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thedistrictsleepsalonetonight · 4 years ago

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Always (or Dani, the collector of souls falls in love and Miles keeps passing out during the entire story)

If you were, hypothetically, of course, to visit a place in England called Bly Manor, you would most likely meet an odd group of people. You would see two children, one an absolute angel, the other a teenage, snarky brat of a boy, who are probably being supervised by a stern, yet extremely capable looking woman. You would probably be shown around the house by the sweetest housekeeper in the world, probably be offered lemon cakes by a tall man who looks at the aforementioned housekeeper with all the stars in his eyes. And maybe, just maybe in the middle of it all, you might glance outside and see a woman standing by herself in the garden. At first you would think she’s just moving casually, maybe dancing on her own; and then you would see that her movement has a pattern. It almost seems as though.... no, it couldn’t be.

“Is that woman,” you would ask, hesitantly, not wishing to offend these people and some potential strange ritual of theirs, “talking to herself?”

The housekeeper (Hannah, you think she’s called) glances outside and chuckles. “Oh, that,” she says. “That’s just Jamie. Jaime’s the gardener. She’s just talking to her girlfriend.”

You would resist the urge to rub at your eyes. “Her.... her girlfriend?”

“Well, technically Dani hasn’t asked her yet,” the cook cuts in, smiling. “But it’s on the way, I assure you.”

You would look from the strange, solitary woman, to their frank, open faces, and then back to the solitary woman again, and you would think.

You would think Why, these people are absolutely fucking bonkers.

*****

(They’re really not)

*****

The first time Jamie saw the woman, it was from across the grounds, which is why it took her crossing halfway the distance to realize that she was breakdancing.

Then again, she had also got other things on her mind. Peter Fucking Quint had to go and fall off the parapet while attempting to rob the Wingraves of their old jewelry the night before last, and between helping Hannah communicate with the police, ensuring Owen received an adequate number of head pats every hour to calm him down, and offering Rebecca a listening ear for both murderous rants and angry tears, she had her hands completely full. And that wasn’t even including the kids, although they seemed to be doing fairly alright. Thankfully they had not seen the body. However, that didn’t deter Miles, who was currently going through a bit of a Hannibal phase, from popping up at random intervals to ask her what broken bones looked like, or if the blood had frozen overnight.

All in all, pretty exhausting.

Which is why the sight of the children standing in front of a breakdancing woman didn’t register at first. She was pulling out the weeds, sun high in the sky, sweat tracing an uncomfortable path down her back when something made her look up. One double take, and she was scrambling in their direction.

She reached them, panting, raised her head after her breath was a little more even and looked right at the woman, who was currently doing the robot. “Um,” she started, unsure of where to go from there. “Are — are you quite alright?”

The woman stopped abruptly, her mouth falling open. “You can see me?”

Okay, this woman was clearly mental. “Yes?”

The woman looked even more astounded. “You really can?” she turned to Flora next. “You too?”

Flora blinked. “Yes, we can.”

“But that’s impossible! You shouldn’t be able to see me. In fact—”

“Jaime, darling,” Miles cut in the middle of what seemed to be the beginning of a rapidly delivered monologue. “Could you escort this.... clearly insane lady outside?”

Jaime thwack-ed the side of his head gently. “Wanna try that again? Nicely?”

He looked sheepish. Not really a bad kid, that one, she thought. Just annoying.

“But you really shouldn’t be able to see me. By all calculations, it’s completely—”

“Well, why not?” Miles asked, now having warmed to the idea of possibly talking to someone who was crazy.

The woman brightened up. “Well, because,” she said, “this, I guess.”

And then she snapped her fingers, disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the lake, where she waved at them excitedly.

Flora is the only one who waved back. Jamie was too busy supporting the weight of a now-collapsed Miles.

*****

Jamie thought it was patently unfair that the reaper of souls was just so damn cute.

(They weren’t supposed to be cute! They were supposed to look gaunt and hollow, and angry and sad, not like sunshine wrapped up in a very human looking package. They weren’t supposed to be walking around with bright, blue, gorgeous eyes, and faces that seemed to have been sculpted by some divine power up there, and a voice that was sweet and soothing enough to put Jamie right to sleep.)

“It’s amazing how all of you can see me,” the reaper of souls, or Dani, as she had introduced herself, said, looking wide-eyed at all of them. Rebecca and a recently awakened Miles were the only ones who looked actively concerned, standing in the corner. Owen and Hannah were, as ever, polite and pleasant, if a little curious. Flora was already settled in next to Dani, asking her questions a mile a minute. And Jamie was—

(Very fucking annoyed at how pretty Dani was)

—completely alright.

“And you’re here to get Peter?” Owen asked her, with a sideways look in Rebecca’s direction.

“Oh yes,” Dani replied. “And boy, was that man a pain. Really whiny. Went all Boohoo I can’t be dead, I’m supposed to do so many things, I’m so cool and awesome and. Ugh. Annoying is what he was. I mean, the list says Peter Quint — died while trying to steal from Bly Manor; what am I supposed to do?”

They all nodded, a little dazed.

“And then I saw the kids and I was bored and I thought they couldn’t see me anyways so,” she continued, and then looked down, suddenly a little shy. “I really am sorry about the.... you know, breakdancing. I honestly thought nobody could see me.”

“It’s okay, it was cute,” Jamie found herself saying before she had time to process, and then wanted to stab herself with the fork lying on the table. If that didn’t work, bang her head on the surface until she bled to death. Or—

“Thank you,” Dani said, equally as quiet.

Jamie closed her eyes, willed her body to fall dead right then and there.

(It didn't work, unfortunately)

“Would you like to stay for supper?” he heard Owen ask their guest.

“Supper?” Dani asked. “Wait, is it already that late?”

Jamie looked up a moment later, when she heard everybody scream and then she opened her eyes to see a stranger standing right near the stove.

“Viola!” Dani said, alarmed. “I thought I sent a message I was gonna be late.”

The woman looked very haughty, very angry and (this is something she hated to admit, again, but) very fucking hot. Seriously. What was with these underworld people and ridiculously angelic skin? Her gaze moved past all of them, came to rest on Dani.

“I got your message alright,” she announced, blithely. “Just couldn’t figure out why you were still here.”

Dani chuckled, nervously. “So, funny story, but as it turns out — these people can — uh, see us?”

Viola tilted her head, regarded her. “Are you sure?”

“Hello,” Hannah said, ever the gracious host. “Welcome to Bly Manor.”

Viola looked flabbergasted now, doing a double take to look at all of them more carefully.

“They can see us?”

Dani nodded, gingerly.

“Seriously?”

Another nod.

“But that can’t be—”

“—Viola, I know, but—”

“—it simply cannot be allowed—”

“—absolutely not I know what you’re thinki—”

“—We have to end them!”

There was another whoosh right next to Jamie’s ear, and she took her time, turning around, only to see another pissed-off, hot woman, standing in the kitchen, her arms crossed.

“I didn’t even say kill!” Viola protested.

“You implied it!”

Their standoff was interrupted by a violent, abrupt thud. It seemed Miles had fainted again.

*****

Jamie walked into the greenhouse, paused and smiled.

“You cannot surprise me,” she said, aloud.

There was movement behind her, and then Dani walked into view.

“How do you always know I’m here?”

Jamie stayed quiet. There wasn’t a good, less-embarrassing way to say The air dances when you’re around, or I can feel your presence in the back of my neck, in the way my heart starts skipping steps on whatever treadmill it is currently running on.

“Let me keep my secrets,” she answered.

Dani stayed beside her, as she started on the rose plants, a safe distance away, safe enough for Jamie to not feel like she would combust. “I got you something.”

“You’ve already given me so many things,” Jamie told her, hand rubbing at the back of her neck. It was true. Every time Dani had dropped in the past month, she’d brought little trinkets from her travels all over the world.

(Travels was an excellent way of describing the action of harvesting the grumpy souls of the dead)

One time there had been crepes from Paris, courtesy the tourist guide who passed of a heart attack in a café. Another time it was one of Cerberus’ treats, because Jamie was eternally curious as to what hell dogs actually ate. The bone had been framed and now lay on one of her shelves back at home. One day, she had gotten macarons that Owen had scarfed down before Dani could get around to telling him they were filled with the eternal cries of the dead.

(He’d spent the entire day walking around convinced he was going to die. The doctor said it was indigestion)

She opened the neatly wrapped box and picked up the pomegranate. Turned it around in her hand, examined it.

“Aren’t these supposed to tie me down to the Underworld forever?” she asked, only half-serious.

“Gosh, no,” Dani said, nervously chuckling. “These are not that kind.”

Jamie waited.

“Um, so these,” Dani went on, “these seeds are kind of multi-purpose things? So basically you can eat them, but these seeds, when planted, they can grow any plant in the world. Doesn’t matter what soil they’re on. I mean, I heard you mention that flower you’ve always wanted to grow, but England doesn’t have the climate suited to it and — well. This would work.”

If Jamie could speak, this is what she would have said: I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t know why you’re here, why you give me so much of your precious time, time that you could be walking around the whole world in. I don’t know what to do with myself when I’m around me, how to breathe, how to look, and I’m an utter godforsaken mess, but I’m eternally grateful you barged into our lives a while ago. I don’t know what I was doing before you came. I hope you never leave.

She would have said I know you collect souls, but there’s at least one heart lying in that bag of yours, and there’s a good chance it’s mine.

As it is, all she did was grab onto Dani’s hand, and squeeze.

*****

“You have got to stop doing that!” Owen gasped, hand on his heart.

Dani shrugged from on where she was now perched on top of the table, sitting directly in front of an open-mouthed Miles. “Hannah always knows when I’m here.”

“That’s because I really do have eyes everywhere,” Hannah turned around, smiled brightly at Dani. “Spaghetti?”

“I’ve been asking you for the past five minutes!” Jamie said, indignantly.

“Well, now we know who’s her favorite,” Dani shoots an infuriatingly smug grin in her direction, and pats the top of her head and—

Jamie would feel annoyed if her heart wasn’t racing and there wasn’t a blush fighting to make its way up her cheeks. This love thing was annoying.

(Not that it was love, of course. Certainly not)

“As charming as that sounds, Hannah darling,” Dani continued, “I actually came for a purpose.”

“Is it to set murderers on us again?”

“No, Miles,” Dani replied, patiently. “Plus, Viola and Perdita wouldn’t really have.... killed you. Maimed you, at best.”

Rebecca shuddered delicately on the other side of the table.

“Remember when you said you’d had a bit of a dinosaur phase when you were a kid?” Dani directed this towards Jamie.

“... yes?”

“Well,” Dani snapped her fingers, and to their extreme horror, a parrot sized creature appeared next to her, “meet Battery!”

“—completely house trained,” she heard Dani explaining to Hannah, while she extended a hand towards (what was he called? Right) Battery. He opened his mouth, stepped closer, licked the entire length of her finger with a long, slimy tongue, and then immediately nipped at her nail.

(Jamie may or may not be helplessly charmed)

Before she could say anything, however, Miles fell from his chair onto the kitchen floor.

Rebecca sighed, got up from her chair. “You guys know there’s going to be permanent brain damage if he keeps doing that.”

*****

About three things went wrong the day Jamie decided she was finally going to tell Dani she was in love with her.

The first thing was that she needed to get drunk, and decided to trust Owen and Hannah to deliver. The second was that Battery wasn’t adequately educated in the intricacies of human weirdness and tended to panic at the first sign of strange behavior. Third, lakes weren’t the most romantic places to confess your love, but apparently nobody had told Jamie this.

So when she found herself flailing for breath after having somehow made her way to the middle of the lake in a makeshift lifeboat and then having upturned it in the process, she only had herself to blame.

“What,” Dani started, looking absolutely furious, hair all over the place as she held Jamie up, “the fuck were you doing in the middle of the lake?”

“Hey!” Jamie sang, because the alcohol was making her feel very sing-song-y, “You shouldn’t be here yet! It’s not time!”

“Battery panicked and summoned me,” Dani explained. “Are — are you drunk?”

“No, she’s not!” Hannah called out from where she and Owen had just reached the lake. “We gave her loads of strong bitter soda and convinced her it was watered down whiskey.”

(Now that she was thinking about it, the whiskey had seemed pretty fizzy for her liking)

“Oh,” she Jamie, now sobered up. “But I was drowning.”

“Yeah, in about five feet of water.”

Well, that was anticlimactic.

*****

At midnight, she sat by the lake, covered in a warm, fuzzy blanket Dani had draped all over her. Dani sat beside her, Battery on her lap, smiling at her from time to time.

“You’re such an idiot,” she said, out of nowhere, and Jamie didn’t have the heart to disagree. “What am I even going to do with you?”

“You could,” Jamie started, ponderously, like she hadn’t spent three months of her life thinking this over, like her heart wasn’t an over-excited ping-pong in her chest right now, “you could always take me out on a date, you know?”

“Really?” Dani murmured. “Well, that’s a novel idea.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Depends. Would you be okay dating someone who is almost constantly grumpy from carrying around beleaguered souls all day?”

Jamie pretended to think. “I think so, yes.”

“Someone who regularly hangs out with a murder-friendly woman?”

“.... maybe?”

“How about someone who may have to keep going away for lengths of time?”

Jamie turned to her. “Would that someone come back to me, though?”

Dani’s eyes were shiny and hopeful, and she felt her breath get stuck in her throat like a lovesick little fool. “Always,” Dani whispered.

“Well, then,” Jamie whispered back to her, and then leaned in for the most picture-perfect happy ending of all time.

#the haunting of bly manor #thobm #thobm fanfic #this is a completely crazy au i have no idea where i got the idea from but yeah #basically me not being able to accept that rebecca and hannah and dani died so yeah #some more family feels #but also grim reapers???????#as always #no editing we die like dani clayton #happy reading y'all #dani x jamie #fanfiction

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spidernerdsblog · 5 years ago

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I Forgot That You Existed : Chapter Five

A/N: Chapter five is here. The pent up tension between our ex-lovers is getting too much for them to handle. As things get heated up they give in to their feelings momentarily. Are they gonna regret it? Or will this reignite their love giving a new dynamic to their relationship? Y/N has been hiding a secret will she reveal it? What implication will its revelation bring in their lives? I hope you like this chapter. Feedbacks and suggestions are always welcome. Let me know what do you think Y/N has been hiding.

Pairing : Tom Holland × Singer reader

Summary : It's been more than five years since you and Tom have gone their own ways after a heartbreaking breakup which had left both of you shattered. Both of you thought that you were finally over with each other and were happy in your respective lives until you meet again at a reunion trip planned by your best friend and you realize you are still not done with each other.

Warnings : fluff, making out.

Mini Playlist : Bad Blood by Taylor Swift, Cheap Thrills by Sia, Break My Heart by Dua Lipa

Tom and El breathing heavily. Tom rolled over to the side placing his hands below his head staring at the ceiling. El scooched into him, placing her hand on his bare chest.

“That was amazing.” El said, letting out a deep breath.

“Hmmm” Tom hummed.

Loud laughter and giggles were heard from your room. As you and Z were literally screaming at the top of your voice singing.

'Cause, baby, now we've got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause, baby, now we've got bad blood, hey! Now we've got problems And I don't think we can solve 'em You made a really deep cut And, baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!

“They are really close aren't they?”

“Yeah they are soul sisters." he chuckled. "Surprisingly Y/N has been with us since childhood but Z seems to know her more than any of us in such a short time.”

“Because we girls understand each other very well mister. There are some things guys will never understand”

“So you are trying to tell me that I don’t understand you”

“I didn’t say that dummy” El laughed lightly slapping on his chest

Tom and El were startled by a loud thud as if someone fell on the floor as they heard you groaning loudly

"Owww!!! My ass!!" you groaned going into fits of laughter. You and Zendaya were pillow fighting as you lost balance and fell.

“You deserve that bitch” Zendaya giggled.

El smiled listening to your banters “Someone is way too excited and happy” she chuckled.

“You know I think they are perfect” looking up to Tom

“Who?”

“Steve and Y/N, they make a perfect couple. She should consider this relationship.”

“I think it's too early to comprehend darling as much as I know her Steve isn’t her type”

“Why not? I mean their personalities complement each other so well; it will in a way benefit both of them professionally too. She is a world class singer and he is such a skilful event manager if they work it out and get married in future you know what I mean.

“Maybe”

Tom turned to his side, his back facing El. He frowned at the thought of seeing you with someone else. But then El's words struck him, he thought what if that guy was trying to befriend you just for his professional gains. He felt he needed to protect you from another heartbreak. He decided in his mind to talk to you about this tomorrow.

You were all having breakfast. Steve had called you saying he will come to pick you at 9. You chose to wear a cute top with your shorts.

“You look cute in that top Y/N” El complimented

“Thanks El”

“Any special reason?” El danced her eyebrows

“Oh nothing” you shrugged.

“I know, Stevey boy is coming to pick her up” Chloe chirped

“Oh shut up” you blushed.

You went to put your plate in the kitchen sink. Tom was already in there. He thought this is the right time to talk to you.

“Umm Y/N I need to talk to you about something”

“Yeah what is it?”

“I think you should keep your distance from that guy. I mean Steve”

“Umm okay I'll give it a thought. But any reason why should I be away?”

“Because I said so.”

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” You smirked, raising an eyebrow. Tom scoffed

“Listen Y/N I’m serious. I..I’m just trying to protect you okay”

“I’m not a baby Tom. I can take care of myself but thanks for your concern”

“Look who is here Mr. Johnson” you heard Ed and ran out to meet Steve.

“ Heyyy you.. you look ...pretty” Steve fumbled

“Thanks. You blushed tucking your hair behind your ear. “let's go then”

“Yeah, after you.”

You buckled the extra helmet Steve brought for you and sat down behind him on the bike. He started his bike and pulled the clutch to shift the gear you jolted into him clutching his broad shoulders tightly.

“You did that intentionally didn't you?” narrowing your eyes.

“You weren’t holding on to me tightly darling” Steve gave you a cheesy smile. You rolled your eyes.

You reached the spot in around 20 minutes. Steve led you to the stage.

“Okay so this is your stage rockstar. Whatever you require just tell me I’ll arrange everything”

You slipped your guitar strap around your shoulder as you started rehearsing the chords.

“You know you should start with look what you made me do. That's really a badass song and maybe finish with something soft and romantic. It will be even better if you give a sneak peek of your upcoming album by performing a new song.” Steve suggested

“That’s actually a great idea Steve! Thanks” You continued rehearsing and completely lost track of time. Suddenly you felt a pair of hands around your hips. You smiled. Steve placed his chin on the crook of your neck.

“Hey beautiful! Are you hungry?”

“Yeah a little” you nodded

“Let’s go and grab some lunch then”

“So should I take this as a simple lunch or an official date?” you smirked

“A lunch date maybe” he shrugged with a toothy grin

Back at the house everybody was having lunch.

“Excuse me guys” El ran to the bathroom feeling nauseous and she threw up. Tom ran to her aid. He came out with her carrying her to their room. Everybody was worried.

You were seated at a nearby restaurant. You both were having a good time eating and chatting; your phone dinged the screen flashed Zendaya’s name.

Come back immediately. It’s urgent

“I’m sorry I gotta go something urgent has come up” you got up from your seat apologizing to Steve

“That’s fine love. I’ll drop you” Steve got up too as he took you home.

You reached home around noon. Zendaya had texted you about what had happened. Everyone was sitting in the living room as you entered.

“How is she?” you asked

“She's fine.. taking rest” Sam stated

“So is she pregnant or something?”

“Y/N?!’’ Zendaya elbowed you looking at you with wide eyes.

“What?! I'm serious; the symptoms you told are either indigestion or pregnancy. And please don't tell me that they aren't sexually active because we got the sneak peek yesterday itself."

“This isn't a joke Y/N” Tom said sternly

“I'm not joking Tom I will never joke on such a serious topic because I'm very well aware of the implications it brings to a person's life.”

Zendaya grabbed your hand and shook her head violently, panic in her eyes to stop you from talking further. You understood what she was trying to say and tried to cover up

“And.. anyways you two are getting married it’s nothing to freak out. I would still recommend her to take the test.”

