#i told him “father if only you went through with your adversary route then maybe you could've met her instead of running off”

[newquestion]

I just know you guys would LOVE to be in this position

bonus:

[alstanfordart]

Bob’s Nightmare. Scene below.

@queenoftheclownsme

@theblackrosegoddess

It awoke. Not particularly rested. Its mind had drifted. Drifted back to the Todash, leaving Its material presence hidden beneath the ground, safely stashed away in a dark crevice of the cave. As Its conscious was violently ripped back into Its avatar of Robert Gray, It could feel the wound. No healing. Something had awakened It.

Not healed. Not healed but awake prematurely.

Confused, It staggers up, focusing Its one eye, seeing only black. Hearing creaking sounds and door slamming. Unable to see a few feet in front of It with just a subtle hint of weak light from an unknown source. It begins to walk and as It does, It hears, at the edge of the darkness, children singing;

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, you owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.'

It pauses in Its steps as It sees a flash of yellow accompanied by giggling.

A boy.

The voice of the child causes unease as another blur of yellow dashes past, before the child appears before It, partially obscured by the shadows save for emerald rain boots stark against the midnight and a speck of light in each iris.

What the Hell is this?

Little Georgie Denbrough in his slick rain coat, skin flaps dangling from his bloody stump as he slowly reveals himself as a gentle sound of thunder and rain drift out from behind him.

The boy approaches, neutral expression, standing before It.

"Why did you kill me?" Georgie asks, his round face pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles as he gazes up. "I didn't do anything. I just wanted my boat."

Georgie holds out his hand, the paper boat sitting on his tiny fingers, blood starting to seep through and engulf the faded paper.

"It wasn't anything personal kid, I was hungry." Robert growls, lip curling up in disgust and taking a step back from this unwelcome mirage.

Like It needs to justify Itself to this brat. He is what led to Its confrontation with the hated ones. Perhaps had It targeted another child...

But maybe that would have lead to an entirely different group of children targeting It.

Maybe the Final Other intended it that way.

And that boat. That fucking boat is what started the whole mess.

It doesn't pursue this train of thought further, as it enrages It.

There's a shift in Georgie's melancholy demeanor and a creepy grin breaks out as he bends down to place his boat on a thin river of blood that has manifested, suspended a few feet above the ground.

Georgie then steps back, his form breaking apart as it evaporates upwards into the darkness as the now crimson-soaked boat starts to glide along as the singing starts up again;

'When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.'

Robert stares down at the boat as it starts to move, the blood river carrying it along. The boat's route becomes altered as the river begins to flow out, a small wave lifting it through the air. Robert's gaze follows as a red-haired woman appears amid the swirling ruby.

Beverly Marsh.

"Well, aren't you a sight," she smirks, hands perched upon her hips. "Just as bad as the time I stabbed you in the head. Couldn't sleep that one off, huh?"

The little bitch.

Snarling, quill teeth now jetting out his mouth, Robert lunges, only to have her vaporize as he goes to tear at her throat. Her disembodied laugh echoing around him. The blood river drifts off, taking the small boat along as it disappears into the gloom as a cream-colored wooden door appears. It steadily swings open, revealing a bathroom. Robert refrains from coming closer, but the room appears to envelope him, moving on its own.

The steam cloud blanketing the area barely conceals a dark-haired man slouched in a bathtub.

Stanley Uris, head lolling against his shoulder.

Spotting Robert, he sits up as he holds out his wrists, thin slashes appearing and dripping, inking the bath water red and dotting the white porcelain.

"I got to grow up at least." he says.

Robert gives a contemptuous scoff. "You did that to yourself."

"After you came to me." Stan retorts, lowering his arms slowly, staring blankly at Robert, a little half-smile just barely showing. Robert quickly retreats, slamming the door as it dissolves in a puff of thin smoke.

It is growing increasingly uncomfortable. Anxious. It must get out of here, whatever this is.

A dream. A nightmare.

Limbo? Had It been killed while slumbering?

Robert's head darts around as he searches the area, strange clanking sounds and echos vibrate in the distance coupled with a growing forest of giggling children's voices and the baaing of sheep.

'When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell at Bow.'

Mike Hanlon comes forth, holding up a photo album. Opening it, there are various photographs of black birds.

"We're all afraid of something-even you." he says as the birds come to life and begin to flap their wings and squawk, emerging from the album's pages in droves, growing larger in size as they fly at Robert, pecking at him, their beady eyes glowing yellow. He ducks down and swats at them, growling as Mike fades into the dark.

As the birds swoop away, another familiar male voice appears.

"What's up clown man!" Richie Tozier jumps out, bat in hands as Robert, startled, stumbles backwards.

Ugh, of all the Losers, It had hated this one the most. The insulting little shit.

Richie continues to swing the bat, the wood making audible swooshing sounds that cut through the air.

Roaring, Robert grabs at the weapon, only to have his hands pass through it, tumbling forward as Richie cackles.

"Hey, no! Sorry no cigar! You know this place is worse than that crack house." he says, as he pauses to adjust his glasses.

Another final voice, immediately recognizable.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts."

Bill Denbrough steps forth from the tenebrosity, the boat pinched between his fingers.

"You're not real. None of you are. Old age took you back to the weeds long ago." Robert says glaring at him, his one iris starting to spark as Bill approaches.

Save for Mike. All are gone.

Bill smirks. "We're not real enough for you?" he replies, chuckling as an inhaler rolls out beside his feet. Eddie Kaspbrak reaches down to pluck it up, standing alongside Bill.

Raising it to his lips, he halts. "I actually don't need this anymore." Eddie says as he chucks it casually over his shoulder.

Richie moves to stand by them along with Mike and Beverly, with Georgie close behind, followed by Ben Hanscom, who holds up a piece of a large eggshell, black and shiny. Robert's expression drops at the sight, an angry grimace exposing his razor incisors.

Stanley Uris suddenly joins them, that same barely-smile still there. Almost mocking.

Robert glances around at his former adversaries.

"You should have stayed out of it. All of you, had you just kept to your business, let me have what I wanted, Stan and Eds would have lived longer, happier lives. I would have been nothing more than fragments of a forgotten dream. Amnesia is a kindness."

"We forgot, but you haven't forgotten us," Mike offers. "Have you?"

"We're still here," Bill adds, tapping the tip of the paper boat against his temple. "Can't escape that."

The eight are now bordering around him, with more emerging from behind: Candice Swain, Veronica Dell, the drunk Samuel, Colin and Hank Dobson, Esther, Noah Brady, the Muncy family, Julie, the hateful redhead Heather Taggart, Brandon Wilkes, Emily and her mother and the rest of the newest souls he'd claimed on this planet as well as his victims from Derry; the boys from the tunnel, Derek Stuart and James, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter decked out in his cartoon cat shirt, features chewed, the other two punks from the Bower's gang whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember, their necks bloodied, ripped open. Betty Ripsom, little Victoria, Adrian Mellon and the faces of endless Derry children and adults, some recognizable, some barely a hint of familiarity, many just a passing blip on his existence like pretty Martha and naive Alison. Many he'd used and killed like Tom Rogan, some that survived his Deadlights like Audra Denbrough.

As well as the unfortunate wife of the true Robert Gray, Agnes and their daughter Emma. Scowling and hateful.

Decades upon decades of victims. Many missing limbs, their eyeballs gouged out, blood bubbling from their mouths.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"You ripped my legs off and left my body in a ditch."

"You ate my baby. My only son."

"My father died from a broken heart after I went missing."

"They only found my head with no eyes."

Whispering, talking, with some laughing menacingly, all tinted in dull green-blue as the numbers begin to grow as more appear behind them.

Then a few clear a path, allowing another achingly familiar figure to step into the bleak light.

Mirasal.

She moves to stand before him, bringing her arms up to scissor them across her chest, she gives him a somber scowl.

Robert lowers himself to his knees, keeping his gaze locked with hers as resentment and hatred glimmer within her cerulean disks.

"What was that you told me? That I could trust you?" she says, giving a repulsed head shake.

No. This is not her. Remember that. None of this is real.

Just a dream. It's not real.

Robert hangs his head in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you." he mutters into his palms, his face shooting up at the sound of her chuckling derisively.

"Like I would believe you, you even thought about killing me," she replies. "Or perhaps give me a little scare."

With that, she leaps forward, her mouth unhinging, the blue eyes switching to ebony as she comes at him with her claws out. Robert winces back, covering his face, ducking his head down, only to feel nothing. He gingerly peeks out from beneath his fingers.

She's vanished. But the others, their irises blacking out to mimic that same appearance, still remain. All begin to draw closer, the Loser's Club at the forefront, their hands growing paler, some stained with blood splatter, grabbing at him as they close in, swaying back and forth, becoming more zombie-like.

"Get away from me," Robert rapidly stands, whirling around, panic gripping him as he growls, his one intact pupil now burning bright. "Get away."

"We all float down here, Robert. Float with us. Float with us. " they all cantillate in unison. "Float with us."

"No, no. Leave me alone." Robert drops back down to the ground, cowering, shielding himself from their increasingly grotesque faces, their features shriveling up and dropping to the ground. Their cackles resounding through his skull, magnified.

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

"No!" Robert shouts, covering his ears as the area begins to spin, the faces around him now blending together. "No! No! No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Their laughing abruptly ceases, their fingers no longer grabbing and prodding at him, and all is quiet save for the angelic crooning beginning to rise again;

'Here comes a candle to light you to bed.'

Robert follows the source, coming into view of a tall lithe figure, its slouching back facing him, standing in the center of a circle of light. The air above has red balloons hovering, completely still as Robert approaches, pausing every other step as the being becomes more visible, its ruffled off-white costume beginning to twitch as it turns to face him, bells jingling.

Robert stands facing his favorite form as it gives an empty grin.

What?

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed." Pennywise says as he reaches his elongated gloved fingers to grip the nape of Robert's neck. His eyes are two empty sockets, devoid of any color, his teeth yellowed needles as he brings his ghostly features closer, smooth, almost as if they were set in porcelain. Without warning he slams Robert to the ground, the strings of the balloons suspended above gently blow in response as he straddles him.

"Time to pay the piper, ol' Bob Gray," Pennywise intones as he lowers his teeth, only an inch from Robert's visage of both fear and confusion, the dripping saliva strings cold against his skin. Pennywise traces a bony finger along Robert's nose. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Chip chop chip chop, the last man is dead!" he starts to maniacally cackle.

Squeezing his lids, Robert lets out a roar, fighting to free himself, thrashing beneath his double.

And just like that, the clown and the balloons are gone.

[tricksters-captain]

FP Jones/Andrew’s Family/Riverdale imagines - Oh Dear Part 32

A/N: The drama is only beginning....

MASTERLIST LINK (HERE)

Overall Summary: You’re Archie’s older sister and you have a thing for a certain Serpent.

This chapter: Based on season 2 episode 20: Tensions are high when the Northside suspect Fang murdered Midge after hiding their relationship. You are torn as the Northside wants blood, Fangs blood, but the Black Hood’s note pinned to the door of your house threatens your father’s life. And with the rest, Hiram Lodge has a plan up his sleeve to turn Riverdale into a riot zone. 

Pairing: Reader x FP Jones, Sister!Reader x Archie Andrews, Daughter!Reader x Fred Andrews

Word count:  7,436 

Warnings: Violence, Strong Language. 

You heard your phone ring from the kitchen.

“Archie?” You asked, relieved at his caller ID. 

“(Y/n), where are you? What’s wrong?” Archie must’ve heard the upset in your voice.

“Where have you been?” You asked, he was the one who had disappeared all day.

“It’s a long story.” Archie admitted. “I’m coming to Sunnyside now.”

“Hurry.” You ended the call with a whisper and prayed Archie would be quick.

It wasn’t long before Archie arrived at your new front door. 

“(Y/n).” Archie pulled you in for a brief hug when you opened the door. 

You noticed the already bruising and bloody marks on his face immediately.

“What the hell happened?” You reached up and touched your baby brothers cheek. He moved away from your touch, taking hold of your wrist and gently bringing it away from him. 

“It’s a long story like I said.” Archie sighed, “Why aren’t you at Jugheads?” 

“I don’t know.” You wrapped your arms around yourself as Archie entered the trailer, closing the door behind him. “Maybe I felt it safer for both me and FP to be away from each other right now.” You lied. Archie could tell something was wrong but he didn’t press the matter. 

“Now will you tell me where the hell you’ve been all day and why the hell your face looks like you’ve been attack by mob bosses?” You dragged Archie over to the lumpy looking couch that occupied the majority of the empty trailer. 

“You’re not far off.” Archie half heartedly chuckled as he sat down beside you. 

He continued to fill you in on why he disappeared and what the scumbag called Nick St.Claire tried to pull yet failed. 

“I swear Archie, all your problems end up routing back to the Lodge family.” Your blood was boiling as Hiiram’s smug face came to mind. Archie tried arguing with you but you knew the Lodge’s had their hooks in Archie... there hooks in you. 

