is so incredibly warm and genuine all the time that you can't think he's anything else. she comes off as "nice, but a bit reserved."

-conveniently, he has noticed that Isabelle sometimes has feelings and needs. often, he can predict what they are, in the way of people who have been married for like twenty years. also, because they have been married for 20 years he is by now a Level Twelve confidant and gets to be told what most of them are.

-even he does not know how smart she is, though, really, in a few specific arenas. she realized when she was very young that people do not like when you are smarter than they are, and adjusts accordingly, automatically.

-one of the first things Isabelle learned from watching people is that people hate it when you watch them, so she stopped letting them know what she saw, but she didn't actually stop watching.

-she combines "being that fucking smart" with "not realizing that her husband will not cringe away from her if she tells him" because, again, sometimes it's like that. you learn shit young and it sticks with you and nobody tells you different because they don't know what they'd need to tell you.

-Robert is probably, at the start of the story, the person who has the second-closest idea of how smart Isabelle actually is, and he's still off by enough that it would startle him a little.

-Theo, their dear friend, is the closest to knowing how smart she is, because Theo watches people in something like the way she does, and sees it. Theo doesn't do feelings either, though, so Robert ends up closer to understanding her overall.

-Robert is as close to her as anyone in the world, and they love each other so much. they are casually affectionate in public. they have a daughter and a life and nothing's perfect, but it's good.

-and then Robert is shot.

-he is shot on a stage. the people who shoot him take Isabelle and put her in a basement for a while, with her daughter, until Theo, who has a specific skillset, gets them out.

-ever after, Theo puts little GPS things in all of her jewelry. the people who kidnapped her let her keep her wedding ring, and if she'd had a tracker in it, she wouldn't have spent eight days in a basement.

-liberated from the basement, she flies to Rio, because it is a place that has agreed not to turn her over to the shitty people who have taken over America

-there has been a coup. lots of people are dead.

-Isabelle throws herself into caring for her daughter and running the counter-revolution, talking to the international press, making deals, smuggling things and people in and out, etc. she is doing a lot of good work. she is doing her goddamn best.

-she outsourced all of her "knowing and caring about her own feelings" and "generally making sure she is taking good care of herself" to her husband, who was good at that.

-he's dead now, for which reason she has maybe more feelings and related needs than she's ever had in her life?

-she knows she has a whole PTSD, she knows that early on. she is very smart, her trauma is huge and obvious, but, like, you can just sort of ignore that and hope it goes away, right? probably

-it takes her longer to know she is an alcoholic, because that one is harder to know. less obvious, at least to her. but she is, very definitely. she gets bad very fast.

-most people don't notice, though, because she keeps it behind the wall between her and most people.

-so she lives in Rio, and she works, and she drinks.

Isabelle is not actually the narrator of this story, though. the narrator's name is Sasha. she was a Russian diplomat living in America.

-skills: compassion, style, a few languages, being passionate about the places and people and things she loves, falling in love easily and completely.

weaknesses: keeping her temper, keeping her composure, not calling people motherfuckers when they really, really are but also it would be disastrous to do so, knowing what her own feelings are,

-did we see one of the things on that second list on an earlier list?

-also, do some of those weaknesses seem like they might be problems for someone in her line of work (diplomacy, a field in which it is often useful to be diplomatic).

-it's fine, she's charming and pleasant and smart enough to compensate for the things she is not as good at.

-also, she doesn't generally care about most politics stuff enough to get to the "this person is a motherfucker and if I do not tell them I will explode and my entrails will land on them in the shape of the word "motherfucker," stage with work people.

-she might have a different job if her whole family wasn't prominent politicians, but.

-her brother is an asshole, but, like, also he is her twin brother and she loves him. her father is an enormous fucking asshole and also dead now, and also, fuck him.

-she likes traveling and coffee and her dog and a series of women who she tries to start casual with and then either gets bored of or falls in love with and then they are like "you are, um, maybe a little intense?"

-she likes living in America, with good friends and a job she enjoys and does reasonably well.

-and then the president is shot, and there is a coup.

-her brother calls her back to Russia immediately, arranges a flight for her before any of the rest of his staff because, twin sister, obviously. they learned to be protective of each other young, Leo and Sasha.

-she spends very little time in America post-violence, when things are different and unsafe. she was there for about twelve hours before she got on a plane.

-she thinks this means that she did not experience a trauma, will not experience any symptoms worse than "occasionally being a bit sad" and does not deserve to complain to anybody about it.

-fortunately, she has some people in her life who are immediately like "you are actually having so many problems right now. did you know that when shit like this happens, there is enough trauma happening for everyone to have seconds? even if it could be worse? also, your trauma symptoms will not go away if you ignore them or pretend not to have them, so, like, therapy?"

-it would be good if Isabelle had more friends like that, but, unfortunately, most of her close friends are dead now.

-sasha, meanwhile, goes to therapy. she discovers that, if there is a minimum threshold on how bad an experience you need to have had before you call it PTSD, she is actually well past it. huh.

-also, maybe the situation with her dad was, uh, worse than she may have thought? him dying did not magically erase his effect on her life, which is unfortunate.

-sasha knew Isabelle barely, pre-assassination. not well, but she'd met her a few times. she was pretty and loved her husband and daughter and seemed smart. a little reserved, maybe.

-Sasha cries when she finds out that this woman and her daughter are still alive, but mostly because if another two people were dead, and one of them a seven-year-old girl, that would be worse, and there is not room for much worse in her heart.

-she cries mostly because her brother is in nearly the same political position as the dead man was, and if his wife and kids were missing, she would lose her goddamn mind.

-she tries not to think about what would happen if her brother was shot. he is an asshole, but he is her brother.

-her brother, meanwhile, has to deal with these fucking assholes who are running America now. god, they're just the worst, but they do seem to be in charge now, so, like, needs must.

-he does not allow sasha to do diplomatic work with them, because he knows her. he has seen her explode before. she has never exploded at work, so he has trusted her up to this point.

-she is very much already at the "if I do not call these people out on being motherfuckers, I will literally explode and my entrails will call them motherfuckers" stage with these people.

-which is fair, honestly, it's not like she's wrong, but also, she is not in charge of negotiating with these people.

-there is a counter-revolution brewing, folks trying to get America back to normal. several governments are offering a certain amount of clandestine support, because it's not great for the global stage having America just sort of, collapse a bit. also, fuck these people entirely.

-so Leo assigns Sasha to contribute to the revolution in a short list of prescribed ways, and keep him in the loop while allowing him just the thinnest possible veneer of plausible deniability.

-boy, if he has known what was going to happen later, he would for sure have assigned somebody else!

-Isabelle is running the counter-revolution from Rio, so Sasha and Isabelle have calls about once a week for a year, mostly about work.

-Isabelle is, at the start, blandly professional, but Isabelle has very few people to really talk to, as herself, the human person, to the point where sometimes she forgets the human person exists.

-she doesn't quite warm up to like "genuine closeness" but she warms up to "social chatting" as part of the work calls.

-it is hard not to warm up to Sasha, when she likes you. she is easily friendly and kind. she likes Isabelle a lot.

-like, the normal amount. the normal amount to like your work friend, for sure, definitely. she spends the most normal amount of time thinking of ways to make Isabelle smile, because Isabelle doesn't smile much.

-Isabelle drinks much too much, and Isabelle stops drinking, and Isabelle's doctor is like "is this a situation where you could get a less stressful job?"

and Isabelle is like "if you ask me that again I will get a new doctor immediately, who is less of a fucking idiot. do you have a non-idiot suggestion?"

"okay! cool and good! maybe make some friends, or try a change of scenery?"

-Isabelle's not-dead friends are Theo, and technically it is possible that some of her old friends are still alive, in America, and just can't get in touch with her because of everything. she likes to think this. it's not making anything worse to think it, so she allows herself to.

-Isabelle's friends who she can speak to are Theo, end of list.

-so, change of scenery? it might be a good idea anyway, Brazil is getting tired of having those dipshits in America yell at them. governments are not always thrilled about the idea of her living and working within their borders. they are glad she is living and working, but not in my backyard.

-when she mentions to Sasha that she is looking for a new place to live, she is not fishing for anything, she is just chatting.

-Sasha immediately says "why don't you come to Moscow? you'll be safe here. I can bully my brother into allowing you to be here and helping you to stay safe. it's nice here!"

-she says this for friend reasons, obviously, and also strategic revolution reasons, the latter of which she uses to talk Leo around.

-Isabelle comes to Russia. she is amenable to weekly dinners with Sasha. Sasha is her phone chatting work friend. maybe Sasha could one day be her real life actual friend. that would be good maybe.

-the second week, Isabelle is sitting on Sasha's couch, with her feet up on the ottoman. they have had a nice dinner and are watching a documentary and chatting in English.

-at this point, Sasha goes "oh, fuck. I do not want to be real life friends with this woman, actually. not just friends. she is so beautiful and smart and I would so much like to kiss her."

-Sasha, you have been experiencing this feeling for like at least three months. it did not just pop into your head the minute she put her feet up on your furniture. you moved her to fucking Russia because you had so many big feelings. it just got loud enough for you to notice.

-is it u-hauling to move someone across continents to live in the same city as you? how about if neither of you knows you have feelings yet?

-Sasha will realize this several months later. right now, she thinks she has acquired a new feeling.

-she dithers about this for a bit, without telling anyone, because all of her friends would be like "well, that's a bad fucking idea."

-which, like, she is not stupid. Isabelle is a martyr's widow who is both grieving still and also doing a lot of work on the public image of being a martyr's widow. good work, important work, that helps

-it would have to be a very secret thing, maybe could never be anything else. her brother would be mad about it for politics reasons.

-if Sasha asked her out, Isabelle could very easily say "sorry there are too many politics reasons" or "sorry, I am heterosexual and/or very sad still."

-it would be a very bad idea in many ways!

-Sasha knows she is going to do it anyway. she does not always identify her feelings for a while, but once she does, she commits to them.

-but also, if Sasha causes Isabelle to experience any additional bad feelings, or to not want to chat with her anymore, Sasha will explode.

-this time her entrails will spell out "sorry."

-the solution here is to slow-play it a bit, she thinks.

-Sasha is not... super good at slow-playing it.

-she opens with what she thinks is a very casual, normal question about whether Isabelle is seeing anyone, or might like to. carefully worded to be normal and subtle and friendly.

-there are two problems with this. one is that Sasha's facial expressions tell you everything she is thinking all of the time. another is that Isabelle is uncannily good at facial expressions.

-it is hard at the best of times to ask the relationship status of a person you have feelings for in a super chill super casual very normal way that will not raise suspicion.

-when you have all of the natural deceptive skills of a Golden Retriever and also you are speaking to someone who reads everyone she meets like a book, well, you're just not going to pull it off.

-the subtext behind the question is "god, I would so like to kiss you, but only if you're cool with that?"

-Isabelle absolutely knows this right away.

-she wasn't expecting this at all. she'd like to give it some thought.

-in the meantime, she tells Sasha that she is not totally disinterested in the idea of dating again ever, but it would have to be very private for a while, if she did date again. she weaves in a little bit of information about her romantic history, in order to tell Sasha that she is bi.

-she thinks she has been about as unsubtle as it is possible to be, because she sometimes forgets that most people aren't her or Theo.

-Sasha thinks she completely nailed normal and casual. she thinks Isabelle's response was very normal and casual also, while also containing a lot of useful information.

-the orientation thing was going to be Sasha's next question, but she couldn't think of a way to be like "hey hello are you interested in women?" that did not tip her whole hand, so it's great that Isabelle happened to volunteer that information while they were both being normal and causal.

-Sasha, your whole hand is already tipped. you took out a feelings billboard. she knows.

-meanwhile, Isabelle gives it some thought.

-it's not a terrible idea, really.

-well, it is, in lots of ways, but there's no risk-free way to pursue any kind of relationship, especially when you are very famous for being widowed and people want to kill you.

-no matter who she gets involved with, some people are going to be Big Mad about it, and it will make some of her work harder.

-now, given that there is no safe choice, is Sasha the safest possible choice? absolutely not, not even close, but you don't get into relationships by triangulating the safest option.

-Isabelle is lonely. she is not great at assessing her own feelings, but the thought has occurred to her before. and when someone basically took out a feelings billboard at her, but in a respectful way, well, the thought occurred to her a bit more.

-the idea of spending the next several years or maybe forever being single and married to the Mission kind of sucks, actually.

-besides, Sasha is kind, and easy to talk to, and quite pretty. she does not seem like the type to insist on too much too fast.

-this is true, that is not the kind of intense Sasha is. she just sort of falls in love at you very quickly, which not everybody wants.

-but the only way Isabelle has ever been loved in her life is "very intensely" by a man who also saw her reservedness and was comfortable with it until it gave way around him. so that's fine.

-a few weeks later, around when Isabelle is done thinking, Sasha decides it is next move time.

-she has used up all of her very normal conversational gambits and has been debating between "just telling Isabelle about her feelings, or, like, some percentage of her feelings, the normal amount of feelings to have for a person you have not kissed." or "some kind of very casual very normal very chill physical contact."

-Sasha so wants to be a chill, casual person. unfortunately, she just isn't.

-she puts her hand on Isabelle's shoulder, and Isabelle settles into her a bit, makes herself comfortable.

-they sit like that for a minute.

-Sasha is thinking "is this like, chill, normal, platonic half-cuddling or is she trying to give me a hint?"

-Isabelle has never been less subtle in her life and would be shocked to know that this is being read as "a hint" rather than "a very overt declaration of interest."

-Isabelle, who thinks everyone's intentions are fully on the page now, says "if I ever tried to be in a relationship again, it would have to be very private, at least at first. it would have to be a secret for a while, which I know isn't something everyone would be interested in. also, "being very open with people" is not part of my skill set really. I do get there, but sometimes it takes me a minute."

-her frame of reference for "the normal amount of open to be with someone you like" was Robert, who knew he was going to marry her three months in, so she might not be calibrating this perfectly.

-she is now sitting on a couch half-cuddling with Sasha, who also falls in love very fast.