“It's okay Y/N. I had my period plus I’m on pills so nothing to worry. It was actually indigestion. Sea food really does not suit me. But I don't think I will be able to go to the beach carnival with you guys, still feeling a little unwell.” El said as she came down the stairs.

“It's okay babe you take rest I'll stay with you” Tom went up to her as he ran his hand on her back in a soothing way.

“No Tom, you should go, why miss out on the fun for me.”

“It's okay El nothing is more important than you in my life.” Tom held her hands placing light kisses on them.

“I know bubs and your happiness is my first priority, so go and enjoy for my sake.” Tom didn’t extend the conversation any further and agreed to her.

Now you felt nauseous looking at their cliche tooth rotting romance. You blew out your cheeks and turned towards Steve who was standing at your back.

“Okay then see tomorrow” you hugged each other.

“Yeah bye darling” Steve left

Everyone went to their rooms to get ready for the carnival. Tom was dressing up as suddenly your words reverberated in his mind. He couldn't make any sense out of your words. What did you mean by the implication of pregnancy in a person's life and why did Z abruptly shut you up. He felt as if you both were hiding something.

“Seriously Y/N were you out of your mind?! You were just going to spill everything out.” Zendaya lashed out.

“I know I'm sorry. I just don't know what came over me.” you sat on the bed covering your face with your hands.

“I know babe but you gotta be careful. It's a secret you chose to hatch it down in the darkest corner of your heart, can't let it spill unless you want it otherwise ."

You went and hugged her tightly tears rolling down your eyes

"What would I do without you" you sobbed

"You'll always have me by your side darling, okay now cheer up and let's get ready.”

............................

You all came out of the house. Two cars were already parked outside. You immediately ran towards Harrison's car.

“I'm taking the front seat"You opened the door and sat.

Harrison, Zendaya, Harry and Paddy sat on the back seats

“Who's gonna drive?” you asked confused

Then you saw Tom with the car keys as he opened the door and you both momentarily glanced at each other as he sat on the driver's seat.

You divert your attention outside the window as you feel a tension arise between you two.

As Tom drove the car an eerie silence prevailed. It started to get kinda boring so to lighten up the mood you turned on the car's stereo and connected your phone.

Cheap thrill starts playing

(Come on, come on, turn the radio on

It's Friday night and I won't be long Gotta do my hair, put my make up on It's Friday night and I won't be long)

Everyone cheered and started grooving to the music.

('Til I hit the dance floor

Hit the dance floor I got all I need No, I ain't got cash I ain't got cash But I got you, baby)

Turning a little to your side you took out your phone and started recording everyone singing and grooving. Tom occasionally glanced at you.

(Baby, I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight

(I love cheap thrills) Baby, I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight (I love cheap thrills) But I don't need no money As long as I can feel the beat I don't need no money As long as I keep dancing)

Unbuckling your seat belt so you got up and kneeled on your seat facing backwards. As you all continued lip syncing loudly and vibing in the car. Tom kept his straight face all the time.

(Come on, come on, turn the radio on

It's Saturday and I won't be long Gotta paint my nails, put my high heels on It's Saturday and I won't be long)

'Til I hit the dance floor Hit the dance floor I got all I need No, I ain't got cash

I ain't got cash But I got you, baby)

A sharp turn came as you all jolted to the right side. You almost lost balance, one hand holding tightly on the head rest of your seat and another grasping on Tom's shoulder. He held your hand tightly to prevent you from losing balance, giving you a stern look. You knew that look very well, he used to give you that look when you were being a brat. You felt a little intimidated and straightened yourself and sat properly again.

(Baby, I don't need dollar bills to have fun tonight

I don't need no money As long as I…….. Song continues

Reaching the carnival you were overcome with nostalgia so many sweet memories you had of this place. Everyone got out of the cars and went in different directions. Out of habit you waited for Tom to park the car and then go inside. When you both entered the carnival ground none of your friends could be seen.

“Guess what our friends ditched us” you pressed your lips together frowning

“I guess so." Tom twisted his lips looking around then turning back to you

"Okay, stay right here I’ll be back in a minute”

“But.. but why? Where are you going now?” you asked confused, tom trailed off in the crowd.

“Huh!” you scowled “am I so bad that he hates to spend a little time with me” you thought. You looked around and thought going into the stalls checking out the stuff. You eventually went when a sparkly pair of earrings caught your eyes. Taking it in your hands you placed them in front of your ears checking in the mirror if they look nice or not.

“I told you to stay right?” you heard Tom say from the back.

“I'm literally near the spot you left me.” You tried to reason.

“Okay here take this.” He handed you a grilled corn. Your face instantly lit up

“Hey thanks.” You cheerfully bite into the corn.

Tom hadn't noticed earlier but now when he saw you carefully your necklace caught his eye it's the same black dahlia necklace he gifted you after filming far from home. A smile crept on his face at the fact that after so many years you had kept it.

You looked up to find him smiling at you “What?” You asked

“Nothing” he shook his head.

It didn't escape Tom's eyes the way you were staring at those sparkly earrings and he instantly knew you wanted them but you were confused if it would be worth buying.

"You like them?"

“Huh? Oh no just looking" you shrugged off

“Oh don't lie to me I know how much of a fetish you have for earrings"

He immediately asked the seller to pack those for you as he took out his wallet to pay.

“You know I can pay for myself” you commented

He grinned "Oh don't worry you can pay me back later by cash or you know by the kindness of your pretty little"

“You finish that line and I’m gonna kick you in your balls Thomas” you were so done with his snarky comments; you were fuming as you stomped away from him.

"Hey Y/N! Wait for me!" You picked up your pace. Tom ran to catch up with you. He stood in front of you blocking your way.

“Here you go" he handed you the small gift bag.

“In no circumstance I'm taking that" crossing your hands and turning your face away annoyed

“Hey, hey listen” he tried to hold your hands stepping closer.

“Don't touch me” you swatted him away

“Okay feisty pants, calm down” he stepped back raising his hand in the air in defeat.

"Oh come on Y/N I was just joking I'm sorry. Here take this. Pleaaase" he pouted.

"Go and give that to El I’m sure she will pay you back nicely like she did last night." You taunted.

"I don’t switch gifts meant for someone else moreover El isn't much of a fan of my gifts she says my taste is like an old man. She would totally figure out I did’t choose these."

“That’s true you are an old man.” corner of your mouth quirked up. Tom stretched his hand to give you the bag you took it lazily.

“Are we cool now?”

“Yeah sort of.” You gave a half shrug.

“Let's do something like old times then shall we?” Tom proposed

“Yeah fine by me anyways our best friends have ditched us so we are stuck with each other.”

You both went to try out different rides in the carnival. You enjoyed the roller coaster the most. After the ride you both sat down on a nearby bench to rest. Meanwhile you were deciding what to do next.

“Wanna have some ice cream?” Tom offered

“Have you ever heard me saying no to ice cream?”you smirked

“Okay wait and don't go anywhere this time.” He disappeared in the crowd. You sat on the bench scrolling through your phone.

“Boo!!” Tom grabbed your shoulders from the back. You were startled, almost dropping your phone .

“God! You scared me” you gasped

He chuckled “here you go darling" he handed you your ice cream. Your heart swelled up by the fact that he still remembered your favorite flavour combo by heart one scoop of chocolate and cookies & cream with lots of extra choco chips.

You both started walking, licking on to your ice creams, your bodies brushed against each other occasionally as you both glanced into the stalls. Tom carefully watched you, the way you licked the ice cream made his mind wander to inappropriate places making him smile internally. You both were passing in front of a gaming stall.

"Wanna win something for your girl?" the owner of the stall threw the question towards Tom.

“Oh no he has a very bad aim” you tried to get away from there as you always thought these games are just a waste of money.

“What! I can aim." Tom retorted widening his eyes.

“No you can't" you argued "And these games are rigged you know that very well Tom" you muttered in his ears.

"What do you want babe?”

“Babe?? " you gave him a puzzled look.

“Just tell me.”

“Okay that big bunny which you always failed to get to me.” You challenged him.

Tom paid the money he had three chances to throw the ring on the small replica of bunny.

“After you lose don’t tell me I didn’t warn you” you quipped

“Yeah, yeah will see that. And if I win, what is my reward?”

“Of course the big bunny that’s what you paid for, idiot” you grinned.

In the first throw he completely missed it.

"See! I told you it was a waste of money" you complained

"Oh! Y/N just let me concentrate" he huffed

The second throw was almost close, you both groaned frustrated. The third throw was a kind of prestige fight for Tom because he knew you were gonna mock him all his life if he loses. You on the other hand were tense crossing your fingers you wished he would win. Tom threw the ring and it went in the exact spot you both cheered, throwing your hands up in the air and hugged each other tightly. Pulling away soon but you felt a slight pull as you noticed the chain of your necklace had tangled with his spider man necklace. Tom struggled to untangle it, you swatted his hand.

"Stop pulling it dumbo, you are going to break the necklace" you grumbled

Tom felt warmth filling his heart seeing you so possessive about the necklace.You stepped closer and slowly tried untying the knot. Both of your breath hitched. After a few seconds you untangled your chains. The seller handed Tom the stuffed bunny.

“Here you go princess” Tom handed it over to you.

“Thanks.” You took it hugging it tightly. You were now more comfortable with each other giggling and laughing in each other's company. Anybody could mistake you both as a lovely couple. Unknowingly you were now holding hands and walking across the carnival.

“Picture for the beautiful couple?" a photographer from a photo studio chirped around from the corner.

“Oh no no we are not..” Tom cut you off

“Yeah sure why not”

“But tom..”

“Come on Y/N it will be fun”

You reluctantly went inside the studio and tried different costumes. You both posed and clicked some silly photos of yourselves.

Finally you caught sight of the rest of your gang, both of you rushed to them still holding hands.

“Hey where were you guys?” you asked

“Hey aah..” Zendaya stopped halfway to look at you, your hand hooked on to Tom’s arm furrowing, her eyes all skeptical.

You both followed her gaze as you realised, you leave each other's hands feeling awkward looking away.

“So what's with the bunny?”

“Oh it's for El Tom won it as a souvenir for her as she couldn't make it.” You lied.

“You guys wanna go on the Ferris wheel? it will be fun to watch the fireworks from up there”

“Nah we are good down here plus we are hungry.”

“Okay then we are going for the Ferris wheel. Will meet you at the parking lot after that.”

You queued up and waited for your turn to buy the tickets. You turned back a little girl caught your attention, she was glancing at you both mostly Tom curiously with her doe eyes. You thought she must have recognised Tom. Tom looked back too. He waved his hand towards her with a smile.

She tugged on her mother’s dress and whispered.

“Mommy, look spider-man” her mother turned her gaze towards you and gave out a light shriek

“Oh my god! Tom Holland and Y/N Y/L/N!! I’m a huge fan of both of you”

You both smiled.

"I'm Claudia nice to meet you"

“Hello.. nice to meet you too” you both greeted the lady

“Where’s MJ? Are you spider-man’s new girlfriend?” the little girl chirped. You and Tom looked at each other chuckling.

“Ssshh!! Don’t tell MJ” you joked. The little girl frowned. You crouched in front of her as you caressed her cheek.

“I'm kidding honey I’m not spider man's new girlfriend I’m his best friend. What’s your name little miss?”

“Vienna”

“That’s a beautiful name Vienna”

“You are so big but you still play with bunnies?” she asked you innocently

Tom stifled a laugh hearing that. You looked at him narrowing your eyes.

“No one is too old for bunnies honey. And this was given to me by someone I love so can’t throw it away can I?" Vienna nodded in approval. You glanced up to Tom.

“Can we take a selfie?” Claudia asked

“Yeah sure why not?” Tom picked up Vienna in his arms as you all cuddled close to take a selfie.

“I heard you are going to perform, is it true?”

“Yes I’m.” You confirmed

“Great!!! Looking forward to attending your concert.”

“I’ll be eager to see you guys in the audience”

"Hey Y/N! come here it's our turn." You heard Tom calling you

"Okay see you guys in the concert bye. Bye Vienna."

Tom had already bought the tickets while you were talking. You got up in your cabin. Sitting close to each other shoulders brushing in the cramped space, it was nothing new though for you two but now the circumstances have changed. The wheel rotated for a couple of times and then it halted as the fireworks were about to begin. Your cabin was at the top so you could get the best view.

“You did this?” you quirked your eyebrow

“Nothing a little extra tip can’t do” he winked. “Wait a minute, it's gonna get better.” He took out his phone and played one of your favorite songs which both of you used to hear.

Perfect starts playing

(I found a love for me Darling, just dive right in And follow my lead Well, I found a girl, beautiful and sweet I never knew you were the someone waiting for me)

“It feels as if we are teenagers again.” You giggled

The fireworks began as you looked up in the sky in awe. Tom was looking at you the whole time. He had missed your heart warming smile all these years and he felt happy that he was the reason behind your smile. You turned to him to find him already gazing at you with his soft brown eyes.

“I really missed this you know” you gave a tight lipped smile.

“You like it?” he asked softly

“I like it?! I love it!!!” You said excitedly

('Cause we were just kids when we fell in love Not knowing what it was I will not give you up this time Darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own And in your eyes, you're holding mine)

Tom's eyes never left you. You cuddled close leaning on his chest to look at the fireworks show his hand around your shoulder. He felt heat rushing to his ears his chest pounding as he leaned his head above yours to look up at the colourful night sky.

(Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms Barefoot on the grass, we're listenin' to our favorite song When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath But you heard it, darling, you look perfect tonight)

You felt butterflies in your stomach under his gaze so you straightened yourself looking at him timidly. The atmosphere felt heavy as both of you felt a strong magnetic pull luring both of you. Your body was slightly turned towards him. Your hair blowing in the gentle night breeze.

(Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know She shares my dreams, I hope that someday I'll share her home I found a love, to carry more than just my secrets To carry love, to carry children of our own)

He himself turned a little facing you, his hands slipped down to rest on your hips as he drew you in. His warm breath falling on your face. He gently brushed away the hair falling on your face tugging it behind your ear and rested his hand on the side of your face caressing your cheek with his thumb. Both lost in each other's eyes. You gazed into his warm brown eyes which were full of love. His eyes flickered between your eyes and to your slightly parted lips. Your faces were just a few millimetres apart, warmth blossomed in your chest, sparks igniting as Tom leaned in close, lips brushing together.

(We are still kids, but we're so in love Fightin' against all odds I know we'll be alright this time Darling, just hold my hand Be my girl, I'll be your man I see my future in your eyes)

Tom pulled you close, deepening the kiss your lips were soft he could taste the chocolate ice cream you had on your lips. You shivered and let out a soft moan. To your surprise you were kissing him back, you felt his warm mouth on yours and closed your eyes, your hands subconsciously went around his neck tugging on to his soft curls. He groaned into the kiss.

(Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms Barefoot on the grass, listenin' to our favorite song When I saw you in that dress, looking so beautiful I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight)

A strong passion taking over both of you as you frantically kissed each other. Like the first drops of rain brings relief to a rain deprived parched land you both felt the same way, an euphoric bliss, as if you were thirsty for ages and finally the thirst is being quenched. A million emotions of love, lust, desire surged in your bodies. Neither of you wanted to stop, you just wanted to savour this moment.

(Oh, no, no Mm

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark, with you between my arms Barefoot on the grass, we're listenin' to our favorite song I have faith in what I see Now I know I have met an angel in person And she looks perfect No, I don't deserve this You look perfect tonight)

The world seemed oblivious for both of you. Both were brought back to your senses when the wheel started to move again. You slowly broke the kiss still in a haze. Your foreheads resting against each other as you both were gasping for air. You looked into his eyes, a panic strike both of you, you immediately pulled away trying to avoid each other's gaze as you looked over the illuminated town. Part of your mind felt so good and didn't want it to end but the other part reminded you constantly that whatever happened was so wrong. The cabin descended down your heart still beating at an alarming rate you tried to calm yourself placing a hand on your chest. The cabin squeaked as it halted, Tom bent low to squeeze out through the small door of the cabin. Wordlessly, he helped you step out of it. It was time to go back so you started walking back to the parking lot. Not a word was spoken between you two throughout the whole walk.

“Oh the love birds are finally back.” Harry joked

Your heartbeat quickened at his remark as you gave a death glare to him.

“Okay sorry, sorry my bad.”

“Haz can you sit in the front? I want to sit with Z at the back.” You almost begged.

“Yeah sure no problem love.”

You sat silently. Tom looked at you through the rear view mirror as he started the car.

“What happened? You look all flushed out are you okay? Zendaya asked concerned

“Did you guys fight over there or what?” Harrison asked, rolling his eyes.

“No nothing like that, just tired actually.The rides were really fun.”

So let's continue the fun. Harrison turned on the car stereo and played from his Playlist.

Break My Heart starts playing...

(I've always been the one to say the first goodbye Had to love and lose a hundred million times Had to get it wrong to know just what I like Now I'm fallin')

Everyone started singing. Zendaya nudged you a little, giving you a questioning look, you nodded your head to assure her everything was okay , smiling and joined them.

(You say my name like I have never heard before I'm indecisive but this time I know for sure I hope I'm not the only one that feels it all Are you fallin'?)

You glanced at Tom through the rear view mirror pressing your lips together in a thin line. You had a lot of questions in your mind. You wanted to ask Tom why? Why did you do that? What does this mean to you Tom? Why couldn’t you control yourself from giving into the kiss?

(Center of attention You know you can get whatever you want from me Whenever you want it, baby It's you in my reflection Now I'm afraid of all the things it could do to me If I would've known it, baby)

The air felt suffocating, your throat felt dry as you were sweating. Your mind kept drifting to that heated moment on the Ferris wheel, subconsciously nibbling your lower lip. The whole incident was wrecking your mind.

(I would've stayed at home 'Cause I was doin' better alone But when you said, "Hello" I know that was the end of it all I should've stayed at home 'Cause now there ain't no letting you go Am I falling in love With the one that could break my heart? Oh no, I was doin' better alone But when you said, "Hello" I know that was the end of it all I should've stayed at home 'Cause now there ain't no letting you go Am I falling in love With the one that could break my heart?)

You now seriously regret coming here; you really should have stayed at home you thought. That face, that damn face will be the death of you one day, it makes you go weak on your knees. You can't be falling in for him again when you know that a heart break is inevitable.

(I wonder when you go, if I stay on your mind

Two can play that game, but you win me every time Everyone before you was a waste of time Yeah, you got me)

Tom himself was having a hard time to concentrate on driving his hands all sweaty. You were all on his mind. As he looks at you through the mirror his eyes instantly goes to your plump rosy lips which he was sucking a few moments ago as if his life depends on it. He just wanted to pull you around a corner and feel your soft lips again.

(Center of attention

You know you can get whatever you want from me

Whenever you want it, baby

It's you in my reflection Now I'm afraid of all the things it could do to me)

This time you caught him staring at you a chill ran down your spine. He immediately looked away face turning red; heat crept up your cheeks turning pink.

(If I would've known it, baby

I would've stayed at home 'Cause I was doin' better alone But when you said, "Hello" I know that was the end of it all I should've stayed at home 'Cause now there ain't no letting you go Am I falling in love With the one that could break my heart? Oh no, I was doin' better alone But when you said, "Hello" I know that was the end of it all I should've stayed at home 'Cause now there ain't no letting you go Am I falling in love With the one that could break my heart?)

.......... Song continues

As you reached home you waited for everyone to get out of the car and go inside.

“Here take this.” You handed out the stuffed bunny to Tom

“It's for you love not for El and you know that very well.”

“Hmm” you hummed looking into his eyes, many unsaid words were spoken.

You both went up the stairs. Standing in front of your rooms you glanced at each other for one last time and went inside.

“I thought that was for El.” Zendaya pointed out at the stuffed toy.

“Yeah I'll give it to her tomorrow.”

“Now you are going to lie to me too" Zendaya scoffed

"I know it is for you. Mind telling me what's going on between you two?”

“Nothing, nothing is going on. Wha.. What makes you think that? You stammered

“Nothing, just you have been acting strange through the whole ride back home.” Zendaya frowned; she knew something was up with you two.

“Oh I must be tired that's why I guess.” You let out fake yawn.

The night was going to be long for you and Tom as you were still hot and bothered needing some sort of relief but none of you are going to get it tonight.