“Thanks for coming, Archie.” You guided Archie to the door now that you had a sudden urge to just be alone. 

“Dad’s worried about you.” Archie felt the need to drop in just before you could push him from your trailer. 

“I know.” You sighed. “I’m okay though. I’m a big girl, Archie.” You tried to sound convincing but how was anyone okay with the Black Hood on the loose again. 

Archie looked down at you and pursed his lips. You didn’t look like a ‘big girl’, you looked nervous, exhausted and worried. You looked how you did when you were 14 and sneaking out the house, scared your mom was going to catch you. 

“Dad’s debate is soon. Will we see you there?” Archie asked, his eyes pleading more than asking. 

“Sure, Arch. I’ll see you there.” You forced a smile onto your face as you bid your younger sibling goodnight before locking yourself in your trailer.

You made your way into the bedroom and curled up on the small old mattress, the bedding Jughead had brought you smelt of FP and their trailer. It made you ache. 

You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. 

For Hiram Lodge, everything seemed to be falling into place. With you away from your father and living on the Southside as a Serpent, those family values that Fred held his campaign on were slowly withering away. 

“You and Fred are neck-and-neck, and with the town divided over our prison, this debate is ––” 

–Is the single most important event of the election.  I know. I know, basta.” Hermione finished Hiram’s sentence as he went on about the debate again. 

“We already control the Sheriff's office, and The Register, but we need the Mayor's office as well, so the prison can't be blocked.” Hiram rose to stand beside his wife. 

I'm hoping Archie's Dark Circle will cause unrest, (Y/n)’s hibernating on the Southside as a Serpent. If Fred can't control his own children, he certainly can't control a town on the verge of sliding into chaos.” Hiram held a hidden smirk beneath his lips as he thought about how easy this win seemed. And even if you decided to return to your father, to the Northside, Hiram still had those pictures to ruin not only you but Fred and FP Jones. The news that Fred’s childhood best friend was screwing his daughter behind his back would bring Fred back from running for mayor any longer, severely ruining his campaign and relationship with both his daughter and best friend. 

If only Hermione knew what else he had up his sleeve. But he knew this one must remain under his sleeve until it needed to be leaked. 

A week went by and all you seemed to do was go to school, go to the trailer and avoid FP. 

You hadn’t even visited the Wrym recently. The only contact you had with the Serpents apart from the odd text was your meetings at school. 

“Hey, you okay? Haven’t seen you around lately.” Toni grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze as you entered the classroom.

“Yeah, just feeling a little run down. Been trying to lay low.” You tried your best to sound genuine as you sat down but before Toni could respond Jughead called the meeting to session.

“War Baby called my father and I from Shankshaw. Our old adversaries, the Ghoulies, had been released. Word on the street is that they want Serpent blood. They're gunning for a re-match. They want war.” Jughead’s announcement was shortly interrupted by the door swinging open and a rather pissed off looking Reggie walking in. His gaggle of bulldogs behind him, including your brother. 

“Which one of you reptiles was screwing Midge Klump?!” Reggie stared down the boys. 

You and Toni shared a look, this wasn’t going to be good. 

“What the hell is going on?”Jughead pushed himself off the desk and faced Reggie. “This is a private meeting.” 

“I'm guessing it was you, Sweet Pea.” Reggie ignored Jughead head as he thrusted his index finger towards Sweet Pea causing him to step forward. 

That’s when you realised you couldn’t be playing the pity case right now. You hopped on your feet as Sweet Pea retaliated.

“You ass. I didn’t even know Midge but, yeah, I get why she wouldn’t want fleas from your mangy bulldogs.” Sweet Pea glowered down at the boy, sparking a fight. 

You lurched forward and dove under Sweet Pea’s arm, shoving him hard in the chest backwards with your hands as Archie tried to grab Reggie.

“Calm down!” You snapped as Sweet Pea tried to fight against you to get to Reggie. 

 “Serpents back off now!” Jughead bellowed, cutting all violence to an end. 

You kept your hands on Sweet Peas chest as you peered over your shoulder to meet Archie’s eyes. 

“Look, all we know is that Midge was cheating on Moose with a Serpent. It could help with her murder.” Archie tried to clear the air but in the way he said it just made him sound like he was accusing one of the Serpents of murder. 

“Well, we don’t know anything about it.” Jughead told Archie. Archie must've believed him because he managed to get his bulldogs to leave the classroom. For now. 

Once the boys had left, Sweet Pea pushed your hands away and slumped down on the desk behind him. 

“Is it true?” Jughead faced everyone, searching mostly the guys faces. 

Everyone remained silent. 

Jug ran hand over his face, much like FP has done before, and then told the Serpents that if anyone knew anything that it’s best they come to him sooner than later. 

But no one came forward that day. 

The next morning, Jughead had called you to tell you that Fangs came over and confessed to sleeping with Midge. 

“So, what do we do now?” You asked Jughead over the phone. 

“We see if I can get the footage from my camera back and if not... if not we need to make sure Fang has one hell of a good reason for lying when the new sheriff comes by to talk to him about his statement.” You could hear Jughead rustling around his trailer as he spoke. 

“Let me know either way.” You said before hanging up the phone. You didn’t want to stay on any longer in case you ended up hearing FP’s voice in the background. 

You got to school later that morning to see the halls covered in black circle posters. 

“Archie...” You whispered as you pulled down the poster from the wall. 

“Hey (Y/n)!” Fang’s voice reached you from across the hallway. He was jogging up to you. 

“What happened to laying low?” You commented on the attention he’d drawn to himself by calling your name. 

“Huh, oh, sorry.” He apologised as he tugged his backpack up his shoulder. “It’s just Jughead said you’d be helping me out today. You know, keeping an eye in case any of those bulldogs catch wind.” Fangs seemed nervous as he eyes searched the hallway for jocks. 

“Keep acting so nervous and they’ll know it’s you.” You tried to be light hearted but even you were scared for the boy. Reggie has a temper and with it, a mean right swing. “Come on, I’ll walk towards your next class with you.” 

You knew you couldn’t be glued to him all day as it would cause suspicions but you did your best to make sure no one had found out it was him. 

You checked your phone at the end of the day to see a text from Jug, telling you to meet him at Pops and so that’s where you went. 

You tried to act unfazed with the fact that FP was there but in reality you had bigger problems to deal with right now than fighting with your feelings. 

“Sheriff Minetta wouldn't give me back my footage. Says he wants to go through it frame by frame.” Jughead told you as you sat learnt against the counter top beside him. “It's only a matter of time before he puts two and two together and brings Fangs in.”

“Damn it. Of all the girls in Riverdale High.” FP scoffed,

“What do I do?” Jughead’s eyes looked between you and FP. 

“If Fangs runs, he looks guilty. If he's caught withholding the truth, he'll look like the killer.” FP stated. 

“It's a perfect storm. The Lodges endorsed this new Sheriff. They want Midge's killer caught.” You sighed. Your heart stopped when you caught FP’s eyes, you just hoped Jughead hadn’t noticed how quickly you looked away from his father. ““and if it's a Southsider...”

 “So much the better.” Jughead finished your sentence, knowing what you were all were thinking. 

“Then we hunker down.” FP learnt forward on the counter top as he lowered his voice. “Get ready to fight.” 

You watched FP walk away to return to work and you shared a glance with Jughead.

“We better inform the troops.” You scooped up your car keys as you stood up straight. 

“We need proof that Fang isn’t the killer. Or at least a reason he didn’t tell anyone about the affair.” Jughead pushed himself off his stool and followed you to the door.

“We need to think worse case scenario.” You corrected Jug. “What happens if he is taken to the station and we don’t have proof he didn’t do it. We need to get some money together for a lawyer, Jug.” 

“Don’t worry about that. Mrs McCoy is a damn good attorney if we can get her.” Jughead opened the door to Pops and you both headed into the parking lot. 

“We better make sure we can get her then.” You said as your phone burst into your ringtone. You lifted it to see it was Archie calling. 

You answered to news that sent a chill through every bone in your body.

Fred had found a note pinned to the door of the house when he got home that evening. The note read ‘You’re next sinner!’ 

You hung up the phone and bolted to your car. Jughead called after you but your car tires were already screeching against the tarmac as you pulled out of Pop’s. 

“Hey.” You hugged Archie tightly as he opened the front door. From all the cars outside you could see you weren’t the only one he called. 

As soon as you saw your dad, you forgot about any anger or frustration that was there and it was replaced with relief only to be followed by severe anxiety. 

“You okay?” You hugged Fred tightly to which he returned. 

“I’m fine. It’s just a letter.” Fred tried to down play it but you could see the concern in his frown. 

“It’s a threat.” You argued. It wasn’t just a letter and everyone in that room knew it. Your dad had a scar in his torso to remind him. 

There was another knock at the door to which Hiram and Hermione Lodge were invited into the house. 

You met Hiram’s eyes and felt your blood run cold yet your stomach bubbled with rage. You thought that’s what it must feel like to come face to face with the devil. 

You stepped to the side with Archie as the couple were filled in on what’s happened. 

The worst case scenario was it was a threat from the Black Hood, the best case scenario was that the note was some kids pulling a prank for scares. 

“It's clear what has to be done. We cancel the debate. Prank or not, it's not a risk we can take.” Hiram spoke out on the matter as everyone gathered in the kitchen. 

“I agree. Until the Black Hood's caught, we have to be careful.” Archie added. 

“Can you beef up security at the Town Hall?” Fred turned to the new sheriff. 

“Fred, honestly––” 

“––Dad, you can't be serious.” You and Hiram spoke over each other. You stared at your father with wide eyes. 

“We'll lock Town Hall down tighter than a steel drum.” Sheriff Minetta assured your father. 

“The town is scared. They need to be shown we can't be cowed.” Fred argued his reasonings but you still had an awful feeling about it. If the Black Hood could pull a stunt like Midge’s death with that many people in the high school then he could definitely still cause havoc in the town hall. 

“Well, if Fred's in, so are we.” Hermione sided with Fred after a short moment of hesitation. 

You noticed Archie’s head shaking as he stood beside you. You moved back and leant your back against the sink as you folded your arms across your chest.

“You sure you’re not gonna stay?” Archie asked as you met at the bottom of the staircase. 

“Dad will be safe. After that note deputies will be watching this house like a crack den.” You nodded in the direction of the kitchen where your dad was still conversing with Hiram and Hermione and their new sheriff. 

“What about you?” Archie asked, the look on his face was heavy with concern. 

“I’ll be fine. I got the Serpents and anyways I have things to do tonight. Me and Jughead...” You stopped yourself with a sigh. “Things just aren’t great on the other side of the tracks.”

“Just...” Archie looked down at his feet and back up to you. “Be careful. I don’t think Dad could forgive himself if something happened.”

“I don’t think you’re talking about just dad, Arch.” You lightly nudged his shoulder. “I promise I’ll be careful.” You turned and placed your hand on the door handle. “Night Archie.”

“Night.” Archie pursed his lips into a thin line as he dug his hands into his pockets. He knew nothing he could say would make you stay. It had to be your decision and if your decision was to head back to the Southside then he had to accept it.

You headed back to Sunnyside to find FP waiting outside your trailer still in his work uniform and Serpents jacket. 

“Jughead came back inside and said you took off pretty quickly after a phone call.” FP walked towards you as you walked towards your front door.

“It was just Archie.” You told him as you unlocked your front door. 

“What’s happened?” FP followed you inside, you knew there was no point even trying to stop him, you were not only physically tired but mentally exhausted. 

“My dad got a note at the house. They think it might be from the Black Hood. It could be just some kids but with everything that’s happened...” You went over to the kitchen sink to get yourself a glass of water. “...I can’t help but feel something awful is about to happen.”

“Come on, you’re not staying here tonight. You’re coming back to the trailer with me.” The news of the Black Hood seem to send a protective spike through FP as he picked up the Serpent jacket you had tossed onto the couch when you entered. 

You rose your eyebrows at his sudden change of demeanour. 

The tension between you was still unbearable. He didn't know what he could do to make it alright again. To get you back.

“What’s the point?” You shrugged your shoulders slightly, “I don’t think I’ll even be able to sleep tonight no matter where I am.” You admitted, bringing your glass of water to your lips. 

“What’s the point?” FP scoffed. “The point is that I’ll know you’re safe. You being here alone; I don’t like it.” 

“I thought you were too busy with Alice Cooper to be worrying about me.” You accidentally let the green monster take control of your tongue as you turned your back on the older man to head to your bedroom.  “I’m not your problem anymore, FP.” 

“Don’t act like such a child, (Y/n).” FP chased after you. “You say you’re not my problem, well, last time I checked you are a Serpent and Serpents stick together. So, whether you’re angry with me or not, I’m not going to sit back and let you get hurt or worse.” 

You faced the man with a hard look. 

“If you’re so worried, post a watchman outside my door. I’m not leaving this trailer tonight.” You were stubborn, that was one thing that FP knew all too well. 