-Sasha listens to this information about Isabelle's relationship needs and thinks "that's probably a large hint, right? like, almost definitely. I am pretty sure. also, all of those things are fine and I basically knew them already, so that's good. this is going really well. what do I do now? should I be like "all of those things you want in a hypothetical relationship sound good to me" or should I save that for next week, because of the slow-playing I am doing here?"

Isabelle, meanwhile, is thinking "well, I have been as explicit as it is possible to be. if she didn't want to do something secret and careful and patient, she would remove her arm and stop half-cuddling me."

-so she sits for another minute or two, to give Sasha time to make a decision.

-Sasha does not move her arm. even if she knew what Isabelle was actually thinking, she wouldn't move her arm.

-at this point Isabelle kisses her, which she was not at all expecting.

-like, it was feeling like a more plausible future option, but today? right now? not that Sasha is in any way complaining.

-they kiss for a bit, and then Isabelle briefly removes her mouth from Sasha's mouth and looks at her and goes "wait, are you surprised by this?"

and Sasha goes "a little bit, yeah? I mean, this is great, I am very pleased with this outcome, but I wasn't sure if you were..."

later, Isabelle will be like "please tell me in what way I could have been at all clearer" and Sasha is like "by using words with your mouth to talk about your feelings?"

"I did that," says Isabelle, bewildered.

"no. "if I was going to kiss somebody I would need to take it slow and keep it secret" is a logistic. "I like you and want to kiss you" is a feeling."

"why would I talk to you about kissing logistics if I didn't want to kiss you specifically? just as a hypothetical? is that a thing people do?"

neither of them is entirely sure. but also, they will have this conversation later, because right now is kissing time.

[teacup-crow]

The Diplomats, Part One

Part 3 of my Carena-in-the-future series is out now! This is the first of two chapters because it got too long. Check out the rest of the series here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019146

Carena is sent on a mission with sworn Fort Canton enemy, Joe. ZRS4 spoilers, very minor S5-6 spoilers. CW childhood trauma, explosions

“Wye aye! It’s “Just Caz”! Or should I say, Princess Carena Skeet herself?”

Joe Garron, Fort Canton’s Runner Thirty-Seven, was clearly equipped for a long expedition. There was no mistaking his stupid freckled face or grating accent, and she’d unashamedly attempted to kick those big gerbil-like teeth in before in a scrum that had got so bad Janine had banned inter-settlement rugby for the foreseeable future. Ever since their first meeting, there had been a mutual distrust, and they’d spent every training exercise since trying to one-up each other, usually egged on by his crowd of leering mates.

“Oh, fuck no,” Caz said, and turned on her heel. “This was not the deal.”

“This was absolutely the deal,” Dr Myers reminded her over comms. “You and a Fort Canton representative are going together to the conference and doing some reconnaissance on the way.”

She remembered the conversation, of course she did. Her foster father was in work boots and a duffle coat, mismatched with the nice tablecloth they’d got out for the King, hands held out to her, saying:

“I could have asked any of my kids. I’m askin’ you because you’re just like me, Caz.”

Years ago that might have pacified her, but now she was adamant. “You can’t expect me to go away for a whole month with people I don’t even know! I’ve got a life here!”

“Thought you always wanted to ‘get out of this dump’.”

“Yeah, well. I’m not a kid anymore. And it’s… it’s… Abel’s not so bad.”

She’d stood up to refill her mug of tea from the pot. He suddenly seemed quite small and old to her, although he couldn’t be more than forty. When had that happened?

“I can’t make you -” he’d broken off. “Well, technically I probably can make you, but I won’t do that. I’ll be honest, I don’t see how it’s any of your business, but it’s about the symbolism of the whole thing apparently. Princess and that. And you’ll get to see the country, make somethin’ of yourself.”

“If the job’s about talkin’ to people, you could send Naveen, or Lilly, or even Jade-”

“They’re not Runners. You’re the one with trainin’, and the most likely person that Fort Canton would approve being out with in the field. And again, it’s more about the… other mission, than the conference.”

“So you don’t want me to go because I’m most like you, then?”

“Caz,” Jamie had sounded tired. “I’ll say again: you don’t have to do this. I can ask Naveen, and Janine will send a Runner with him. But Christ, it would make our lives easier, and I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

In the present, Joe winked at her.

“I’m not going with him!” She hissed into the mic. “He’s a knob !”

“Joe is the Runner Fort Canton has chosen, and they clearly trust him, just like we trust you. There’s a huge amount of responsibility on your shoulders now, Carena. The King and Abel need you. Are you going to let us down?”

Carena growled, and stomped towards him. “If you can’t manage to call me Caz, Runner Ten will do.”

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, your royal highness,” he bowed. Carena’s first act of diplomacy was not punching him right then and there. “Should we get going? It’s only 10K to the first rest point.”

She immediately began to run, not checking to see if he was keeping in step. To her irritation, he saw that coming.

***

The diplomats were tasked with visiting several key settlements on the route to the conference in London, “meeting with young community representatives to work out their priorities in rebuilding Britain, yadda yadda yadda, blah blah blah”. Carena had accidentally zoned out during most of Janine’s brief.

Their other mission was to gather information on a new, particularly nasty fringe group who’d been undermining the uneasy truces Abel and Canton had formed, dragging up muck from years gone and causing chaos all over southern England. Most reports said the group members were young - younger than Carena, too young to even remember a life before zoms. “Oh, you’ve never heard of Lord of the Flies, have you? Well, imagine if Peter Pan and the Lost Boys were, ah, cannibalistic”, Janine had put it. Carena was definitely listening at that point.

On the upside, the mission was a chance to really see the country. On the downside, this involved a lot of walking. And talking, at least on Joe’s behalf. He never seemed to stop, telling her meandering stories about his fiance Emily and long pieces of Fort Canton gossip Carena couldn’t care less about, even as they wandered through the woods they’d been warned about the most.

“Keep it down, will you? And keep an eye out for traps. God knows what they’ve got.”

“I know what I’m doing! Unlike you lot, we actually train our Runners properly.”

Carena couldn’t help but laugh at that, incredulous. “Abel are the heroes of the apocalypse, your lot are just two-bit second-rate cowards.”

“Oooooh, feisty! But you’re not so heroic now, are you? The whole town bowing to everything your dad and his government says?”

The goading alongside the days of nonstop talking was too much, and Carena snapped, a particularly nasty snippet of hearsay coming to the forefront of her mind. It was rolling out of her mouth even as Dr Cohen scolded her for it in her head. Gossip is a sin for a reason.

“Well, what about your mum? Think you’re so much better than me and my dad, but where’s she?”

“Ten, I’d shut it if I were you.” All the laughter dropped from Joe’s face now, replaced with a seriousness she’d never seen from him before.

“Because I’ve heard all sorts of stuff about her. Fort Canton people all have big mouths. I heard she’s crazy . Lives with Kytan in the madhouse, don’t she?”

“Don’t you fucking talk about me mam!” Joe raised his fists and stepped towards her to the click of an IED.

The two of them paused for just a moment, the boy’s face paling before he screamed: “RUN!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted, and he dived after her for a few seconds before the explosion threw them to the ground, ears ringing, shrapnel splintering through the air towards them.

***

Carena woke up. Her head sang out. Everything was fuzzy, slightly unreal, drifting in and out of reality. There was a heavy blanket on top of her. Oh. She must have the flu again, Dr Cohen piling on the duvets. Hopefully, someone would bring her a glass of water soon, because her mouth tasted dusty, bloody. Bloody?

She’d bit her tongue. Her headset whistled static - the explosion must have knocked the frequency. Explosion?

Suddenly, she was thrown into the present. Not a blanket on top of her, but big Joe bloody Garron. Joe bloody… lifesaving Garron. Joe, her only shield from the piercing rain of nuts and bolts and screws.

“Thirty-Seven? Thirty-Seven! Joe!”

To her relief, he groaned, and rolled to one side. She crawled out from underneath him.

His backpack had protected his head and neck somewhat, but his legs where he’d rolled up his walking trousers were peppered with wounds and shards of scrap metal. He whimpered as he breathed, conscious despite his best wishes.

“Joe, we have to move. If they can set one trap like that, this whole thing is a trap. We’re both in our uniforms. If they hate Abel and Fort Canton, who knows what they’ll do with us!”

“I know,” he hissed. “I just, I dunno how far I can get.” He began to unbuckle his rucksack. “Take my bag. At least they won’t get any supplies out of it.”

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You can’t.... you can’t carry me, I’m two stone heavier than you… and the mission - we need info on these little bastards…”

“ Fuck the mission, Runner Thirty-Seven! They’re cannibals! Get up. Now .”

“Got my gun. I’ll take a few of them out.”

“Come on, please!”

His tone and resolve barely wavered as the voices of approaching people began to echo through the woods. “Was an honour to serve with you.”

Carena grabbed his bag and held her hand out to pull him up. The voices were growing more distinct, and chilling. They were very childish, but the words were not.

“What are you gonna do with ‘em, boss?”

“Going to cut them into little pieces, see ‘ow they work.”

“Gonna cook ‘em!”

“Gonna do it slow, find out if they know anythin’ interesting, first.”

“Look, if you won’t get up for me, get up for Emily. She don’t deserve to lose you.”

Whether it’s this, or the savagery of the talk of the approaching kids, it was hard to know for sure, but Joe nodded, and through gritted teeth, got to his feet with a cry.

“Hold my hand. Don’t let go. Just put one foot in front of another. You can die when I’ve got us to safety.”

***

The campfire crackled and spat. Joe poked at it absently, the only evidence of Carena dabbing antiseptic on the last of his cuts the slight tightening of his jaw. Dr Cohen had been offering medical instructions over her headset from the minute they got to a secure building - Joe’s headset was unfortunately busted for good.

“Dr Cohen said to try and clean you up but not to take any of it out. We need to get you to a friendly settlement where they can do it properly. Abel’s identified one only eight miles or so off course. Barton Mound. They’re small, but they have a doctor, and maybe somethin’ stronger for the pain than two paracetamol and this shitty campfire tea.”

The boy smiled weakly. She started on the bandages.

“She must be important to you, this Emily.”

“Well, she’s the girl I’m gonna mar… oh no you don’t!” Joe stopped abruptly, dropping his stick and warming his hands over the flames.

“Oh no I don’t what ?”

“I’m savvy now, see.” Carena stared up at him. “Look, if you get me talking about me girl back home, ten minutes later I’ll wind up dead in your arms. It’s a tale as old as time, but I’m no redshirt.”

“Oh, you’re funny ,” she rolled her eyes, pretending she knew what a redshirt was.

“I do my best. But aye, my Emily’s a gem. She’s so smart. An engineer, you know. She designed this new way of harnessing solar power to heat - OW, TEN! What was that for?”

Carena had pulled the bandage a little too tight. “Talkin’ about your girl back home,” she said, mock-sweetly. “Let’s not tempt fate, shall we?”

“Maybe not,” he laughed, and rubbed at his mouth. “Least I’m too pathetic for you to punch me right now. Never forgot you have a mean right hook.”

“Well, I do a lot of fightin’.”

“You got a girl? Or, uh, guy?”

Carena snorted. “Nope. You tryin’ to get me killed now, Thirty-Seven?”

“Someday, Ten. Someday.”

“You’re not as funny as you think you are. Shut up and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be hard going.”

Half the time in Abel, she was desperately trying to find peace and quiet. Now, it was almost too silent. She tried to focus on the crackling of the fire, Joe shifting as he stoked the flames, and was almost relieved when he started chattering again.

“I’m sorry for takin’ the piss out of your title. I was thinkin’, how’s it even gonna work, anyway? Succession and all? With sixteen of you?”

“Lots of games of Rock, Paper, Scissors?” Carena sighed. “We don’t really know. People like havin’ a figurehead, but there’s no precedent for any of this. Hopefully Parliament will just abolish the monarchy or sommat.”

“Don’t fancy it?”

“You seen all Jamie’s had to put up with?”

“Fair point. You know, I’d quite fancy meself as a King. Think I’d suit a crown?”

“Your head’s too big to fit one.”

“Ouch, Ten! I’m wounded !”

“Yeah. Which is why you should be asleep.”

“You have a horrible bedside manner.”

“That’s why I’m a Runner, not a Medic,” she snarked back. “Funny, though. My Molly’s great in a crisis; she would be a much better help to you right now. Even little Sara’s probably picked up more about doctorin’ than I have.”

“Molly your girl?”

“No!”

“Huh. You said her name like she might be, ‘s all.”

“You’re about to feel my right hook again, injured or not. Shut up and go to sleep.”

“Shutting up, ma’am. Going to sleep now, ma’am.”

He did drift off shortly, sleeping in fits and starts when he woke from the pain. Carena sat with her back to him, a baseball bat in her hands, watching the night. Finally, she let herself cry.

***

The next morning, Joe looked paler. She made another cup of tea and crumbled more of their painkillers into it, hands and knees itching from her own grazes, her skin burning where the straps of her rucksack rubbed.

“Mornin’, Caz.” He managed a bit of his stupid grin. “Think we can justify eatin’ the jelly cubes yet?”

The nicest rations were tucked in the top of her pack. Without a word to the contrary, she pulled them out and unwrapped the foil, breaking off some strawberry jelly and handing it to him.

“The water don’t run in this house any more, unfortunately. We’ve got a couple litres left. Just got to hope this settlement is happy to see us.”

“Who wouldn’t be happy to be treated to the sight of us two?”

“People with eyes, brains and limited medical supplies of their own, prob’ly.”

His laugh was dry. “Ever the optimist, you.”

“Look, about yesterday. I’m sorry for what I said about your mum. My own big mouth got us into this.”

“‘S okay. It’s true. She is… she isn’t right in the head. Moonchild syndrome, a really bad case of it. Doesn’t remember me half the time. Not so great when she does.” He swallowed, and began to stamp out the last embers of the fire - they’d both slept with their shoes on, ready to go, and the pain of it seemed to be some distraction. “I was ten when she disappeared, and when she came back, she didn’t remember Dad, or baby Rosie either. They’d both died in the outbreak, it was always just us, and she was on the verge of madness for that but… that woman pushed her over the edge.”