.....................................................................

Taglists: to be added send a message or ask I'll be happy to add you in the following chapters.

@sleepybesson @sophs-library @spideyparkerstark @itstaskeen @milli86 @biebsmylife95 @quaksonhehe @hannahholland1811 @awhollandx @joyleenl@itsnotmeh24 @bitchinwpoei @astridcomming

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #zendaya #haz osterfield #taylor swift #spiderman

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warsofasoiaf · 5 years ago

Text

The Celtic Tiger - A Kaiserreich Ireland AAR Chapter 2: An American Tragedy

12 February 1937 - Home of Michael Collins, Cork, Ireland

“The United States of America has faced challenges since its founding, but it is an enduring republic. When we were invaded, we fought off our attackers. When the Great Storm hit Galveston, we built cottages from the storm lumber. When Black Monday reached our shores, we passed the Garner-Wagner Act to deliver our people relief. The American people, through this election, have made their will clear. They do not want the empty promises of Jack Reed. They demand more than the sayings of Huey Long. Words are not enough, action is required. That is what I shall promise: action. We will stand firm against the threat of populism and syndicalism.”

Benjamin Franklin, after the Constitutional Convention, was asked whether the United States was a democracy or a republic. His words were: ‘a republic, if you can keep it.’ That was not mere wit, but a charge; a sacred duty given to every citizen. Today we say: it is our republic, and we shall keep it.” -US President John Garner, Excerpt from Inaugural Address

In Michael Collins’s case, war never seemed to have a countdown, but sure enough, the war looked like it would begin in 30 days. Just the thing to ruin his vacation; he had hoped to spend a few days in Cork to recharge his batteries, and ended up having indigestion and headaches the entire trip.

The United States had been a roiling mass of discontent since 1925, but it had only gotten worse during Black Monday. President Garner had won a lot of support in his campaign, which had focused on trumpeting the successes of the Garner-Wagner Act and touting the President’s willingness to fight any who threatened democracy. “A snake is a snake is a snake,” Garner had been fond of quoting on the campaign trail, swaggering with a pair of revolvers. “I plan on working to fix the mess that we’ve found ourselves in. If Jack Reed and Huey Long want their voices heard, I’ll listen to them. If they want prosperity for America, they’ll listen to me. And if they want to fight, they’ll get one. I don’t plan on striking first, but as God is my witness, I’ll be striking last!”

That had been enough for the Presidency. Jack Reed’s Socialist Party of America and Huey Long’s America First Party had strong regional support, but neither movement received enough votes to beat the Republican candidate Alf Landon, let alone Garner. Yet the victory was narrow, and both candidates claimed voting irregularities arranged at the polling places by supporters within the state voting commissions, along with other accusations of beatings and intimidation campaigns. Herbert Hoover endorsed Garner in a show of cross-party American solidarity, and Landon himself was a guest of honor at Garner’s inauguration. Garner had already promised the Republicans some Cabinet appointments in the hopes of building a coalition government strong enough to stop Long and Reed. It was an uphill battle; the 1936 voting season had been marred by political demonstrations turning violent, they had even called it the Red Summer, and now Long and Reed were railing against the legitimacy of the vote.

When the populists had made their accusations, the governors in their regional strongholds had backed Long and Reed. The populists, it seemed, had called President Garner’s bluff. The governors demanded a “national reconciliation council” under their talking head, and both had made it plain that the other would not be welcome on it, making it all but certain that war would come, and it would not be small. Jack Reed was popular in the Steel Belt and Huey Long had an almost religious appeal in Louisiana and in the rest of the Southern United States. Reed had much of the industrial heartland, but Long had far more pull among the military including high ranking officers. It wouldn’t be an easy fight, no matter what Texans had to say. In both ways, it was bad for the United States.

Collins had hoped it wouldn’t be war, but he was sure that it would be. If Jack Reed was able to successfully overthrow Garner, the Internationale would be emboldened. The Communards might still be reluctant to face Germany, given how large such a war would be, but Mosley would almost certainly want to snap up Ireland to carry forth syndicalist momentum. Anti-Irish rhetoric had only intensified in the months following Ireland’s meteoric 1936 rise, with Mosley claiming that Michael Collins had become “every inch the oppressive king he fought against.” Collins laughed when he was first told it, but as the days went on he seethed against the man, wishing he could have five minutes alone in a room with him. He was sure his sainted ma would not look fondly on him for beating on a man with a limp, but she’d forgive him.

When the reporters asked for a quote, Collins was sure to give them one. “Look at Mosley in the war. Gallivanting around in an aeroplane like war was just boys at camp, crashing trying to be a showboat. I suppose I must be kind, he tried to prove he was a brave man, I’m sure it’s not his fault he ran behind a desk before a year was out. That’s where he’s most comfortable, hiding and sipping his gin while he sends young boys to do the fighting and dying.”

Collins had a good laugh, but he made sure to tell his diplomatic service to make sure that Ireland would have plenty of friends on both sides of the Atlantic, just in case the Union tried anything. Laugh in public, but service your pistol in private.

---

14 March 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

It was war. The entire world was aflutter with the news that the United States had descended into a civil war. President Garner’s deadline had come and went, and both Jack Reed and Huey Long had declared war on the United States. In response, Garner had appointed General George Marshall as Chief of Staff of the Army. The Internationale had already voiced its support for Jack Reed, with Chilean, Communard, and Union supporters already on their way to support the newly-formed Combined Syndicates of America. The German Empire was far more reserved in its support. German-Americans primarily lived in areas controlled by the Combined Syndicates, and the United States government had primarily conducted a pro-Entente policy during the Weltkrieg, leading the Kaiser to support Huey Long out of pure pragmatism. Canada had fallen into debate within the Houses of Parliament on who they were supporting.

Collins had no such reservations about debating who to support in the Dail. Collins had sent out a call for a volunteer division, the 1st Thunderbolts, and had placed them under the command of Daniel McKenna. The East Coast was dense with urban areas, and McKenna was just the man to fight in that difficult urban war, having fought the English in the cities before. The Thunderbolts had been training for months in preparation for the outbreak of hostilities. Most were young men, too young to have seen the Independence War, but their officers and senior NCO’s had. That would carry them, fighting in unfamiliar territory would mean they would have to adapt quickly and rely on the experience of the leaders. Other IRA volunteers, particularly those with families in the United States, had opted to go there themselves, fight in the American army, and return later.

The first target would have to be the syndicalists. With their position in the American industrial heartland, they’d have the manufacturing prowess and the civilian manpower to build and repair war materiel far faster than the mostly rural southern states. They would have to trust in their greater manpower and equipment to hold the southern front against the aggressive generals of the American Union State. The United States had begun mobilizing forces on the West Coast to get them to move east, and requisitioned several rail lines for exclusive military use, but it would be hard fought. America was going to need all the help it could get.

---

13 April 1937 - Northern Maryland, United States of America

“We have traitors to our left, and traitors to our right

Our Congress and our president have long since taken flight

No ammo, no armor, no pills, no cargo

No prayers, no chance, no hope of tomorrow

Just you and me and a hell of a lot of fight.” -Frank McHewlitt

Pennsylvania had become a battlefield for the Second American Civil War just as it had for the first. The Pennsylvania governor had declared for Jack Reed, but the Federals had made a march into central Pennsylvania, seizing York to Fulton counties, but lack of manpower, difficult terrain, and Communard volunteer tank brigades had ensured any excursion was short-lived. From New York to the Midwest was controlled by the Syndicalists. Fearing being overrun, Joseph Kennedy Sr. had asked Canada to send an occupation force to protect them from the Syndicalists. This had infuriated President Garner, but pragmatists in his Cabinet had argued that the region was indefensible since the Syndicalists held New York, and better that the Canadians occupy it, and the Combined Syndicates risk a war with the Entente, than the factories be taken over by Jack Reed. Further south, Canada had sent a force to occupy the Panama Canal after the Americans had withdrawn their garrison force. The Canadians had said their mission was to protect trade, but had banned ships flying Communard, Union, or Chilean flags.

Further south, Texas to the Carolinas, and everything south, had pledged loyalty to Huey Long’s vision. Several companies had even signed on to the “Share Our Wealth” program. His men were heavily-armed and competently led, and they had already made significant inroads pushing north into Kentucky from Tennessee, even making contact with and fighting Jack Reed. George Patton had been named the overall commander of the American Union State, and on land the America First Party had shown themselves to be exceptional fighters pound-for-pound. Their goal had been to push and seize whatever territory they could, to turn the factories over to Longist control and get their war materiel production up to match the Federals and the Syndicalists. It had been remarkably successful, Patton’s armor techniques had run circles against disorganized Kentucky militia and revolutionary syndicalists alike. Already there were unconfirmed reports of mass shootings of CSA prisoners by AUS irregulars. The Federals were hard-pressed, often surrounded and potentially encircled by hostile forces in Kentucky. Only the chaos of the war and the close proximity of all three forces, kept them from being killed outright. Desertions, particularly from militia unfortunate enough to be in the encircled regions, were high.

Washington was no longer the capital. With Maryland under fire and the Firsters pushing from the south into Virginia, Garner had decided to temporarily move the capital to Denver, where he could oversee the political business of state. MacArthur had elected to remain in place as the commander of the East Coast Enclave, suggesting that Dwight Eisenhower take command of the main Federal forces in the Midwest. “He’s a Kansas man, there’s no man better in command from the Midwest. The troops will fight tougher and harder if they know we haven’t abandoned them. Don’t worry, Mr. President. Those bastard traitors won’t set a foot in D.C.” With his trademark corn cob pipe and a wave to the press, MacArthur took a ride on a Vultee V-1 to take up command, with Eisenhower being named the overall commander of Army Group West, with the goal of pushing east from Kansas into Missouri.

MacArthur welcomed the service of the volunteers sailing and landing on the Chesapeake, no traitor forces had been able to ensure naval supremacy on the East Coast and none were willing to risk firing upon a flagged vessel and invite any nation’s full-blown entrance into the conflict. Lavr Kornilov, eager to project strength and stability after the assassination of President Kerensky. Hirohito had also dispatched volunteers citing the strong relationship between the United States and Japan and the need for legitimate government to be re-established in the United States to project stability in the Americas. Calles in Argentina, eager to re-establish the Monroe Doctrine to act as a bulwark against the Patagonian Worker’s Front, and always eager to fight syndicalists. Brazil likewise had ordered troops to support the United States. Mexico, eager to avoid any war spilling over their borders, had closed the borders to the American Union State and had sent divisions through the Gulf of Mexico before the Longist navy could seize control of the waters and potentially cut off trade and transit. MacArthur ensured that each division had several bilingual Americans to serve as liaisons and communications personnel. He couldn’t command the volunteers, but he did demand adherence to military law and that any abuse of US civilians or military personnel would be dealt with by firing squad. Similarly, MacArthur promised his own men that they would be punished harshly if they stole from or fought with Federal volunteers. Regular correspondence was mandatory, and passwords changed regularly to allow foreign soldiers to identify themselves quickly to friendlies, passed via radio operators who had signed up with the Federals in record numbers when President Garner forced a bill and executive order expanding the civil rights of Native Americans to shore himself up for the upcoming emergency. The Navajo Nation, who provided one of the largest units, dispatched signals operators to coordinate with the volunteer brigades, providing exceptional communications security and coordination between the Federals on both fronts.

Yet things were not going well. MacArthur had enforced military law within the East Coast enclave, and garrison forces frequently looked to seize supplies and materiel for their war effort. Oftentimes, a token effort at compensation or promise of restitution to come later was the only balm in Gilead; it did not help those who starved.

The volunteer forces moved north to the Mason-Dixon line, where the Combined Syndicate militia were threatening to move south into Maryland from their regional headquarters in Philadelphia. The Russians opted to secure themselves in Baltimore, while the Argentine and Mexican forces moved to Cecil County to secure Delmarva from the syndicalists seizing the east bank and potentially cutting off vital access to the Chesapeake. McKenna and the Irish 1st Thunderbolt, acting aggressively, crossed into Pennsylvania and secured themselves in York. Not willing to pass up a fight, Russian and Irish volunteer brigades pushed into Lancaster County, threatening Philadelphia and forcing the Communards to reinforce their position lest Philadelphia fall and the road to New York be pushed wide open.

---

17 April 1937 - Economic Committee of the Dail, Dublin, Ireland

It had been a constant flurry of activity in the new year. The Dail was debating loosening immigration restrictions to help bring in new blood to help support Ireland’s effort to modernize. Even if good policy and hard work had led Ireland out of the depression following Black Monday, manpower was still the hard limit on everything they could do. Once unemployment fell, there would be no new employees for businesses, and they’d turn away from Irish investment.

There had been two major sources of pushback against immigration reform. The Unionists in Ulster had been vocal opponents, calling the efforts part of a planned demographic shift to stock the north with people that would sideline their concerns as Unionists. Their proposal had instead suggested an increase in immigration from select countries, notably Canada, Australasia, and the British Dominion of India. Gearóid Ó Cuinneagáin was far more hostile to immigration overall, demanding no immigration save from Celtic-majority countries, particularly those who wished to depart the Union of Britain from Scotland and Wales. Some of the measures proposed had truly been radical, such as instituting a Gaelic language entrance exam to new immigrants. The hAiséirghe crowd had always been a touchy subject, they had enough support in Munster that they couldn’t be ignored as much as Collins wanted to throw the bastards into the ocean.

Collins had been lucky, his Dublin financial capital idea had already been receiving positive responses. The German Kaiserreich, still deep within the throes of Black Monday, had debated whether or not to permit German businesses to invest in Ireland. The protectionists in their government had argued that the last thing that they needed to do was open up subsidiary companies in Ireland and send work away from Germans. The market liberals were far more enthusiastic, suggesting that the profits made could be reinvested in Germany; an influx of cash that wouldn’t increase the money supply and devalue the Mark. In the end, Wilhelm II had agreed to the proposal. He had known that the Irish Republican Army had been looking to re-equip their forces, and Krupp could easily manufacture rifles and mortars with a sizable government contract. Krupp opened Krupp Rüstungsbetriebe Irland, redesigning the Krupp Radreifen into the shape of a shamrock.

The Kingdom of Spain had also looked to establish an arms company in Ireland, eager to arm those who were also hostile to the syndicalists, and quite isolated on the European continent, with France and the German Protectorate of Morocco making an uneasy set of neighbors. Having a well-armed Irish Republic was a benefit to King Alfonso, who agreed to set up a subsidiary of Llama-Gabilondo y Cia SA, taking the name Dóiteáin-Gabilondo Incorporated, and selling their famous pistols to the Irish Republican Army. With regular army drills, and now a larger armaments industry within Ireland itself, a more significant and professional Irish Republican Army was starting to take shape.

The Italian Republic, floundering in the wake of massive German and Austrian stock selloffs, were eager to find ways to bring in cash and stabilize their own economy. Seeing a pressing need, the Italian Republic opted to establish a naval manufacturing dockyard in Dublin as Gio Ansaldo Irish Sea Shipwright, Ltd, to help produce submarines for the Naval Service. Italian engineers could work in Ireland, the revenue would flow into Italy, and the Irish would receive a powerful deterrent against the Union of Britain’s navy. Working in the choppier northern waters was different from the warmer and calmer Mediterranean, but the Italians proved up to the challenge, christening the first Irish U-Boat the new Fenian Ram.

The rush of European activity to invest in Ireland had not gone unnoticed in the Netherlands. After a fierce and competitive bidding war, the Dutch government, very busy with their preparations for the upcoming elections in May, had given the go-ahead for Royal Dutch Airlines KLM to do business within Ireland. Rather than operating a strict subsidiary, as the government was still facing the worst of Black Monday, Royal Dutch instead opened a joint venture with Aer Lingus, operating a civilian airfield that would bring in much needed tax revenue, and providing expertise for the construction of a military airfield in Leinster. The Union of Britain had lodged a formal complaint against the move in the Netherlands, but the ambassador had been dismissed out of hand, the official response being “Ireland has a right to the sky, and Britain has no right to dictate policy to the Netherlands.”

The United States had been considered highly unlikely to invest in Ireland. Even with the positive relationship that had existed between the two countries, the USA had been facing an existential crisis. To Collin’s great surprise, Garner had actually encouraged American companies to open subsidiaries in Ireland before hostilities broke out. In a diplomatic message to the Irish President, Garner had written: “I am certain there will be war. American industry will certainly not be spared. This initiative may save American lives and enrich both our countries. If the worst comes to pass, may God protect us both.” General Irish Electric, as the company titled itself, designed a logo incorporating the Irish harp in the signature “G” of the GE logo. The company received a grant from the National Industrial Investment Fund and purchased a factory abandoned during the Black Monday fallout, bringing up to speed in record time to produce civilian and industrial-grade electronics. Almost immediately, GIE had orders tasked almost to capacity for factories across Ireland to upgrade their own operations, throwing itself into the greater industrialization efforts that Michael Collins had championed the previous year.

The Dominion of Canada was a much more difficult beast to wrangle. Edward VIII had made no secret that he wished to reacquire not just the British Home Isles, but the British Empire as well; he would not be a second-fiddle to the Kaiser. That would mean the Six Counties, surely, perhaps even re-establishing the Free State as a Dominion. Collins had debated even making the offer to Canada, but a good relationship with Canada was, putting Edward aside, a sound policy. Canada needed money to support their war efforts, and a friendly relationship with Ireland would mean less problems when launching their operation to take back the Home Islands. Collins privately feared that they would want to use Ireland as a staging ground. Ireland had situated itself as a prominent financial hub, and since Dublin was designated a Special Economic Zone, it could potentially be very lucrative and offer a way to sell to the rest of Mitteleuropa without dealing with the Kaiser. The Canadian government had assented to Canadian Arsenals, a crown corporation to open a subsidiary in Dublin named North Atlantic Arms. Collins made sure that it acted in all things as a private company, insisting that King Edward appoint an executive staff the same as any other business. That had been a headache in the Dail, with Eamon de Valera angrily demanding not to sell Irish land to King Edward. Collins had countered that Ireland was a free and independent republic, and that the King had to obey Irish law rather than dictating laws to Ireland.When rumors came around that Jim Larkin had supported Dev’s objections, the Fianna Fail politician withdrew his opposition in favor of a more moderate compromise, asking only that the Dail be presented the terms of the contract in open session so that they could vote on them. Dev’s desire not to give Larkin more ammunition had rapidly diminished opposition to the measure within Fianna Fail, and Sinn Fein offered only a token dissent, permitting the venture to go forward.

With the outbreak of war in the United States and Ireland’s rapid industrialization, Sweden had sensed an opportunity to open a subsidiary business in Ireland as well. AB Landsverk had originally sought to open a tank manufacturing plant, since the Irish tanks were largely outdated and the Irish Republican Army was going to need to modernize its arsenal. Fierce protest erupted from the social democrats within Sweden’s Parliament, opposing the idea of arming Ireland and facilitating a possible war between Ireland and the Union. The hawks within Sweden had supported the venture, but military arms, even support equipment, could not secure a large enough coalition for the Economic, Defense, and Foreign Ministers to agree to the venture. Not wanting to lose out on the potentially lucrative deal and already facing their own problems with syndicalist unrest, Sweden’s market liberals had offered a compromise within the Riksdag, allowing Landsverk to open Landsverk Inneal, specializing in tractors and harvesting equipment to support the modernization of the Irish agricultural sector. Several prominent military analysts noted that the new Inneal tractors, with a few modifications, looked suspiciously similar to a light tank with the turret removed, but these were dismissed as products of an overactive imagination by both Swedish and Irish military analysts.

The Austrian Empire was in a difficult position in 1937. Emperor Karl I had been making significant plans for his Ausgleich Federation plans, and saw the Irish initiative not simply as a means to support his economy, but as a means to demonstrate both Austrian power and his willingness and initiative to support cooperation efforts for mutual gain. The Emperor had made his commitment to pluralism plain within his proposed federative model, he had hoped that participating in Collin’s economic initiative would help sway skeptics and naysayers to his side to give him greater support against Hungary. If it could help his economy and put neutral voters who cared more about their own personal livelihood than the greater plans of Austria-Hungary, that was fine as well. Daimler founded Irish-Daimler and focused on developing automobiles and lorries. While the Emperor could not be there in person, he had prepared a statement for the opening of the plant in Dublin. “Irish-Daimler is in the business of Irish business. Her success is our success, and our success is her success. May we both prosper in the days ahead.”