“Fine.” FP didn’t want to push you any further, he didn’t want to have to deal with the temper tantrum that would come if he did. “Damn it, woman!” FP cussed as he left the trailer. 

You fell back onto your bed after hearing your front door slam shut and you let out an audible growl of frustration. 

You spent most the night awake; anyone could tell from the dark circle under your eyes the next morning. Your alarm woke you up for school so you must’ve eventually fell asleep at some point. FP had been running round your head all night as much as you didn’t want him to. But then again, it was better than thinking about how the Black Hood wants your dad dead. 

The drama didn't seem to stop once you rocked up to school either. 

“(Y/n)! (Y/n)! Have you seen Jughead?!” Toni came rushing round the corner, almost crashing into you. 

“No, I just walked through the doors.” You were taken back by her energy. 

“He needs to see this.” Toni lifted her phone up to show you the video of Fang in Midge’s dressing room. “It’s Fang. Fang was the Serpent with Midge.”

“Shit.” You took your own phone out and tried to dial Fang’s number. “Find Jughead, I’ll get Fang the hell out of here.” You rushed forward into the crowd of students who all seemingly were receiving/watching the same video you were just shown. “Reggie will eat him alive.” You muttered to yourself. 

You snatched Fang’s sleeve just as he ducked around a corner. 

“Hey! Come on.” You yanked him towards you, he seemed to relax a little when he saw it was you who grabbed him and not one of the bulldogs. “We gotta get you out of here now––” You cut yourself short when you caught eye of Jughead. He rushed towards you with Toni. 

“That video is everywhere, how’d it get out?” Fangs asked Jughead as you met him. 

“You’re dead, Vixen Killer!” The raging ball of testosterone that was Reggie soon came storming down the stairs and right towards you and Fangs. 

“Go!” You shoved Fangs in front of you, away from Reggie’s wrath.  

“Fogarty! We need you to come with us.” Sheriff Minetta closed off the only way to escape the Bulldogs. 

“I didn't do anything.” Fangs tried to back away but he was surrounded. 

His eyes flickered towards you and from his look you knew he was about to do something stupid. 

He sprinted towards the sheriff and his deputies trying to push through them but the struggle only made it worse. 

Fangs was thrown against the wall as he fought being restrained but the clang of metal made everyone freeze. 

“Shit.” You whispered only loud enough for Jughead to hear as he was beside you. 

A switch blade had fallen out of Fang’s pocket. 

He was fucked. A weapon on school property would definitely keep him a night in the station and make the suspicion of him only grow. 

“We gotta get your dad.” You pulled Jughead back away from the drama as the sheriff guided Fangs outside. 

Jughead called FP as you both made your way out to the parking lot. 

“I’ll meet you at the station. See what I can find out.” You parted from him as he spoke to his father. You climbed into your car, slinging your bag onto the back seat. 

You made your way to the station but none of the deputies would talk to you. 

You weren’t a relative by blood or guardian. Minetta had his grip around the deputies tight and even the greasiest of them refused to even say one thing other than he was being questioned. 

“Anything?” Jughead asked. He and FP walked into the station together and straight up to you. 

“Nothing. That new Sheriff is holding a tight ship, I can’t any information out of anyone.” You admitted. 

“You two head back to school. Make sure the rest of the Serpents are safe and aren’t stirring up any trouble with those Bulldogs. I’ll stay here and wait. See if I can find out anything.” FP tried to dismiss you as if he could do much more. 

Jughead was quick to follow orders and head back outside, leaving you there. 

“FP, It's fine. I just had study periods today anyway. I can stick around.” You tried to argue but FP wasn’t having any of it. 

“Go back with Jughead. There’s nothing you can do for Fangs right now but there are still Serpents you can help out there.” FP gestured to the doors of the station. 

“Fine.” You shook your head, “Call me if you get any news.” 

“Hey (Y/n).” FP called after you. You reluctantly stopped and turned around to face the man. “Thank you.”

You nodded your head in response, it wasn’t everyday FP actually said thank you. Usually he showed it after you would help him but he rarely spoke the words. 

You returned to school to see that Toni had been the one to hold back the Serpents. You informed everyone that it would probably be late this evening or tomorrow that’d you hear any news but that FP was staying there just in case. 

“Jug, I think it’s time to call that lawyer now.” You told Jughead to contact McCoy before telling the Serpents to meet you at the Wyrm later in case there was any news from anyone. You also told them to go straight back to the Southside once school was finished. 

You didn’t want anyone hanging around the Northside any longer than they should with the dark circle looming. Reggie would be looking for a fight and the only way to stay out of his way was to completely avoid any places he might be. Outside of the schools walls, Reggie couldn't be stopped by any teacher or staff. At this point, you were pretty sure the new sheriff would even turn a blind eye. 

Later, when it drew nearer to the time that you were supposed to be meeting the Serpents at the Wyrm, you called FP to see if anything had changed but Fangs was still being held and the deputies still refused to let out any information at that time. 

You decided to walk to the Wyrm since you needed the cold night air to help you come up with a way to keep the Serpents calm and keep their heads down until you can find out more. 

As the cold air tickled your cheeks and burned your finger tips, you suddenly became very away that you weren’t alone. 

It wasn’t unusual for a girl your age to be worried about walking alone in the evening but you were certain that someone was following you. 

You decided to speed up but not so much that it would cause a reaction from the man behind you. Running would only make him chase you and like every predator and prey, you’d end up caught or trapped if you weren’t smart about it. 

Your heart started pounding at the thought that the man behind you could be the Black Hood. He went after sinners. He went after your father. He could very well be targeting you next. 

As you got closer to the Wyrm you could hear voices and cheers.

That’s when you noticed the large man behind you crossed to the other side of the road. Perhaps it was just someone trying to scare you or just decided to walk behind you. But if it were the Blackhood, you didn’t want to think about what would have happened if you decided to turn down an alley or walk past a dark corner where a street lamp had blown. 

As grateful as you were that there were voices up ahead, you almost wished there hadn’t been. 

You picked up your pace across the parking lot of the Wyrm once you saw the group of boys in ski masks and letterman jackets, slicing the tires of some of the bikes. 

“Hey assholes!” You picked up a rock and threw it at them, it hit one of them on the shoulder which caught all their attention. “Get the hell out of here!” You couldn’t believe the Bulldogs were so stupid. 

“Who you talking to, Serpent Slut?” One of the boys scoffed at you. 

“I’d rather be a Serpent slut than a bunch of little puppies trying to act like big dogs.” You swiped a large piece of wood from broken crate or delivery palette and swung it in your hand as you approached the boys. 

The boys laughed at your attempted to threaten. Their laughter only provoked you as you sent the large slab of wood flying towards the group. 

“Tell me, do you lick each others balls or just your own?” You smirked as the wood made contact with the group.

One of the largest boys, you can only assume to be Reggie, growled as he blocked the wood with his forearm. He held the knife out and one of the boys had the sense to snatch hold of his forearm to stop him moving forward, This only enraged Reggie more as he dropped the knife so he could bend down and grab hold of the rock you originally threw and shot it towards you. 

You tried to knock it away but the rock hit your face, splitting the skin on your cheek. You hissed and stumbled back, reaching up to where the rock had hit you hard. 

The boys followed by throwing a few more rocks towards you, bruising you in several places before the Wyrm door swung open and out came several of the. older generation including Hog Eye.

“Hey!” The men boomed as the boys took off. The men chased after them followed swiftly by Sweet Pea and some of the other young Serpents but Reggie must've brought his car as they managed to get away. 

“Hey, you okay?” Toni helped you up as the boys throws had knocked you to your knees. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You said as you felt the warm liquid roll down your face, leaving puddle on the stones beneath you. 

“What animals.” Toni took her sleeve and held it against your cheek. 

“Maybe insulting and then throwing a giant plank of wood at them wasn’t my best idea.” You. grimaced as your cheek stung. 

“Yeah, maybe you should have come and got us first.” Toni agreed. 

“They were cutting up tires.” You gestured towards the flat tires on the bikes. “They would’ve ran before we made it back outside.”

“Always tryna play the hero, just like Jughead.” Toni teased you. She took you inside to which you informed the serpents that there was no news other than the fact Jughead got McCoy to agree to be Fang’s attorney. 

Hog Eye put a small butterfly stitch on your cheek and you held some ice on it to help the swelling go down. You silently cursed the jocks outside as you knew  that the fresh mark on your face would cause trouble not just with FP but also your dad. It was the debate tomorrow and you said to Archie you’d go. Showing up with a shiner wouldn’t help your dad or his worries. 

You were one of the last people to leave the bar that night. 

Your stalker from earlier had left what felt like a cold hand print on your back. It felt like he was holding onto you and the moment you’d step outside his grip would retract and bring you straight to him. 

One of the older men had offered you a lift back to Sunnyside on the back of their bike so you weren’t alone but once at Sunnyside, you couldn’t help but feel the fear seep through you. 

You sat on your bed with a crowbar from your car trunk tight in your grip. 

“Not today. Not today.” You kept whispering as you tried to keep yourself awake. If the Black Hood was coming for you, you weren't going down without a fight. 

The next morning you were awoken by a phone call. The sun was blaring through the windows and you noticed you had dropped the crowbar down onto the floor. 

“Hello?” You answered your phone, groggy from the sudden wake up call. 

“I’ve got Attorney McCoy here with Fangs now. She says they only have 24 hours to make something stick or they have to let Fangs go.” Jughead’s voice came racing through the phone. 

“That’s good news, right? He could potentially be getting out.” You sat up on the bed and rubbed your eyes. 

“I don’t know. With the dark circle vandalising the Wyrm last night I almost feel Fangs is safer in here then he is out there.” Jughead admitted, you could hear the concern in his voice. 

“He has the Serpents. We can protect him.” You tried to assure Jughead but in all honesty, you were worried for his safety yourself. 

“Yeah but from a whole town? When news gets out that Fang is suspected of being Midge’s murderer, the whole of the Northside will demand blood.”  Jughead was right. This wasn’t going to die down quietly.

“Look, we’ll deal with whatever is thrown our way. We’re Serpents after all. I’d come to the station today Jug but it’s the debate this afternoon and I promised Archie and my Dad I’d go to support him.” You told Jughead over the phone. 

“It’s alright. I doubt there’s much I can do today let alone both of us sitting at the station. I’ll call you later. Hopefully we’ll have an idea of the time Fangs can break out of here.” Jughead ended the call there and you decided to get up and washed. 

You drowned yourself in a coffee and tried your best to clean up your face. It  was hard trying to cover the bruising since it hurt to even put a make up brush to it but you did your best. 

Your phone rang as you went to leave to get some lunch at Pop’s before the debate. 

“Hey Archie.” You picked it up knowing full well he just wanted to ask if you were still coming. 

“Hey, you on your way to town hall yet?” He asked. 

“Now? The debate doesn’t start for another hour, Arch.” You pulled your phone away from your ear to check the time. “I’ll be there, Archie. I promise.” 

“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you there.” Archie sounded nervous. You weren't surprised. 

After a small lunch at Pop’s it was time for the debate. 

You contemplated standing up on the side of the stage with Archie but you had your serpents jacket draped over your arm and thought it looked bad enough you had it as a reminder to the entire town about Fred’s daughter being a Serpent let alone flaunt it on stage. 

You sat down beside Betty so you could still be near the front so that your dad could see you in the audience. 

“Welcome, one and all, to tonight's Mayoral Debate.” Alice Cooper started the  debate off. “Jumping right in. Fear and unrest rule the streets. Hermione Lodge, how would you restore safety to the town?” 

“Well, we're already making strides, Alice. My husband and I personally recruited Sheriff Minetta from Centerville after Tom Keller resigned. Not one week on the job, and he's apprehended Midge Klump's murderer.” Hermione spoke boldly. You stuck your tongue in your cheek as the audience cheered. How dare they just accuse an innocent boy. A boy. Fang was still in high school for gods sake. 

“Fred? Rebuttal?” Alice turned the microphone over to your father. 

“We don't know if he's the killer.” Fred tried to back Fang up. You felt a warmth in your chest at that. The audience on the other hand didn’t. Especially the bulldogs. 

You locked eyes with Reggie and scowled as he smirked. 

“All I'm saying is let's not call for blood until we've had a trial. What does that say about us, about Riverdale?” Fred continued.

“You talk about not calling for blood, Fred? Are you aware of a group called the Dark Circle?” Hermione’s mention of the dark circle made your heart stop and from the look of Archie’s face in the wings you could tell his did too. 

“No, I'm not.” Fred admitted honestly. 

“Then let me enlighten you.” Hermione started. “The Dark Circle is a dangerous, radical group that traffics in terror, violence and street-warfare. It's a group started by your son, Archie.” Hermione didn’t stop there. “Let’s not forget to mention that your own daughter belongs to the same Southside hoodlum gang that Midge’s murderer belonged to. Now I ask you, Citizens of Riverdale, how can we trust a man to run a town when he can't even keep his own house in order?” 