“Joe…”

The boy continued, almost robotically, checking his gun without looking up at her.

“She was so confused, and it made her angry, and she used to take… well, I was right there, so... it’s not like anyone was paying much attention...” he trailed off, bit his lip in embarrassment. “Eventually she got convinced I’d gone grey too, tried to strangle me the same way she strangled Rosie. Skipping rope. God knows how she got hold of one, the sight of them always upset her... They wanted to kick her out of the town, let her fend for herself, but I… I begged them not to. So they locked her up instead, hid her from the Ministry till Kytan started helping people with Moonchild syndrome and they could palm her off on him.”

“Mate,” Carena said, buckling her pack, feeling her cheeks redden. “I dunno what to say.”

“C’mon, let’s move. You talk, for once. I need to think about something that’s not me legs.”

At least on the open road, traps were easier to spot. Carena racked her brain for a happy story, some way to brighten the mood.

“Okay, so… one time, me and my siblings tried to bake Dad a cake...”

They’d been really little, still living at the fire station. Archie was alive - she can remember the swish of the woman’s blonde hair against her cheek as she picked her up for a cuddle, how her voice sounded, all light and sing-song. “Now children, I am going upstairs for only ten minutes, just to have a shower. Be very good and we can go to the lake later! If you see zombies, ring the fire bell. ”

Jamie had gone mental at her later for even leaving them that long, but he was out picking up supplies from a military copter drop. In ten minutes, Naveen and Lilly had managed to coat themselves and half of the other children in flour. Jasper, somehow, had egg in his hair. Carena was sitting on the counter, decadently eating butter with a spoon and directing the scene. Archie had just laughed, and sprayed them all down with one of the hoses, and the cake-making fiasco turned into a giant water fight.

“Even the dog got involved!”

Joe grinned. “Sounds like a nice day.”

“It was,” Carena said, her voice a little softer than usual. “When I think back to that year, it’s all sunlight. Wasn’t perfect, ‘course. Archie died a few weeks after, and Jasper got turned. And… well, when Dad found out he was King he went to London for good.”

“That must’ve been hard. Him leaving like that, after you lost so many people.”

“He didn’t have much of a choice. But I didn’t always understand that, like.”

She’d been inconsolable for hours, and decided that night in her bunk that if she wasn’t good enough to make anyone stay, she would never trust them to.

“North-east, this settlement, aye?”

“Lead on.”

***

Barton Mound was a settlement of a few scraggly hilltop farmhouses, ten or eleven families surrounded on all sides by a barbed wire fence and only one gun turret. Joe and Carena both glanced at each other in distaste - it was hardly secure. Still, they had a medic and a well, and that wasn’t nothing.

Joe had got very quiet the last few miles, and Carena snuck worried looks at him as he slowed from an almost-jog to a walk to little more than a shuffle. If they were ambushed now by humans or zoms - which were unlikely but not impossible - they’d be in for it.

As they approached the makeshift gate, a woman holding a broom like a lance peered down at them.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“You should have had word of us in advance? Caz, Abel Runner Ten. This is Canton Thirty-Seven.”

Joe waved, and slumped down against the gatepost.

“He’s been better. It’s his legs, they’re full of shrapnel, and-”

The woman tightened her grip on the broom, a mild note of panic in her voice. “Kids, was it?”

“Yeah…”

“You’d best get in, quickly. Can you walk a bit farther?”

Joe grimaced, and nodded, following after her.

“Dr Renwick should be able to help him. Then you’ll have to get out of here.”

“‘Scuse me?” Carena bristled.

“Listen, those kids… it sounds ridiculous, but they’re savage. They… they won’t be happy you got away from them. They don’t like to leave the woods, but they’ll look for you.”

“Did they take one of your people?”

The woman ignored Joe’s question, but added: “We’re just trying to live in peace with everyone, all right? We don’t want to draw them on us, and we don’t want to anger your leaders either ‘cause… well, if Abel Township wanted us dead, they’d stop at nothing to do it.”

“That’s not the sort of thing we do-“ Carena began, then realised the woman didn’t care, and wouldn’t believe them even if she did.

Dr Renwick was a tall, imposing person with a serious, strict demeanour. They sighed at the state of Carena’s attempt at field dressings, and shooed her out of the hospital (really, a converted downstairs bedroom of an old family home) with a wave of a bony hand. So the girl sat on the bottom of the staircase and rummaged through her pack, finding a few tins of rice pudding and fruit to offer in gratitude to the residents who watched her with interest and fear, surveying her like a curiosity. She scowled.

“I won’t be long,” she’d promised Molly in the kitchens, the day before she left. “A month, tops. I’ll be back well before Sara’s ninth.”

“That is long, ” her best friend had replied, hands tightening on the scrubbing brush. “How do those cooks manage to burn the stew onto every pan?”

“Stop changin’ the subject, Moll. I know you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you-”

“You are. You volunteered for kitchen duty to try and avoid my last night. And you’re actually not smilin’ at me for once.”

Molly snorted, and splashed her with soap suds. “Not like you to notice. Will you get on and dry these dishes? I’m running out of surface space.”

“I don’t want to go. Dad and Janine, they…”

“I don’t care, Caz. You have to do your duty, I get it. I just… I’m going to miss you. I know you know what it’s like, being left.”

“Yeah. Someone left me to starve in a town full of twisted soldiers.”

The younger girl swang round in a swirl of indignant blonde curls. “Carena, I was a child-“

“So was I. So was I, Molly!” The glasses clinked as she dried them too fiercely; she felt her breath get sharp and hot, like she was losing control of the conversation, losing control of the situation. She took another, and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know there was nothing you could do. But I swear, I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll talk to you on comms whenever I can.”

All she wanted was to talk with her right now, to not be surrounded by suspicious faces, to be thinking about anything except the pain in Joe’s eyes.

***

The settlement couldn’t spare antibiotics, but they did have codeine, and that had already helped bring the cheer back to Joe’s face. “Just please keep the wounds clean,” the doctor grumbled. “I’d advise you to stick to the roads.”

“Are you sure you don’t want someone to pick you up, Thirty-Seven?” Joe’s operator was at the Abel comms desk, and Carena was relaying all of her messages through a bad impression of her accent.

“And miss out on all the fun? Not a chance! Give me that headset, Caz.” He snatched it. “Nadia, I am fine. Tell Emily I’m fine!”

“How much metal did you get out of his legs?” Carena asked out of curiosity as Joe regaled the operator with tales of his heroism.

“Let’s just say an airport scanner would have had a field day,” Renwick smirked, and then at the girl’s blank expression: “Twelve larger pieces. The rest are parts too miniscule to risk removing. He’s pocketed the shards as ‘souvenirs of the time he saved a Princess’. Which you didn’t tell us, by the way.”

“Oh does he ever stop,” Carena growled, and pulled her fellow Runner’s bag straps. “Come on, let’s go if we’re going.”

“Onward! Thanks for the assistance, Doc!”

“If you tell anyone else I’m a Princess I’m puttin’ all that shrapnel back ,” she threatened.

“Oooh, I’m quaking!”

It was only when they got outside the house that Carena realised the day was too quiet. The residents had stopped milling about, leaving various jobs around the farmstead half-abandoned. And there, clinging onto the gates-

Children. Filthy, hissing, angry children, armed with a nasty assortment of blades.

“Dr Renwick-“

The doctor had already slammed the door. She looked around desperately for the woman who’d brought them in, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“They’ve sold us out,” she cried. Joe swore.

“We’re surrounded, the way out is blocked. Any ideas, Nadia, Sam?”

One of the kids rattled the gates, lisp-singing through gap teeth. “Foxy-Loxy get out of den before I count to ten!”

“Not a bleeding chance,” Joe muttered. “Okay. Sam sees an exit on the other side of the settlement, but we’ll have to be quick. Nadia’s suggesting… oh, no way, I’m with Sam, I’m not throwing a grenade at the little shits, Nadi! Yes, I know they tried to kill me, but there’s a line!”

“Fort Canton, noble as ever,” Carena quipped.

“Shut up, you’d be the first to try and blow them up.”

She doesn’t bother denying it. “Okay. That exit.”

“He says it’s risky, but there’s a gap in their fence. Behind the toolshed. Run for it in three, two, one, NOW!”

For the second time in as many days, she ran for her life, the sound of childish war cries in her ears as Joe dragged her through the gap. Over the hill, rounding a corner, trying to find their way onto a trail.

“Barton Mound just cut their CCTV! Sam’s camera feed’s gone!”

“Check your four O’clock!”

He turned and fired, aiming to miss, to warn. “Behind you!” She did the same at her six.

“Ha-ha, you can’t get us, you can’t get us!”

“We’re going to get you!”

“That grenade is fast becomin’ a better option!” Carena yelled.

“An option neither of us will be able to live with! DUCK!”

A knife clipped her ear as it whizzed past. “Thirty-Seven, this is mental!”

“I’m on a lot of painkillers right now, Ten, and even I’m aware!”

“The two of us are the fastest Runners they got,” she reminded him as well as herself. “We can do this.”

They’d reached the bottom of the hill, and met a twisting country road with a few burnt-out cars. The pavement pushed back harder than the grass, giving her purchase, just like the track at home. Okay. She leant forward. Faster, faster, faster.

Then her lungs decided to freeze.

“Did we lose ‘em?” She asked, not daring to look behind her.

“Think we lost ‘em. There’s a back of a truck here where we can… Caz, your lips are blue. Caz?”

***

Someone pushed her inhaler into her mouth. She took a grateful puff of medicine.

“How many is it of the brown one, Dr Myers?” The boy said distantly. “Okay, got it.”

She found herself propped up in the back of a large truck, lit up by torchbeam. Above her, Joe’s moon-like face looked frightened. She’d never seen that expression on him before. Another puff.

“That’s it, Caz. Just keep breathing.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Think you forgot how for a minute there.”

She reached out for his hand and squeezed his fingers, her own tinged with blue. Thank you.

“We’re only a few days out from London now, Dr Myers, it’s closer than home. We may as well finish the journey and head back in the convoy. Oh, Caz, she wants to know what you think. Can you talk?”

Carena nodded, taking a few more grateful gulps of air and finally grabbing her headset back.

“Dr Myers… Sam?”

“We’re both here,” Dr Myers replied, her tone flooded with relief. “How are you doing, Carena?”

“I’ve… been better. But Joe is right. We’ve visited… four out of the six settlements… and we know more about the militants now.”

“You’ve more than done enough,” Sam said gently. “Those children are better armed and more… persistent than we anticipated. We could send reinforcements-”

“It’s… faster for us to keep going... we’ll rest in London for a while. We can do it. We’re a good team, Joe and me. And two people can hide better.”

“If you’re sure. Joe’s injuries are susceptible to infection, and your asthma-”

“We can do this,” she said, determined not to wheeze. “We’re not going to let you down ‘cause of some kids.”

Sam sighed. “Cannibalistic kids! Sometimes, Maxie, I miss the zoms. Don’t you?”

“Can I... talk to Molly?” Carena asked over the sound of Dr Myers’ incredulous splutter.

“I’ll get her after school,” Sam promised. Carena closed her eyes. “She misses you.”

“I know.” The tight-closed truck, the pervading sweat and damp, the thought of the snarls on those faces. It’s all such a contrast to the homely atmosphere of Abel, fields and understanding and space to scream. A lump comes to her throat. “I miss her too.”

[sylvanfreckles]

Blinded (FebuWhump 18)

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Awakening Summary: When a renegade noble tries to blind Chrom with a caustic liquid, Robin steps in to protect his friend.

* * *

Robin let his gaze travel around the room as Chrom made his plea for support to Lord Rasmir. Three of the noble houses of Ylisse had yet to acknowledge his friend's right to the title of Exalt, and Chrom was trying to win them over with diplomacy before his public coronation. He didn't need the support of all the noble houses, but presenting a unified government so soon after the war with Plegia would be good for the people.

Unfortunately, Lord Rasmir didn't seem to agree. He hadn't been outright disrespectful, but Chrom and his delegation had been brought in while the lord was holding a dinner party, and had been left standing in front of the high table rather than invited to join. Rasmir himself seemed to be listening to Chrom, although his slouched posture showed a lack of interest, and he toyed with the wine glass in front of him rather than drinking from it. Most of his guests ignored the royal delegation altogether, carrying on with their own conversations despite the Exalt's presence.

Rasmir picked up his wine glass, seemed to reconsider, and set it back down in favor of running his fingers down the cheek of the young woman sitting to his left, curling a lock of her blonde hair around his finger. “House Rasmir has always supported the Exalt,” he finally said.

“You have always pledged support,” Chrom agreed diplomatically. “I am only asking for a public gesture—for your formal attendance to the coronation in two weeks.”

The lord's eyebrow twitched. It was such a small, understated gesture that Robin wasn't sure he would have noticed it if he hadn't been looking. Rasmir lifted his wine glass, his lips twisting into a sardonic grin. “Then I propose a toast: to the reign of the Exalt. May he live long enough to see it.”

Robin saw the movement a heartbeat before it happened. Instead of drinking, Rasmir flicked his wrist to dash the wine over Chrom's face and chest. Robin leaped in front of his friend to try to wrestle the wine glass away from the lord, seeking to at least save his friend the humiliation intended by the insult, but he only succeeded in turning himself into the target. Dark red wine seeped into his hair and clothes and ran down his face and neck...and then it started to burn.

“Robin!” Chrom caught him from behind when his legs gave out. “Shepherds, to me!”

He could hear their friends charging, intent on protecting their Exalt and tactician, but there was the sudden ring of steel-on-leather echoing throughout the room around them. Robin tried to pry his eyes open to see what was going on, but whatever had been in the wine glass burned against his eyelids and the world around him was reduced to shadows.

“Is this a coup, Rasmir?” Chrom demanded angrily. His body was taught with rage, and Robin could feel the subtle shift in his friend's body as Chrom prepared to join the defense.