Eight nations had opted to do business with Ireland in such a short period of time, and there had already been murmurs for other nations to do likewise. The success of Irish Black Monday reforms had been the talk of the European financial sector. Even distant Japan had expressed an interest in perhaps opening a branch of one of their zaibatsus in Ireland to sell to Western markets, though such a discussion was in the planning stages. When interviewed by The Financial Times, Lemass had made the quote that had made the headlines. “Ireland is the Emerald Isle. She always sparkled in our hearts, now everyone can see it.”

When Michael Collins had heard that, he smiled. The man had the head of a businessman but the heart of a poet. The head and the heart needed to complement each other if he wanted to see Ireland through.

---

8 May 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

As the war passed into its third month, Collins started to wonder about the upcoming elections in the fall. America had been on his mind a lot lately. An emergency act by the Oirechtas called the Díodean initiative had allowed Americans seeking refuge to come to Ireland, and plenty had taken Collins up on his offer. Many immigrants came with much of their wealth with them, which had provided an influx of capital. Even more valuable, however, was the technical knowledge. Many of the immigrants had been factory managers or entrepreneurs, and they had knowledge which made them highly valuable in the industrial sector. Not every tale was so fortunate, however. Some culture shock was perhaps inevitable, but it had been incredibly slow going. Collins had remembered the first time he saw a new settler to Ireland drive on the wrong side of the road and cause a car accident. This felt like seeing that unfold in slow motion on a national scale. The poor Americans had felt the Irish were cheating them out of wages and exploiting their desperate circumstances, while the wealthy felt their standard of living drop precipitously.

The hAiséirghe crowd again troubled him. Reports of nativist gang uprisings in the poorer parts of cities and rural areas were on the rise. There were demonstrations that the new arrivals were stealing all of the good-paying jobs; this had been going on since the new immigration reform but now was reaching a fever pitch. The Unionists again rallied against Collins, accusing him of colonizing the north with people opposed to King Edward under the guise of humanitarian aid to defeat the Ulster Unionists at the ballot box. They demanded a series of refugee and work permits that did not confer voting rights as opposed to outright immigration and naturalization. That had caused a firestorm on the debate floor, causing no shortage of headaches for Collins.

To alleviate the shortages, Collins had organized refugee brigades in the Republican Army, where young men could earn a wage and provide a livelihood for their families. The Yanks were excellent shots, and Collins had hoped that seeing immigrants wearing a uniform would cause the locals’ respect for the military to undermine nativist tendencies. It was a mild success at best, mostly in Leinster where there had already been fewer problems overall. Collins had weighed outright banning the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe, but that would just send them underground like the Labour Party had. He had to settle for punishing assaults when they were reported, and increasing Gardaí patrols to keep the peace.

In the leadup to the elections, Collins had seen cracks start to form in his ironclad voting bloc. While syndicalism had little popularity in Ireland itself, Sinn Fein had seen an upsurge in popularity with Black Monday despite Collins’s efforts. The Irish Christian Front and the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe had campaigned against him thanks to his immigration policies. Fianna Fail had campaigned on greater liberalization, and the National Centre Party had wanted to re-orient foreign policy to a more pro-Entente position. Sinn Fein and Fianna Fail had opted to engage in tactical voting, with candidates withdrawing from ballot races in order not to split the vote. Jim Larkin had endorsed the move, promising to work with Sinn Fein to provide greater relief to the Irish working class. The Irish Christian Front opted to boycott the elections and both they and the Ailtirí na hAiséirghe accused Collins of bringing in foreign refugees to ensure he had the votes needed to win.

At a closed door meeting, Collins was asked a simple question. “Sir, what should we do about the election?”

Collins, his hands shaking, had only one response. “Whatever it takes.”

---

15 July 1937 - West Virginia, United States of America

“We’re in the right thick of it now, ain’t we?” Daniel McKenna shouted over the din of battle.

The East Coast Enclave had stabilized its borders after the early initial push, but still faced the difficulties of being surrounded by the enemy. Food and water shortages, irregular supply shipments, and losses from attrition were starting to take their toll on the beleaguered Federals. The Appalachian mountains had stymied Syndicalists pushing in from Ohio and Illinois, and the hilly and forested terrain had helped somewhat slow the push by Long’s forces, but only barely. Eisenhower had more success on the west, where the greater manpower has really started to pressure the American Union State on their Texas front.

The Federals still controlled the air though. That had made securing their defenses much easier. Flying over the Great Plains was effectively a death sentence, and few had the nerve to establish air cover on the east coast. That was a small comfort to Dan McKenna, who had gone to the Applachians in response to a new Syndie push. The Federals had retaken Charleston in June, but their position was tenuous there, and with new militia units being sent into battle, someone had needed to defend this key western outpost.

American militia units had stayed to defend the city, but McKenna had looked to secure the hills to the northeast. The Applachian plateau looked to give a good vantage point for artillery if any could succeed in the arduous task of towing them up to that position. Loyalist civilians had offered to do it on their own, pulling the units with their own work trucks, but that would be a dangerous undertaking without escort. McKenna took his Thunderbolts, with their own artillery pieces, to secure the hills first, while the militia guns could follow second when the way had been cleared. The Syndicates, tipped off by sympathetic informants, launched a massive push with their own 45th Thunderbirds, supplemented by local revolutionary forces, to prevent bombardment. The battle plan called for an overwhelming attack to break the dug-in mountain entrenchments, attacking from multiple directions in an attempt to dislodge the stubborn Irish defenders and find a weak spot.

McKenna demanded that the forces hold, using high-explosive burst shells over the heads of the enemy to maximize effect on the enemy. The engineers had dug in extensively, and had used dynamite to blast further fortifications and built entrenchments. The Thunderbolts only had a few guns, which were primarily pointed toward the northwest against the more highly-trained Thunderbirds. At such high elevation, and with such difficult terrain, evacuating casualties was difficult on the mountain, and men sometimes collapsed where they stood due to a combination of fatigue and high elevation.

That had been days ago, and the Thunderbolts were in tatters. The less wounded had even taken up shifts at night, or taking over service positions so able-bodied men could shoot and spot for the artillery. They had been holding, but just barely so. If it hadn’t been a mountain, they would have already been overrun. “I’ll be damned if I die on some cold rock half the world away from home.” McKenna defiantly continued to stand, hoping to wear down the superior numbers with artillery shells. He was the Wall of West Virginia, and he wouldn’t let the bastards through.

---

10 September 1937 - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

It had been months of hard fighting. Charleston had remained in Federal hands, and the front had stabilized, but all hopes of recovering the Federals in Kentucky were lost. The loyalists could only hope that the army groups had disbanded to make their way back to Federal territory in smaller numbers rather than being shot en masse, or worse, deserting to fall in with the enemy for their own salvation.

MacArthur had relied on the volunteers to fight a great deal of battles, more than he had preferred. The states under his control were tapped out for manpower resources, and if he started poaching from the factory floors for more able bodies he’d run out of supplies. Supply was irregular, especially for fuel, which he needed to keep the planes in the sky and the troops moving across the front. Olds and Tunner were able to airlift a lot of supplies, but demand always outstripped supply, and the more supplies he lifted the more danger there was for explosions in the cargo holds.

Ultimately, MacArthur decided that he needed to attack, to keep the pressure on the east so that the Syndicalists did not pull more men to prevent Eisenhower from marching toward Chicago from Kansas and the Dakotas. The Syndicates had been attacking south against the American Union State and fortifying out of New York City, and MacArthur had theorized that they would be weak in between those two strongpoints. The Brazilian and Argentine volunteers offered to push toward Philadelphia, with the hopes of breaking the regional command post and sending Syndicalist forces into disarray, while the Irish opted to push into Pittsburgh to seize the valuable steel mills and threaten a push into Ohio. The Mexican volunteers opted to remain in Virginia to help guard the line against the Longists; they had feared if the American Union State won, there may have been calls to expand further south to seize valuable oil and mining territories; fears of the Golden Circle expansion as it was dubbed in Mexico had been a hot button issue for the Mexican volunteers. If the Irish could secure Pittsburgh, that would give them control of the railroad junctions and the rivers, and allow MacArthur to bring in militia units to bring the territory under control with little fighting. With that, they could push further north toward Erie, splitting the Syndicalists and isolating them in New York. With Canada closing the border to the Combined Syndicates, even to the point of having the Royal Canadian Mounted Police arrest suspected border crossers and turning them over to the Federal government in Denver, that would render a similar fate to the lost Federals in Kentucky. MacArthur just hoped that his south could hold against the Firsters. Trading Virginia for Pennsylvania was not a winning proposition.

The B&O Line had been cut early, forcing McKenna and the Thunderbolts to march for most of the trip. Even in September, Pennsylvania was still hot, to help with water and the unfamiliar terrain McKenna had largely followed the Mononghaela river. To the east, he had Federal troops supplemented by Maryland militia moving north to take Harrisburg. McKenna force-marched his troops into Syndicate territory, hoping to secure a clear pathway along the rail lines for American repair crews to fix the B&O.

McKenna had been fortunate, western Pennsylvania had been defended by irregular militia units, poorly armed and lacking artillery support. In many cases, McKenna found that they didn’t have enough rifles for every man and only a few machine guns, some had taken to using shotguns better suited for partridge than men. When he was lucky, a few barrages from the field guns was enough to send them packing, but even without that, a dedicated attack usually was able to force back the disorganized units. A pity he didn’t have tanks, even a couple of old Weltkrieg landships would simply be able to drive to Pittsburgh unimpeded as long as it was gassed up.

The locals were fiercely divided. A few times McKenna had gone near towns, he had been welcomed and told where the Syndicates had kept their ammunition depot. Most of the time, however, the homes were ransacked, the supplies taken. Horror stories came to McKenna about “war syndicalism,” Reed’s name for the efforts taken to ensure his fighting men had the food they needed to fight. Sometimes it was the Combined Syndicates directly, but more often it seemed to be neighbors seizing on old grudges, summarily beating those they suspected of disloyalty and stealing their possessions, donating them to Reed as an act of solidarity. Worse still was what happened to those suspected of disloyalty. The Combined Syndicates offered a bounty on saboteurs and informants, and that had led to hastily-convened People’s Courts, serviced by hanging judges. Even so, there were plenty of people loyal to the Combined Syndicates, shouting their approval at finally destroying the brutal oppressors of Wall Street and their puppets in the Federal government. For a moment, McKenna thought of Ulster, and remembered everything he had heard 15 years before, and then he remembered the refugees from the British Isles after their revolution.

Pittsburgh had been hastily-fortified, with burned out hulks of cars blocking the bridges into town, forcing McKenna to navigate the crude fortifications with great care. The civilian population had largely huddled in buildings with boarded-up windows. The large buildings had been long ago hit by artillery fire or bombings from aircraft. Rail tunnels had been places of safety, McKenna’s scouts had found a few brave souls trading for various materials on picnic blankets. The mayor, who had thrown in his lot with the Syndicalists, had fled the city with the rest of the CSA, and they had thrown those city councilmen loyal to the Federal government into the Ohio. Coordination was largely infrequent, done by amateur radio. The civilians largely wanted to be left alone, out of the civil war, but the war had come to them despite their best wishes.

McKenna set to work, ordering his engineering corps to get the guns into firing positions. He positioned men near the Alleghany to prevent any CSA attack using the river to bypass his fortifications, and fortified the major exits with sandbags and machine guns. He had barely gone through half of his fortifications when he had heard the bad news: The Syndies were on the march along the Alleghany, and they would attack the city soon.

Yet, McKenna was not alone. The 12th Hohei Shidan, volunteer forces from far-off Japan, had come to support the Irish forces, and they had brought with them their Type 90’s, doubling McKenna’s supply of artillery. The Japanese and Irish soldiers met on the south side, and drew up plans for an attack. McKenna was given overall command, and elected to put his Irish veterans in the more dangerous forward position while the Japanese would fire on the CSA to draw them in under a battery of withering artillery fire. Once the enemy had descended past Lower Lincoln and could no longer enjoy visibility from Upper Lincoln, the Irish would ambush them in close quarters.

The CSA announced their attack with a radio command ordering all civilians to remain indoors, and all “foreign invaders” to surrender to the 2nd New York Revolutionary Guard, for handling by the legitimate United States government for repatriation. The 12th Hohei Shidan responded with a cannon barrage, thus commencing the Battle of Pittsburgh at 0900 on 10 September. McKenna’s Thunderbolts fought in ambush-and-retreat tactics, dividing themselves into seven-man fireteams. McKenna would fire on advancing CSA forces, retreat into a building, then have a second fireteam flank the New York Revolutionaries from across the street. Casualties were high on both sides, especially among the Irish who often refused to fight until in incredibly close combat, hoping the shock of the ambush would carry the day. Friendly fire incidents were high, especially as the day went into night, both from accidental fire on friendly troops and sympathetic civilians accidentally firing on who they believed were enemy soldiers. Yet the day stood. On 14 September, his squads battered and American troops pushing through central Pennsylvania, Oliver Law reluctantly ordered a retreat to the northeast. Western Pennsylvania stood liberated, but the war was not over yet.

---

20 December 1937 - Welfare Island, New York City, United States of America

The icy winds of winter were howling, but the pit in Daniel McKenna’s stomach wasn’t from the cold. He had hoped to warm himself with a cigarette as he surveyed the successful conquest of New York City, but that had all left him. Naught but a short time ago, the celebration had been high. The Syndies had lost both a major symbol and, perhaps more pragmatically, their eastern command center. The Dominion of Canada had officially supported the Federal Government, and there had been Canadian, Indian, and French Republican volunteers sailing to Maryland to join MacArthur and the Volunteer Brigades, along with massive shipments of weapons from the Entente. Manhattan had surrendered rather than risk a massive urban brawl amongst the skyscrapers. That too, had seemed like a cause for celebration, but there was little sense of Christmas cheer among those who were picking through the ruins of New York City, for they had finally come to Welfare Island.

Inside, McKenna had found cell after cell of prisoners, skin stretched and hair falling out from starvation and malnutrition, their bodies broken from months of hard labor. When New York had fallen to the Syndicalists, they had imprisoned anyone who had worked in the financial sector, any who rented an apartment to another, or any who they considered to be bourgeoise, and demanded that they atone for the crimes of their previous lives with new, honest labor for the Syndicalist cause. They had been forced into the most dangerous jobs of the arms industry, like manufacturing artillery shells to the point where their skin had turned to a greasy yellow. Bleeding gums and fingers, limbs lost in machinery or explosive accidents were routine, each prisoner was a laundry list of atrocities written out upon their bodies.

Each horror that McKenna heard made him feel numb. He had nearly torn his gloves in two after listening, but he had made sure that he had heard it all, and that his staff heard it as well. A patriotic young woman, formerly a social columnist for the New York Tribune who had signed on to help with the support staff, volunteered to transcribe every word. “Be damned, lass, you’re a damn sight braver than any fella. Write it down, every bloody word, and know that ye’ve got a ironclad heart three times larger than any bastard who tells ye different.”

McKenna had dispatched three messages from New York. The first was to General MacArthur, who had said: “Am pleased to deliver to you New York as an early Christmas present.” The second was to Michael Collins, relaying a request for more reinforcement of men and materiel. The third, a private correspondence, bemoaned what he had seen. “The brutality of what I’ve seen is beyond words, and the only thing that breaks me more is the thought that this is not some singularly unique moment of malice, that we’ll find another Welfare Island in the South run by those America First bastards. God help me, is this what we left the English to in ‘25? Did we look at an Englishman for all those years and see the English and not the man?”

“Private. Bring all the Syndie prisoners we’ve got, make them see what went on here, make ‘em stare at each one. If they look away, hit ‘em. Then find the officers, and see which ones knew about it. And if ye find one that did...hang ‘em from the Brooklyn Bridge.”

---

Alright, that’s the second chapter, with the Syndicates on the ropes and the Firsters being slowly ground down in the western theater. The third chapter will handle the defeat of the Syndicalists and the Firsters and Mosley’s opening shots for his invasion of Ireland. Let me know what you think. And yes, I know some of the pictures are from 0.12, I’ve already mentioned that in my first post on the topic, and I know the battle map is crude; I suck at art. Also, what do you think about cropping the screenshots to make them easier to read? I think it looks fine, not too pixelated or zoomed in, but it does lose the sort of authentic “AAR screenshot” feeling. Which do you prefer, readers?

Images

Cactus Jack Becomes President

Standoff in America

Second American Civil War Begins

Battle of Baltimore

Encircled Federal Troops in Kentucky

US Moves the Capital to Denver

Germany Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Spain Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Italy Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The Netherlands Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The United States Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Canada Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Sweden Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Austria Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Rigged 1937 Election

The Wall of West Virigina

The Battle of Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh Battle Map

The Fall of New York

-SLAL

#creative #kaiserreich #celtic tiger

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

Text

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 15

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor. All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed. The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away. In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’. Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma! @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist | AO3

---

Wednesday, April 24th (continued)

Ian spent the rest of the afternoon searching the palace grounds, calling and texting Rose, to no avail. He would have continued to search, had his valet not found him and almost forced him back to the Palace to dress for the Ball.

Now, they were ten minutes into the party, and he had yet to see her – though his heart quickened at the sight of her assistant.

“Mel!”

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” the woman curtseyed, dipping her head.

He waved a hand impatiently. “No need. Where’s Rose?”

“Still getting ready, I think, Sir.”

“Very well. When you see her, tell her I need to speak to her immediately.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Feeling antsy, he decided to run up to her suite and talk to her anyway, heading in that direction only to get caught by Donna, who kept a smile on her face even as she gripped his elbow and steered him into a relatively private corner of the main ballroom.

“Yes?”

“Where’s Reinette?”

Shit. “We called it off – mutually.”

Donna’s expression lit like the sun, making him breathe a little easier; he didn’t want to get yelled at, not tonight. “You’re going to ask Rose?”

“Yes, as soon as I find her. I’ve been trying most of the afternoon – I know that was her mother, by the way.”

“I was going to tell you when you got your head out of your arse and admitted your feelings,” she shrugged. “Where is Rose?”

“I don’t know. Mel says she’s getting ready.”

“You don’t believe her?” Donna didn’t wait for an answer, merely turned and waved the girl over. Ian was quietly grateful she was willing to take charge; he was finding it difficult to concentrate or think around the butterflies.

“Good evening Your Highness, Your Majesty,” Mel curtseyed again, looking decidedly nervous.

“Where’s Rose?”

The woman swallowed. “I told His Majesty-”

“Mel, please.”

“I think she was going to visit Reinette on her way down?”

Ian closed his eyes. “She’s going home, isn’t she?”

The assistant nodded slowly, looking ashamed. “I’m sorry for lying, Sir, but she asked me to – begged me. She had a family emergency, her mother-”

“Mel, is that you?” Jackie called, and the redhead’s expression changed to one of horror.

“Mrs. Tyler?”

The two women embraced, the younger looking shocked. “I- I don’t understand!”

“Let me be clear,” Ian snapped. “Reinette and I have called it off. I plan to ask Rose to marry me, which is why I’ve been trying to find her all day. I can’t bloody well do that if she’s on a train back to London!”

“She turned her phone off,” Mel whispered. “Her train leaves at eight.”

Nodding sharply, Ian moved towards the doors, only for his sister to physically haul him back. “You can’t leave.”

“The fuck I can’t! Donna-”

“I will go,” she cut him off sternly. “I will bring her back – I’ll stop the bloody train if I have to. But you cannot leave. So smile, and mingle, and leave the rest to me. Here.” Donna pressed a crushed velvet ring box into his hand. “This is for her – she fell in love with it when helping me pick Reinette’s ring.”

Ian’s heart dropped, fury rising through him at her inconsideration. “Donna! You knew we were in love and made her pick out Reinette’s ring? That’s absolutely callous.”

“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” she rolled her eyes. “How else were we supposed to know what ring she would want? It was the only excuse I had to get her down into the Archives.”

He had no response for that, merely checked his watch and saw the time – twenty minutes to eight. “You need to go. Bring her back.”