Hermione’s words set a fire off inside you but with the sudden gasp of fear from Veronica as she stepped forward and said “Oh My God. It’s the Black Hood!” all hatred drained from your body like the colour in your face. 

You watched Archie dive towards your father as shots started firing. You called out Archie’s name as you tried to scramble towards the stage but Betty pulled you down. 

“Dad!” You cried out, Hal pulled Betty towards the fire exit and Betty kept her hand on your wrist. 

“(Y/n), I’m fine!” You heard Fred’s voice as you caught a glimpse of him behind the podium. 

The Black Hood soon fled from the scene and fortunately no one was hurt.

You kept yourself tucked under your dad’s arm as soon as you reunited with him and Archie. 

“I guess Sheriff Keller's not looking so bad right about now, huh?” Your dad moved away from you when Minetta finally appeared. 

“There's a trapdoor leading from the balcony to the roof that's not on any building plans. But I've got cars all over downtown. He's not gonna get far, we'll catch him tonight.” Minetta sighed, you tried to think that it wasn’t his fault but how could they fail to spot something as important as a door on the roof. 

Hiram stepped forward and you watched him like a hawk. His eyes met yours but only for a moment and you swore you saw a twitch of a smirk on his lips when they did. 

“Sheriff, if I may? Archie's come face-to-face with the Black Hood before, looked him in the eyes. Maybe he could help identify him.” Hiram suggested. You wanted to step forward and say no for Archie but fortunately, tonight, Archie had a brain. 

“You up for a ride-along?” Minetta asked. 

“Actually, I'm gonna head home, stay with my dad. Make sure he's safe there.” Archie refuses the offer, you could tell by Hiram’s face that he didn’t like that. 

“All right, then.” Hiram had to accept it in front of your father. 

“Hey Arch. If you and Dad are heading home I need to go to the station. Jughead is still there with Fangs and it isn’t fair he’s been there all day. I promise I’ll come home tonight after I check in on Jug.” You told Archie but you knew your dad was listening too. 

“But the Black Hood––” 

“––Isn’t going to make another appearance tonight. The town is crawling with cops.” You interrupted Archie, trying to assure him. “I won’t be long. I promise.” You kissed both Archie and your father’s cheek before darting to the exit. 

Jughead had texted you asking if you were okay, Betty had texted him about the shooting. 

Y/N: Everything’s fine. Dad and Arch are safe. On my way to station. 

You texted Jug as you drove over to the station. You pulled up behind it to avoid the protestors outside the entrance and quickly ran inside. 

“We’ve got an hour and then they officially have to let him go.” Jughead told you as you met him in the hallway. 

“There are a hell of a lot of people outside, Jug. Angry people.” You pulled your jacket around you tightly as your knuckles went white from nerves.

“I know.” Jughead placed his hands on his hips and looked past you to the entrance doors. “I got to go meet my dad. Can you stay here? Fangs shouldn’t be alone right now.” 

“Sure.” You had no problem staying with Fangs. 

Jughead let you inside the holding area and left swiftly after. 

“Hey.” You knelt down and touched the bars of the cell. Fangs was sat on the floor with his head in his hands.

“(Y/n).” He sat up when he realised it was you. 

“Hey kid.” You teased, smiling at him to try and cheer him up. “You’ll be a free man soon.”

“I’ll be a dead man. Reggie and his asshole club are gonna be waiting out there for me. Even if I didn’t kill Midge I still slept with her whilst she was dating Moose.” Fangs couldn’t hide his fear. 

“The Serpents will have your back if they are and you know that.” You reached forward and touched the boys hand. He took it and held onto it tightly. 

“You’re going to be alright.” You whispered, you wanted to make a promise but in the town of Riverdale, being alright couldn’t always be a promised that could be made. 

Time went by and the protest outside only worsened. You could hear the shouting and chanting as the sheriff finally unlocked Fang’s cell. 

You hugged the boy as he took you in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, hey...” You rubbed his back. “We’re gonna get out of here.”

You pulled away and immediately called Jughead. 

“Where are you? It’s gotten worse. How are we supposed to get him out of here now?” You moved away from Fangs as he collected his things from the desk. 

“I’m in the middle of it now! It’s the dark circle! They want blood!” Jughead yelled over the crowd he was stuck in. 

“Get inside. We need to make a plan.” You hung up and texted the other serpents to come inside too.

“I called your brother. He might be able to help calm Reggie and the Bulldogs down.” Jughead told you as he entered the building. 

“Okay. Go talk to Minetta about taking a different way out. I told Toni and the others to come inside to help too.” You sent Jughead Minetta’s way before taking Toni, Sweetpea and some others to where Fangs was waiting. 

You could see FP arguing with one of the deputies at the desk as Jughead moved away from Minetta, a look on defeat on the boys face. 

“Hey! Picking a fight with someone who is refusing to help us won’t solve the problem.” You moved forward towards the older man. 

“(Y/n)––” FP went to argue but stopped himself when he saw your face. “What happened to your face?” He lifted his thumb to your cheek but you pulled away slightly. 

“The dark circle last night at the Wyrm. It doesn’t matter. What matters is getting everyone out of here safe.” You couldn’t ignore the concerned look he had for you but it wasn’t the thing you should be focusing on right now. 

You returned to Jughead as you heard him speak. 

“We stand together so none of us falls. In unity there is strength.” Jughead pulled you towards the group. 

“In unity there is strength!” You chanted along with the Serpents. 

You were trying so hard to be the strong one being the oldest but you were terrified. There no denying that the mob outside scared you and you knew you wouldn’t be leaving unscathed. None of you would. 

“Alright. Gather up. Let’s take this bull by the horns.” Jughead put himself infant of Fangs along with Sweetpea. They were the muscle to push the crowds out of the way. 

You and Toni took the side of Fangs. You looked past Fangs, sharing a flash of fear between you and Toni’s eyes. The rest of the Serpents took the back. They would break off to push the crowd out the way if anyone tried to attack Fangs once you were outside. 

“Ready?” Jughead asked everyone. 

“Ready.” You all replied. 

“Ready.” You whispered to yourself again, trying to tell yourself that it was the truth. 

The doors were swung open by Jughead and Sweetpea as you all moved together. 

The shouting was deafening once you hit the cold air of outside. 

FP rushed forward to Jughead’s side to help keep the crowd off him and a few of the physically bigger serpents did the same on your side to protect you and Sweetpea. 

That didn’t stop people from clawing and grabbing at you though. 

You hissed as you tried to shrug hands off you. 

How could people want Fangs that badly?!

JUSTICE FOR MIDGE 

The words pierced your head as bodies collided against yours. 

“BACK OFF!” You bellowed as loud as you could over the crowds chanting. 

Suddenly, a loud thud crashed against the ground behind you. 

“Archie!” You yelled as he tackled Reggie to the ground. 

You tried pushing Fangs away from the boys as you spotted Reggie’s firearm. 

“FANGS!” The words seem to leave your mouth the exact same time as the shot fired. 

You didn’t know if the shot had hit anyone right away. FP had automatically gone to push you behind him to protect you. It seemed like a matter of seconds before you finally noticed where the shot went. 

“Fangs! No!” You were the first one to notice that it was indeed Fangs who took the bullet. You tried fighting against FP as he had started pulling you towards him to get you away from it all.

He finally let go when everyone dived to stop Fangs from falling. 

“Call an ambulance now!” FP pointed back at you. 

You scrambled for your phone, ringing 911 with tears rolling down your cheeks as the blood soaked Fangs shirt. 

“I need an ambulance at the sheriff station now! Someone’s been shot.”  

(PART 33)

TAG LIST (TAGS ARE CLOSED)

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[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 9

The next day brought sharks and gunfire, squids and murder. Dr. Coomer, with newfound vigor from the previous night’s rest, was racking up a pretty impressive kill count, growing in power as more of his clones were eliminated. Tommy drifted away in his head most of the morning, dwelling on his father’s words and the guilt that came with them.

He kept an eye on Benrey, as always, but there was little need to. The entity had chosen to cooperate for the most part, aside from pestering Gordon every step of the way. Gordon had learned to just go along with Benrey’s gags, giving him space to blow off some steam until he got bored. It was a surprisingly effective method of dealing with the guy, and Tommy once again found himself struck by not only Gordon’s strength and tenacity, but his remarkable resourcefulness. Maybe that doctorate from MIT really was worth something.

Controlling the entity (as far as the entity would allow himself to be controlled) was pretty much the only win they had that day. The rest of their journey had them swimming through drowned, claustrophobic tunnels, avoiding the jaws of the creatures that slithered within. Tommy wasn’t a fan, but Gordon outright hated it, coughing and spluttering every time they surfaced, waterlogged and exhausted.

The adrenaline in Gordon’s blood was pretty much the only thing keeping him moving, yet he fought on, intent on making his way to the Lambda Lab. Right. The Lambda Lab. Find the lab, close the rift, and then they could all go home.

Tommy very, very badly wanted to go home.

When Gordon nearly had a panic attack after mistaking a soda can for a grenade, Tommy finally pried himself out of his mental fog. Knock it off, dude. Now wasn’t the time to zone out and brood. People could die, and one of them in particular did not have the ability to regenerate himself if that happened.

Bubby and Benrey had begun whispering among themselves, which was a cause for concern. Tommy listened in when he could and caught mostly insults -  something he was inclined to dismiss - but the way Benrey’s eyes glinted when Tommy looked his way didn’t quite sit right.

“Can’t friends talk?” Bubby had asked hotly.

That was it. Benrey didn’t have friends. Tommy let his gaze slide away, swallowing his words but keeping his suspicions close.

After rendering a perfectly good server room completely useless, they came upon one of Dr. Coomer’s clones, who had posted himself up outside a heavy lead door. He actually recognized Gordon, which was unexpected. You’re the guy in the HEV suit, he told them. We’ve been tracking your progress, he told them.

Dr. Coomer scratched his chin and swept the group with a troubled look. “Gordon, that means you’ve been leading the military to us this whole time,” he concluded.

“What? But - I mean I can’t even take it off.” Gordon gave himself an up-and-down gesture.

“Oh,” Benrey noted flatly. “Maybe you need to die.”

“What?” Gordon demanded. “I don’t need to die.”

Benrey responded by nonchalantly raising his firearm. He pulled the trigger and contents of the clone’s skull splattered against the wall. Gordon took a step back, nauseated.

“I was gonna ask him a very valuable question,” he uttered, averting his gaze.

“I’ve absorbed his power, Gordon,” Coomer brightly informed him. “Ask me.”

Tommy was staring hard at Benrey as Gordon went back and forth with Dr. Coomer about the possibility of ditching the suit. The entity’s pupils were haloed with reflected light as he returned his gaze, baring his razor smile in a challenge. Tommy didn’t say anything, his eyes wandering instead to the peculiarly shaped door. Something radiated from the back of his skull as he studied it, as if the heavy barricade itself were a warning.

“This door is ominous,” he murmured.

When the science team all cast him curious looks, he realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “It’s shaped like a B,’ he elaborated. “What could that mean? ‘Buh’ door?” That was a silly thing to say, he thought in retrospect, but it was what came out of his mouth.

Gordon gave him a mystified smile. “‘Buh’ door?” he repeated.

“No, I think those are glasses,” Benrey said.

Gordon shook his head, passing a glance between them. “What are any of you saying?”

Tommy raised his eyebrows at Gordon, smiling despite his unease. “Buh,” he reiterated, just to make him wheeze with laughter.

Benrey and Bubby began repeating the sound, too, and Tommy wasn’t sure if they were having fun or mocking him. At this point, both options were plausible.

Gordon was still grinning. His teeth were so even; he had definitely been a braces kid. “Working on your phonics, Tommy?”

Sure. Yeah. That was it. Most people didn’t look at a B-shaped entryway and immediately feel a crawling beneath their skin. Well, except for some very particular interior designers, perhaps. He held Gordon’s gaze and didn’t respond.

Dr. Coomer, restless, was already heading through the door. “The B stands for ‘bye!’” he called cheerfully.

The room that followed was freezing, the floors slick with ice. The creatures within were a low threat, slipping and sliding around as they were on the frozen surface, but that meant the team of scientists was equally ineffective at shooting them.

“Whoah, guys, it’s icy!” Gordon called, flinging his arms out for balance.  

“It’s cold as hell in here.” Bubby observed with exasperation. He fired at an alien, corrected his aim, and fired again.

Tommy made a deal with the laws of physics for a brief time, allowing him to traverse the frozen room with relative stability. Benrey was more brazen and simply sauntered on through as if the ice wasn’t even there, paying the creatures no mind as he went. Weirdly enough, they seemed to be ignoring him back. Before Tommy could think on that much longer, Gordon’s excited voice drew his attention.

“You guys like ice skating?” he asked, eyes alight as he slid across the room. “I was never one for it. I don’t got really good balance.”

Laughing with delight, breath fogging in the chilly air, Gordon whirled with his arms above his head in a wobbly pirouette. Tommy watched him, unable to keep the smile off his face as he did. The fact that Gordon was still finding joy after almost three days in this hellscape nearly made the ice melt beneath Tommy’s feet.