“When a wounded lion walks into your camp, you'd be a fool to let it walk out again,” Rasmir taunted. “Did you really think you could just take the throne, after everything your family has done?”

“Maribelle,” Chrom called as he shifted, dragging Robin to his feet. “Take Robin and my sister and find someplace to hide. Keep them safe until it's over.”

Lissa started to protest, but Robin found himself suddenly thrust against her as Chrom spun around, then the ring of steel against steel as the prince blocked a blow meant for them. “Now!”

“Come along, dearest,” Maribelle was on Robin's other side, pulling his arm over her shoulder. “Chrom's right: we have to get you out of here.”

The princess didn't argue further, and Robin found himself supported between the two young women as they fled the scene of battle. The liquid on his face burned, trickling in fiery lines down his neck and chest. He wanted to dig at it, to scrape it off of his skin, anything to stop the horrifying burning.

“Here, I'll try this one,” Lissa panted and slipped away from them. With one arm free, Robin dragged his hand up to dig at his eyes. It was worse than the time he'd rubbed his eye after helping cut hot peppers for the evening meal, but it was all over his face this time, and the tips of his fingers were starting to burn.

“No, Robin, don't touch it,” Lissa gasped, pulling his hand away from his face. “Here, I got it open.”

“Excellent, Lissa,” Maribelle sounded breathless as they half-carried Robin into the room. It smelled of clean wood and water, and the women gently set him down against the interior wall before setting off for their own tasks.

There was the heavy sound of the door closing, then the scraping of something heavy against the floor, and a splash of water.

“That should hold it, at least for a while,” Lissa's voice was strained with worried. “Do you think the others...”

“They'll be fine.” Maribelle was back at Robin's side, and he heard her shifting around before the delicate touch of a damp handkerchief was brushing over his face. “Dear heart, is there a bucket? We have to wash this off of him.”

“Mmm...there's a big bowl...I don't think they store much more than the water barrels in here.”

“That would be perfect. Yes, Robin, it's all right. I'm sorry it hurts so much.”

For all her airs, Maribelle actually had a kind bedside manner. She clasped Robin's hand in one of her own and dabbed at his face with the other.

“He's bleeding,” Lissa siaid worriedly. She'd taken Robin's other hand between both of hers, and he thought it was as much for her comfort as his.

“It was some kind of acid or poison,” Maribelle replied. “Miriel can tell us more; she's made a study of such things. Do you have a handkerchief, dearest? No, just hand it to me...you need to keep him calm.”

Robin tried to say he didn't need to be kept calm, but his voice came out as a whimper. Lissa squeezed his hand and scooted closer. She sniffed, and a splash of water landed on the back of his hand.

He tried again. “Liss...”

“I know,” Lissa sniffed, pulling one hand away for a moment, probably to wipe at her own eyes. “I just don't want to lose any of our friends.”

“We won't,” Maribelle replied, her voice ringing with sincerity. “Not in here, and not out there. Lissa, I'm so sorry, could you bring me some clean water? See how it's getting stained? I don't want to risk further contamination.”

It seemed to carry on for hours. Maribelle asked for clean water frequently, but though her ministrations were putting an end to the spread of the acidic burning nothing was easing the pain of the affected areas. Eventually the women worked together to shift Robin's head into Maribelle's lap, which was at least more comfortable than the floor, though the pain on his face and neck was started to drain his strength. She'd resorted to just covering the burned areas with cool, damp handkerchiefs in an effort to at least draw some of the heat out.

“Lissa?”

Lissa gasped. “It's Chrom!”

Robin felt the air shift as she leaped to her feet, then some uncertain sounds like something heavy being shoved around on the floor. “Chrom!”

“Are you all right?” Chrom's strong, familiar voice made something inside Robin relax a little. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been until now.

“We weren't harmed, but it's bad,” Lissa explained. “That stuff, it burned him...he can't see, Chrom.”

Chrom knelt next to them—his friend's presence always familiar, even when he couldn't see him. “Miriel and Stahl are searching the manor for whatever was in that glass. We'll find a cure, my friend.”

Robin nodded, though the movement sent a sharp pain through his head.

Of course they'd find a cure. How hard could it be?

* * *

“It's not as easy as it sounds,” Miriel explained. “We neutralized the acid itself, but there was extensive damage. Regeneration potions or spells are still mostly experimental.”

Chrom let out a sigh and dragged a hand over his face. “Are you saying it's permanent?”

“No, of course not,” Miriel adjusted her glasses. “The damage to Sir Robin's eyes, while extensive, did not result in the loss of his vision. That's due to the inflammation of the surrounding tissue. We're searching for a way to ameliorate his body's natural recovery, but he will recover with or without our help. It will just take time.”

Another sigh, this one of relief. “Have you told him?”

The mage nodded. “He seemed in high spirits when I left his rooms. Now, if you'll excuse me, Your Highness, I must return to this current set of experiments.”

Chrom waved her away, watching for a moment as she bent over a rack of phials with two of the palace's healers and the herbalist from Ferox. At least it was basically good news...he would have hated Robin to face such a challenge permanently, though he was confident his friend would have overcome it.

They'd put Robin in a room close to the healer's workrooms, and Chrom made his way there next. Rasmir's attempted coup had caused more problems within the council, and he'd had to spend most of his time on his return in meetings with advisors, governors, or other lords to convince them Ylisse was not on the point of revolt. He finally had a few hours free now, and was determined to spend some time sitting with his convalescing friend.

“Hello, Chrom,” Robin greeted him as soon as he entered the door. The tactician had a length of clean bandage wrapped around his eyes, to protect the irritated skin beneath, but he still followed Chrom's progress through the room as though he could see him.

“How did you know it was me?” Chrom asked with a smile.

“I'm developing more acute senses due to the loss of my vision.”

Chrom stared for a moment, mind whirling through the possibilities, then Robin was doubled over laughing.

“I wish I could see the look on your face,” he wheezed. “You all sound different when you walk; as long as I pay attention I can usually guess. I do it all the time when I'm reading, you just never notice.”

“Very funny,” Chrom teased, settling into the chair next to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Robin shrugged, raised a hand to pick at the bandages on his face, but pulled it back down when he realized what he was doing. “A little impatient to be well, I suppose.”

Guilt twisted in Chrom's chest. “Robin, I...”

“Don't,” his friend turned to face him, a grim smile on his face. “Chrom, do you really think I regret this? That I could  regret saving you, even if it meant it hit me?” he gestured toward his eyes, and Chrom winced. Robin hadn't come out of this without a few scars, though they would fade with time. Patches of skin on his face were rough and irregular where the acid had burned too deeply. There were salves and treatments that could help with scar tissue, but they had to wait until Robin's eyes healed.

“So...is there anything I can do?” Chrom asked awkwardly. Robin's face brightened, and he pulled a thick volume out from under his blankets and held it out to Chrom. The prince laughed as he took the heavy book. “Why were you hiding this?”

“Lissa thought I needed to focus on something 'more cheerful' for my recover,” Robin said sourly. “But this one looked really interesting, and I haven't found anyone to read it to me.”

Robin had obviously taken this book from the palace library before their visit to Lord Rasmir, though how he'd smuggled it into his sick room Chrom would never know. “Well...” Chrom teased, gently thumbing through the rough pages. Gods, this one was old...they'd both fall asleep while he was reading it.

“Please?”

Chrom laughed, turning back to the first page. “All right...The Tactics of War Mage Tychius, chapter one. 'In the course of my years serving in the high court of...'.”

* * *

Real talk: Real talk, Robin was probably carrying that book with him the entire time. You never know when you might get the chance to read!

[artificialqueens]

1999, Chapter One (Jaida/Crystal) - Roza

summary: jaida is a foreign policy advisor to the government during the cold war and travels to france for diplomacy work. crystal has her hands tied behind her back but can’t help but enjoy every last day she has and live it to the fullest even if it means interfering with jaida’s own work.

author's note: mamma mia here I go again with another songfic based on history. part of me loves this concept because I am about to major in international relations after next year so I hope this will come off okay, was feeling extra inspired. thank you jankie candle for screaming about jaida’s hair.

AO3 Link / My Tumblr: @leljaaa / ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

— *.✧

June 26th 1986.

Washington D.C., USA.

“So you’re being assigned to head to France I’ve heard,” Trinity grinned as Jaida lifted her head from her stack of paperwork, attempting to make it somewhat neat and organized as she nodded her head. The Milwaukee native hummed in response to the comment, neither confirming or denying if that was true.

Jaida flipped her long, curly hair with a grin painted across her lips as she admitted that she was indeed going to France, insighting that it was her first real and big task. “I am going over to try and talk to some other diplomats about the possibility of nuclear war, you know, the fun stuff,” she joked as Trinity rolled her eyes.

“Well, a lot has happened since you’ve been here working for the government unfortunately,” Trinity replied somber as the brunette finished up throwing the old documents in the garbage bin behind Jaida’s desk. “You’re gonna do great, maybe you’ll finally get inside those stupid men’s heads.”

“I will do what I have to, It’s my job after all,” Jaida explained softly before stapling the final stack of documents that had been placed on her desk before scoffing at the second sentiment knowing that she was most likely going to be the only woman of colour at that table.

"Men are fucking stupid, the fact they even have positions of power is incredible to me," Jaida mumbled under breath as she stacked her papers neatly on Trinity's desk as she heard her friend cackle loudly.

“What? I am not lying! I am the culmination of everything men in politics hate: young, black, educated and a woman.”

Trinity sighed, knowing that she could not exactly disagree with that sentiment at all. Jaida was young and passionate and had a drive and was extremely charming but yet would never be taken seriously even if she had graduated Princeton and had earned her position.

"Child just wait and see, if this talk doesn't go well then we'll be one step closer to nuclear war."

"Because we truly can't get any closer," the native Floridian huffed before she heard Jaida's recognizable laugh fill the space. The two spoke about how the American felt about living and being in Paris for the next few months and the twenty six year old only felt excitement.

"I'll be turning twenty-seven in Paris," Jaida squealed as she chuckled, telling Trinity about how badly she dreamed about being a designer before she got into the realm of politics and how her childhood destiny was to live near the Eiffel Tower and make a successful clothing brand.

"How basic," Trinity replied jokingly before Jaida smacked her shoulder. "You make most of your own clothes anyway, you've accomplished a bit of your childhood dream at least."

That was quite true, Jaida was used to making her own clothing and designs especially when she first moved to Washington D.C. and didn't yet have her government salary to live off of. It was an expensive city but eventually she earned enough money to travel and get by.

"It gives me something to do when I don't wanna think about politics and I look damn good always so I consider it a win, win situation," Jaida winked as she ran her hands down her  purple dress.

"Well, have fun when you can; you never know how much time we might have left," Trinity added somber before lifting up the tone and asking for Jaida to bring her back a cute souvenir or flag for her wall at home in Orlando.

Jaida leaned against her desk, clearing her throat as she asked the brunette about how everything was going with her partner though they didn't say a word, only communicating in glances.

"She's good," Trinity finally said aloud as Jaida clapped happily, thankful to hear that her partner was safe and okay back in Florida considering all of the uncertainty and scare building around the AIDS Crisis.

"Good. I'll bring you and Detox something from Paris and that's a promise, I'll probably be stuck at the airport for a few hours anyway," Jaida manifested before she ran her hands through her hair smiling wide, still excited at the prospect of going to such a high profile conference.

"You'll do great for sure, you're the only one I would even pay any attention to."

Jaida rolled her eyes though she knew Trinity was being quite serious and was simply speaking the truth, as she always did.

"I am leaving early today to go and pack because my flight is in a few days but if you want to help me I am happily inviting you to help me decide what to bring," Jaida asked chipper though Trinity looked as if she wanted absolutely no part of that.

"I don't know—can I truly take three hours of looking through your closet for you to only pick the worst outfits?" Trinity pondered teasingly before Jaida scoffed, offended.

"No need to be so shady, I will give you alcohol if you come and help."

"Done deal."

Jaida grinned, if there was one thing that could possibly win over any woman who worked with fumbling men all day it was absolutely wine or hard liquor. "Great, you just knock on my door and I'll be home," she promised before Trinity nodded and leaned against her doorway asking if she wanted any more help.

"You've helped enough."

"Then I will see you in a few hours, I expect good alcohol," Trinity called out before closing Jaida's door firmly. The younger woman jumped a bit to the loud noise before turning her head back to her work.

She sunk in her chair, counting down the days on her small calendar that faced her desk knowing that she was going to be in France soon enough for better or for worse.

If everything goes to shit then at least I'll die nice and pretty in Paris.

— *.✧

June 28th 1986.

Paris, France

"I am finally home!"

Jackie's head turned the moment she heard her roommate's familiar voice, her eyes gently glanced up from the words of her novel up to Crystal who waved two thick stacks of money in front of her face before quickly shutting the door behind her.

"Oh Crystal…"

"Here you are," Crystal hummed as she tossed Jackie the stack of French Francs her way. The redhead stuffed her hands inside of her dyed purple fur coat before seeing Jackie's expression suddenly harden.

"I got it completely legal and it is not counterfeit do not give me that look," Crystal clarified as Jackie sighed heavily, not even wanting to ask any questions as she knew she'd receive absolutely no solid answers from her roommate.

Crystal threw off her jacket as she revealed her matching lilac ensemble before turning her attention towards their quaint kitchen. "Now you can finally take Gigi on a nice date finally," she added aloud before letting her hair flow down to her hips.

The Persian rolled her eyes, biting her tongue as her fingers sifted through the colourful, thick wad of cash. Jackie shook her head, assuming that the activities that Crystal had to do to earn this money were certainly not worth it.

"What did you do this time?" The Middle Eastern woman asked as she sat up against the couch in their apartment, Jackie reaching for the remote as she lowered the television set. "What did you do to almost get arrested this time?"

Crystal giggled before correcting Jackie that no police had been involved for this specific encounter.

"I sold some drugs for them to tell me some dirt on the Soviet Union and give us money of course," Crystal replied as if she was bored of the subject and it was just another day of work coming home from something miniscule like an office job. "Typical espionage things," the Mexican girl grinned as she shuffled in their kitchen as she looked for some kind of beverage.