“Fine. You go eat something, try to sop up all that scotch. She deserves a relatively sober proposal.”

And she turned on her heel, stalking towards the door.

All he could do was hope she would arrive on time.

Please don’t let Rose get on that train.

Rose sat quietly on a bench at the station, her luggage tucked around her as she sniffled. She only had another five minutes until her train arrived, another five minutes until she could flee home. At least my reputation’s intact, she thought, before snorting. At least, until they all bloody find out I fell in love with my client.

Rubbing her arms for warmth, she let her gaze drift across the other waiting passengers and towards the station, only for her jaw to drop when Princess Donna, dressed to the nines, came out onto the platform. “What the…”

“There you are,” the Princess snapped, striding over towards her, as Rose hurriedly stood and tried to curtsey. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I have to go home, there’s been an emergency. My mum-”

The Princess waved a hand, silencing her. “Bullshit. We had a deal.”

“And I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain,” Rose said shakily, nonetheless standing tall. “The King has found a wife. The announcement will be made any minute I imagine. There’s nothing else for me to do. I really-”

“Do you remember what I said? First over Skype, then when we met in person?”

Rose nodded but didn’t reply, unsure of what specifically she meant.

“I said I- we want to find Ian happiness and love. Reinette… she would make a good queen and wife – but not for Ian. And, maybe, under different circumstances, they could have been happy enough. Sarah told you we would accept anyone who made him happy – regardless of background.”

“I don’t understand,” she mumbled, refusing to name the thing bubbling up in her chest as hope. It’s probably indigestion from that fried sandwich thing I had.

The Princess’s face softened, and she stepped forward to take Rose’s hand. “Please come back to the Palace with me. Please attend the Ball.”

Rose’s lip trembled. “I can’t watch him marry someone else.”

“Come back with me so he doesn’t have to.”

As far as arguments went, that was perhaps the most compelling one Rose had ever heard.

“Okay.”

When they returned to the Palace she was led immediately to her suite, the Princess staying with her. Upon entering her eyes went wide at the veritable army of ‘glam’ people waiting.

“Right, we don’t have much time,” the Princess ordered the room, “but you know what you need to do.”

And, as Rose was whisked behind a curtain and undressed by one of the women, she settled on the couch with a magazine.

“You don’t have to stay,” Rose said, yelping when the woman unhooked her bra. “I can undress myself, thank you!”

“You might as well get used to it,” Princess Donna, called, “and as for staying – this is as far as you’re leaving my sight. They’re being paid very handsomely for their speed – let them work.”

Rose let them dress her in a blue strapless gown, one that coincidentally almost exactly matched the ring she’d loved in the Archive on Sunday.

“What exactly is happening?” she finally asked, closing her eyes as two women curled her hair and a third did her makeup.

“Don’t play stupid. It doesn’t become you,” was all the Princess said, still flipping pages in the magazine. “If you haven’t figured it out, I can’t help you.”

Butterflies took off in Rose’s stomach, ideas swirling, but the thing that made her heart try to beat itself out of her chest was a delicate sapphire tiara being nestled on top of her head. “I can’t wear this.”

“Technically, no,” the Princess said, coming up to bend over Rose’s shoulder and stare at Rose’s reflection. “But that technicality won’t last long, so I wouldn’t worry about it.” Then, after a moment, a nod. “She’s ready.”

Rose’s stomach violently disagreed, but silver pumps were slipped onto her feet and she was eased upright. “Okay,” she said, very softly, and led to the door.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes,” the Princess promised, kissing her cheek. “It will all be fine.”

Rose nodded, swallowing, waiting until the Princess reached the bottom of the stairs before starting down herself, very carefully. Tonight was too important to accidentally kill herself wearing heels.

She stepped into the ballroom hesitantly, eyes darting around the room. They made it roughly halfway, and then she caught sight of the King and all the breath left her body. He was dressed impeccably, looking like royalty for the first time. He had on what appeared to be a formal military uniform covered in medals, with a sash. He’d had a haircut, not too short, but taming the curls just enough to fit his royal persona.

I hope after the wedding he lets them grow back out again.

The King caught sight of her then, and this time the world stopped as his expression went from shock to pleasure to pure, unadulterated joy. He moved forward towards her, almost as if by instinct, abandoning the older couple he’d been conversing with without a thought.

She didn’t realize she was moving until they met halfway, hands clasping between them.

“Rose,” he whispered, caressing the letters of her name, a hope and a prayer all in one, and she’d never loved the sound of her name as much as she did in that moment, hoped he would always say it that way.

“Hi,” she whispered back, giggling a little with giddy joy and nerves. “How’s it going?”

He laughed softly, eyes raking over her as if he couldn’t believe she was real. “Better, now you’re here. You look… stunning.”

“Thank you.”

“I… have to go make a speech. And an announcement,” he continued with that same soft tone full of wonder. “What do I say?”

“You say whatever’s in your heart,” she counseled, brushing her fingertips over the center of his chest. “Let it guide you. You can’t go wrong if you follow your heart.”

He nodded sharply, breath catching as he lifted her left hand to his mouth and pressed a tiny kiss at the base of her ring finger. “I may hold you to that.”

“You better.”

He reluctantly backed away from her, eyes never leaving her as he cleared his throat. “May I have a moment of everyone’s time?”

All noise ceased immediately, the room turning to give the King their full attention.

“Thank you. First, I wish to thank all of you for your attendance tonight, and your support of me over this past year. Losing my father was difficult for all of us – he was a wonderful king, one who will be missed by all.

“But tonight is not about the past – it is about the future. The future of Gallifrey, and my personal future. As you may know, a wedding- my wedding- is planned for this Saturday morning, to immediately precede the coronation. What you may not know is that I have had… no small amount of difficulty finding my date to both events.”

He paused, and the crowd laughed, Rose included.

“And not to go too far into detail that ultimately doesn’t matter, I have found her. The issue – or, I suppose, question, is if she is willing to do so. To be my partner, my friend, my wife, my Queen. To share this life, which is so special and unique, and certainly not for the faint of heart.” The King held her gaze the entire time he spoke, his tone a soft murmur that cascaded over Rose with all the warmth of a summer shower, filling her completely.

Unable to do anything but smile, paralyzed by fear and nerves and happiness and doubts, she stayed rooted to the ground out of fear that should she move, she would either trip and fall flat on her face, or discover that, perhaps, Reinette was standing just behind her, and his beautiful speech had nothing to do with her.

“Rose,” he beckoned her forward, putting one fear to rest, and unable to resist him, tired of being so far from him, she did not so much walk forward as float nearly into his arms.

“Yes?” she asked, breathless, as he took her hands in his. She was pleased to find them both trembling, to know that he was as overcome as she was.

“Darling,” he spoke softly, these words seemingly just for the two of them, “I don’t know quite when, but somewhere in this mad journey I’ve fallen desperately in love with you. Your spirit, your kindness, your dedication and endless optimism have entirely bewitched me. You have convinced me of the existence of true love with every smile, every laugh. Even when we argued, I did not feel so much as I was fighting against you as I was fighting with you. I find you constantly on my mind, occupying my every thought. You make me want to be better, to stand up and face my destiny, when all I’ve ever done was run away from it. You… somewhere along the way, you’ve become my best friend. With you at my side, I can be happy at home. Monarchy, at its heart, is a lonely, isolating fate. But with you, I no longer feel caged.”

Rose smiled brightly, tearing up as she recognized the modified Queen lyrics. Then she gasped as he carefully dropped to one knee, letting go of her right hand to pull something out of his pocket.

It was a velvet ring box, and when he flicked it open, she was somehow both stunned and not to find the ring she’d fallen for on Sunday.

“Rose Tyler,” he said, voice rough with emotion, “Queen of Hearts, will you be my wife?”

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #Doctor Who #12xRose #12th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Queen of Hearts #royalty AU

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prepare4trouble · 5 years ago

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Good Omens fanfic - Damage, part 3

Previous 1 | 2

Crowley hurt. His head throbbed so violently that it made him want to vomit. The light stung his eyes, and the room somehow refused to stand still. It spun and tilted viciously, as though determined to keep him where he was, laying on the ground where he had collapsed the moment the floor of his flat had spat him out like some indigestible morsel of food.

He closed one eye against the double vision, then the other in the hopes that darkness would soothe the pain in his head, then opened them again when he found that the sensation of the room spinning was worse when he couldn’t see it. It was like being drunk and hungover at the same time, only worse, because being drunk or hungover didn’t usually involve cracked ribs, open wounds, broken bones and a very probable concussion.

All he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for a century or so, until the injuries from the beating he had received in Hell had healed and the room had stopped spinning. Unfortunately, whoever it was that had returned him to Earth had chosen for him to burrow through the floor of his office, not his bedroom. Moving from one to the other felt like it would be an impossible task.

He needed a miracle, but not one of his own. Healing one’s own body was difficult, and Crowley didn't want to risk doing it wrong. He needed a miracle from somebody else, and of course the only being he knew that might be both willing and able to do it for him was…

He froze, still sprawled on the floor, as cold dread washed over him. He didn’t know where Aziraphale was. The angel had been taken at the same time that he had. As he had been dragged down into Hell, he had seen a group of angels snatch Aziraphale and pull him up into Heaven to face whatever judgement they might have in mind for him.

And Crowley knew all too well how Heaven dealt with angels that refused to toe the company line.

He needed to get to him. Even if it meant he needed to go back to Hell, he needed to find him.

He rolled over onto his side and tried to get to his feet, but he was stopped by a searing flash of agony from his left leg. He remembered the grin on Hastur’s face as the demon had brought his heel down hard on the shin, and the sound as he had heard the bone break.

He hissed in pain. He was going to have to at least try to heal that if he had any hope of getting off the floor. He concentrated as much of his energy as he could muster on knitting the fracture, but performing any miracle at all was difficult when the room refused to stay still. At least three of his fingers were broken, which made clicking them an impossibility. Not that a finger click was necessary for a miracle of course, but he found that it helped focus his concentration, and right now he could have used some focus.

The pain eased slightly. It was an imperfect mend; he could still feel a dull, aching pain from the break, but it faded into the background in comparison to the other injuries. He tried to wiggle his toes, and they obeyed his command. Tentatively, he tried to put some weight on the limb, then began to drag his aching, protesting body to its feet.

The room lurched violently to the left and he staggered and almost toppled back to the ground. He righted himself by grabbing hold of the throne-like chair he had placed in the office, and closed his eyes against the wave of nausea that washed over him. He realised that his ears were ringing; a high-pitched whining, louder and a slightly higher pitch in one than the other.

He reached over the desk and picked up the phone. Maybe, just maybe, Aziraphale was okay. Maybe he hadn’t Fallen after all. Maybe all the angels had wanted was to have a polite chat with him before they delivered him safe and sound back to the bookshop. Or maybe he had Fallen, but had landed on Earth rather than in Hell. Or maybe the angels had taken a leaf out of Hell’s book and simply beaten him senseless and deposited him at home.

No, not that. He couldn’t imagine angels doing that. They had more imagination than the average demon.

But Crowley had an imagination of his own, and he knew how to put it to use. The phone on the other end of the line began to ring, and he wondered whether maybe, if he imagined hard enough, he would be able to make Aziraphale be there and pick up. His imagination had come through for him before, after all.

But not this time. There was no reply, nothing but the continuous ringing at the other end of the line. The angel didn’t even have voicemail, or an answering machine. Crowley couldn’t even shout a message, something to let Aziraphale know, if he did happen to be there, that he was trying to reach him.

Aziraphale was going to make a terrible demon. Not only that, but he was going to hate it, and not in the ‘no job satisfaction’ way that most demons hated it. It would be deeper than that. The loss would be a wound that would never heal, leaving him feeling empty and alone, and Crowley feared that it would break the angel so badly that he would never recover. Many hadn’t.

He leaned heavily against both the desk and the chair as he continued to listen to the ringing of the telephone at the other end of the line. With every ring, he grew more and more certain that the angel wasn’t there; that he was in fact, in Hell, trying to find his way out of a pool of molten sulphur.

He needed to get there; to the bookshop. If Aziraphale was on Earth, he would make his way there, and if he wasn’t there, Crowley would at least know that he needed to start looking elsewhere. He didn’t relish the thought, but he would march back into Hell if he needed to.

Although, unless he could find the strength to miracle himself better, it was probably going to be more of a limp into Hell, possibly with a few falls along the way and the distinct possibility of discorporation from his injuries.

He had never been more happy to see the Bentley than when he staggered out of the door of his building onto the street. He had known it was there, of course. He had seen it the day before, recreated, without a scratch on it, looking almost exactly as it had on the day that he had bought it. Still, the way his luck had gone since yesterday, he had half expected that Adam might have recreated the car with the key in the ignition and that some opportunistic thief had driven it away while he had been busy receiving a beating.

Thankfully, he had been returned in the middle of the night and not the middle of rush hour, and the streets were almost deserted. He made it to the bookshop in record time, swerved the car violently across the road and mounted the curb facing in the wrong direction. The Bentley’s brakes screeched in a way that, on any other day, Crowley might have worried about. Today, he had more important things on his mind. He opened the door and fell out onto the pavement. It was at that point that he remembered he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses; they had been taken from him and presumably destroyed by one of the demons that had delivered his beating.

From his position, laying ground outside the bookshop with the damp of a recent rain shower soaking through the fabric of his jeans, Crowley weighed the pros and cons of getting back in the car in the hopes that Adam had also recreated the contents of his glove compartment. The cons won, and he pushed closed the car door with his foot, then climbed to his feet, and almost fell again as he staggered into the shop.

“Aziraphale?” he called. His voice didn’t exactly echo around the building — there was too much clutter and too many books for the sound waves to get a good bounce going — but it did seem to disappear into nothing in a way that he didn’t think it did normally.

Although, that might have had something to do with the ringing in his ears.

He closed his eyes in anticipation of the glare when he switched on the lights in the shop, but found himself hissing in pain anyway as the sudden burst of artificial light sound even though his eyelids. The pain was accompanied by another wave of nausea and he wished, briefly, that he had decided to check the Bentley for spare sunglasses. It was too late to go back now, so he gave himself a second or two to recover, then opened one eye just a crack.

His head throbbed even harder than before, and he was certain that if he didn’t sit — or better yet lie — down soon, his body would decide to take matters into its own hands and he would pass out.

He might even discorporate, and land back in hell minus his corporation for the beating to commence all over again. In fact, he wouldn’t put that kind of a plan past someone like Hastur, though it wasn’t Beelzebub’s usual style. The Prince of Hell hadn’t been directly involved in the beating though, so perhaps ze had left the specifics up to the demons that were.

The nausea wasn’t getting better, and as a demon he could see in the dark anyway. He reached for the light switch again, meaning to plunge the shop back into darkness, when he noticed, in the corner of the room, a figure sitting with his back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest, hunched in on himself.

Crowley squinted, trying to decide whether it was real, or some kind of hallucination. The figure was dressed in Aziraphale’s usual white and beige ensemble, and on second, and on third look, still very much resembled the angel. He tried opening his other eye, but that only resulted in there being two angels sitting on the floor of the bookshop, and that made even less sense than there being one.

Because there definitely was one.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed. He rushed over to the figure, concussion and aching body forgotten for one brief moment.

Aziraphale tensed, but didn’t move. He angled his face downward, not looking up at him. “Crowley?” he asked the floor between his feet.

“Yes it’s me, you idiot. Who else would it be?” Crowley reached down and tried to pull the angel to his feet, but some combination of Aziraphale’s reluctance to stand, coupled with Crowley’s own weakness from the beating, somehow ended up with him on the floor, right next to him.

“I…” Aziraphale moved just slightly, head raising, then dropping again almost instantly. “It’s not a good time, Crowley,” he said. “Give me a few days to get myself used…” the words disappeared, as though his throat had constricted, choking away his voice. “Used to things,” he finished.

Crowley hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “I, uh… what thi…” he began, then stopped. It didn’t matter. “I’ll help you with it… with them,” he said. “The things.” Whatever they might be.

He should be able to sense it if there was anything demonic about the angel, but he was getting nothing. Of course, that might not mean anything. Right now, he doubted he would be able to sense anything from Satan himself; all he could feel was his own pain, nausea, and the sensation of the room spinning.

He realised he had closed his eyes again. Relief at finding the angel — if that was still what he was — alive and intact had given him a momentary boost, but his injuries were reasserting themselves and his headache growing worse again. He cracked open one eye again and looked at Aziraphale, assessing him for damage.

That he was in the bookshop and not currently trying to do the front crawl out of a pool of molten sulphur was an encouraging sign. In fact, other than the fact that he was currently sitting on the floor, nothing much appeared to be amiss. There was no whiff of brimstone about him. He had no horns, or claws. He still appeared to be very much Aziraphale-shaped, with no scales, fur or fangs and, most importantly, no creature atop his head.

He was still able to form coherent words too, although he wasn’t speaking as much as he usually did. The first thing most new demons had done, following their descent into Hell, had been to scream, or to sob inconsolably. Crowley could still hear the sound of it sometimes, echoing around the caverns of Hell, and around the recesses of his own memory.

Falling wasn’t simply changing from one state of being to another. It was a loss so deep and profound that some never recovered. Falling ripped out an angel’s divinity, permanently severed their connection to the Almighty and took away their ability to sense love. It took from them everything that made them angels, and left behind little more than a shell filled with pain, betrayal, and anger. It took time to come back from something like that. The kind of time that lasted entire human lifespans, and those that did come back were never the same beings that they had been as angels.

If Aziraphale had Fallen, his was the gentlest landing that Crowley had ever seen.

 Although, if not that, something was definitely very wrong. Aziraphale didn’t sit on the floor. Well, not unless you count sitting on a blanket in the park while they had a picnic, but Crowley didn’t count that. It wasn’t exactly the same thing as sitting on the floor of the bookshop a few steps away from a chair.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t seen Aziraphale’s eyes yet. The angel had been deliberately directing his gaze away from him. Not all demons showed their demonic nature in their eyes, but most did, in one form or another. It was likely that if he had Fallen, there would be some difference there. He reached out and touched the angel on the arm. “Aziraphale,” he said. “Look at me.”

Aziraphale responded with a sound. A strangled sound caught halfway between a bitter laugh and a sob. He did not move. His eyes remained closed and his face turned downward.

“Aziraphale, please,” Crowley tried. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No,” he said. “It’s not.”

His voice trembled in a way that Crowley had never heard from him before, not once over the course of their entire friendship. Not when he had realised that giving away a flaming sword to a couple of humans might get him into the Almighty’s bad books, nor any one of the times over the course of human history when he had been convinced that he was about to be discorporated. Not even when Satan himself had been rising through the earth toward Tadfield and they had mere seconds to come up with a plan.

A knot of frustration began to form in Crowley’s chest. He couldn’t help if Aziraphale wouldn’t tell him what was wrong. “What did they do?” he tried. “Did they hurt you?” He didn’t look hurt. Not like Crowley was, at least.

The angel appeared to hesitate, then nodded. “But it only hurt for a moment,” he said.

“That’s… good?” Crowley tried. Riddles and hints were getting him nowhere. He didn’t think Aziraphale was being deliberately evasive, but he was doing a good job of it nonetheless. “I wish I could say the same. But what doesn’t hurt? What did they…”

“You’re hurt?” Aziraphale interrupted. He looked up at that briefly. Head moving to face in Crowley’s direction, to assess him for damage. Briefly, his eyes slipped open, but closed again immediately, before Crowley had the chance to see them, to check them for signs of anything demonic. He reached out with a hand, searching for Crowley’s arm and gripping it tightly when he found it.

If the angel would just open his eyes and look at him, he would have been able to see that he was hurt. Crowley winced as Aziraphale’s hand accidentally pressed into a bruise hidden underneath the tattered wreck of his shirt. At least the room wasn’t spinning quite so much now that he was sitting on the floor, and at least he didn’t feel quite so sick now that he knew the angel hadn’t been sent down into Hell.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale prompted. “You’re hurt?”

“Just a concussion,” he said. “A few broken bones.” He adjusted his position on the floor and winced. “Maybe a bit of internal bleeding.”

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale admonished. He shook his head as though in disbelief. “Why on Earth didn’t you say?”