Bubby’s irritated voice came from around a pillar. “Gordon, now is not the time for jokes.”

With some effort, Gordon stopped spinning. “Bro, lemme have a little fun,” he shot back. “It’s serious, but like-”

“My life is in danger!”

“So is mine!” Gordon insisted. “But like, when you guys have fun, when you’re fucking with me-”

“Your technique is sloppy, Gordon,” Dr. Coomer chimed in, sliding into the vicinity with a flourish. “Perhaps we should practice once we get out of the Black Mesa facility.”

Gordon’s smile returned in earnest. “Oh?” he asked. “Show me your form.”

The old man spread his arms wide, as if gearing up for a complicated maneuver, and then collapsed dramatically onto the icy floor. Tommy bit down on his knuckles to hide his laughter while Gordon waved him off, chuckling.

The three of them caught up to Benrey and Bubby, Gordon keeping up his skating routine as he went. Tommy trailed after him, gunning down encroaching extraterrestrials so the guy could have his fun. At one point, Gordon spun and stretched out a hand to Tommy, bowed at the waist, mouth quirking in wordless invitation.

Tommy paused, staring at his open palm, wishing more than anything that he could take it. Just forget about the creatures and the soldiers and the rift in space for one fucking second and let himself get swept away by this charming gentleman in front of him. He felt his throat tighten. He positively ached for it.

Declining with a polite smile, he shook his head. Perhaps once this nightmare was over, when they were no longer concerned about staying alive. Something to look forward to, something to make horrors they fought through worth it. Tommy owed him a dance. For now, however, he offered Gordon something he could always give.

“B stands for ‘below freezing,’” he quipped.

Gordon laughed, warm and genuine, and withdrew his hand. “Oh, now I get it.”

---

The price they paid for seeing the sky again was an onslaught of new adversaries. They were fast . Bubby scouted up ahead and immediately scampered back to the group, a wild look on his face as he murmured, “Oh my god.”

Gordon was peering around a crate, eyes narrowed. “Did you see that?” he asked. “Was that a woman?”

Tommy’s eyes could barely track their movements, agile as they were. They didn’t really look like anything to him, much less women, and he was about to turn his head to say so when Coomer charged ahead of them with fervor.

“Look out, Gordon!” the scientist exclaimed.“Hotted boobs up ahead! Tits, big ones!”

Gordon’s subsequent shriek of laughter was so forceful he almost misfired his weapon. Beside him, Tommy could hardly keep it together enough to provide cover fire. When Gordon sprinted after him, calling a hesitant, “Dr. Coomer, I don’t think that was very respectful,” he lost it all over again.

Bubby and Dr. Coomer took out the majority of the nimble creatures, while Gordon mostly missed his shots and Benrey slouched indifferently through the crossfire. After checking themselves over for injury (and a moment of questionable target practice on some moths), they found the surface access switch and kept moving.

Tommy felt that dark prickle near the base of his skull again as he habitually brought up the rear. They were going the right way, right?

“I’m a little nervous,” Gordon said, vocalizing Tommy’s unease. “What about the airstrikes?”

Oh, right, that was a good point, too. The threat of heavy military artillery sometimes slipped Tommy’s mind. Perhaps they could find another route to the lab.

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Bubby asked, striding ahead with confidence. “We’re going home.”

Benrey idled in the back next to Tommy, fingers laced behind his head like he was lounging in a hammock. “Look at all - all that room,” he said, shooting Tommy a sly look. “We’re going on a mystery walk.”

Nothing about that sounded good to Tommy, and he was suddenly on edge. He gave Benrey a piercing stare, but the entity only showed him his shark teeth and meandered after the party. Tommy followed, pulse on the upswing.

“Gordon, if you play it carefully, this will cut down our travel to the Lambda Lab by about three hours,” Dr. Coomer declared.

“Down to thirteen minutes!” Bubby added.

“Oh,” Gordon remarked, taken aback by such fortuitous news. “That’s the whole duration. That’s the entire thing.”

“Yes!” Bubby went on excitedly. He pointed to a room down the hall. “And look, there’s even a medical station in there.”

Gordon considered. He had taken a few hits in the last fight. Nothing life threatening - Tommy had made sure of that - but it was likely still painful. “A med station… I could probably-”

“Medical stations can be used to recover from wounds, Gordon,” Coomer interrupted helpfully.

Benrey was apostrophe shaped as he lounged against the doorway. “Wow,” he murmured, tossing a look inside the adjacent room. “They got TV and Blu-ray… high definition…”

Gordon waved him off in disregard. “We don’t need that. I’m-

“They got a couch,” Benrey added, as if this would sweeten the deal.

“I’m not interested.”

“I heard Blu-ray is better than DVD,” Tommy couldn’t help commenting dryly.

He didn’t like this. This was weird. Well, on par for Benrey, but Bubby’s firm insistence that Gordon enter the room before he did was setting off alarm bells in his head. His fingers tightened around the grip of his handgun.

Gordon was still bickering with the two of them, hampered by the semantics of laser disc technology. Tommy quietly moved closer, darting his eyes around the area for anything indicative of danger. He caught the gaze of Dr. Coomer, who was just standing there patiently with an idle hand on his crossbow. He looked unbothered as the argument escalated.

Benrey’s eyes were beginning to flash in a wordless threat. He leered at Gordon, revealing his pointed teeth. “You wanna go in?” He was no longer asking. “Please?”

Gordon, who had learned by now to pick his battles with the entity, relented. “Alright,” he sighed. “Okay. I guess… I’m gonna go for it.”

Something was wrong. Something was wrong. Something was wrong, wrong, wrong. Panic shuddered like a javelin down Tommy’s spine, and as he reached out a hand to pull Gordon back, the lights cut out. Some outside force locked onto Tommy, pinning him to his position in space like an insect on a corkboard.

Gordon faltered. “Okay, uh, who’s fucking with me?”

“What the hell?” Bubby asked, voice lined with a facetious edge. “What is happening?”

Benrey, on the other hand, sounded like he was having the time of his life. “Ohhh, it’s dark in here,” he groaned, barely attempting to hide his glee.

Tommy, nerves alive, fought against whatever had nailed him to the spot. This didn’t happen. Tommy didn’t just get stuck, and there was a very short list of beings who could make him do so against his will. He cast his gaze around frantically for any clue of what was happening, but it was so dark he may as well have been blindfolded.

Gordon was irritated now. “Who the fuck knocked out the lights?”

Dr. Coomer’s response was as neutral as it was useless. “Hello, Go- Has anyone seen Mr. Freeman?”

Heavy footsteps came barreling at them, accompanied by Bubby’s cry of, “there he is - get him!”

There was the sound of impact. The rush of air being forced from a pair of lungs. Then… Tommy didn’t remember much of what happened next.

Shouting. There was plenty of that. Tommy thought maybe he yelled something, but he couldn’t be sure. All he could register fully were the sounds of Gordon crying out in pain and the feeling of his own doomed grief as his muscles failed to work.

And help. Help. Gordon was pleading for help, and Tommy thought his heart would stop if he had to listen to it anymore.

The blade cleaving through bone was the loudest sound in the world.

Gordon fell horrifically silent. The scent of blood saturated the air like a stain. Tommy’s stomach bottomed out as he heard the soft slide of a body being dragged away.

“Now, gentlemen,” Dr. Coomer’s voice echoed off the darkened walls, “let’s get out of here before they peel us apart.”

Footsteps dispersed as the team made itself scarce. Whatever had been holding Tommy in place finally released him, and he dropped numbly to the floor, trembling in the dreadful aftershock. His hands slicked through blood and he almost threw up. The truth, heavy and unrepentant, settled in on his shoulders.

He was alone.

Alone.

Alone.

Chapter 8 <-----> Chapter 10

[lerdm]

More On The Tim/Diana AU

Okay, so since my post on rare ships, I did get a few messages about how I thought this would look like, so here is an outline of what that universe might look like.

Bruce is older now, like actually old, like 65-70ish. Alfred died a few years back and the way Bruce dealt with it drove Jason away for good. Dick is still Nightwing, although he’s also getting up there in years. His 40′s weren’t kind to him and he and Damian got into a huge fight at his 50th birthday party because Damian was almost certain that he was going to get himself killed. Damian doesn’t talk much with Bruce or Dick anymore either, which is a shame, because he’s the only one who Jason will speak to. Then there’s Tim. 

He’s in his early thirties, he was the one who took over being Batman after Bruce retired, much to Damian’s chagrin. Diana being basically immortal and Clark not ageing quite the same as a human man, are still the pillars of the League. At first, Batman wasn’t quite the image that he was when Bruce was in the role, but he made a name for himself soon enough.

He’s been Batman for a few years now, and the other day, he noticed a grey hair. He held it in his hand and stared at it for a while in front of the large window that looked out on Earth in the Watchtower. Diana came up behind him and asked if he was okay.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just... getting old I guess.”

“Is that troubling you?” Diana asked.

“Yes, more than it probably should,” Tim answered completely honestly.

This took Diana off guard, although, it shouldn’t by now. She should be used to the idea that Tim wasn’t his father, he didn’t bottle things up, not anymore. He had grown emotionally. And Diana would be lying if she didn’t notice how he had grown physically.

“Is it something that’s bothering you?” Diana asked.

Tim smiled a little at her and she smiled back. “Not really, not right now. But I’ve seen what doing this does to someone’s body. Bruce can barely walk now and it kills him. I figure I should probably stop before it gets that far.” He paused. “I probably won’t. Maybe I’ll go the same route as Jason and Damian and use a Lazarus pit.”

Diana looked concerned at this, “Would you? Consider that?”

“No. I think I’d rather die naturally than hurt the people around me with... everything that comes with the Pit.”

“I know it’s not my place, but I am relieved to hear you say that.”

“Maybe it is your place. I mean... you’re my friend.”

Diana looked at the man in the eye, they were the same height. 

“Just friends?”

A slow smiled crept onto Tim’s face, “I don’t presume to know what you’re feeling, but if you’re asking...”

“Which I am.”

“I don’t see any reason why we can’t... explore... this relationship. Beside perhaps your feelings for my father,” Tim said.

Diana shook her head a little. “You’re nothing like him.”

Tim grinned, “That’s more of a compliment than you know.”

“May I kiss you?” She asked.

“Of course,” Tim said.

<><> Years Later <><>

Tim was standing at the end of a long aisle. It wasn’t a big wedding, mostly family and friends from the superhero community. Tim’s best man was Conner Kent, Diana’s man of honour was Clark.

Bruce was sitting in the front and watched, his heart shattering, as Diana married his son.

There was a small reception outside the manor, where the wedding was taking place. Tim was chatting with some of the guests when something on the treeline caught his eye. He smiled and excused himself and walked over.

Jason was leaning against a tree, smoking. He looked the exact same as the snarky 19-year-old Tim had known what felt like a lifetime ago. Except for the hair, it was shock-white, and his eyes glowed in the dark slightly unnaturally.

“You know, you were invited,” Tim said.

“I know, but I didn’t want to make trouble for you,” Jason said. “Damian sends his best.”

Tim laughed, “No. He didn’t.”

Jason grinned, “No. He didn’t.” He took another drag. “Some things never change.”

“Yeah,” Tim agreed, giving Jason a look.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t go all Bruce and give me a lecture.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Jason rolled his eyes and reached into his jacket, pulling out an envelope. “Here, a wedding present.”

Tim looked inside and saw that it was packed with photographs. And not just any photos.

“Jason... how did you get these, I thought Bruce destroyed them after Alfred died,” Tim looked through them with tears welling in his eyes.

Jason smiled bittersweetly, “Alfred gave me all the old photo albums.”

“Thanks, Jay. I-” Tim looked up from a photo to see that Jason was gone. He chuckled slightly, put the envelope in his suit jacket, and went back to the party.

“Where’d you sneak off to?” Diana asked slightly teasingly, though there was a hint of real concern under it.

“Jason stopped by,” Tim said.

Diana smiled a little.

<><> Ten Years Later <><>

Funnily enough, Tim and Diana only had little girls. Tim had thought that the universe was going to mess with Diana by making them have only boys. Not that Tim was complaining. He loved those girls.

He and Diana left them with Conner when they were going out on League business that day. It was a hard fight. Diana was protecting Tim, who was trying to hack into the hidden files in their latest adversary’s computer. Unfortunately, a bomb was set off when the other members of the Justice League were battling the drones on the main level, and the building began to crash around them.

The next thing Diana knew, she was opening her eyes. She seemed to have landed in an air pocket. And then she remembered who else she had been with. ���Batman?!” She called. She sat up and looked around until she saw a glint of light bouncing off something. But she couldn’t tell what it was. She reached out to touch it, and her hand came back sticky.

“Timothy?” She asked the darkness, her voice wavering in a way that it hadn’t in a long time.

She crawled over to where he was laying. No pulse to be found. She cradled his body against her chest and sobbed until Superman finally dug them out of the rubble.

<><> <><>

Telling her children that their father was gone was one of the hardest things she’d ever done.