"You seem angry for someone who is holding an entire tower of cash."

"You got yourself into this mess, not me," Jackie spat as the Persian let the cash fall onto the table with a hard thud before she turned her attention back to her book, attempting not to start an entire conversation and rant about how much danger Crystal was putting herself in everyday just for some cash.

"Do not educate me on the politics of the Soviet Union or NATO or I will throw this soda in your face and that's a promise," Crystal grumbled gently to her friend before taking a long sip of Cola. "I am doing this because I need the money and need to support us while you're out of a job."

Jackie couldn't argue with that.

Crystal jumped onto the brown couch with a wide grin as she offered the Persian some of her drink, Jackie declined as she returned to her books as always.

"You're so boring! You should come to the nightclub with me tonight, you can't expect me to let you just stay here rubbing your nose into your long and boring."

"They're not boring!"

"There's no pictures," Crystal whispered offended before the Persian chuckled amused at her antics though she was quite uneasy about even the idea of going to the club with Crystal made her wince.

"I don't know, I'd rather not spend money on overpriced alcohol and pass out on the streets of Paris with you."

"This war is gonna kill all of us soon eventually, we might as well party and swallow alcohol by the dozen while we still can," Crystal replied a bit too bright for something as serious as the looming threat of nuclear war.

"You have such an optimistic opinion when it comes to this stuff, I'm both impressed and mildly horrified."

Crystal shrugged, everyone seemed to think this entire decade was going to be the last in human history. Even if it was—which it might damn well be: why waste your time moping around at home? There were so many things to see and do and now was the time to finally break away from authority and party until you passed out.

"I'm not a politician, I just want to have fun with my roommate before everything goes downward is all," Crystal admitted as she finished up her can of sugary soda with a sigh of euphoria.

"Also Nicky really wants to see you," Crystal teased as she rubbed her shoulder against Jackie's intent on getting the Persian out of their apartment for at least a night.

"I don't exactly think I however need to see her."

The redhead gasped surprised that Jackie had seemed to move on so quickly from the French woman. "You two were so cute together, I will make this pair happen again even if I think Gigi is good fun and all," Crystal rambled before seeing the Persian cock a brow, crossing her arms.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," the redhead responded on the dot as she noticed Jackie's facial expression change almost immediately at the idea of Crystal trying to put her and Nicky together again in a romantic sense.

"Just trying to help out my fellow immigrant sister," the Mexican smirked as she pushed Jackie's hair back and out of her face. The Persian flushed, aggravated knowing that Crystal was not going to stop unless she agreed to go to the stupid nightclub.

"Fine, I'll go with you," Jackie finally said as Crystal squealed in excitement, immediately grabbing the Persian's hand as she dragged her to their closet needing to know what she was going to wear.

"I have people you need to impress," Crystal joked playfully though she was quite serious knowing that she had to do some dirty work to get her next paycheck.

Jackie smiled completely unamused, "I am not about to be roped into your stupid spy game and you better leave me out of it," the immigrant commented serious as Crystal rubbed her shoulders telling her to calm down.

"You're truly absolutely no fun."

"I'm serious, do not rope me into any kind of game, this is the last thing I need right now after leaving all of my family back home in Iran."

Crystal raised her hands in defeat as she promised the Persian that there would be no funny business. "You have my word," the redhead said smiling softly as she pulled out various dresses from the closet in front of them.

Though that word just might break to help the both of us. I might need your help for this…

"Now, let's see what you're gonna wear!"

— *.✧

June 29th 1986.

Paris, France

Jaida felt like she had stuck in the same room for almost three hours and judging by the watch around her wrist; she was not too far off with her original estimate.

The ministry was beautiful and was far more enjoyable to look at during a tour than it was to be an advisor inside that same building. The American sighed under her breath, making an attempt not to look completely bored and angered with how things were currently shaping up to be at the moment.

Child if I hear one more time about the World Cup during this meeting…

As expected, the woman had yet to even get a single sentence in though she supposed it was not too much of a surprise considering the room was filled namely with old, almost all white, over the ages of fifty five.

"Is anyone going to actually speak about the problem at hand or are we just going to ignore the threat of Nuclear War that's on everybody's shoulders?" Jaida finally spoke up as almost all of the advisors and diplomats in the room seemed impressed and offended she had even spoken up.

"What say the woman, do you have an idea to bring world peace?"

Jaida smiled, knowing deep within her heart that her snapping at a man in her own league over being a prick was not the best idea. Not yet .

"We have a Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, enough ballistic missiles to end this entire planet and not to mention the complete disregard for human rights but go on, talk about your sport event that certainly won't exist after Gorbachev pushes that button."

The conversation quickly escalated to how it was both Soviet and American forces pushing this threat and how Jaida was being blinded by her own country's policies to only bring up the Soviet Union.

Well... they're at least on topic now.

Whoever said diplomacy was peaceful clearly had never seen any kind of meeting, summit or assembly in action.

Jaida couldn't say that they were wrong, it was every country that was poking at one another, they all had blame even if she had to swallow the fact that her own government was completely picking and choosing what issues to care about.

Another hour passed before they were dismissed for their own two hour break. They had at least made it to screaming about the topic and current issues going on in politics and not sports.

"Meeting is adjourned."

Jaida wanted to scream "Hallelujah," as she exited the room that had become stuffy and filled to the brim with nothing but tension and uncomfortable silence.

The advisors were beginning to at least agree upon the idea of a summit of some sorts though the details were scattered and messy.

She knew that she was completely the odd one out though she was determined to show she was not just some kind of diversity quota. The American immediately headed for the restroom knowing that holding everything in for almost four hours was truly not the brightest idea.

Nobody seems to care about the fact people are being harmed except me.

Jaida walked into one of the stalls as she tapped her fingertip's against her bare skin with a heavy sigh.

She at least certainly looked the best though it wasn't exactly a fair comparison when she had a black, tight, perfectly fitting dress with beautiful custom jewels around the waist as opposed to the dozens of black and white suits that filled the room.

The American washed her hands thoroughly as she noticed another woman beside her. She attempted not to stare knowing it was impolite and a bit too flamboyant during times like these with everything going around.  

"You can say I'm pretty," the woman beside her finally spoke up as Jaida laughed, amused though her cheeks turned a bright red as she prayed that this wasn't some kind of intervention.

"Shy?" The redhead asked as she wore a tight and short floral print off the shoulder dress that perfectly seemed to hug her body. Jaida shook her head, managing to spew out that she really enjoyed the dress and fabric she currently had on.

"From someone who looks like a statue I'm so honoured," the mysterious woman winked as Jaida laughed nervously before adjusting her hair and giving in to the glances sent her way.

"I'm Jaida," the American finally spoke before holding out her hand for the other to take. She explained how she was currently in the meeting down at the Ministers cabinet as part of her job.

"Oh she's a diplomat is she?" the woman grinned before she accepted her hand. She shook it firmly before introducing herself as Crystal. "I'm not that educated and smart, I'm just here to get some work done for my uncle," she managed to get out confidently.

"Crystal," Jaida repeated with a slight smile printed across her lips as she noticed Crystal's own grin appear as she reapplied her dark red lipstick.

"How long are you in Paris for?" Crystal asked curious though she knew that this conversation was beginning to unravel far too many questions and ideas than expected.

The Mexican kicked herself for not thinking of a better storyline knowing that she had to steal what she had to before she was kicked out of the building.

I just need these stupid documents… maybe she can help me out here.

"A few months," Jaida admitted carefully not knowing how much trust to put into the woman who seemed certainly beautiful but also a bit younger and more free spirited than her.  

"You should come visit my arrondissement," Crystal suggested casually as she began to like the idea of getting to know Jaida for every wrong reason. She was stunning and certainly seemed far more rich and poised than the Mexican who was simply here to snatch some documents and information.

"A native Parisian showing me around?"

The redhead laughed gently, "The Mexican who immigrated to Paris more than ten years ago more like," she corrected as Jaida gasped, her expression reading as if she had been almost relieved to hear that information.

"So someone from North America? Even better," Jaida replied as she explained she was the American foreign policy advisor for the federal government. Crystal did not understand a single word of what she had said except that she was for one thing important but also most likely filled with information she could use.

"When is your meeting finished?"

Jaida chuckled, "The evening, I'll be out of here just before ten at night." Crystal immediately pulled out a sticky note from her bra before asking to borrow the pen the American had attached to her legal pad.

"Meet me tomorrow and I promise I will show you a good time without all the tourists."

Something about this felt oddly staged and it made Jaida's stomach churn just a bit though it also felt wildly engaging and exciting.

The American nodded as she took the note between her fingers.

"You have a deal."

[auntiebioticslab]

I didn’t get any asks for this but that’s okay because unfortunately I am WELL capable of infodumping without anyone’s permission. so here’s the unplanned variable ask meme by @outervvorlds

read mores do not work on mobile because tumblr is garbage from a toilet and my computer is currently on a UPS truck to California. I am so sorry.

Basics! Name, age, personality, etc. What do they look like? Are they a new or old oc? 

Her name is Rocket Alexandria Hawthorne! Formerly Rachel Holloway back on Earth but I’ll get to the reason for the name change.

She’s extremely vague about her age (her go-tos are “older than you” and “over a hundred” which are both technically true due to the “being on ice” thing) but she can pass for anywhere between 30 and 50 appearance-wise and the timeline of her Earth memories pretty reliably pegs her as late 30s-early 40s.

She’s a really effortlessly confident and funny person, which is the main reason she could probably talk her way out of her own execution. Also because I have a disease that makes me project my brain shit onto every oc I have she’s prone to hyperfixating due to an Unclear But Definitely Present Brain Thing so she knows a lot of things about a lot of things. Also she’d never openly admit it but she’s a sucker for romantic things and definitely cries at weddings.

This is her:

Her mom was Pakistani and her father was Black but she usually just says she’s from Baltimore.

What are their attributes, perks, and flaws?

She’s got high charm and intelligence, average strength and temperament, and good everything else.

I got her up to level 30 my last play through, do not make me list all her perks. Most of them this go-round so far are buffs to vendor prices and boosts to movement speed.

She has weakness to both plasma and physical damage!

What do they believe in?

Religiously, she’s agnostic but she kind of likes the notion of Philosophism. Morally, she believes that there’s no reason for people to pointlessly suffer just so someone at the top can hoard money, and also that the colony would be better off if Byzantium suddenly burned to the ground.

...she did not burn Byzantium to the ground, don’t worry.

How did they react to becoming Captain of the Unreliable? Are they much of a leader?

She always kind of wanted to be a cool spacefarer, but she hoped it would be under different circumstances. She told ADA that the real Hawthorne was killed by marauders, offered the poor bastard some dignity in death.

She is a pretty effective leader but that’s because she doesn’t really see herself as one? The crew aren’t subordinate to her, they’re her friends.

What was their life like before being iced?

It was boring! She was stuck in a shitty line cook job which wasn’t terrible but also felt like a waste of her education, and she was barely scraping by anyway. That’s why she applied for the Hope initiative.

Did they have any family before becoming Captain? Do they think their crew as family? 

Obviously she had parents growing up; they werent as present as they’d have liked to be because Work but she never once felt like they didn’t care for her. They didn’t live to see their daughter off when she boarded the Hope, but that was because of natural causes.

She also had four older brothers! Darren, Brice, Gene, and Andre. She was closest to Andre because the age difference between them was only a year. He’s actually the one who gave her the nickname “Rocket” in the first place; when they were kids they would pretend to be space explorers and their pretend names were Astro and Rocket.

None of her brothers were on the Hope. Darren actually was doing pretty well for himself in a low-level government job and didn’t feel the need to leave the planet, Brice didn’t want to uproot his wife and kids, Gene, well...she still has no idea what Gene was up to when she boarded the Hope because he took a job in another country and lost contact with his siblings years prior. Andre had been dead for years, unfortunately, having died in a work accident a week before Rocket was due to graduate college.

It still nags at her that while she can at least assume all her other brothers died peacefully and surrounded by loved ones, she knows EXACTLY what horrible thing happened to Andre.

As for the current crew, ohhh yeah, they are definitely her family. She cried when Felix said “I’ve got a family” to Clyde.

What’s their fighting style? Who do they bring along?

Ironically for a timeline where Roosevelt was never president, she does practice big stick diplomacy. Well, it’s usually small stick diplomacy because she prefers one handed melee, but still. If she can avoid direct conflict (through stealth or negotiation) she prefers to. The only exception was Tartarus.

There’s no real rhyme or reason to who she has in her party because from a Me As The Player standpoint I just go with whoever gives me boosts to the stats I need for the quest I’m doing. Which, in practice, usually ends up being Parvati and Felix because of that sweet sweet Persuasion buff.

Is Spacer’s Choice their only choice? What do they think of the corporations?

She is...not a fan of the amount of power they have. Spacer’s Choice in particular has a special place in hell as far as she’s concerned. If you held a gun to her head and asked her to pick a favorite...she’d probably ask you to just shoot her. Or she’d choose Auntie Cleo’s because their jingle is the least annoying.

What do they think of the factions? Are they liked or disliked by any?

Rocket has to make an actual effort to get on someone’s bad side so she’s in pretty good standing with most of the major factions. She made an effort with the Board, though 😁

For her part, she’s especially fond of the folks on the Groundbreaker.

What’s their favourite place in Halcyon? Least favourite?

She likes the scenery on Terra 2 and the people on the Groundbreaker, but as corny as it sounds her favorite place in Halcyon is the Unreliable. It’s home to her, and it’ll stay that way forever.

She doesn’t hate Edgewater per se but being there fills her with rage because of how...indicative it is of the way the rest of the colony is being run.

Do they have a favourite alien creature?

She definitely has never done extensive research on the care and feeding of leather boas because she hyperfixated on the idea of getting one as a pet before realizing that recreating the necessary habitat conditions on the Unreliable was impossible, or at least way too expensive.

No, I’m not projecting the amount of times I have done something similar for bearded dragons.