The hand gripping Crowley’s arm moved down without breaking physical contact, until he was holding his hand instead. Aziraphale’s hand was warm to the touch. It lingered there for a second, as though somehow assessing the damage through heavenly means. Then, with no warning, no finger click or hand motion, the pain was ripped away.

For a moment, the sudden absence of pain hurt as badly as the pain itself. If left behind a vacuum of sorts, and for a moment, he could feel nothing at all. Crowley gasped at the sudden absence. Sensation filtered back slowly over several seconds until he could feel again. “Warn me before you do something like that!” he said.

The corners of Aziraphale’s lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “I can undo it, if you would prefer,” he suggested.

He wasn’t serious. Or, was he? For a moment, Crowley couldn’t tell. “Uh, no,” he said, just in case. “That’s okay.” He blinked, then turned his head slowly from left to right, enjoying the lack of pain and absence of nausea, and particularly enjoying the way the room stayed still rather than turning and tilting. The ringing in his ears was gone, as well as the double vision. He felt like himself again.

He turned his gaze to Aziraphale, sitting next to him on the floor with his back to the wall. Through the clarity that no longer being in pain brought him, he knew instinctively that the angel had not Fallen. He could sense nothing of Hell in him. He allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Whatever was wrong — and he was just as certain now as he had been before that something was wrong — whatever was wrong, at least it was not that.

“Right,” he said. “What’s going on? What did that arsehole do to you?” Crowley was getting a Very Bad Feeling. Being a demon, he was used to bad feelings, and there were times when he quite enjoyed them. This was not one of those times. This one was particularly uncomfortable. It started as a prickling sensation on the back of his neck and moved around and down his body until it settled in the pit of his stomach as a hard lump. “Why won’t you look at me?”

Aziraphale flinched, then appeared to steel himself. He drew in a deep breath, chest expanding as his lungs filled with air, then exhaled slowly as he opened both of his eyes. Even still facing down to the ground, Crowley noticed the flicker of disappointment that clouded his expression, as though he had been hoping for something to happen and it had let him down. He smoothed it away before he turned his face toward Crowley and smiled sadly.

Crowley looked at him, staring into the angel’s eyes, searching for any final clue as to what had happened to him, but they looked exactly the same as the last time he had seen them. He hadn’t really expected to see anything demonic there, not now that he was healed and he could sense it again, but it was still a relief to see further evidence that he was right.

“You bastard,” he said with a smile to let Aziraphale know that he was, at least partly, joking. “They’re fine. Why were you hiding them? I thought you’d Fallen and you didn’t want me to know.”

Aziraphale blinked twice in rapid succession and allowed his gaze to drift downward, unfocussed. “As I understand it, Gabriel couldn’t get permission for a Fall,” he said. “So he had to resort to other methods.” He blinked again, like there was something in his eye that he was trying to clear.

“Other methods of what, exactly?” Crowley leaned forward, staring into Aziraphale’s eyes. Aziraphale didn’t react. The Very Bad Feeling expanded, becoming a cold certainly.

“Of punishing me, I suppose,” Aziraphale said.

Slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the air around them, Crowley reached out a hand and passed it before Aziraphale’s eyes. The angel gave no reaction at all; his eyes didn’t move to follow the motion, he didn’t flinch back, he didn’t appear to notice at all.

He couldn’t see it.

Crowley opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a strangled sound that even he couldn’t recognise as words. He shook his head; a short, sharp movement as though he could shake loose the language centre of his mind, then tried again. “Wha… what did he… how…”

Aziraphale folded his arms and pulled his legs in a little closer to his chest, as though he was trying to make himself as small as possible. “He was so pleased with himself,” he said, in a small voice. “I think that’s the worst part.”

That was definitely not the worst part, but Crowley felt a burst of anger at the thought anyway. “I can fix this,” he said. There were very few things that a well-applied miracle couldn’t fix. He snapped his newly healed fingers, calling on demonic power straight from the centre of Hell. He concentrated on the angel’s eyes, on healing. On making him see.

Nothing happened.

No, it was worse than that. It was as though there was nothing to fix.

He scowled, then tried again, pulling even more power out of Hell. Power that had never been intended to heal, but that he could twist to any use he saw fit. He felt it rush through him, burning as it entered his body. It hurt, to hold onto that much raw energy, but the miracle would be worth it.

But again, nothing.

He tried again, and again. And ag…

“Crowley, stop it,” Aziraphale told him. “You can’t. He didn’t do anything to my physical body, he injured my true form. And he used hellfire to do it.”

Using that new piece of information, Crowley attempted to focus the healing miracle. He pulled more power than he had ever wielded before out of Hell. More, even, than he had in Tadfield when he had stopped time. Again, nothing happened. The demonic power, with nowhere to go, filtered away into the world, probably to cause all kinds of minor irritations in London and the surrounding area that morning, and Crowley let out a cry of frustration. He prepared to try again.

Both of Aziraphale’s hands closed around Crowley’s, stopping the finger click before it could happen. “You can’t,” the angel repeated. “You know that. Hellfire, Crowley. You’re just going to exhaust yourself.” His hands tightened a little around Crowley’s. “You’re already shaking.”

So was Aziraphale. Crowley could feel it through his touch. Crowley closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer to anybody that happened to be listening. “I’m going to kill him,” he said. “I’m going to march up there into Heaven and I’m going to…” he broke off. “No, I’m going to make him fix this, then I’m going to kill him.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Gabriel can’t fix it any more than you can, Crowley.”

“One of the other ones then. Or we’ll take it higher. Archangels aren’t really in charge up there, are they? Not unless a lot’s changed since I was…” he stopped again. He didn’t talk about his time as an angel. He didn’t think about it, not if he could help it, but he knew for certain that back then, the Archangels hadn’t been in charge. There was a higher authority, not only God herself, but legions of angels ranked higher than Gabriel.

And if he had to take it to the Almighty herself, he would do it.

“Hellfire,” Aziraphale repeated, as if that said it all. And it did. Just as a demon could not recover from a wound inflicted by holy water, an angel was similarly susceptible to hellfire. Aziraphale was right; there was nothing that anybody could do.

With his free hand, he gripped Aziraphale’s and squeezed gently. “I’m going to kill him,” he repeated. It was a promise that he completely intended to follow through.

Aziraphale, who would ordinarily have admonished him for that kind of talk, even if it was about Gabriel, didn’t comment on the threat. Instead, he pulled his hand free of Crowley’s and climbed carefully to his feet. With one hand touching the wall, he reached out into the room with the other. His head turned as though searching the room, and finding nothing, he took a series of shuffling steps, barely moving his feet from the ground. When he was far enough from the wall that he could no longer maintain contact with it and keep moving forward, he hesitated, licked his lips, and swallowed slowly.

“Before you do,” he said, “Could you possibly help me to a chair and get me a cup of tea? I fully intend to learn how to do these things for myself, but for now I might need a little help.”

Crowley was on his own feet in an instant. He gripped Aziraphale by the hand and carefully led him across the room to the seat by his desk. As the angel sank gratefully into the chair, Crowley disappeared into the well-stocked kitchen.

Tea. At least that was something that he could do.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #crowley #aziraphale #blind aziraphale

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occupyscifi · 6 years ago

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The Partisan Generation

This generation

It was the morning that his daughter airily declared the moon landing a fake news Jewish plot to let liberal scientists run the government that Lenton Ayre realised things had gone a bit far with this generation.

“and, you know its because gun control libtards in the Hollywood elite that we lost the Iraq war” she added, gazing into her eglasses at the endless stream of retweets, status updates and weather pattern like emojis swept over her “because, you know. There were WMD’s - that’s the truth. Only the cultural Marxists wanna cover it up. There’s like a whole thread on ReddChan about it and all the instagram influencers are saying…”

“honey, I just asked what you were gonna be studying in school today” he replied, cutting her off before she could do the whole ten minute screed on the snowflake liberals that then could segway into a whole monolog that took in every conspiracy theory from JFK to flat earth. Instead he would rather talk about their real education. As someone who was assiduous in his working habits and concerned for his children’s future he had of course taken them out of the local state school and put them into the Musk-Bezos academy that had opened in a refurbished mall just out of town. This was less a matter really of intellectual choice, more that since his own employer was a subsidiary of a subsidiary of a subsidiary of Amazon he could either send his kids to the Inspire! Academy or he could find himself a new job.

That Lenton would not have minded quite so much, but all his rivals could only offer him the Netflix online-ed course for his two teenagers. That would hardly have been good fathering, he had figured. Although considering his two children’s current subjects of conversation he wondered if it might just have been better to join one of the local Trump Revival churches and get them home schooled. At least he wouldn’t have had to worry about exams, and they would have a willing audience to talk conspiracy theories with.

“Rani, dude. What is that libtard bullshit?” Ayre’s son retorted, his own smartglasses reflecting the latest news from the hardcore manosphere where he spent most of his time. Since he was wearing his ‘science is my superpower’ tshirt his sister was clearly in a trolling mood “you’ve been sucking down that stupid crap your latest gaywad lametoob boyband crush soyboy has been saying, right? Everyone knows that they’re just a front for Kremlin. Those pretty commie boys want to turn you Stacy’s into their harem so that honest patriots like me can’t get what we’re owed….”

“Kev, you can’t get a girl cause you’re a fucking misogynist incel loser” said his sister quickly “don’t start blaming other people for your problems”

“okay, kids please” said Lenton raising both his hands in what his NLP Yoga teacher had assured him was a calming pose that leant him an air of kindly authority “can we have some calm? You know something a little less partisan at the breakfast table?” lenton scrolled through his own smartglasses looking for non controversial content. It was surprisingly hard “now, can we all agree that congress are a bunch of assholes? Or that kittens are super cute?”

His son opened his mouth to argue

“okay, how about dogs in cars, with their heads out the window?”

Kevin shut his mouth and nodded.

“I mean, I don’t know where it comes from” moaned lenton later at the popup office where he spent his days in online content creation “my daughter spouts anything that comes from the Kremlin via whatever hot youtube boy she’s currently hard crushing on, and my son says anything that some rock hard libertarian science guy says. Neither of them give it a second thought. I don’t know why, cause whenever I say anything they’re on me with laser sight scepticism”

“eh, I blame the technology” complained his colleague as she thumbed through mentions in her livefeed, feeling the desperate need for validation more than the caffeine hit in the cup in her hand “these kids, they wanna be spoonfed everything. I remember when we was their age. We hadda actually google search stuff. If you wanted to throw shade you hadda go to the effort of writing a livejournal about it. Now these kids just get a bunch of recommendations straight into their eyeballs. No thought required”

“too right, Tina. Its about hard work” said Lenton, looking at the day’s workload “it’s the attitude that’s the problem. They’re just too lazy to challenge anything” he scanned the list of hot button to do items “so, what talking points are we monetising for cultural leaders today?”

“we got a contract in from Russia. They want to see the latest round of the Israel Iranian conflict spun as being caused by Jewish bankers. Was thinking we can feed that one in via the Foxosphere. They love a bit of Jew baiting so long as we call em progressive liberal internationalists”

“good call” said Lenton, paging through the various socially destructive ideas and fake news he was being paid a hefty commission to inject into public discourse “we’ve got our screaming mob on retainer. Can get them with placards and slogans anywhere we need them. Although the RNC still hasn’t paid them for that last job. Something about how they weren’t violent enough against those BLM people…”

“they’re actors” sighed Tina as she refilled her mug from the genuine organic roast machine. Her mug bore the cheery slogan ‘world’s greatest stripper’ always reminding her of her grandmother, whose gift it had been “if they want proper violence then they have to get the real white supremacists, but they’re all booked up defending the Canadian border from UN one world government liberal invasion, or whatever we told them was the problem”

“thought it was LGBTQ infiltrators?” replied Lenton. It was hard to keep up. They were after all paid to shape the news and the information that influenced people, the consequences were not really in his pay grade.

“whatever” sighed Tina as she took another high protein cookie from the stack. They were super moreish but were almost physically indigestible. The resulting diarrhoea was always good for the waist line “and we got another Koch brothers contract up. Top dollar to get the key 18-25 demographic thinking that renewable energy is a problem”

“simple. Thread through the manosphere as being that renewable energy is unmanly and feminising. We can to nostalgia stuff around the petrol engine. The far right will love a bit of Tesla bashing….”

“and Tesla will pay us double to spread the counter message” said Tina, finishing her coffee “cool” she paused “look, don’t worry about your kids. They go through phases. Shit, I was tumblrd out when I was their age, woulda cut my best friends head off if she’d said a word against my fandom. They grow out of it”

“yeah” said lenton, already downloading the days false news and astroturf memes ready to infect the information stream of the western world with “but, you know they just seem so extreme. I don’t get why” he added as he pumped a thread blaming vaccinations for causing sexual inadequacy into a mainstream news forum where it would have an active effect on roughly forty five percent of the readership “I just don’t see where they get those ideas from”

#conspiracy #social media

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nebula-starlight · 7 years ago

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Virus (Part 4 - Asylum)

Her eyes glowed bright green in the mirror’s reflection, despite her best efforts to will them back to the soft topaz they were supposed to be. Work was coming up and she couldn’t afford to call in sick again. She’d lose her job if she did that once more and she needed the money. Rent wasn’t cheap near the clinic after all.

The low gurgle of her stomach drew Narssia from her thoughts and she grimaced, lifting a shaky paw to her chest. Was it indigestion? She hadn’t exactly eaten anything this morning... having felt a bit off. Oh no.

She threw herself over the washbasin, heaving until her entire body ached. Well that settled the debate about work. There was no way she’d go in now. Letting a few strands of saliva drip from her jaws as she panted, a low glitchy chuckle echoed in her ears for a brief moment before vanishing.

Waiting a few more minutes to see if the feeling passed, she sighed and left the bathroom, using the tip of her tail to flip the switch that emptied the filled basin. She’d fill it back up with water later but not now, not with her head spinning. Why had she gotten sick? It made no sense... There was nothing she’d done that would have prompted such a reaction.

Retreating to her den, she picked a chair and curled up in it, staring blankly into the unused fireplace beside her. The feeling would pass, she was sure. If not...

Well she knew what do to.

Bright lights shone briefly in one of her eyes as Narssia slowly returned to consciousness, hearing the distorted, warbled sounds of far-away voices. When had she drifted off? Not that it mattered too much now when she just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone?

“She’s coming around. Give her room.”

She knew that voice, the one that broke through with an almost crystal clear quality. Chills ran along her back, terror flooding through her system as the long buried memories rammed into her waking consciousness. No, no, no! Why was it him?! That drake was the last individual she wanted to see now. She ran away from him. She... She’d fought hard to free herself from his web of lies.

But still those feelings remained... How hard claws smacked against her snout, tearing open skin as the pain only made her want to curl up in a ball and disappear. He always screamed at her, demanding she toughen up. The world wouldn’t accept a weak little shadow-breather even though she was trying her best to be brave.

Stop crying! Those black scales you’ve got only give others the impression there’s a cold, heartless monster underneath. You want that, don’t you? To feel strong... powerful even.

She trembled, straining herself to move, to run, to do anything! Still her wings remained limp behind her back and her limbs stayed shackled to the bed for protection. Not this Hell again. Anything but this. They couldn’t see the scars... The past attempts to get rid of that thing growing inside. But she couldn’t move and the routine nightmarish memories she struggled with were bad enough but to relive it...

No, she couldn’t go through that again. There had to be a way out before she started to spiral down into the darkness of her mind. She just had to think...

You’ll be cured in no time, my dear. All those silly little fears will be nothing more than wisps of fleeting thoughts. Soon there will only be the two of us. Together.

“Unusually high... brain activity, Doc. Should we... drug...?”

Her eyes flew open, panic clouding over any and all vision as the whitewash walls of the hospital sent her heart racing in her chest. No exams! She thrashed against the chains holding her down, screaming until her voice broke in repressed anger and fear. No proper drakes trying to fix her. She wasn’t broken! There was nothing... wrong with her.

It was all in her head. It had to be! No one deserved to see her like this. She wasn’t worth anyone’s time. Even the drake had finally spat those words in her face before she...

Oh Ancients! Don’t make her confess it. It was all an accident. He- He pushed her too far. No, no, no... her tail wasn’t covered in blood as the sounds of several pairs of clawed feet thundered up stairs outside his apartment. The noise of the brief struggle had been heard despite her best intent to silence him without a peep.

She confronted him. Marched right up and ripped out his heart, blood splattering over the expensive carpet of his flat as her tailtip dipped into the oozing crimson fluid dripping down his chest and then curled around his neck. Fixing one dark iris on him with a frustrated hiss, she snapped his neck at the same time she crushed the organ in her paw, relishing the satisfying squish it gave before she threw the ruined smear across the room to smack against the locked wooden door.

So many promises... He promised to treat her, cure her even. When that failed he said he loved her and wanted to toughen her up. Well he certainly did that... although likely not how he expected. Now that monster had left yet another mark on her soul, one she tried again and again to purge.

Poison hadn’t worked. Alcohol hadn’t worked - although it gave her an awful hangover the next day though. Every glance she dared to take at her scarred, swelling underbelly filled her with such self-loathing as the months passed. Oh she knew exactly why she’d gotten sick and why her energy was all but gone, there was nothing she wanted more than to rip it right out of her body. Who cared if she tried a dozen other ways to be rid of that hellspawn growing in her lower abdomen!

“Let me go!” She screeched, trying once more to move as flickers of tiny little green lights darted by the corners of her vision. “I’m not crazy, I swear. Don’t send me back there. Don’t... do that...”

Her jerky attempts at escape slowed before stopping, head rolling slightly to one side as a heavy sigh came from her left. A single, slightly stained claw brushed against the bottom of her jaw gently to check her pulse as the weary blue eyes of the doctor glanced over at the young male sitting down in the far corner of the room awaiting news. He was lucky someone had found her so quickly this time around judging by her extensive chart. Now she wasn’t out yet but they at least had her stabilized. Last thing anyone wanted was a half-crazy healer out on a vengeful warpath...

“Ease there girlie, you may not think so but we won’t hurt ya... Pretty lucky that you have attentive co-workers.” He looked up, spotting movement outside the small individual room in the clinic’s psych wing before continuing softly to the one who brought her in. “Poor ‘ness has had emotional problems for a long while. Last I spoke with her previous doctor they thought she was on the right medicine to even her out. Hmm, I wonder what caused a flare up this bad?”

The sound of the hospital room door opening seemed to take the doctor’s attention away for a moment. Stepping inside, the aged silver dragoness politely bowed before starting forward as the young orange drake excused himself and left to allow the two experts some time alone.

“The team I sent to her location of residence after she arrived found a note on her bed that was addressed by a Geer Stormbringer. Should we try to get in touch with him? Maybe he knows what set her off?”

The lead doctor hummed softly in thought as he lightly stroked the side of her snout to encourage her to fade on off to sleep. “That would be the best course of action right now, Silvia. We’ll keep her under for a bit until things can be sorted out.”

The night air was cool when she woke, blinking sleep from her eyes as she yawned. How long had she been out? Running her tongue along her teeth, she thought it was odd they felt moist as though she’d eaten something recently. Moving a forepaw, she felt the squish of something soft and slowly glanced down, finding her paw covered in blood. Beside her lay a half-eaten carcass, the shape draconian in nature. No...

She shuddered, the soft crackle of static buzzing in the background as she pushed herself back onto her hind legs, frantically trying to get her limbs under her so to run. Where was she? It wasn’t home if the wooded area was any indication. Was she losing her mind? Sure the thought had crossed her mind in the past to seek revenge but she wasn’t a violent creature. Drawing blood just wasn’t in her nature... at least she thought so.

Getting to her feet, she shakily stood, curious about the corpse as she crept closer. It was difficult to tell but she thought its scales were purple and its eyes... No, no, no, why?!

Those wide open gray eyes were ones she knew, expression fixed in a terrified scream. Geer’s past letters to her had mentioned a lovely little female healer by the name of Melvise if she was right... No, there was no connection linking the two, was there? How would she have even known what the dragoness looked like?

‘Someone’s not real fond of the monster they are, huh? Figures you good-for-nothings are all hypocrites. Hiding behind that perfect little facade...’