All she could think about as she stood at the grave of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, was how she was so lucky that she still had pieces of him in the world.

She smelt the smoke before she heard him speak.

“I could bring him back, if you’d like.”

She turned to look at Jason, ever the same man, frozen in time.

“He told me he didn’t want that,” Diana replied.

Jason just nodded, “Yeah, I figured.”

There was silence for a moment before Diana spoke her mind. “Why are you here?”

“I... just thought I’d come to tell you that I’m sorry. And that you and the kids were the things that made his life worth something to him, not Batman.”

Diana stared at Jason tearily. “Thank you.”

He nodded and was about to turn away when he remembered something else he had wanted to tell her. “And... Damian’s taken this hard. He, uh, I think he has people following your girls just to make sure nothing happens. I tried to call him off but- well, it’s Damian. I know they can handle themselves, he’s just worried.”

Diana wanted to be angry, and snap at him that she can protect her children on her own, but then she remembered that she wasn’t the only one who lost someone.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Jason nodded once and then went back to his motorcycle, revving away.

[purplepenntapus]

Submitted by @vampirequeenoffan

[Edit] I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU COMBINED THREE OF MY FAVORITE AUS INTO ONE FIC, BLESS YOU

No but really this was great and I’d love to read more of it, I find the idea super interesting, like sirens are such a common and wellknown threat that lifeguards are hired specifically for their ability to resist them, super cool!

Sorry it took me a little while to respond to this, I enjoyed it so much I wanted to draw a lil smth for it

There was a time of the evening when it was easiest to strike. Sock had gotten it down to a science. When it got darker and cooler, the crowd on the beach thinned, and so too did the number of lifeguards. Three, two, and then just one, standing watch over the tourists still milling about on the sand and splashing around in the shallows. One life guard, however watchful, couldn’t keep track of everything at once, and there were blind spots to be exploited if you knew where they were.

Needless to say, Sock did.

He peeked up over the edge of the rocks, past the danger, no surfing beyond this point sign and towards the beach itself. His adversary for the night was perched up in the lifeguard nest, the thing that was too big for Sock to agree to call it a chair, and Sock couldn’t get a good look at them through the white wood. He wondered which one it was. The cute one? The one that liked to shout? The one with an excess of body hair and a thing for speedos?

Doesn’t really matter, Sock thought, and turned his attention to the shallows. He let himself start to hum, low in the back of his throat, as he looked over his options.

The closest human to him was a middle-aged woman in a floral swimsuit. She was badly sunburned, and Sock immediately linked it with tourist. True, she could just be a local that was bad about sunscreen, but Sock didn’t think so. He’d gotten pretty good at guessing.

He snuck another glance at the lifeguards nest. Still couldn’t make out the human on duty, but that was okay. As long as he kept it subtle, he should be fine. He started to hum louder, then croon, building up in volume slowly. He wanted to be just loud enough that the woman could hear him, just quiet enough that nobody else got hooked. One person edging closer to the rocks was subtle, six or seven was a dead giveaway.

He kicked it up another notch, feeling his song vibrate in his throat and– there! The woman’s gaze went softer, and she was looking around like she was searching for something. Sock let go of the rock he was leaning against, slipping back into the shadows behind it. Now that he had her, all he had to do was keep singing and she’d follow the sound.

Water lapped around his shoulders. Holding a note like this above water was hard, but if he broke the sound she might snap out of her trance and realize what she was doing. No, he had to keep at it as she splashed closer, even as the air crackled dry over his gills.

The woman appeared around the edge of the rocks. She looked lost. Sock flicked his tail once, gently, gliding a few feet further behind the rocks, and he upped his pitch. So close, just a few more feet…

Pain exploded through Sock’s skull. He jerked under the water instinctively, hands flying up to cover his face. Something white-hot prickled behind his eyes.

His back hit the sandy bottom. He barely felt it. After a few moments he managed to open his eyes, and a few moments after that he’d finally cleared the last of the black spots from his vision. The pain had somewhat receded, localizing in his nose. That must’ve been where he was hit.

That meant one thing only.

With a quiet curse, Sock pushed off the bottom, resurfacing a few yards out from the rocks. Sure enough, the floral woman was no longer in the water, and was instead standing on the rocks Sock had been hiding behind being consoled by a lifeguard.

Oh goddamnit.

It was the cute one.

Sock sank lower into the water until just his eyes were above the surface, watching as mister blue-eyes himself patted the woman awkwardly on the arm. He had his rescue tube gripped in one hand– probably what he’d hit Sock with. Stupid rescue tube. Stupid life guard training that told them where to hit.

Stupid cute humans.

Sock would love to drown him. He’d love to drown any of the life guards, honestly. It would be a personal victory for him. Unfortunately, humans had wised up about safety practices, and there were only ever two kinds of life guards anymore– deaf, or one of those rare strains of human who were immune to siren song.

If I could just get him alone fifty feet from shore, Sock thought, and slunk back under the water with a bubbling huff.

Blue-eyes didn’t go back to his nest after that, instead standing dead center in the beach and glaring out into the water like it had personally offended him. Sock supposed that look was probably meant for him. Good. If he couldn’t interact with blue-eyes one-on-one, he’d settle for pissing him off from a distance. He was cute when he was angry.

Maybe next time he intervened while Sock was trying to snag someone, Sock could talk to him? Get a back-and-forth set up or swap banter or something. He wouldn’t mind getting chased away from his prey if he got to talk to blue-eyes while it was happening. It was just that he was always too disoriented to make good on that idea when he’d been smacked solidly in the face.

Sock rubbed his still-smarting nose, sending little twinges of heat up through his cheeks. Ugh. He’d retreated to the other side of the beach, heaving himself up onto a rock that held a tiny tidepool. He could see blue-eyes from here, but hopefully blue-eyes couldn’t see him. If he could, well. Sock hoped he could get some words out before he got whacked in the nose again.

“You make my dad really super angry,” a voice behind him said. Sock twitched, hands jumping and tail lashing hard enough to send a spray of water against the rocks beside him. He was slower to turn on land then he was in the water, but when he did look behind him, he didn’t see what he expected to.

She must’ve come down from the cliff. There was a path that wound up the side of the sheer rock, weathered steps carved into the cliff face that climbed down until reaching the boulders that cropped out of the water. There was no other way this kid– a six-year-old?– could possibly have snuck up on him.

She grinned at him, baring those strange flat human teeth. She was missing two. Her dress, a cheerful bright green, ended just above her knees, and her legs were dotted with equally bright bandaids. She was standing well outside of his reach.

She laughed.

“I scared you, didn’t I!” she said, and it wasn’t a question. Sock felt heat surge through his cheeks.

“No you didn’t!” he snapped, folding his arms.

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

It kept going like that for a while. Humans mostly kept their kids away from him, so he didn’t know if this kind of repetitive argument was normal, but where Sock usually outlasted everyone under Meph’s rule this kid gave him a workout. When he started getting tired of repeating himself, she looked like she was still having as much fun as the first time.

Sock broke off with a groan. The groan turned to a hum, but before he could get any further again the little girl spoke.

“Oh, that doesn’t work on me. My dad says its a im-mun-ity.” She pronounced the word carefully, like it might break at any second. Sock grumbled quietly. Out of reach and immune to song. Someone had taught this kid the works.

“Your dad sounds smart,” he said, instead of swearing like he wanted to. The girl nodded seven times.

“Yep! He taught me all about merfolks, and he told me to stay away from you. Never said I couldn’t talk to you though! Why do you drown people?”

The question caught Sock off-guard. It had snuck in there in the same tone as everything else the kid was saying, only registering a full few seconds after she’d finished speaking. The bluntness of children. There was nothing quite like it.

“Because it’s fun,” Sock replied. The girl shook her head. Seven, eight, nine… she was really enthusiastic about her gestures.

“No it’s not! It’s mean.”

“It’s fun for me.”

“Then you’re mean!” She stuck her tongue out at him and folded her arms. She said it with such a so there air to it that Sock couldn’t help but snort.

“Alright, I give. You’re adorable. What’s your name?” Sock asked. The girl stopped sticking out her tongue.

“My name’s Ellie! What’s yours?”

Hm, two routes to go here. Best to go the easiest one.

“Humans can’t pronounce my full name, so you can call me Sock!” He anticipated, and was gratified by, the giggle he received in return. He grinned. “Yeah, I know. It’s a silly name.”

“I like it!” Ellie announced, and Sock’s grin widened.

“I like it too.”

Ellie bounced in place a couple times, looking from him to the water to the shore and back to him again. She seemed seconds away from some huge explosion of energy. “I gotta go,” she told him, “I just came down to get my dad. Stop drowning people!”

“I won’t,” Sock said, still grinning, and Ellie blew a raspberry at him as she ran off along the rocks, up towards the beach. Sock watched her go. It was nice to talk to a human that wasn’t terrified of him. Why weren’t all humans like that?

Ellie had turned into a bright green streak along the dark sand, a child projectile with a set collision course. Sock wondered who her dad was, then abruptly stopped wondering.

Ellie had run headlong into blue-eyes, wrapping her arms around his waist and nearly bowling him over. She moved animatedly, no doubt telling blue-eyes what had just happened. No doubt telling her father what had just happened.

Blue-eyes looked over in his direction. Sock felt his heart stop. He wondered if it was too late to dive back into the water.

Then he raised his hand and sent them both a cheerful wave.

Blue-eyes didn’t wave back. Ellie did.

[asheespiquantpeculiarities]

Assaults on Various Fronts Pt 2

The next days were... strange.

The 'man from the square' – together with my father - held a speech a few hours later.

They reassured the people that the siege would finally end, traders already being led into the city. The curfew was lifted, people could leave the city walls, they had nothing to fear from the soldiers, they were told.

Anyone is able to seek medical attention by the officers – any officers – they will lead the people to get bandaged up or to receive rations for the next week.

The people's life would not change. But there will be more trade routes opened.

For now, that would be all.

Samil, Sovereign of the Southern Isles would listen to all questions the citizens will have within the next two weeks. The towns hall would be open for everyone.

That was the first time I heard his name. Father had apparently known. Looked like he was a capable leader of armies, but not usually known to be on the front of an attack – made sense, really – but this seemed to have been a 'face-mission'. He wanted to be seen by everyone.

It... was... a plan. I didn't know how effective, but... some people looked like they recognised him. The people at least took it... fine. When I looked down, they were more nodding and looking relieved than shaking their heads and making angry gestures.

How did they get over this that easily?!

Did they just... accept a new ruler?!

Would they really just abandon us? Was there no loyalty, there?!

The people had seen them kill their folks! Guards died from them and now they... they just got along?!

I just... stared at the whole thing.

How could they!

…

I... of course knew about the stress and the siege and the hunger and the imprisonment and how that affects people... and they didn't really destroy much and were respectful now... so...

Still! This was all... still unbelievable. And wrong.

It was horrible.

...

At least I knew a little bit more than what they all said. Because I had been obligated to stick with them on the negotiation table before this speech. I'd listened in to the discussions. The first negotiations.

Apparently, my family would stay in charge, but we had to supply the army with a certain amount of soldiers. And money. And that lead them to talking taxes.

It was only a short deviation into it, but my father was bumbling and his advisers didn't dare say anything with three bulky, in one case heavily scarred men standing around them. I couldn't help myself and declared the facts as they were, recalled the numbers and sketched the current distribution of income and expenses out, since they would figure it out anyway. It only made our nation look bad and they would try to swindle us out of resources.

So I talked for ten minutes and then handed over the paper with a huffed sigh.

… the then-still-unknown man was smiling again. And he looked at me when he took the document. My hair was standing again.

Then the speech happened.

And afterwards, Samil questioned me more directly to the tax-system. I retracted fast and send the advisers to the front. When directly spoken to, they did give sensible information, they simply had not dared.

He said it was a shame, bowing and thanking me for the advice and then... returned to the table.

That was the last time I actively took part in the discussions. Then my father claimed I fell ill. And I was glad for it. This situation was simply weird. I embroidered one of my dresses to distract myself, it always calmed me slightly. And it wasn't like I could leave my rooms now, after all.

I only heard from my handmaiden, Michelle, that the questioning actually went well only three attempts on 'Samils' life and the attackers weren't even killed. Only subdued and 'held in custody', which meant in this case that they were kept in a room and treated with respect. Grudgingly, I had to admit that at least showed a bit of... friendly interaction.

Or a great front to put on.

On the third day, the dead soldiers were buried. All the soldiers. Both sides alike buried in the same grounds. The city's burial grounds. With the rites of our own people.

… another thing that divided the people  in their opinions. But I knew, in the long run – IF they did not fail completely in being benign rulers – it would be seen as the 'right' thing to do. 'We' were actually one nation now. It was only right.

I rubbed my head. Bloody smart invaders. My family would still be controlled by another nation! We lost our independence!