Did they save The Hope?

FUCK yeah she did.

What do they want to do afterwards? - but do they get a happy ending?

She finally gets some use out of her degree; she’s qualified to be a food scientist, like a real actual food scientist, and that’s probably what Halcyon needs more than anything.

Considering a few other things that happen in the epilogue, she doesn’t get a perfect end. But it’s enough.

What do they think of the companions? Friendships, crushes, dislikes, etc. 

She immediately thought “now I’M the big sister” after recruiting Parvati and Felix, so there’s that. Probably accidentally called each of them by the name of one of her brothers a few times. Convincing Ellie that she actually cares about her as a person is her white whale of sorts, and she empathizes a lot with Nyoka given her own history of loss. Logically she realizes that Max is a fellow capital-A Adult but also she feels like she’s holding the leash on a feral dog whenever he’s with her. She likes to tell SAM he’s doing a good job.

How do the companion quests go?

Golden ends across the board, babey. I’ve never been one to half-ass shenanigans.

What’s their love language?

Gifts and acts of service!!! She always tries to play it cool until she’s ready to admit her feelings though, so there’s a lot of pretending she just HAPPENED to find this thing she damn near tore the planet apart looking for.

Also she especially likes to flirt by cooking. Even back on Earth she got into a fair few relationships by being like “hey neighbor, I underestimated how much this recipe makes, interested in taking some leftovers off my hands? ;)” when she knew damn well how much the recipe made and doubled it so she had an excuse to see her cute neighbor.

Are they in a relationship? Do they want to be?

She has a crush on a certain rogue scientist, and unfortunately for her it is such an intense crush that she actually gets tongue-tied around him sometimes, which isn’t something she’s used to and that stresses her out a LOT.

Damn now I want to write an immediately-post-game-but-WAY-pre-epilogue fic with the crew trying to get them together so they don’t have to listen to Rocket blasting classical music and frustratedly screaming into a pillow every time she leaves his lab.

How to win them over?

She likes to look into someone’s eyes and see a fire, you know? I mean this in both a platonic and romantic sense—if someone is downtrodden but still determined, she probably at least respects them.

Also if someone she has feelings for does some kind of tender touch thing like brushing her hair behind her ear she McDies. Just completely short circuits. Cannot handle it.

How to break their heart?

If she found out someone important to her was using her or going behind her back it would destroy her. Unwilling betrayals as a result of being under duress are one thing, but deliberate, calculated manipulation? That’s her absolute worst nightmare.

How did those cows get onto their ship??

She wanted to try making homemade cheese and didn’t trust the bottled milk to actually be from a cow after what she learned about the saltuna cannery in Edgewater.

Ok technically she just agreed to deliver the cows to a facility on Terra 2 after the actual ship carrying them had engine troubles on Groundbreaker but she liberated some of the milk while in transit. Not like they’d notice.

A song that reminds you of them,

Sucker Punch by Die Mannequin!

Three random facts about them.

She got that burn scar during her time on Earth. Be careful with hot liquids, kids.

She’s tall—like, 6’5” tall. People who don’t receive proper nourishment don’t get very tall so she towers over most of Halcyon.

After the events of Don’t Bite The Sun she went back to Stellar Bay and told Raymond “I’ll teach you my recipe for breded cystipig chops with mock applesauce if you’ll teach me how to make that casserole”. Good trade for both parties.

[deborahdeshoftim5779]

Refuting Haaretz’s Publisher: Part I

The following is my response to Haaretz’s publisher, Amos Schocken, who sent an email celebrating 100 years of circulation.

Whilst I am pleased to hear another Israeli success story, I personally have many misgivings and fundamental disagreements with Haaretz’s editorial line and politics. Nonetheless, it’s crucial to read from several perspectives and the vibrancy of Israel’s free press should never be taken for granted. 

However, the allegations that Amos makes against his home country have annoyed me, a Briton, to the point that I must respond. 

One hundred years ago, on June 18th, 1919, the first issue of Haaretz was published in Jerusalem. 

Where else? 

Schocken might well have noted also, that in 1919, there was no “East Jerusalem”, nor any demand to make “East Jerusalem” the capital of a Palestinian State. Jerusalem was, back then, a whole and undivided city with Jewish residents firmly in the majority once again since the 1860′s. 

It was the first Hebrew newspaper in British Mandate Palestine.

For non-Hebrew speakers, “Haaretz” means “The land”. This is important, given what Schocken will claim next. 

Again, it’s worth noting that this statement disproves Palestinian claims about having a nation stretching back to Roman times or beforehand. For it was the Jews who had increased their historic presence here at the turn of the 20th century, eager to revitalise the Hebrew language and its preeminence and thus grow the nascent Jewish nation. 

In its 71 years Israel became a great success, but it is also under a serious threat, not only of (from) Iran but also, and maybe more so, because of its inability to develop a strategy to deal with the occupation in the West Bank and the resulting apartheid situation vis-à-vis the Palestinian population.

And in one fell swoop, Schocken refutes himself. 

Schocken is not anti-Israel. Far from it. He is proud of Haaretz’s history in the Jewish State, and the newspaper urges readers to celebrate Israel’s vibrant democracy. Evidently also, he celebrates Israel’s success as a nation, which counteracts the Palestinian narrative that Israel is a disaster, unsustainable, and a human rights crime. 

Unfortunately, for a combination of reasons, Schocken regurgitates lies against Israel. The source for accusations of “occupation”, the “West Bank”, and “apartheid” do not spring from human rights activists. They come instead from those who hate Israel (and Jews) and wish to replace the world’s only Jewish State with an Arabic State, where Jews are either second-class or nonexistent. 

First of all, what pro-Palestinians call the “West Bank” is not a country. It has no defined borders, just roughly cut sections (Areas A, B, and C). The “West Bank” has no national population, history, or legitimacy. This is because the Jordanians introduced this name for the territory they conquered in 1949. After 18 years of Jordanian brutality, murder, and iconoclasm, Israel finally liberated the eastern half of Jerusalem and with it, the land originally known for millennia as “Judaea and Samaria”. 

As part of the agreement, Israel allowed Jordan control of the Temple Mount, which is registered under the Waqf (guardian of Islamic religious sites). 

1967 mean that Jews were now free to live all throughout the land as was originally the case. Jews have lived in Judaea and Samaria for over 3000 consecutive years. No other extant national group can claim the same lineage. It meant that Jews could freely worship at the Kotel (Western Wall), as was originally the case. For the Jordanians expelled Jews from this region, keeping them at bay with snipers and destroying priceless Jewish artifacts. 

In spite of this, the Israeli government has not declared formal sovereignty over Judaea and Samaria, largely because of the international reaction. The UN will not accept Jerusalem as Israel’s capital and considers Israel’s presence in Judaea and Samaria as illegal. This is a laughable accusation, given that countries are permitted to claim territory during war, particularly that which was stolen by an aggressive enemy, and particularly where the enemy refuses to surrender. 

It’s astonishing that Schocken will mention the Iranian threat (again refuting those who claim that Israel’s fears concerning Iran are an exaggeration or propaganda), but not see the obvious conclusion: Israel is constantly under threat and so is perfectly justified, even without historical precedent, in holding onto Judaea, Samaria, and the Golan Heights. 

In light of this lack of surrender, Israel maintains a military presence in this region and seeks to fortify these claims by close Jewish settlement. This is, contrary to popular condemnation, perfectly legal. Jewish settlement was ratified repeatedly, not least by the Balfour Declaration of 1917, which allowed Jews the right to settle throughout the British Mandate and create a state there. Despite repeated pontification, the UN has never abrogated, let alone revoked these Declarations and Resolutions. They would have no basis on which to do so. 

Jewish settlement does not cover the entirety of this region. Rather, the Oslo negotiations produced mutual agreement that this land be divided into Areas A & B (Palestinian) and Areas C (Israeli). Even so, the majority of this region lies empty, and the majority of Palestinians live under PA control. This segmentation stands in contrast to free Jewish settlement throughout the region before 1949. In the interests of diplomacy and peace, the Israeli government has reduced its claims and proposed plans that would give some or even most (Sharon and Barak) of this land to Palestinian control. 

The Palestinians, under Arafat chiefly, have refused these plans. Schocken’s omission of this crucial fact undermines his message. Even the Saudi Arabian government condemned Yasser Arafat for refusing Israel’s proposed offers, calling it a crime against the Palestinian people. 

Israeli’s continue to face terror attacks from the Palestinians. To help prevent these, Israel has erected fences, checkpoints, and a security wall. International critics decry these measures as apartheid, as they restrict Palestinian movement, and limit Palestinian contact with the Jewish residents of this region. The historical and legal context explained above refutes this accusation. Quite simply, protecting your citizens from terror attacks is a moral imperative. To call these measures apartheid shows gross intellectual dishonesty. 

Even more credulously, Schocken fails to note that Palestinians work alongside Jews in farms, factories, and homes on a regular basis. Pro-Palestinians will attack the checkpoints (there to literally check for terror weapons), but ignore why the Palestinians walk through them in the first place. Economic opportunity under PA control, despite Israeli funding, is scant. Government corruption and embezzlement are rife, and Palestinian dissidents face intimidation, imprisonment, or worse. This makes Palestinian refusals of potential land all the more staggering and hypocritical. 

Schocken should know, or be taught, that there is simply no comparison between Jordanians expelling Jews from Judaea, Samaria, and the eastern half of Jerusalem, and Israel protecting Jewish residents from terror attacks. He has not even mentioned the first case, which constituted apartheid. The Jordanians defaced and destroyed synagogues, and archaeological finds, set up snipers to shoot at Jews on a regular basis, and declared this land to be theirs. 

On the other hand, the Israeli’s reclaimed the eastern half of Jerusalem, which allowed Jews, Christians, and Muslims freedom of movement throughout this area. Furthermore, Israel agreed that Jordan control the Al Aqsa mosque and that Jews may not ascend the Temple Mount. Muslims, however, can pray in those areas. Israel has funded bus services to the Al Aqsa mosque during Ramadan. However, any Jewish presence near the Temple Mount is treated both by Israel and by Jordan as a provocation. Israeli soldiers prevent Jews from praying there. Ariel Sharon’s attempted access caused Palestinian Muslims to riot. 

Both Jews and Arabs live in the eastern half of Jerusalem, and in Judaea and Samaria, along with other ethnic groups. In fact, MK Miri Regev asked last year why the Israeli government was building settlements... for Arab citizens in that region. 

The allegation of apartheid is false. Period. And in repeating this claim, Schocken does violence to the same country that houses his newspaper and over 100 years of history. 

TO BE CONTINUED. 

[ellawritesficssometimes]

I think it goes unsaid that how the nations relate to one another is not only based on their present political relations.

In other words, while they may not be on good terms with each other, these relations don’t define their relationship in whole. There are times where nations get along, and there are times where they will fight frequently and ‘hate’ each other. Point is, the hate doesn’t typically last.

While current relations do cause tensions, their pasts have the most impact on how they view one another. It would therefore be shallow to say that if nation A and nation B grew up together, only to go to war centuries later, that they would unequivocally hate each other and be unable to reconcile. Relationships don’t work like that, and this is especially the case for immortals who have lived several lifetimes.

I’ve stressed this in other posts before, but the nations don’t represent their government. They represent their people – they’re cultural, not political representations. The irony is that they’re forced to serve their government, which may or may not represent their peoples’ best interest. [x] [x]

It is for this reason that even in times of war, nations on opposing sides are shown to be getting along with each other when they’re not on the battlefield.

Ex: America’s occupation of Rome. He doesn’t treat the Italy brothers as enemies, but rather friends.

Ex: England, Russia, and Germany share their military rations with each other.

While humans from other nations may bear present grudges towards each other, this doesn’t always reflect itself in the personification. It’s important to remember that they’re people themselves, and have had more experiences that influence their outlook on life.

That said, what this post will set out to demonstrate is that nations rumoured to canonically hate each other don’t actually. The hatred isn’t deep-set or genuine. It’s more like a rivalry between someone who constantly gets on your nerves…someone who you routinely get into arguments with and can never see eye-to-eye. On the other hand, old war grudges have been shown to heal with time. Although, some take far longer than others.

With all that in mind, let’s go over some of the most common characters that are mistakenly depicted to be in hate-hate relationships. And yes, while this is intended to be ship neutral, all of these examples can be used to counter bashes against your ship.

Russia and America:  

While they may have been on thin ice with each other in the Cold War, their history runs far deeper than that. Unfortunately, we get very minimal insight into American-Imperial Russia relations. The strips only depict Russia’s participation in the American Revolution.

Either way, the two countries don’t hate each other, regardless of how tense their political relations were and still are. They even acknowledge this tension as they spend time with each other in the present. Russia in particular admits to how much America gets on his nerves.

China and Japan: 

Japan’s betrayal in WW2 caused China to develop a strong grudge towards him.

Nonetheless, in recent strips, we do see China attempting to reconcile with Japan through diplomacy.

Hungary and Romania:  

The two are noted to fight like cats and dogs. Each nation depicts each other in a negative historical light. They may have resented each other, and still do from time to time. However, it’s not true, long-lasting hatred.

Ex: Hungary’s somewhat smug reaction to Romania and Bulgaria fighting with each other.

Regardless, they’re still capable of getting along. 

Greece and Turkey: 

The two bicker every time they see each other. 

Comic gags aside, the two still care for each other and are mentioned to be making some grounds in their relationship.

Ex: Turkey’s form of bullying Greece is taking him to a bathhouse and massaging him.

Switzerland and Japan:

Switzerland yells at Japan to be more assertive and voice his opinion. It has nothing to do with hatred. If anything, it’s an aggressive form of encouragement.

Veneziano and Romano: 

Romano suffers from an inferiority complex in comparison to Veneziano, who received most of their grandfather’s attention. As such, he is often very hostile to Veneziano, referring to him as “stupid little brother”, or something similar to that depending on his mood.

However, this is only done to Veneziano’s face. When he’s not around, Romano’s been shown on several occasions to look out for Veneziano.