The soft chuckle of laughter caught her attention immediately, recognizing the voice somehow even though she was certain she’d never heard it before. Still she stood, glancing uneasily at the corpse before shying away from it.

“Who are you?”

‘Honestly, the static didn’t give it away? Sheesh, with how messed up your mind is it makes me look like a damn saint...’ The humor dropped from the mysterious voice, a chill running through the air as Narssia pressed her wings closer to her body. ‘Turns out I need to make my appearance known before I can fully possess you. Sucks for you then ‘cause I’m not the most... No, you know what? I’ll just show you what I mean.’

Her eyes went wide, fear crawling up along her spine as she shuffled backwards from the dead dragon. “Um, do I have a choice here? Cause I’d rather not.”

‘How cute. You think you have a say here... Such a pity I need you alive then. I was really looking forward to killing someone today.’

The ground suddenly went dark, eerie green lines of code appearing all around her and glowing as Narssia panicked and tried to fly away. All she managed to do was unfurl her wings before shadowy tendrils wrapped around her legs to pin her in place.

An amused chuckle was all she earned for her efforts. ‘Yeah, good try there but not real successful.’

The most awful sound split the air, reminding the healer of a screaming group of hatchlings as she saw the creature drop to the floor right in front of her. It was primarily skeletal, with a large gash further distorting its neck as the wyvern-like look had no wing structure other than the main permanent bone and thin claws that acted like her own foretalons. Two empty eye sockets blazed with bright green light and a large almost jewel-like gem sat in the top of its chest.

She hadn’t studied about the past ancestors of dragonkind for many years but was she looking at a fallen, a Shadowling some preferred to call them even? The appearance would fit what little she remembered...

‘You know what I am. Consider me impressed, for once,’ the glitch purred, voice humming with the soft crackle of static underneath. ‘My goal however is a bit more complex...’

“What... What happened to your body? I thought most fallen lost their forms but you....” Shock loosened her tongue, making her spit out whatever came to mind. Shaking her head to try and reign herself back in, Naris met the intense gaze of the spirit for a brief moment before shuddering in fear and looking away.

‘Repulsive, I know. Blame the one hanging with that drake you like. It’s not something I enjoy talking about.’ The creature crawled closer, using its wing-claws to move forward as Narssia was finally able to retreat, immediately backing away in fear. ‘And don’t deny your feelings for Geer. I’ve been in your head long enough to realize that much. Intriguing to think he could pull you free from all those chains wrapped tightly around your mind. Some shadow-breather indeed...’

The dragoness shuddered again, memories surfacing to remind her of all the reasons why being with Geer wouldn’t work. He didn’t deserve to deal with her brokenness on top of his own issues. Yes she was aware of his disability but found herself in awe at his dedication to his job. If only she was that brave...

‘Come now, you broke the dude’s neck and crushed his heart. Pretty impressive if you ask me.’

“I didn’t,” she hissed back, lifting a paw to her chest as her steps slowed. “I never meant to hurt anyone. What do you want with me anyway? Besides my body I imagine.”

The glitch snorted, eyes rolling in their empty sockets. ‘Body and mind, dearie. Can’t have one without the other - otherwise you’d be dead right now.’

“And if I refuse to let you in?”

‘Oh you know exactly what’ll happen. Those pretty little terrors trapped up in that head of yours want to play and who would I be if I didn’t push things along a bit.’ One skeletal wing rose, pointing directly at Narssia’s skull as the fallen snickered. ‘Choice is yours, missy.’

Well that wasn’t what she expected to hear. Actually no, she somehow knew that would be the response. Her uninvited guest didn’t seem like it played fair anyway.

With a sigh she stopped in her tracks, tail swishing around her hind legs. “Do you have a name?”

‘I did. Once. But you don’t deserve to know it.’ The spirit growled, body dissolving away into a glitchy black and green mist before it swirled around Narssia predatorily. ‘Neither did he for that matter. All talk of serving for the greater good and everything left ‘em with what? A stained core that started to crack long before he... No, I won’t say it.’

“You don’t have to say it. He slit your throat, right?” Narssia felt the mist glide over her back without giving a response, teasingly swirling over her horns in a manner that made her decidedly uneasy.

‘Why should I tell you anything about myself? Here I was denied my chance at having a family but you...‘ Invisible claws stroked her snout, digging into her skin as the glitch’s words turned bitter and malicious. ‘You are far too happy to destroy yourself, trying everything to purge the last reminders of that vile doctor from your body. Speaking of which, did you enjoy my little gift? It wasn’t difficult to fish up the memories of how he sounded. How each touch left your pretty little body aflame. Deny it all you want... but you envied him, didn’t you?’

Despite herself Narssia had leaned in towards the contact, too drained to properly realize what was going on. She craved touch but yet, held herself back so often out of fear she’d get hurt again. Was that why she’d fallen so quickly for him? Every nice compliment had soothed the burns scarring her fragile heart until she gave in and let him “help” her. It hadn’t been to her benefit at all...

“Go ahead,” she muttered, closing her eyes as the glitch slid over her shoulders. “Torture me all you want. I’m not important to anyone.”

‘Ooh, abandonment issues as well. How did I get so lucky?’ The soft chuckle filled the air as Narssia stood there in silence, awaiting the next horrible bout of night terrors that would surely come her way. ‘Fret not, my dear. Soon no one will be able to break you ever again. All you need to do is say three simple words and I’ll take the pain away.’

“Just let me drown in guilt...”

The green sparks within the mist crackled, shock prompting the next words from the glitch. ‘Come now... Don’t you want release? I can give you that and still keep those precious ones alive.’

Dark irises slowly slid open, half hidden by her eyelids. “Not what I want...” Her head lifted slightly, fixing one topaz eye on the pixelated cloud before she started forward with increasingly confident steps. There was a certain raspiness present in her voice, kept low but firm. “I decide when to fall apart on my own terms, Glitch. Pester me all you want. Break open every scarring memory if you desire and see where it gets you! I’m flawed, I know that, but I don’t need a constant reminder of the darkness that lies buried within.”

She glared at the spectre as they came nearly snout to energy cloud, her eyes filled with tears of her own self-hatred. “Never will you ever reduce me to a state where I beg for your kind of release. That isn’t freedom, it’s enslavement and I refuse to be a slave again. Now get out of my head before I make you.”

‘You really shouldn’t have said that... I would have been merciful otherwise but now, you’ll only have yourself to blame when you come crawling to me in defeat.’

The dark hiss she received as the glitch vanished in a burst of green sparks made Naris feel better about her decision, only to then wonder what hell would await her because of it. Had she just sentenced herself to torture unlike any she’d known before? The Shadowling had seemed almost frustrated that she would reject the new life that was growing inside of her but maybe she could use that to her advantage somehow...

She had to hold on! Maybe something would break her free before she succumbed to the darkness it offered. No matter what she couldn’t let that monster get the better of her.

Shadows swirled around her feet, the looming outline of the dead- no, corrupted wyvern trailing behind her as she started to walk, static softly crackling through the air in reminder of who’s domain she was really in. Just survive, Narssia repeated to herself with each shaky step she took. That’s all she could afford to do now...

#virus #virus/corrupt #tw: gore #tw:self harm #tw: blood

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laythornmuse · 7 years ago

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Merry Christmas!

To @mybeautifuldecay

It’s been so fun getting to know you a bit this Holiday Season! Your drawings and fanfictions are beautiful and I’m so grateful to have gotten to know you better. I hope my messages brought you an extra helping of cheer, and I hope you love this story. It’s taken on a life of its own, and I have you to thank for it <3

Thank you @moghraidhjamie for hosting this wonderful event!

To all the wonderful Outlander fans, I hope you all get some downtime this holiday season and get to catch up on all the wonderful fiction the writers are pouring out! I know I will.

PROLOGUE

Claire first felt it when she was 9 years old, a warm, delicate flower blooming in her chest, that made her stomach tingle and her knees wobble. It occurred every time she greeted James Fraser, the laird’s son.

At 12 years old, Jamie was tall for his age, though his face held a softness to it that magnified when he smiled. It was that smile and the gleam in his blue eyes that made her say yes when he invited her to play, and she quickly found herself with three new siblings as Ian, Jenny, and Jamie counted her as their fourth.

A resident of Broch Morda all her life, she and Uncle Lambert moved into a cottage at Lallybroch later that year when Brian Fraser hired him to tutor his children. Though Jamie would be sent to Paris in a few years, he needed instruction to prepare him for the rigors of University, and as a learned man, Uncle Lambert suited this position well.

Living at Lallybroch also suited Claire. She was an adventurous and spirited child whose curiosity often lead her into hour-long discussions about every topic imaginable, but her latest obsessions were plants: the purpose of plants, how they grow, and why there were so many of them.

She hated the Church’s answer.

“But WHY did God make them all?” She whined one afternoon, tapping her pencil along her ledger. She puffed out a breath that made her curls bounce against her brow, and frowned at her uncle.

“Maybe God was bored,” Jamie muttered, too engrossed in his arithmetic work to look up. Jenny rolled her eyes at him and kicked his shin under the table. She looked at her friend and chewed her bottom lip.

“They offer wonderful variety,” Jenny said, contemplating the question. “They’re all so unique in shape and color, and they change as all living things do.”

“Variety can’t be the only reason,” Claire argued. “And they’re not all pleasant. Some are sharp and grotesque.”

“Good use of your vocabulary word,” her uncle murmured, before tipping his head up and smiling at her. “Why, it’s quite simple, my dear. They each perform a special task in nature. Plants can heal and kill, and some can do both. The real pleasure comes in studying how.”

With those words and a copy of Phillip Miller’s “The Gardener’s dictionary,” published just last year and a prized possession in the Fraser home, Claire took to botany and the healing power of plants and herbs.

When not sleeping or doing her chores, Claire would spend hours reading and collecting plant samples. When Brian Fraser bought her a mortar and pestle and some herb seedlings, Claire added gardening to her daily joys.

Her love for plants proved useful one winter when Jenny, Ian, and Jamie were confined to their beds with awful fevers and coughs. Claire dutifully made eucalyptus pastes and ointments and applied it to each of her patients to help them sleep.

Jamie however, wanted no part of it.

“It smells awful,” he moaned, pulling his blanket up to his chin and shifting away from her.

“I’m surprised you can smell at all. Your nose is redder than cherry.” She tutted at him and circled around to the other side of the bed. He immediately moved away from her. “Really, Jamie if you don’t hold still, I’ll sit on you.”

“James Fraser!” Brian barked from across the hall. “Let Claire treat you or I’ll make you wish ye had!”

He glared at her and her smug grin and huffed in defeat. Claire crawled on the bed next to him and applied the ointment to his throat and chest.

“You’re less fevered today, at least. Do you want me to read another chapter?” Claire asked with a smile, as she tucked the blanket back under his chin.

Jamie yawned and turned on his side. “Aye, but start at the beginning of Chapter 2? I fell asleep during it.”

Claire smiled and pulled the book into her lap as Jamie shifted closer to her knee.

“That evil influence which carried me first away from my father’s house—which hurried me into the wild and indigested notion of raising my fortune, and that impressed those conceits so forcibly upon me as to make me deaf to all good advice, and to the entreaties and even the commands of my father—”

“Sounds like a trouble you two share,” Brian Fraser said under his breath as he tucked an extra blanket around his son’s feet. He soundlessly padded out of the room before tossing a final glance at the pair, not missing the gentle smile his son wore as Claire turned the page.

In the spring, Claire would lead the group on foraging expeditions, and she often found new specimens in between their games and adventures. Jenny would sketch the plant, and if deemed necessary, Jamie would painstakingly dig it up so it could be relocated to Claire’s garden and studied.

This morning Jamie and Claire were alone, as Ian and Jenny were still working on their lessons.

“I’m not having much…” Jamie sneezed violently. “Luck…with this one…”

He carefully wiped his 15-year-old face on his sleeve as his eyes watered. Claire, now 12, grinned and took the plant from his hands. He blinked rapidly, and when his eyes cleared, he saw Claire’s smile, radiant as a spring morning’s glow.

“I think that’s three allergies I’ve discovered now, Jamie. One could wonder why you bother helping me anymore.”

Jamie’s cheeks turned pink as he kicked at the dirt by his feet. He never turned down an opportunity to spend time with her, even if it was to dig up ragweed. He shrugged, but Claire saw the telltale drumming of his fingers against his thigh. His expression settled into one of determination, and before his bravery waned, he closed the distance between them.

The kiss was a quick beat of butterfly wings against her lips, and too soon his wings were gone.

“That’s why,” he whispered.

A moment later, courage fully expended, he was gone, headed to the barn to finish his chores. Claire held a hand to her mouth, a giddiness filling her as her lips tingled, still wet from his. She could smell his lingering scent, grass and salt and fresh hay. She stood still for another ten minutes, taking inventory of all that would or could change from that kiss before she returned to her garden with her new specimen.

When the sun began to lower into the hills, Jamie found her in her garden where she usually ended her days. He smiled at her as she stood and was about to speak when Brian Fraser called them both inside.

“Jamie, you remember your uncle, Dougal?” Brian said curtly, eying Dougal where he stood in their parlor.

“Aye. Welcome, Uncle.”

“You’re a braw lad, Jamie,” Dougal began, “and your father and I thought it time for you to know your Makenzie lines.”

“Aye?” Jamie looked at his father whose face was blank, masked to hide his true feelings on the matter.

“Your mother and I agreed to it after Willie passed. Your uncle Colum is a wise man, but unable to travel. A season or two at Castle Leoch, under Mackenzie care,” Brian’s eyes burned into Dougal’s, “and then three years at University in Paris.”

Jamie’s mouth gaped like a fish for a few moments before his father’s raised brow made him close it. He had yearned for this day for years, anxious to advance his sword skills his father had taught him.

A smile broke across his face as Dougal’s hand clasped his shoulder. Brian ruffled his son’s hair, a sadness drifting through him at the thought of parting from him.

Claire watched the exchange from the doorway, her mouth clamped shut to prevent it from trembling.

Four years? From her closest friend and…her thoughts traveled back to the kiss and she tasted acid in her mouth.

Not to be. Not now, at least.

And so she forced a smile on her face, for Jamie seemed overjoyed, and went to set the table with Jenny.

2 Years Later

“The Fool. His letters get shorter and shorter while his requests only grow longer.” Jenny muttered.

Claire laughed as she looked up from her knitting. “What now?”

“Three shirts, a scarf, and a package full of mending. Apparently, he’s too busy to darn his own socks.”

“You’d think with his exams he’d look forward to distraction.”

“Oh, he’s plenty of those,” Brian Fraser muttered, not looking up from his book. Jenny’s eyes darted from her father to Claire, whose attention was now focused on her pearling.

Jamie’s letters had turned from warm to formal, and their length from 5 pages to 1. Brian’s messages with his son, however, had become longer and solicited more exasperated sighs and Scottish affirmations.

For several months, Brian was tight-lipped about their contents, but finally a month ago the contents had mingled into Jenny’s letters as well.

Jamie thought himself in love with a woman named Annalise.

Claire, simply put, was devastated.

The letter had arrived months ago, and Jenny had shared it with Claire without knowing the contents. Claire had held her face until she was back in her shared room. She cried until her chest ached, and tried her best to keep quiet to not disturb Jenny.

Eventually, Jenny slipped into bed behind her and pulled Claire to her shoulder.

“Sob if you must, Claire, and hold onto me. I’ll never tell a soul, mo chridgh.”

She let her tears roll freely down her face, gasping for air as her heart throbbed and her lungs shook with the strain of loss.

Jenny held her through the night, stroking her hair until Claire fell into a fitful sleep at last. In the morning, Jenny felt a shift within Claire. Her face was solemn, having tucked away the shards of her heart, and by afternoon she renewed her vigor in her studies.

Jenny watched her now with pursed lips, but Claire’s indifferent mask did not falter.

That night, there were no tears.

Chapter 1

#Outlander Secret Santa 2017 #To Have Your Heart #LaythornMuse #LTM To Have Your Heart

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awhilesince · 4 years ago

Text

Tuesday, June 3 1823

7 25/60

11 1/2

25 minutes in the stable –

down to breakfast, after reading from page 190. to 195. volume 1 Anacharsis (French) at 9 35/60 – a chapter or 2 in Clio after breakfast, and at 11 took George in the gig and drove the black mare to Lightcliffe – very glad I went – sat an hour with Mrs William Priestley her friend Miss Grisdale in bed with a little cold – Mrs William Priestley very low about Mr Edward P– [Priestley] we talked the matter over – this seemed to relieve her – I bade her not restrain her feelings, but let tears have their way – promised to call again soon – Mr William Priestley met his brother at the White lion on Saturday morning – got him away to Kebroyde, on the plea of his mother’s being unwell, – had Dr. Paley in the chaise with them and he bled Mr Edward Priestley profusely (opened the temporal artery) immediately – still the poor fellow was so violent that night, he required seven strong men to hold him – the artery burst open in the night and bled again profusely – today’s account not arrived Mr William Priestley not returned; but yesterday and Sunday rather quieter –Mrs P– [Priestley], the mother, bears it quite as well or better than could be expected – On Thursday and Friday his friends had thought him labouring under the effects of intoxication – They thought so at Crownest on Friday Evening after he had been here, and were exceedingly distressed – he returned to Huddersfield that night – He had really agreed with Mr Briggs to give £10,500 for Horley Green – 75 dayswork of land – the late Mr Walker left his daughters between 6 and 7 hundreds a year each – or call it about 6 hundreds – Miss Grisdale has only one hundred a year makes it do by living on her friends that Mr William Priestley will not send her off it is a sort of charity to keep her and she stands on no ceremony with her –

the black mare went very well – drove her back in 25 minutes and got home at 12 50/60 –

Came upstairs at 1 30/60 having staid down talking to my uncle and aunt – scaled my teeth a little wrote all the above of today – and from 2 50/60 to 5 50/60 read from chapter 7. to 15. librum i. Herodotus and Larcher’s translation and notes –

After dinner my aunt and I 20 minutes in the bottom chamber watching the plasterer and Charles Howarth – lathering etc for underdrawing –

a few minutes in the stable walked to Northgate – got there a minute or 2 before 8 – staid 25 minutes to inquire after Marian who was poorly on Sunday not at church – indigestion – perhaps a slight degree of liver obstruction – my father walked back with along the new road past Benjamin’s – kept me standing a long while – did not get home till 9 1/4 –

Very showery morning – rain from 9 to 10 1/2 – rained as I returned from Lightcliffe – rained while I was there – Finish in the afternoon and fine Evening – Barometer 4 1/4 degrees below changeable Fahrenheit 63 1/2° at 9 1/4 p.m. –

Came upstairs at 10 50/60 – wrote the last 6 lines – [E three dots O no dots, marking discharge from venereal complaint] –

Talked seriously to my aunt tonight about our taking some little Excursions – to Cragg etc about home – then to Wakefield and Doncaster – came upstairs at 10 50/60 –

left margin: sent George to inquire after the Saltmarshes this afternoon – all well –

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/7/0019

#annelistercodebreaker #annelister #may1823

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arlome · 7 years ago

Text

So, the lovely @ainagren graced me with another prompt (’here, take my blanket’) and I decided to write something so horribly fluffy, that will make you all get the dreaded sugar sickness:)

I hope you like it!

The first time Dwight returns to his duties as a physician, after having been locked up for months in a French prison, leaves him drained and exhausted. The visit goes fairly easy – it is nothing but a complaint of stomach aches, indigestion; stays tied too tight before a hearty meal- but the ride back, the galloping horse and the evening chill, prove a little too much for his still-too-frail physic.

Dwight stumbles back into the house, barely dragging his legs, and collapses into one of the armchairs by the thriving fire. He closes his eyes for a moment, shaking violently and fighting off nausea that threatens to overpower him- breathe in through the nose, exhale through the mouth, and repeat- his blood pounding loudly in his ear, his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

He may have overdone it tonight; ventured out too soon, stretched himself too thin; but he desperately wanted to be doing something. He wanted to be useful, to forget through dedicated work.

Deciding to risk a skull-shattering headache, Dwight opens his eyes and glances at the other armchair; the one that is usually occupied by the mistress of this large house, in which he still feels out of place. It is vacant now, a crumpled woolen blanket – a Christmas gift from Demelza- draped over its back. Where is Caroline? He wonders, his eyes closing again, headache and dizziness attacking him mercilessly.