Chelle kept my sanity together. She saw them taking what was rightfully ours as well. She walked the chambers up and down and gesticulated wildly. Also that this couldn't be all they wanted! You didn't wage a war to actually lower the taxes and offer to keep the streets in shape. And exchange medicine-recipes. It just sounded a bit too good to be true.

Two more days later, he appeared at my door. I'd asked the person outside in, assuming it was the servant bringing the dinner. Instead, it was... Samil. With the dinner.

“Lady Gabrielle? I took the freedom to relieve Winston of his duties today. You did not provide your insights for five days now, yet no one wanted to tell me what troubles you, I was worried,” he had opened the door, but stood at the doorstep, not coming closer.

… at least he had the bare minimum of manners.

“... I thank you for your concern, sir Samil... it is a mere case of faintness... you know how it is, the last days have been... stressful” it took my best efforts not to grit my teeth but treat him to a smile. You could not be rude to invaders.

His eyebrows went up and he said: “I would not have taken you for the type, but a walk in the inner gardens and some fresh air might work miracles, would you accompany for a round in them?”

… I was not sure what I wanted to make of the fact that he sounded genuine.

I didn't want to walk with him. But then again... he might be able to tell me the current state of affairs that a handmaiden had no insight in. So, after an appropriate amount of contemplation, I asked: “The guards will be present?,” a bit of a risky question, but my honour would be questioned.

He bowed: “Of course, milady, our customs are not that different”

… mrh.

“Then I'll be happy to accompany you for a walk”

And with that, he disappeared.

I was not actually comfortable with that much attention, but if this was what it took...

The next day, I waited on a bench for him to resurface from the towns hall. The people demanding answers from him had ebbed momentarily, so he could take a break.

It was only supposed to be a short walk, too. So this worked out fine.

Admittedly, the air was nice after having been imprisoned for this time. So the smile I greeted him with might have been genuine. He took my arm to 'support my weakened constitution' and we walked around the courtyard. When he put a lily in my hair – with some words about how the gods smiled most on beauty, and this enhanced mine -, I wondered who had tattled about my favourite flowers. Well. No matter. It was time to see what was up with the negotiations.

And it turned out they were almost finalised. There was no toll required to cross wares over our borders now – either way – and the court will come visit once every two years, but otherwise... technology and medicine was shared and they actually volunteered to maintain our trade routes and aqueducts. There were more changes in the tax-system and there were personal cuts in our family's wealth. I asked a few more questions about the funds for widows of the war and he actually answered, that they would supply the most of the money, but also said it was more in the hands of the government here. After all, my father would stay in control.

I wanted to hate the plan, but it was – if a million other details worked out as well – probably going to work. At least my people did not suffer. In maybe a decade I would be able to forgive them for invading my home.

It was weird, walking next to him. He was even closer than on the table. He was... tall. And his skin a bit... different from mine. His eyes almost looked black when we walked in the shadows. Again: my hair stood, there. They were impossibly dark. Somewhat warm, too, but really dark. The scar on his arm also looked a little dangerous. I was pretty sure he noticed I didn't have a 'weak constitution' when I gesticulated and never held onto his arm properly, but... he only continued smiling and listening, so... it supposedly was fine. We were... civil.

I excused myself after I got all information I deemed necessary and went back to my room – which I aired as soon as I got in.

The next day was the last day of questioning. And they would announce the finalised contract.

It was... a long, very long speech. All in which had to sit through in a corset and a long, 'appropirate' dress to properly 'honour' our 'generous adversaries'. It was horrible. Especially everyone looking. Samil and his 'trusted knights' first and foremost. They probably never saw a woman in traditional garb of our country. Ugh.

But at least the numbers added up, as I checked them through.

Dad had made a pretty nice bargain and maybe we could almost have independence like that. It was not that bad. Wars were waged everywhere and the demanded amount of soldiers could almost be called... reasonable.

I almost wanted to be faint once again, when he announced that he had reached the very last point of demands. And that it was one to celebrate.

… I... had not heard of that before?

“... I am happy to announce the marriage between Sovereign Samil and Lady Gabrielle”

Wait. WHAT?!

I stared at my father. And Samil.

Who looked back at me, once again with a smile. I did not return it.

WHAT?!

[topsolarpanels]

Know Your Enemy: Celebrating 50 Years of the Forever War

Robert Sammelin

No one drank more than the scientist. Every night, after whatever patriotic black-tie gala marriage played props at, he could be found at the hotel bar, trying to extract existential meaning from a banana colada. It was an odd drinking of option for such a serious human, but only once did he respond to our interrogations about it.

It pleases the nerve fibers, he said, all baritone to his voice, before disappearing into the chilled yellow muck again. We were in New Tulsa, debriefing after a grueling dinner with a bunch of white-haired solar energy exec. Wed been on the road for months, and morale used to go the way of the glacier. I ordered a round for the table, and we toasted to the hustle. Heroes of the nation, peddling war bonds by day, drinking like froufrous by night. Our drill instructor would not have been proud.

Maybe it wasnt New Tulsa. Maybe itd been in Charlotte after the fund-raiser with the nanofinance douchebags. Anyhow.

There were 11 of us on the bond drive, 12 if you included the JngerBot. The Forever War had just entered its sixth decade, and our politicians didnt pretend they were going to end it anymore, even during elections. They couldnt. Wed tried everything: nation-building, nation-destroying, sending terrorists and their families to the Mars penal colony, sending the rebel Young Siberians to actual Siberia. Nothing had worked. We were at war because we always had been. We were at war because we always would be. We were at war because we were at war.

Matt Gallagher

About

Matt Gallagher is the author of the novel Youngblood and the Iraq memoir Kaboom: Embracing the Suck in a Savage Little War.

The government decided to celebrate the Forever Wars golden anniversary with loud, shiny bombast. We were part of that bombast. AMERICAS HEROES, TOGETHER AT LAST, ran the tagline. We were like a roving assortment act, but without name recognition or singing or sex appeal. Without anything, truly. Just pasts wiped clean with the antiseptic of narrative. So we stood there and smiled and waved while other people told our tales to the crowds. The crowd cheered. We waved again.

After the coladas, I settled the tab and excused myself. The younger veterinarians night was just beginning, but mine was nearing its end. In the queue for the teleporter to the rooms, a human about my age waited behind me. He wore a rumpled dress shirt and an overlong tie-in and a goatee on the brink of coherence.

He was looking everywhere but my hoverchair. People with legs always do that. It reminds me of the route some men used to try very hard not to look at my cleavage when I was younger. The endeavor simply underlines the fixation.

Thank you, he said. For what you did.

Thank you for your supporting, I told, a answer as hollow as it was practiced. He mustve been at the event earlier.

Cancan I tell you something?

Sure, I told. Women in military uniforms have this impact on men in dress shirts, for some reason. If youd like to.

I wanted to be a recon marine when I was a kid. He said it like it was a church confession, something hidden away in the lost rifts of his soul for decades. Did the recon workout at the gym for years, he continued. Stupid, I know.

I nodded, both because it was stupid and because I knew.

Youre a bona fide hero. The men segue was as graceful as a startled dog, but it was late. That scientist, though. Hes killing people. And not only the enemy.

I thought about “the mens” words. They were true enough. So what would you do? I asked. If you were him.

Me? The man stroked his goatee. I wouldnt even know.

Pragmatically, I told. Youre the scientist. You live in this country. The wars happening. You can perhaps aim it or not. Either style, people succumb. What do you do?

II object to the question. And to the idea. Im not him. The human voice had a quiver to it now. Not an angry quiver, either. A frightened one. I was just sayingI dont think its right. Thats all.

OK, I said. Night. It was my turning at the teleporter. I get in and went to my room. I didnt begrudge the man his opting out. We all had in some manner. Even us.

Especially us.

The Federals had discovered me at my sisters, on the porch, scrolling through a holopad article about the rabid lemur thatd killed Justin Bieber Jr. Furious George Howls With Delight! read the headline. Its always spooky when sons succumb the same way their fathers did. The past comprehend us all, eventually. Even Biebers.

I was on my seventh year of an indefinite visit, still sleeping in a bare guest room. A potted flower or framed scene would have felt like marks of permanence, somehow. Id been living in increments since high school and wasnt about to stop simply because I couldnt figure out what to do with the rest of my life.

Theywell, welived at the top of a windy mound in a suburbium of a suburbium, wedged between a stand of wild honeysuckle and a pond shaped like a swollen snout. It was green and quiet. The kind of place where big flags hung from porches with humility. I taught painting at the community center and took my nieces to soccer practice and spend my Saturday nights at the one townie bar that served ros.

The life didnt induce me happy or anything, but it could have. Maybe should have.

There were three of them. They all wore jeans and plaid shirts of differing blandness. Id have expected suits and black sunglasses, but the decay effects of after-empire were reaching and vast.

Chief Warrant Officer Valerie Speer? one said. Well, asked. I didnt look my part, either. Female veterinarians tend to cut a certain mold. A liter-sized gremlin in a gardening hat wasnt it.

They told me about the bond drive. About how it would inspire patriotism again in the hearts and minds of the person or persons. About how it would get everyday citizens invested in the wars again.( Like they ever were. I knew the history .) About how the governmental forces needed the money, how 50 years of blowing up things in strange, faraway places had taken its toll on the budget, especially since the geothermal insurgency in Blue Russia began eating away at Uncle sam foreign trade.

About how the bond drive needed a woman on it, because they had an old guy, a blexican, a mexipino, and a robot, and showing that heroes were as diverse as the country mattered.

I laughed. A female. I danced my metal fingers through the air. In the right sun my prosthetics could look like flesh. We werent in it. Thats why you need me.

That made the two men in jeans and plaid look down at the ground, but the woman Fed just stared at me.

Youre Valerie Speer, she said. The tone in her voice sounded so earnest it snapped. Do you know what you mean to my generation of status of women? I joined the agency because of you.

She was lying about that, I was almost sure. But shed appealed to my pride. I danced my fingers through the air again and took in all the green, all the quiet. Seven years here. Seven years that had induced me soft. Did people my age go on escapades anymore?

I requested information about financial compensation.

Heres the thing about being labeled a war hero: You either love it or hate it. Theres little space for mixed impressions. Take the scientist. Invented a drone mosquito that gives people the runs, sold it to the military, and stopped the Arabican conflict practically overnight. You cant fire a rifle when youre crapping out your brains. But some of the mosquitoes werent as specific as billed. During strafes, they bit foes and civilians alike. Which wouldnt have mattered much had we been fighting in the developed world. We werent, though. Outbreaks of dysentery and super-cholera followed, and the last UN estimate I watched numbered deaths in the tens of thousands.

The bond drive needed a woman on it. They already had an old guy, a blexican, a mexipino, and a robot.

The scientist had ended a war all with his mind. Yet the only thing he wanted in the world was to return to his lab, to his anonymity, and forget any of it ever happened.

The JngerBot seemed to resent the attention for other reasons. It didnt know what to induce of people, and truth be told, people didnt know what to attain of it. They could handle robots, had been dealing with them all their lives. Even the rough-and-tumble behaviour of a regular InfantryBot could be explained away. But an elite InfantryBot 5000 upgraded with the transcendental heroism and philosophical musings of decorated German World War I soldier Ernst Jnger? That caused some issues.

The anarch wages his own wars, the JngerBot said at a fund-raiser to a journalist whod would like to know whether it missed battle. Even when marching in rank and file.

Before a boxing prizefight, the JngerBot felt it necessary to remind the crowd what was what. Furrow opposing is the bloodiest, wildest, most brutal of all, it said to 70,000 drunk revelers in Vegas. Of all the wars exciting moments , none is so powerful as the session of two cyclone troop leaders between narrow trench walls. Theres no compassion there , no going back. The blood speaks from a shrill exclaim of recognition that tears itself from ones breast like a nightmare.

And then there were the children.

It told a 10 -year old with a JngerBot poster on his wall that killing an adversary would be a finer tribute. And when a bank presidents “girls ” pointed to us and asked if we were heroes, the JngerBot objected as only it could TAGEND

Heroes deeds and heroes graves, it said. Old and new you here may assure. How the Empire was created. How the Empire was preserved. It paused. We sought the death of heroes. There is no lovelier demise in the world.

The little girls face paled to glass as her father resulted her away. We all laughed about it , no one harder or longer than Dizzy. Dizzy was a walking, talking debate for breeding the remaining cis-males out of the gene pool, if only he hadnt been so pretty. Drone pilots. They think theyre so starfish because they can laser insurrectionists dead from space. And Dizzy was an superstar. He adored every minute of the bond drive, “members attention”, the parties, the hoverfloat rides, the certain type of female patriot who wanted to see the view from his hotel balcony. Beats going back to Pueblo and coaching CrossFit, hed tell, before unleashing that smile of full, fluoride shine. God, he could charm the sorcery underwear off a Mormon.

Would try, at least.

Hed earned the Silver Star in the Iraq war. Well, the Iraq war before the last one. Maybe it was three Iraq wars ago.