America and England:

Short story short, the two have been able to reconcile their rocky relations in the years following the Revolution. England’s bitter and scathing nature towards America has softened considerably over the years.

It’s said that England once suffered from one hundred years of heartbreak, presumably a hint to the American Revolution.[x]

Ex: England still goes to America’s centennial celebrations, despite how sick it makes him.

He also offers to fix a crack in the first liberty bell he gave to America, and gives him another one for his bicentennial. 

Ex: The two are close enough to make fun of each other’s politics.  

America and Canada: 

Canada doesn’t hate America. Instead, he hates America’s egocentrism and often calls him out for this.

France and England:  

While these two are notorious for fighting, having their own designated preserve to quarrel in…

…they can get along with each other just as well too.

Ex: France used to be England’s cook.

Ex: England proudly calls on France’s cooking skills again when he opens a butler café.

Ex: A summary of how their relationship’s progressed. 

Prussia and Austria:

The two don’t get along with each other.

However, that doesn’t stop them from spending Christmas together as ‘family.’ Prussia, of course, initially [teasingly] refuses to accept Austria and Hungary as guests.

                                                            ...

Real Hatred – Prussia and Russia:

Albeit the fact that it’s one sided, Prussia’s hatred of Russia is deep. It’s probably one of the only case examples where it’s not a matter of two nations simply not getting along.

Ex: Prussia will cough up blood if Russia touches him. Either that, or he will lose four eyelashes.

With all that in mind, long-lasting hatred between nations is rare in canon. Similarly, while current political relations may have an influence on how nations interact with each other, the influence of the past – on a personal level – is much greater.

[corona-de-vil]

September 9, 2020

This is our President. A liar. A traitor. How many lives have been needlessly lost? Don’t ever let anyone convince you he’s a good man or a good leader. They are delusional, no matter who they are. Remember that girls.

https://apple.news/ARjAaA4_DTBe6cYMAQ67rPg

President Trump’s head popped up during his top-secret intelligence briefing in the Oval Office on Jan. 28 when the discussion turned to the novel coronavirus outbreak in China.

“This will be the biggest national security threat you face in your presidency,” national security adviser Robert O’Brien told Trump, according to a new book by Washington Post associate editor Bob Woodward. “This is going to be the roughest thing you face.”

Matthew Pottinger, the deputy national security adviser, agreed. He told the president that after reaching contacts in China, it was evident that the world faced a health emergency on par with the flu pandemic of 1918, which killed an estimated 50 million people worldwide.

Ten days later, Trump called Woodward and revealed that he thought the situation was far more dire than what he had been saying publicly.

“You just breathe the air and that’s how it’s passed,” Trump said in a Feb. 7 call. “And so that’s a very tricky one. That’s a very delicate one. It’s also more deadly than even your strenuous flu.”

“This is deadly stuff,” the president repeated for emphasis.

At that time, Trump was telling the nation that the virus was no worse than a seasonal flu, predicting it would soon disappear, and insisting that the U.S. government had it totally under control. It would be several weeks before he would publicly acknowledge that the virus was no ordinary flu and that it could be transmitted through the air.

Trump admitted to Woodward on March 19 that he deliberately minimized the danger. “I wanted to always play it down,” the president said.

Aside from exploring Trump’s handling of the pandemic, Woodward’s new book, “Rage,” covers race relations, diplomacy with North Korea and a range of other issues that have arisen during the past two years.

The book also includes brutal assessments of Trump’s conduct from former defense secretary Jim Mattis, former director of national intelligence Daniel Coats and others.

The book is based in part on 18 on-the-record interviews Woodward conducted with the president between December and July. Woodward writes that other quotes in the book were acquired through “deep background” conversations with sources in which information is divulged and exchanges recounted without sources being named.

“Trump never did seem willing to fully mobilize the federal government and continually seemed to push problems off on the states,” Woodward writes. “There was no real management theory of the case or how to organize a massive enterprise to deal with one of the most complex emergencies the United States had ever faced.”

Woodward questioned Trump repeatedly about the national reckoning on racial injustice. On June 3, two days after federal agents forcibly removed peaceful protesters from Lafayette Square to make way for Trump to stage a photo opportunity outside St. John’s Episcopal Church, Trump called Woodward to boast about his “law and order” stance.

“We’re going to get ready to send in the military slash National Guard to some of these poor bastards that don’t know what they’re doing, these poor radical lefts,” Trump said.

In a second conversation, on June 19, Woodward asked the president about White privilege, noting that they were both White men of the same generation who had privileged upbringings. Woodward suggested that they had a responsibility to better “understand the anger and pain” felt by Black Americans.

“No,” Trump replied, his voice described by Woodward as mocking and incredulous. “You really drank the Kool-Aid, didn’t you? Just listen to you. Wow. No, I don’t feel that at all.”

As Woodward pressed Trump to understand the plight of Black Americans after generations of discrimination, inequality and other atrocities, the president kept answering by pointing to economic numbers such as the pre-pandemic unemployment rate for Blacks and claiming, as he often has publicly, that he has done more for Blacks than any president except perhaps Abraham Lincoln.

In another conversation about race, on July 8, Trump complained about his lack of support among Black voters. “I’ve done a tremendous amount for the Black community,” he told Woodward. “And, honestly, I’m not feeling any love.”

They spoke again about race relations on June 22, when Woodward asked Trump whether he thinks there is “systemic or institutional racism in this country.”

“Well, I think there is everywhere,” Trump said. “I think probably less here than most places. Or less here than many places.”

Asked by Woodward whether racism “is here” in the United States in a way that affects people’s lives, Trump replied, “I think it is. And it’s unfortunate. But I think it is.”

Trump shared with Woodward visceral reactions to several prominent Democrats of color. Upon seeing a shot of Sen. Kamala D. Harris of California, now the Democratic vice-presidential nominee, calmly and silently watching him deliver his State of the Union address, Trump remarked, “Hate! See the hate! See the hate!” Trump used the same phrase after an expressionless Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (N.Y.) appeared in the frame

Trump was dismissive about former president Barack Obama and told Woodward he was inclined to refer to him by his first and middle names, “Barack Hussein,” but wouldn’t in his company to be “very nice.”

“I don’t think Obama’s smart,” Trump told Woodward. “I think he’s highly overrated. And I don’t think he’s a great speaker.” Trump added that North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un thought Obama was “an asshole.”

“Rage” includes the first-reported excerpts of letters Trump exchanged with Kim, and quotes Trump in his interviews with Woodward using expletives to defend their pen-pal relationship. Even as U.S. intelligence chiefs warn that North Korea is unlikely to ever surrender its nuclear weapons and that Trump’s approach is ineffective, the president told Woodward he is determined to stay the course and dismissively says the CIA has “no idea” how to handle North Korea.

“I met. Big fucking deal,” Trump told Woodward, waving off criticism of his three face-to-face meetings with Kim. “It takes me two days. I met. I gave up nothing.”

Foreign affairs experts say Trump gave up much — including by postponing and then scaling back the U.S. joint military exercises with South Korea that had long angered North Korea, as well as by granting Kim the international stature and legitimacy the North Korean regime has long craved.

Trump told Woodward he evaluates Kim and his nuclear arsenal like a real estate target: “It’s really like, you know, somebody that’s in love with a house and they just can’t sell it.”

Kim welcomed Trump’s overtures with over-the-top prose in letters. Kim wrote that he wanted “another historic meeting between myself and Your Excellency reminiscent of a scene from a fantasy film.” And he said his meetings with Trump were a “precious memory” that underscored how the “deep and special friendship between us will work as a magical force.”

In another letter, Kim wrote to Trump, “I feel pleased to have formed good ties with such a powerful and preeminent statesman as Your Excellency.” And in yet another, Kim reflected on “that moment of history when I firmly held Your Excellency’s hand at the beautiful and sacred location as the whole world watched with great interest and hope to relive the honor of that day.”

Trump was taken with Kim’s flattery, Woodward writes, telling the author pridefully that Kim had addressed him as “Excellency.” Trump remarked that he was awestruck meeting Kim for the first time in 2018 in Singapore, thinking to himself, “Holy shit,” and finding Kim to be “far beyond smart.” Trump also boasted to Woodward that Kim “tells me everything,” including a graphic account of Kim having his uncle killed.

Trump did not share his letters to Kim — “those are so top secret,” the president said — though Woodward writes that Trump sent Kim a copy of the New York Times featuring a picture of the two men on the front page. “Chairman, great picture of you, big time,” Trump wrote on the paper in marker. (Trump falsely boasted to Woodward, “He never smiled before. I’m the only one he smiles with.”)

Trump reflected on his relationships with authoritarian leaders generally, including Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan. “It’s funny, the relationships I have, the tougher and meaner they are, the better I get along with them,” he told Woodward. “You know? Explain that to me someday, okay?”

In the midst of reflecting upon how close the United States had come in 2017 to war with North Korea, Trump revealed, “I have built a nuclear — a weapons system that nobody’s ever had in this country before. We have stuff that you haven’t even seen or heard about. We have stuff that Putin and Xi have never heard about before. There’s nobody — what we have is incredible.”

Woodward writes that anonymous sources later confirmed that the U.S. military had a secret new weapons system, but they would not provide details, and that the sources were surprised Trump had disclosed it.

The book documents private grumblings, periods of exasperation and wrestling about whether to quit among the so-called adults of the Trump orbit: Mattis, Coats and former secretary of state Rex Tillerson.

Mattis quietly went to Washington National Cathedral to pray about his concern for the nation’s fate under Trump’s command and, according to Woodward, told Coats, “There may come a time when we have to take collective action” since Trump is “dangerous. He’s unfit.”

In a separate conversation recounted by Woodward, Mattis told Coats, “The president has no moral compass,” to which the director of national intelligence replied, “True. To him, a lie is not a lie. It’s just what he thinks. He doesn’t know the difference between the truth and a lie.”

Woodward describes Coats’s experience as especially tortured. Coats, a former senator from Indiana, was recruited into the administration by Vice President Pence, and his wife is quoted as recalling a dinner at the White House when she interacted with Pence.

“I just looked at him, like, how are you stomaching this?” Marsha Coats said, according to Woodward. “I just looked at him like, this is horrible. I mean, we made eye contact. I think he understood. And he just whispered in my ear, ‘Stay the course.’ ”

Pence was the president’s one constant booster publicly and privately in Woodward’s book. When Coats considered resigning because of Trump’s handling of Russia, Pence urged him to “look on the positive side of things that he’s done. More attention on that. You can’t go.”

The loathing was mutual. “Not to mention my fucking generals are a bunch of pussies. They care more about their alliances than they do about trade deals,” Trump told White House trade adviser Peter Navarro at one point, according to Woodward.

Jared Kushner, the president’s son-in-law and senior adviser, is quoted by Woodward as saying, “The most dangerous people around the president are overconfident idiots,” which Woodward interprets as a reference to Mattis, Tillerson and former National Economic Council director Gary Cohn.

Kushner was a frequent target of ire among Trump’s Cabinet members, who saw him as untrustworthy and weak in dealing with heads of states. Tillerson found Kushner’s warm dealings with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu “nauseating to watch. It was stomach churning,” according to Woodward.

Kushner is quoted extensively in the book ruminating about his father-in-law and presidential power. Woodward writes that Kushner advised people that one of the most important guiding texts to understand the Trump presidency was “Alice in Wonderland,” a novel about a young girl who falls through a rabbit hole. He singled out the Cheshire cat, whose strategy was endurance and persistence, not direction.

The book charts the Trump administration’s failings and missteps on the pandemic, including the decisions and actions of Pottinger, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Director Robert Redfield, infectious-disease expert Anthony S. Fauci and others.

Fauci at one point tells others that the president “is on a separate channel” and unfocused in meetings, with “rudderless” leadership, according to Woodward. “His attention span is like a minus number,” Fauci said, according to Woodward. “His sole purpose is to get reelected.”

In one Oval Office meeting recounted by Woodward, after Trump had made false statements in a news briefing, Fauci said in front of him: “We can’t let the president be out there being vulnerable, saying something that’s going to come back and bite him.” Pence, Kushner, chief of staff Mark Meadows and senior policy adviser Stephen Miller tensed up at once, Woodward writes, surprised Fauci would talk to Trump that way.

Woodward describes Fauci as particularly disappointed in Kushner for talking like a cheerleader as if everything was great. In June, as the virus was spreading wildly coast to coast and case numbers soared in Arizona, Florida, Texas and other states, Kushner said of Trump, “The goal is to get his head from governing to campaigning.”

Woodward writes that Sen. Lindsey O. Graham (R-S.C.) suggested former president George W. Bush speak personally with Trump about global vaccine efforts, but that Bush demurred.

“No. No,” Bush told Graham, according to Woodward. “He’d misconstrue anything I said.”

In their final interview, on July 21, Trump vented to Woodward, “The virus has nothing to do with me. It’s not my fault.”

Robert Costa is a national political reporter for The Washington Post. He covers the White House, Congress, and campaigns. He joined The Post in January 2014. He is also the moderator of PBS's "Washington Week" and a political analyst for NBC News and MSNBC.

Philip Rucker is the White House Bureau Chief for The Washington Post. He joined The Post in 2005 and previously has covered Congress, the Obama White House, and the 2012 and 2016 presidential campaigns. Rucker also is co-author of "A Very Stable Genius," a No. 1 New York Times bestseller, and is a Political Analyst for NBC News and MSNBC.

Democracy Dies in Darkness

© 1996-2020 The Washington Post

[rebuildhq]

Jordan Calloway || Noh-Varr || Marvel Boy || Young Avengers (formerly) || Identity: Secret || 24 || Cismale || Hala, Kree Empire || Adventurer / Delinquent / Superhero || Unregistered || PLAYED BY ALICIA 

biography:

Born to Captain Glory and Star Splendor, Kree warriors dedicated to peacekeeping, Noh-Varr was dedicated to following in his parents’ footsteps. He spent years training with the Kree soldiers. Before going into service, he was required to have his DNA spliced with a cockroach, which gave him complete control of his body among various other powers. Once he was deemed fit for service, Noh-Varr joined the 18th Kree Diplomatic Gestalt alongside his parents. A peacekeeping division of the army, they were in charge of ensuring diplomacy with the Kree and other alien races across the galaxy.