As if summoned by Dwight's thoughts, the woman whose very image kept him alive these past few months, followed by her trusty yapping companion, appears at the doorway. Having noticed the other man in the room, the little pug runs over to the fire and starts barking at Dwight's boots, making the surgeon frown painfully at the noise.

"Oh! I did not know you've returned, my d-" Caroline begins, but one look at his face makes her drop to her knees in front of his armchair, her hand cool and soft against his cheek, "Dwight! Oh, Dwight; what is it, my darling? You look very ill!"

He leans into her touch and risks a peek at his secret wife. Her eyes are moist, her striking features ghastly pale; she may as well look as bad as he does.

"Just…tired, my love," Dwight mutters and even manages a soft smile, but he cannot stop the shiver that racks his body, and Caroline's shrewd eyes are quick to notice it. She rises to her feet and snatches the woolen cover off the other armchair.

"Oh, Dwight," she sighs and drapes the soft material over his aching shoulders, pulling it tighter across his chest and patting it closed, "here, take my blanket, my love; it will keep the chills at bay. Honestly, Dwight; who is the doctor here?" she continues, talking away while her hands are caressing and touching every part of his body, as she probably tries to keep her mind from thinking how frail and beaten he looks, "You are not yet recovered, my dear; I must insist that you stay at home for another week –perhaps even a fortnight- no, no, Dwight; I insist, indeed I do!"

A maid –Mary, he thinks; he really cannot tell for certain from this angle- rushes in at her mistress' insistence.

"Some tea for Dr. Enys," Caroline orders the girl, not moving from his side, "and a bottle of Canary, please!"

He hears the girl's hasty reply and the hurried steps that follow; Caroline springs to her feet.

"Mary!" she cries after the servant, "Mary; and bring a bowl of soup as well, if you will!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" comes the distant reply and, satisfied, Caroline returns to her kneeling position by Dwight's feet. Horace comes over, sniffing her hands and licking her fingers amorously.

"Not now, Horace, my pet;" she chastises the ardent pug, and pushes him away gently. The dejected dog gives a suffering whine and toddles to his bassinet by the fire, where he chases his stomp of a tail for a few moments before plopping down for a nap. Caroline smiles at the smelly little beast and turns back to her husband.

"You will drink a nice, fortifying cup of tea now, laced with some wine," she speaks softly, gently, in the same voice she uses for the Poldark children, "then you will eat a bowl of soup; it will warm you up and restore some of your strength. Then, straight to bed, my love; sleep and rest."

Dwight smiles lovingly at her; he does not have the heart to tell her that his stomach is not yet settled enough to receive any kind of nourishment.

"Yes, Dr. Enys," he says instead and allows her to kiss his forehead, "thank you for being patient with me, my darling."

"You silly man," she sighs against his cheek, and Dwight thinks that he can feel some moisture against his skin, "You silly, silly man."

They sit like this, embraced, until the shaking stops and Mary returns with a laden tray, which she places on the small table by the fire, before leaving hurriedly without a single word. Silence laced with the cracking sound of a working hearth surrounds them like a shielding fortress; the only arrows cracking its defenses are the contented snores of a tiny pug. Darkness settles to its duty outside, the chilly evening air keeping it company, but inside the house, warmth and comfort prevails.

Perhaps I could delay my return to my duties for a little while longer, Dwight thinks as Caroline lays her golden head in his lap, her fingers grazing his knee, no harm in regaining some more strength.

He closes his eyes, nausea almost entirely gone now, and threads his fingers through his wife's soft tresses.

Yes, no harm at all.

#carolight #dwight enys #caroline penvenen #poldark #horace the pug #dwight x caroline #my fic #writing prompt

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ernmark · 7 years ago

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is it possible for me to request a jupeter fic with a very jealous juno?? ❤️ i'm in love with the way you write and yr penumbra fics always make my day

If it’s jealous Juno you’re after, we’ve got two fics that might please you:

Juno and Peter reunite while Peter’s seducing somebody else

Where Juno isn’t Peter’s soulmate

Jealous Juno is actually surprisingly hard to write, because the poor babe genuinely believes that he doesn’t deserve someone like Peter, so it’s just a matter of time until he’s tossed aside.

God if that doesn’t break my heart.

I’ve got a whole lot more jealous Peter, because the guy is a whole lot more proactive about knowing what he wants and going for it (and he’s got a quasi-canonical track record for being possessive about Juno.)

Peter gets jealous over Alessandra

Peter gets jealous over one of the Vixens

Peter gets jealous over Julian DiMaggio

Peter is a dragon and gets jealous over other dragons

Juno is hit on by a creep at a club

Juno is hit on by multiple creeps at a club

Peter is working at a hotel when Juno comes in with a celebrity friend

If you recognize the other person in this fic, it’s because he’s from this fic over here.

Juno instantly knows something’s wrong. He isn’t sure what– just that Peter suddenly goes stiff beside him and plucks Juno’s hand off his hip.

And his request isn’t making Juno any more comfortable.

“Love, I’m going to need you to trust me.”

And Juno does. Of course he does. But the fact that it needs to be asked for? That’s not a good sign. “What is it?”

“I promise I’ll explain later. But right now, I need you to go home.”

“Listen, if there’s trouble–”

“I can handle it on my own.” The anxiety in his eyes sends a chill down Juno’s spine. “Juno, please, there’s no time. Go.” And before Juno can ask him again, Peter grabs him by the shoulders and shoves him back with so much force it’s nearly violent. Juno crashes into the next table over, sending several drinks to the floor. He turns around just in time to see a broad hand slide around Peter’s shoulders and pull him close.

“Is this guy bothering you, Rhodri?”

Juno watches the emotions wash visibly over Peter’s face: he’s startled at the touch, but as he looks at the man holding him his expression lights up with something between fear and awe. “Okul,” he breathes.

The other man is a big guy– broad and even taller than Peter, with the kind of glare that says mobster, the kind of muscles that say bruiser, and the kind of shoes that say he’s a few dozen rungs higher on the ladder. The posse of grease-haired gangsters supports that idea. He gestures at Juno. “Boys, take–”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence before his mouth is otherwise occupied. Peter’s in his arms, kissing him like the world is ending, like he needs this man to breathe, like there’s nothing else he could possibly want more than him.

Juno feels it like a punch in the gut.

He should have known. Goddammit, he should have–

No. No, that doesn’t make sense. Peter’s not like that. Sure, he could do better than Juno Steel, but this guy over here? This half-rate mobster? He’s beneath Peter’s dignity. Besides, Peter’s too good a con to pull something like this right in front of Juno– not if he had any intention of deceiving him.

No. He trusts Peter. He trusts Peter.

Juno drags himself to his feet, grabbing a napkin from the frantic waitress to sop up the beer all over his jacket and disappears into the darkest corners of the bar while he cleans himself up.

He trusts Peter. This Okul guy, not so much. It’s not that he’s worried about him making a move– that spaceship has sailed– but mobsters like this aren’t exactly known for being level-headed and peaceful. If he gets violent, Juno wants to make sure Peter isn’t alone.

Even if that means he’s got to sit through this nightmare.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” Peter says, pulling away just enough to look the mobster in the eye. His arms are around the other man’s neck; the mobster’s hands are a whole lot lower. “Okul, I thought you were dead.”

Okul’s grin makes Juno’s teeth grind. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nobody can kill me. I’m invincible!”

Wanna test that theory?

Peter steps back, but he doesn’t get far before Okul’s arm settles around his waist, looking about as comfortable as a manacle. Peter could slip out in a heartbeat– instead he leans into it and drapes himself around a bicep as big around as his waist.

Juno can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see Peter’s long fingers tracing patterns over Okul’s skin, the glances half-hidden under long eyelashes, the words whispered too slowly into the mobster’s ear. And then Okul turns his head and kisses him again, tugging him onto the dance floor.

The beer-soaked napkin turns to pulp in Juno’s hand.

He trusts Peter. He trusts Peter. He trusts Peter.

But it’s hard to feel comfortable when the two of them are that close, sliding and grinding against each other like they’re goddamn fucking with their clothes on. Okul is too rough with him, holding Peter’s hands too tight and changing directions half a beat before the music does just so he can catch him off guard. If for a second it looked like he was hurting him, Juno would put a laser between his eyes, but Peter’s face is flushed and his eyes are bright and he’s leaning even harder into him–

Does Peter like it like that? Is what he’s got with Juno just not– not enough for him?

Dammit, if he wanted something rougher he only had to say so. Juno could do better, he could be better, just give him the chance–

And now Okul is shepherding him toward the door with a grin that makes Juno’s skin crawl. No. No, that can’t happen. Juno jumps to his feet and starts after them. He doesn’t know if he’s being rational or overprotective or just plain pathetic, but his mind is flashing visions of all the things that could happen to Peter if he’s alone with that man and Juno likes none of them. He needs to stop this.

The club is crowded; by the time he wades through the throng of people and gets out the door, Peter and the mobster have a several-minute head start.

Unfortunately, that’s not the worst of his problems.

The moment he steps through the door, a pair of enormous mitts grab him by the collar and almost yank him off his feet. The next thing he knows, one of Okul’s lackeys is in his space. “Why, if it ain’t the dame who can’t take a hint.”

“Nah, hints give me indigestion. More of a wine-and-chocolates guy.”

Three more close in, dragging him into the alley. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you?”

“Usually I am, but it’s been kind of an off night for me,” Juno says.

The lackey sneers. “I bet it was. The boss said he saw you skulking after his side piece.”

“You call that skulking?” Juno asks.

The gangsters don’t indulge his bit. “He wants us to teach you a lesson.”

“Yeah?” Juno’s fist collides with the lackey’s jaw, and the other man goes staggering back. “Let’s start with how to throw a right hook.”

Four gangsters isn’t the worst Juno’s had to deal with-- especially not when he gets his hands on one of their blasters.

He calls in an anonymous tip that there’s been an attempted mugging, and he makes a break for it before the cops can show up and pin it on him.

That leaves him alone, with Peter who-even-knows where, having who-knows-what done to him by some a guy who looks like he could have been one of the guinea pigs for super soldier experiments back in the war.

He trusts Peter.

But if Peter needs his help--

Goddammit.

After too much pacing in back alleys, he comes to a compromise and he pulls out his comms.

Are you okay? A call might blow Peter’s... whatever this is, but a text should be unobtrusive enough not to be a problem.

For several long, grueling minutes, there’s no response. Juno’s already thinking about ways to convince Rita to track Peter’s comms when he finally gets his reply.

I have it handled.

And then another:

Go home.

Juno stares at his comms in dismay.

That’s... good. If Peter isn’t in danger, that’s good. Great. He’s got nothing to worry about.

Nothing at all.

He does go home, like Peter told him to. He sinks into his chair. Watches the clock and the comms.

Thinks about pouring himself a drink, but decides against it. If Peter does need him later, he’ll want to be sober.

Tries not to think about what Peter’s doing right now. What’s being done to him. How he feels about it.

Reminds himself that he trusts Peter to take care of himself. To come back in one piece. To come back at all.

The clock strikes midnight, and then keeps going.

Two.

Three.

He should sleep. He doesn’t.

He wants to text again. His fingers keep tracing the message and then deleting it again.

Are you having fun?

Are you okay?

Are you alive?

Please don’t be dead

Leave if you want to but please don’t be dead

Each message is erased before he can give into temptation to send it.

He trusts Peter.

It’s a little past four when the apartment door clicks open. Peter makes it two steps into the apartment before he stops.

“Juno?” The door shuts behind him carefully. “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

Wearily Juno rises from his chair. Maybe at a more reasonable hour, he would have come back with something witty, but he’s too tired-- at least until he gets a good look at Peter.

Peter’s shirt is damp and wrinkled; it looks like he spent some time scrubbing it in a sink, but he couldn’t get out that last hint of red. His hands are clean, except for little crescents of gore that have gotten lodged under his fingernails. There are bruises, too, and not all of them look like the friendly variety.

”Are you alright?” Juno demands, getting close. “Did he hurt you?”

It doesn’t help that Peter's expression is guarded and distant. “You don’t have to worry, Juno. I took care of it.”

Why won’t he answer the question? “Did he hurt you?” Juno repeats, trying not to sound as frantic as he feels and failing miserably. “I swear, I’ll kill him--”

“There’s no need for that.” Peter retreats until his back is almost pressed against the door. “He’s already dead.” He unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves, just to give himself something to look at. Juno knows the gesture well by now. “I paid off a few rabbits to get rid of the body. The evidence should point to a rival gang, assuming the police bothers to investigate at all. There shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Peter,” Juno starts, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

Peter takes a long breath. “It’s something I probably should have done years ago.Okul was a dangerous man even before he acquired a following.” Finally he looks Juno in the eye, resolute in just one thing. “I wasn’t going to let him come after you.”

#romeojuliets #the penumbra podcast #writing prompt #fanfiction #do you ever get halfway through writing something and suddenly go #aha I see you two have picked a setting for this little shindig #so kind of you to inform me #maybe try doing that at the beginning of the story next time

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gradstudentwriter-blog · 7 years ago

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Chapter Seven

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

12:37 PM

The Zombies had personalities like everybody else, only on a much lower

scale. Most of them were intelligent enough to recognize their own stupidity and

this is the reason they took orders willingly. Their direct superior, Henderson,

was also a Zombie. He was not here though he retained his authority by doing

the same work as the others. He was working at a different locally run prison on

the south side of town. He had held onto most of his intelligence after

becoming a Zombie, which was unusual but there were always exceptions.

The beings who gave the orders to the beings who gave the orders to foot

soldiers like Henderson had a careful understanding of power as well as the

United States penal system: mass incarceration by race. Unlike human males

relegated to the category of muscle, Zombies entertained no higher aspirations.

The power to get off on moral things, the drive for excellence as well as the

desire to love and be loved in return: not there. It had departed with their souls.

There was a definite canine quality to the Zombies that could have been

improved with better grooming but they did not care what they looked like and

neither did anybody else. The genetically engineered cleaning bots who moved

in after the Zombies work was gobbled up hosed them down every once in

awhile. This rendered enormous entertainment to the bots who were also not

deep thinkers. They were highly genetically engineered beings whose lower

half was encased in a motorized mechanism that gave them limited ability to fly

or at least jump not like a white guy.

Page 36 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

A laboratory technician had argued, correctly, that it would be cheaper to

grow them in a pouch like a little kangaroo, without the big kangaroo. When

they were old enough a small motor was inserted in the base of a new pouch

made of rubberized fabric that was bouncy bouncy and helped the tiny motor get

them airborne. The bots controlled the motor telepathically so there were no

gizmo gadgets to drag along. The tech was successful in persuading the

company this was better than fussing with ladders, ladder stabilizers, hard

hats, training information, harnesses, specialized long handled everything. The

bots did not need to be trained. They just grew that way.

The genetic code for such hilarity had been inserted by the same lab tech on

his own initiative, flush with the success of his first proposal and he called it

comic relief. He was fired. Nobody else knew how to remove it and it was

cheaper to leave the cleaning bots the way they were so they remained

hysterical. Never having been harmed by a Zombie they did not worry about it

and so sprayed soapy water freely and hilariously on the beasts whose

evident consternation did not make them any faster.

The bots would zeek and dive and steady in for the close approach required

for something like hair washing. It was really having soapy water aimed at your

head until escape was possible is not hair washing but is something like hair

washing.

Page 37 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

One bot centered his hose on a Zombie's mid-section, pinning him against

the steel door of an industrial refrigerator, which created a temporary work

stoppage, incapacitated as they were by their own entertainment. The Zombies

did nothing so well as follow orders so harming a cleaning bot despite their

objection to being clean did not occur to them, either. The military

structure they had acceded to kept them well fed and out of trouble. A Zombie

could hardly complain about being turned into the Undead and all that crap.

Since most of the Zombies were out strategized by housecats, regularly, they

had not reasoned that if they were successful and earth was conquered they

would become unnecessary, too troublesome to house and would be dropped

from a moving space ship as soon as it could be arranged. They did not

question the use of detention camps or mass murder to eradicate people judged

too violent to colonize other moons or planets.

The Galactic Council was composed of two hundred ten members. Each one

represented the homogenous inhabitants of a moon or planet, inhabitants with a

single appearance, language

Page 38 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

and culture. Five planets housed between two and four separate civilizations

but there was no history of collective violence. Only on earth were there

hundreds of different peoples, millions of weapons and oceans of blood. Earth

was the only planet that had never received an invitation to join the Galactic

Council and earthlings had the temerity not to care.

The Council had kept a close eye on the progress of space exploration by

earthlings for decades. Nobody cared about the very first space flights, about

shooting some guy into space like a cannonball and then letting him drop into an

ocean, any ocean, pick an ocean. It was the timeline they cared about. The

inevitable marched forward: commercial space flight, those damn Americans

with their satellites all over Mars, both orbiting and terrestrial.

They even ignored the first few outposts on Mars, which were under ground

or under tinted glass: tinted the color of perpetual night. They were hoping for a

fail and when their hopes were not realized fast enough, they intervened. The

Council was in touch with skilled craftsmen of every felonious trade:

counterfeiting money, fake documents, cleaning money, assassination,

Page 39 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

surveillance. They were smarter than the Americans had been in Iraq: in fact,

watching that is where they learned to give these people jobs. The same jobs

for a new employer. The underground tradesmen, the black ops teams did that

kind of work because they needed that kind of work; they were at home in the

underground world.

They also identified, through an abundance of discovery, which were the

gifted scientists who enjoyed no allegiance to any particular country. These men

and women with such brilliant minds rated poorly as social creatures and so

were unable to generate powerful allies however, they too needed jobs and so

the Council invariably employed them. This crowd was highly variable with

regard to race but had often on thing in common: past trauma, often at the

hands of the state. This accounted for their lack of trust, true service. They

cared about nothing but the safety of themselves and the ones they loved, which

required mind bending amounts of cash which was rewarded for mind bending

good work.

So many soil samples had been brought back from Mars they were hardly

special any more and one group had been tasked with one job only. Find in the

soil a toxin not found on earth that will kill humans. Humans on Mars, say. So

when the group of two hundred fifty volunteers

Page 40 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

who had agreed to live and die on Mars were wiped out in four hours, nobody

knew what happened. It was blamed on the light, it was blamed on the air, it

was blamed on evil spirits brought to Mars by picking out the wrong human for

the voyage. The number of possible causes debated only spoke to the degree

uncertainty.

It had put a hex on the planet for a hundred years. Nobody would go near it.

The bodies were never recovered. Humans were afraid to go back, with the

memory of the first voyagers dying so quickly and so far away. After that, the

Council had thought they were safe. After all, where would the earthlings go?

The sulfur of Venus? The blast furnace of Mercury?

The Galilean moons of Jupiter, that's where. The Council was horrified. The

Great Moons, moons the size of planets, had been kept safe and undeveloped.

Though never officially named anything, they were thought of as national parks.

The thought of the Americans moving in there with their bobcats was enough to

give indigestion to the representatives of the entire Galaxy. They would do it,

too, the Council was sure of it and they were right.

The de facto head of the council was a man who understood the importance

of information and as a result, employed the habit of personally reviewing drone

footage from time to time. Before the invasion of earth had begun or even been

decided with certainty, he was alone in the

Page 41 Zombie Apocalypse by Trudy Sirany

viewing room when he saw the mounted head of a snarling bobcat, his canine

teeth eternally ready for attack, mounted above a doorway. Primarily because

he did not want to have to discuss an image he found both primitive and

horrifying he never brought it to anyone's attention. He liked having secret

knowledge but he did not enjoy this particular secret because he understood the

implications, the implications of what he had put off deciding and now must

do. What kind of people would place this image right smack in the middle of

their homes?

A bloodthirsty lot, he decided, who could not be permitted to colonize the

Galilean moons of Jupiter. He was certain that this was the right decision and

so he could bear the knowledge of it, alone.

However. He did not know what he did not know and since he sought no

counsel he did not know it was there to be known and so became the very worst

kind of leader. He had made a crucial mistake. He had started in the wrong

place. Nobody, in the entire Galaxy, was better than the Americans at movies,

weapons and Insurrection.

Page 42

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