Content with the service Noh-Varr was providing to the Kree Empire, he was beginning to get cocky, never foreseeing any problems. The galaxy respected the Kree, they were aware of their strength, but unfortunately, a run-in with Astro Gods proved him wrong. Forced to retreat, the Marvel was shot down by Dr. Midas, a scientist obsessed with obtaining superpowers. The crash killed Noh-Varr’s parents and his girlfriend, but miraculously, he survived and was captured by Dr. Midas. Within a day, Noh-Varr was using his enhanced powers against the scientist, and in Noh-Varr’s fury, he set out against Earth on a quest for revenge.

Furious and grieving, he began destroying entire city blocks in New York, damaging buildings with little regard for citizens. SHIELD was immediately alerted to Noh-Varr’s presence and after a short battle, Noh-Varr ended up victorious. Unfortunately, this attracted Dr. Midas’s attention once more, and he sent his daughter after him. She ended up successful, and after a violent interrogation, he declared an all out war on the human race, believing humans to be a disturbed group of people.

Once again, he broke out of Dr. Midas’s lab, this time ensuring the man could no longer pursue him. His destruction across Earth was expansive, but SHIELD surrounded the Marvel, and managed to capture Noh-Varr. Imprisoned, many agents attempted to change his mind, promising freedom if he ended his quest for revenge. Stubbornly, Noh-Varr refused, thinking back to the awful things he had experienced and his loved ones deaths.

After months of incarceration, the Director of SHIELD offered Noh-Varr a deal, saying he could work alongside the agents and solo if he refrained from harming humanity. Bored and angry, Noh-Varr begrudgingly agreed, and began working under SHIELD’s direction. He was monitored very closely by the agents they paired him with, always ones capable of stopping him if necessary. Bitter, he hated following orders, but it was far closer to what he was used to as a member of the Kree’s army.

The freedom offered to Noh-Varr by SHIELD showed him proved that there was a far different side to humanity than what Noh-Varr previously realized, and that the culture was really quite beautiful. Music in particular struck a chord with him, and without realizing it, he began falling in love with Earth. He witnessed humans fighting bitterly against oppressive governments, like he wished the Kree would as a young boy, and he observed as they applauded their heroes, including Marvel Boy, a moniker given to him by SHIELD.

The collapse of SHIELD once again shook his entire world, forcing him to leave, and he established a satellite base in orbit which lead him to Kate Bishop and the Young Avengers. Without hesitation, he joined their ranks, and with renewed purpose, vowed to defend Earth from any threats. Despite being conflicted, working closely with his team made Noh-Varr fall even more in love with Earth. Kinship had always been what he craved most, and the more he learned about Earth, the more he realized he could explore, experience, and protect, like he vowed to do on Hela, a place that no longer had anything left to offer him.

Unfortunately, the Young Avengers disbanded, but Noh-Varr continued fighting for the liberty of all humans. He was steadfast against the Accords, protecting everyone he could from the Panel’s rabid Strike Force. As the Skrulls invaded, an enemy he had always had, he fiercely fought against them as well. Noh-Varr had exactly two purposes: discovering humanity’s culture and fighting against any inequality he could find. Truthfully, he was proud of his accomplishments, using the skills he developed in the Kree army. (And DJing on the side, of course).

Dedicated to saving Earth always and forever, when Noh-Varr learned about the Inhumans’ quest to rebuild, a people that he had always respected, he dedicated himself into the Royal Family��s service, defending the Inhumans and attempting to rebuild Attilan. Never one to only dabble in one thing, Noh-Varr continues defending the city as Marvel Boy, and he eagerly awaits the day he can reunite with his old team, the Young Avengers.

[trikkidetroit]

The guilty can live in a delusion that nobody knows what is going on at the “haunted house” at 25255 Briarwyke Drive. But a world wide government-backed I.T. syndicate connected by an underground network of computers will continue to transmit the data received by myself until the news is above ground. This is not just the biggest breach of national security in all of history, but also the biggest breach of cyber security, medical industry security, and the biggest threat to humanity ever, everything from HIPPA violations to false diagnoses for patients (that way if they kill you they can just threaten the doctor and the saying that you had cancer - “two weeks” to “two years to live” was a good indicator that Thompson or someone in his cult of heretics wanted you gone. His cult of heretics who commit genocide and laugh in your face as you are dying while begging God for mercy (bc the heretics show you no mercy) - only people that evil would be soulless enough to weaponize the medical industry against people that spoke out against them. Though Thompson wanted to leave us all distrustful with bad tastes in our mouth about our fellow man, I have faith in my fellow man and our humanity, and our ability to differentiate between right and wrong, to know when justice is necessary (even if the possibility of restoring truth and justice seems unattainable) and to be innovative with all creative ways in which two imperative societal and moral foundations like truth and justice can be restored peacefully, through art (albeit through music or visual representations of the truth in this story), or advancements in information technology that allowed us all to stay so connected in a way that we’ve never been connected before. We should have the utmost gratitude for people who are innovators in technology: the fact that I can join a Facebook group, or follow people on Instagram that are fighting for this cause of peace on earth in a time of mass genocide via Satanists and the plagues they unleashed, so even if I’m segregated from my friends around town by Thompson’s kin (because the Thompson family had that much power around town and nobody knew the Thompson youth were related in some cases because their last names were totally different (even if they all came from the same man remember - Tom, Jerry, and Alfred are triplets and they each received a different last name by Thompson: Homeier , Rancour, & Wood(s) - they all had different last names he came up with from somewhere bc he knew he was creating an organized crime sect using his children as weapons of mass destruction and had to find a way to maintain anonymity for nefarious purposes. He had that much power around town to scare my friends into distancing themselves for me due to the fact that I was his main target and I didn’t even know who he was or why are you Colton serial killers would be killing my friends and family and people in the music industry who were watching the situation very closely and listening to Angels as they wrote the lyrics to the songs to help tell both sides of this story - my side of the story which represents humanity, unity, virtue, peace and GOD, - to the other side of the story which represents the anti-humanity, deceit, blasphemy and merciless violence.

This story is the biggest news story worldwide right now and it’s blacked out by the American media, so each day I find the strength to get up and make it through another day knowing I have support all around the world, knowing I still have a worldwide network of people that’s all watching letting me know daily that they’re here, and that networks is growing and each day a new person knows the truth, and for all the people who already knew the truth and have seen the horrors that Thompson is capable of, they learn more about the story alongside me as I fight through all the lies and chaos in search of ultimate truth behind each and every victims story, for all the people take the time out of their day to observe this situation because they understand the detriment of this heresy stopping so future generations can grow up free and valuing God and all of his miracles he creates for us on earth: Families and friends that we enjoy the company of, supplies to build and create whatever we need to survive and grow together, so much different food so much scenery, so many creatures and plant life, so much beauty all for us because God had a vision for humanity, and a plan for each and every one of us (provided that we put our faith and trust in God and don’t try to take matters into our own hands by concealing his existence and miracles and also concealing the fact that our Guardian Angels (deceased Family and friends and people that did right by God) are always with us, and that demons exist on a lower dimensional plane.... also they concealed that they could control the demons and angels and bring us so close to a literal hell on earth before most people even knew what was going on because they did such a terrifying job of concealing the truth over 100 years: we cannot let one family that just doesn’t get how important the gift of life is to ruin it for everybody.

I am so grateful to know that my fellow man understands the severity of the situation as do I, as they understand how to go about any means to make sure justice is served to the guilty without resorting to their levels of violence, fear aggression, and slander. We must pray for these unfortunate people that decided that they wanted to be our enemy, and resorted to an unfathomable level of violence rather than see the truth: that God supplies more to you in life when you are on your Creator’s side: he loves us so much, what excuse can you give for not loving him? When you are operating from a place of pure intent, with God on your side, not only do you reap the benefits of what you sow, and not only are you rewarded with the gift of eternal life, but you are filled with gratitude for what you receive in life, you appreciate people and you see the good in people around you and make the world a better place for us all, you can you live with civility and honor, good towards your fellow man comes naturally, and if you happen to be faced with a very serious situation that puts the fate of a lot of people in your hands, because of the fact that you have such a respect for life and care so much about others wellbeing, you can approach the most difficult & seemingly unsolvable situation with diplomacy rather than ego, when you see the value in others, everybody sees your value as well. I was basically given a puzzle with a lot of pieces missing and I had to go search for pieces while being beaten to the brink of death some days by invisible enemies with psychotic voices, circling me like hungry sharks all day and night, and tie it all together while maintaining the strength to speak even if I was beaten worse for doing so, or else many more people would’ve died. I could not have done this if I operated like one of the Thompson heretics, (whose last names are not actually Thompson in the majority of their members).

These heretics that were stealing people’s lives from them were also stealing money from the federal reserve (because they incited that much fear in the hearts of everybody-even at the highest levels of government) they could own thousands of properties and have all sorts of money stockpiled away, if they would have no appreciation or respect for one material possession that they acquired: they have no respect for humanity & have no respect for how hard people work to make our world a better place, all they are is take, and take, and take: take things that can be replaced monetarily, and, most painful of all, take things that cannot be replaced, and destroy people’s delicate balance of life due to their poisonous life choices - forcing people into isolation and fear like a virus in there souls. And they die with hate in their hearts and no God in their souls.

We must rage against the dying of the light. So many people are ready to tell their stories as well: I am not the only one. We cannot cover this up and expect to heal. It’s just a matter of God taking power back into his hands and the hands of his Angels here to do God’s work, not cover up the dirt of mortal men (who believe they control the nether dimensions known as hell) by living in bodies of these mortal men and women as they float about on earth and commit more chaos and crimes against humanity.

[awed-frog]

Hi, I wanted to ask you about Catalonia because I just don't understand what is happening - are they going to be independent or not? Thank you!!

Hi there! Well - that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? And I’ve been trying to keep up with the papers and the speeches and whatever else, but nobody really seems to know what’s going to happen next - not even Catalans themselves.

The problem is, of course, that there’s no easy way of breaking away from another country. We’ve seen a couple of cases in Europe were things have gone smoothly - for instance, Slovenia seceding from Yugoslavia, Slovakia becoming its own country, or Jura in Switzerland deciding to separate from Bern, but the ugly truth is that way more often than not, these processes are messy, complex and nearly always bloody. If we look at the situation in Spain right now - well, it’s a mess, and there is a lot of tension on both sides. Many Catalans who were against independence are horrified at how violent repression was, and many Spanish resent the fact Catalonia wants to be independent - some are even glad hundreds of people were hurt on Sunday and are prepared to defend their police force all the way - and this is also the position of the Spanish government, which, in an unsurprising twist, is now trying to claim their SWAT units did nothing wrong at all. And there is where you see it - Rajoy is hoping a majority of Spanish voters hate Catalans enough that he’ll be able to get away with the whole thing, and, well - basing your decisions on people’s worst instincts is always a shitty way of doing politics.

So, what we’re facing is - on one side, a Catalan government which has a very shaky moral ground but is not strong enough to do much (the referendum was made possible by some very controversial legislation, it was held in problematic circumstances and only 42% of Catalans turned up to vote) and on the other a Spanish government headed by a complete idiot who basically created this whole mess out of sheer lack of sense - political or otherwise. Now, in a normal country, there would be a head of state whose job is precisely to try and diffuse this sort of tensions, but Spain is a monarchy - meaning that formally, the head of state is a king - also, as luck would have it, possibly the worst king Europe’s got, and someone who’s got no moral authority whatsoever, since half his family’s been embroiled in all sort of scandals (and I’m talking the ‘stealing money’ kind, because I don’t give a damn about people sleeping around). Plus, well - the PP is likely to stick together and pursue these ‘to the cliff, gents!’ tactics to the bitter end, but the other Spanish parties are likely to start arguing about this issue, and I’m very worried about the left here, because this is what the left generally does - it splits up into smaller and smaller parties every time something happens until it’s mathematically impossible for anyone to be elected anywhere.

As to what will happen next - what usually happens is that if you want to be independent, step 1 of the road map is other countries recognizing you as an independent nation, and that’s a tricky process that’s got nothing to do with how good your argument is and everything to do with how hated your opponents are. Like, that’s 99% of the reason Kosovo became independent - because nobody liked Serbia, and the fact Russia supported Serbia meant an even easier decision for a lot of countries. In this case, well - no one is going to recognize an independent Catalonia. No way. Spain is an important member of the EU and is not squabbling with anyone, which means everyone will be on their side no matter how much of a pig Rajoy is being. Outside Europe, Russia could recognize Catalonia just to stir up trouble, and as for the UN - the UN is in a tricky position because Catalonia is sort of acting within international right, but in these conditions there will be no rush to recognize its independence any time soon. This means that, in theory, if the Catalan government goes ahead and officially declares the region independent, not only will it have no support whatsoever, but they will risk economic sanctions - for instance, Italy or France may punish any of their own citizens who do business with Catalonia. 

(The problem with that, of course, would be that imposing sanctions on Catalonia would also hurt the Spanish economy, since they’re still the same country in any way that matters, which is why I doubt it will come to that.)

No, the only solution here is to soft power the shit out of this thing - Spain should listen to what Catalonia has to say, negotiate more autonomy where they can, bribe them with something else where they can’t, and do their best to redirect voters towards more suitable parties - this is a reasonable strategy, and it works: when Zapatero was head of the government, support for an independent Catalonia was as low as 15%. Unfortunately, Rajoy is a proud idiot leading a very weak government, and he’s already proven diplomacy’s not his middle name, so - I truly don’t know what to think. If this had been going on ten years ago, I would have assumed the situation would deescalate on its own, because, come on - but now, everything is such a mess, people are getting weirder and weirder, we’ve seen the election Donald Trump - Brexit - I think that surreal is the new normal or something, which means it’s harder to predict anything these days. 

What’s sure is that this is a big crisis for the entire continent - tet’s just hope everything works out okay.