Dizzy and the younger vets on the bond drive are always privateersmercenaries if youre the protest, virtual-petition kind. WarriorCorps and Foreign Legion Inc. and Armed Humanitarianism Limited and the like. I was hybrid: part contractor but also part national military, before that ran extinct during the Whig Revolt of 36. Merely Emo Carlos was old enough to have been GI from beginning to end. Hed earned the Silver Star in the Iraq war. Well, the Iraq war before the last one. Perhaps it was three Iraq wars ago. Anyhow. We asked Emo Carlos about it over sushi, after a parade in Cleveland.

Jumped on a grenade at a checkpoint, he told, defining down his chopsticks with a shrug. Didnt go off.

We hollered and banged the table just because we could. Itd been a couple decades since anything but a bot had been close enough to a grenade to do anything like that. Even the JngerBot conveyed its admiration.

Defective? I asked.

Emo Carlos nodded. One in a million, they said.

What happened then? Dizzy asked.

The creases in Emo Carlos forehead folded into one another like papier-mch. He usually never talked about anything but drumming for his old-man punk band. Theyd served together back in the day and were known across the greater Rochester area as the Infidels. Geriatric humor.

Stood up, he said. Dusted off. Looked down. Realise Id pissed myself.

We hollered and banged the table all over again.

An elderly couple came over to us subsequently. Theyd overheard our conversation and wanted to say thank you. They said they had two grandsons in privateer training.

I know our thanks is a small thing, the spouse said. He and his wife looked so cute in their nice old-people clothes, khakis and sweaters and thick-rimmed glasses. They looked like other peoples grandparents always look. But sometimes its all those of us here can offer.

The wife nodded. Were all involved, she told. We believe that. As taxpayers, as citizens, thats how it is. Were with you.

We thanked them for thanking us and they left the restaurant.

What did she mean, Were all involved? Dizzy asked. No theyre not.

There were echoes of agreement and deliberation over what the old woman had meant, and not just about the word involved . Also about the word we .

Yo, Emo Carlos told. The table hushed. Theyre from my hour. When wars had objectives. When citizens tried to keep up. America used to be young. Thats what she meant.

Then say that, Dizzy told. Taxes? Who the fucking cares.

Emo Carlos shook his head again. He was trying to clear himself of frustrations, either with himself or with us. Then he pointed at me. Sent her to the damn moon. Supposed to save us all, putting the wars up there. Preserve the land and resources, remove civilian demises. Be tidy and simple. That was the plan.

And no one ever went back, Dizzy told. The game changed.

Well. Emo Carlos giggled. Military lesson numero uno, son, he said. No plan survives first contact.

The rest of us chuckled along with the old wisdom. Everyone but the scientist, who sat off by himself in the corner. He looked up at us with something between sadness and ferocity. It was hard to decide which.

Tidy and simple, he said. I like that.

When my nieces turn 12 and gain access to FreedomNet, they will find these three paragraphs about their aunt, etched into the digital histories forever and ever TAGEND Valerie Jade Speer( born May 2, 2011) was a chief warrant officer( air) and assault pilot in the United States Army and later the privateer organization Star Spangled Security. She was awarded the Star of Valor in 2042 for her actions during the Battle on the Moon, of which she was the only survivor . Deployed to the moon as part of the NATO coalition during the course of its South Seas dispute, Speer flew a Flying Yeager fusion helocraft during the battle, destroying five Chinese Federation space-helos and two Young Siberian cosmo-planes. Struck by an enemy dwarf ballistic, Speer crash-landed into the Titius Crater. She was thus sheltered from the amaze thermonuclear strike carried out by the Young Siberians that killed all other fighters and blew the hole in the moon now known as Putins Smile . Initially presumed dead, Speer was found during NATO recovery operations two days after the end of the combat. She lost three extremities, suffered burns over much of her body, and survived over 90 surgeries. President Natasha Obama told Speers life and narrative are a testament to the American spirit at her Star of Valor ceremony at the White House .

Words can be funny beasts. Her actions suggest some sort of agency, even control. Destroy is such a clean term for such messiness. Struck by defied my memory of it. Same with crash-landed.

Less so with lost. And suffered.

Testament. As if enduring were a selection. I did what anyone would have. There are no atheists in moon craters. And there are no fatalists in survivor wards of one.

I was thinking about that ward as I zipped up my suitcase in my sisters guest room for the bond drive. Thinking about the long stills of quiet during the nights. Guessing about being “ve called the” Burn by nurses who guessed I couldnt hear them. Supposing about the full-thickness graft done without anesthesia.

You sure about this, Val? My sister stood in the doorway. Her posture betrayed opposition. She was four years older and had always asked me questions that she already had answers for. You have options.

Shed said the same years prior, before Id left for the moon.

I am, I told both times, even though I wasnt both days. Id always detected power and resolve in ambiguity, though. Most people werent like that. My sister, for one.

Youve done more than your share, she continued, moving to the bed and putting her arm around my shoulder. So much more. I leaned my head into her and tried to hold in some of the familial warmth. Id miss it, I knew. Only sisters and nieces hug people like me. I dont think its right.

I smiled at that.

Its not, I told. But. If not me, then who?

Even running can be its own form of opting out. I didnt know that the first time. But I did the second. The last night in the guest room, as I tossed and turned in bed, I thought about that. Then I thought about the survivor ward again. And the long stills of quiet during the nights. And being “ve called the” Burn. And the graft.

Somewhere between Omaha and Tesla City, I began to realize just how different the younger vets were. It wasnt simply that they were privateers, either, or that they called adversary combatants pixels as an insult. Dizzy and his crew, they crowed about their service. Owned their superiority, then basked in it.

Do soldiers think theyre better than citizens? Of course. It has nothing to do with what did or didnt happen in their service, either. It has to do with the very notion of joining up. Americas been at war since before most of us were born. We joined because we wanted to go. Wed been told we were special from day one of boot camp, doing something the rest of our nation couldnt. Or worse, wouldnt. Too fat. Too selfish. Too lazy. Which made the realization after we got out that citizens think were beneath them all the more shocking. If theyre fat, selfish, and lazy, then whats worse than that?

We werent supposed to say any of that, though. My generation didnt, at least. We were taught that part of our service was biding quiet about it. To rise above, because thats what Jesus and George Washington and Beyonc wouldve wanted.

Thats what I did. Or tried to, at the least. Let the citizenry think what it wants, ran the logic. All part of being a republic.

Maybe we had it incorrect, though.

I wondered about that the night the protester confronted us. We were in Washington for a gala. Ordinarily “were in” ushered in through side or back door for events, but the organizers of this one had us walking in on a red carpet, through a galaxy of flashing lightings and holographic cameras.

Finally, Dizzy told, pausing to adjust his bow affiliation and lick his front teeth. The treatment we deserve.

Why the protester chose the JngerBot to cream-pie, Ill never know. By the time the uproar had reached my ears and Id floated around in my chair, the JngerBot had the young man by the throat. Request order to remove home-front adversary, it said, which was funny, and then not.

We got the young man free of the JngerBots prongs. He was reed-thin and had thick brown curls with eyes as dark and mad as the moon. I didnt know what to think about him or his pie. People didnt protest war in person anymore. It wasnt sane behavior.

Youre not heroes, he told. His terms were shaky. Its never easy coming face to face with people youve demonized. Or cockpit to cockpit. Youre tools of empire. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.

The cameras along the walkway started popping off like mortars. We all only stood there, waiting out his denunciation, because we were there to be seen and applauded , nothing else. His anger dazed me, and the others too. Not Dizzy, though.

Get bent, joker, Dizzy told, intersecting his arms for the cameras. War is bad? No shit. But it wont go forth just cause we want it to. Last month, two brigades from the same base get deployed. One goes to Kurd Mountain, saves those households from the horde. The other goes to Blue Russia, blows up some insurrectionists. Ones a humanitarian mission. The others combat. Both involve destruction.

Id never heard Dizzy speak with eloquence and passion before. He was good, and he knew it. He pressed on.

This JngerBot is a goddamn national gem. I dont know what brought you here tonight, and I dont dedicate a single fucking. We went so you dont “re going to have to”. Suck my hero balls.

The arrogance. The entitlement. The narrowness of thought. I loved it all, and I wasnt the only one. The red carpet explosion with applause. Dizzy even took a bow. But the acclaim wasnt universal.

After the protester had been escorted away and wed run inside for the gala, the scientist saw Dizzy. Dont do that again, he said. He loomed over the younger human like an angry parent. That guy is not your adversary. Neither is anyone else youve met on this stupid tour.

He aint a friend. Dizzy was trying to sound unbothered, and he leaned back in his chair and set his feet on the table. So what is he?

Only morons speak in absolutes, the scientist said.

Dizzy changed tactics. You know what he likely thinks about you? he asked. What all these people say when they think we cant hear? I had a woman tell me she didnt think we were whole human beings. Fuck her, and fuck that protester. Fuck all of them.

I wondered what the answers were to Dizzys questionwhat did people say about us? When they thought about us at all. Beyond the pomp and rite of the bond drive, we werent anything, I supposed. Just ciphers with tales people believed in, or didnt believe in, even before they heard them.

So. What. The scientists voice turned to iron as he responded to Dizzy. Thats the job. We have consequences.

Dizzy opened his mouth, but the scientist cut him off. You did . You did when you didnt “re going to have to”. Thats enough. It has to be. Then he stormed off, presumably for the hotel bar.

The scientist opted out that night. The rest of us did too, by doing the job. We stood there and smiled and waved while other people told our stories to the crowds. The crowd cheered. We waved again.

We walked back to the hotel as a group after the jamboree. We stopped in a park with green lawns and a marble fountain and joked about the protester, giggled about the scientist. The scientist had been right, but so what? What did being right have to do with anything? Dizzy had regained whatever force-out it was that sustained him and began chatting up a pair of young women who considered themselves patriots. I watched it all and thought about the ward and then my sisters home. The JngerBot came up beside me.

You managed that pie well, I told it. It didnt say anything, so I continued. Waiting for an order, I mean.

Here is our kingdom, the best use of monarchies, the best republic, the JngerBot told. Here is our garden, our happiness.

What a random thing to tell, I thought. Even for a robot. But subsequently, after considering it more, I decided otherwise.

The Fiction Issue

Tales From an Uncertain Future

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[asheewrites]

Assault On Various Fronts Pt 2

The next days were… strange.

The ‘man from the square’ – together with my father - held a speech a few hours later.

They reassured the people that the siege would finally end, traders already being led into the city. The curfew was lifted, people could leave the city walls, they had nothing to fear from the soldiers, they were told.

Anyone is able to seek medical attention by the officers – any officers – they will lead the people to get bandaged up or to receive rations for the next week.

The people’s life would not change. But there will be more trade routes opened.

For now, that would be all.

Samil, Sovereign of the Southern Isles would listen to all questions the citizens will have within the next two weeks. The towns hall would be open for everyone.

That was the first time I heard his name. Father had apparently known. Looked like he was a capable leader of armies, but not usually known to be on the front of an attack – made sense, really – but this seemed to have been a 'face-mission’. He wanted to be seen by everyone.

It… was… a plan. I didn’t know how effective, but… some people looked like they recognised him. The people at least took it… fine. When I looked down, they were more nodding and looking relieved than shaking their heads and making angry gestures.

How did they get over this that easily?!

Did they just… accept a new ruler?!

Would they really just abandon us? Was there no loyalty, there?!

The people had seen them kill their folks! Guards died from them and now they… they just got along?!

I just… stared at the whole thing.

How could they!

…

I… of course knew about the stress and the siege and the hunger and the imprisonment and how that affects people… and they didn’t really destroy much and were respectful now… so…

Still! This was all… still unbelievable. And wrong.

It was horrible.

…

At least I knew a little bit more than what they all said. Because I had been obligated to stick with them on the negotiation table before this speech. I’d listened in to the discussions. The first negotiations.

Apparently, my family would stay in charge, but we had to supply the army with a certain amount of soldiers. And money. And that lead them to talking taxes.

It was only a short deviation into it, but my father was bumbling and his advisers didn’t dare say anything with three bulky, in one case heavily scarred men standing around them. I couldn’t help myself and declared the facts as they were, recalled the numbers and sketched the current distribution of income and expenses out, since they would figure it out anyway. It only made our nation look bad and they would try to swindle us out of resources.

So I talked for ten minutes and then handed over the paper with a huffed sigh.

… the then-still-unknown man was smiling again. And he looked at me when he took the document. My hair was standing again.

Then the speech happened.

And afterwards, Samil questioned me more directly to the tax-system. I retracted fast and send the advisers to the front. When directly spoken to, they did give sensible information, they simply had not dared.

He said it was a shame, bowing and thanking me for the advice and then… returned to the table.

That was the last time I actively took part in the discussions. Then my father claimed I fell ill. And I was glad for it. This situation was simply weird. I embroidered one of my dresses to distract myself, it always calmed me slightly. And it wasn’t like I could leave my rooms now, after all.

I only heard from my handmaiden, Michelle, that the questioning actually went well only three attempts on 'Samils’ life and the attackers weren’t even killed. Only subdued and 'held in custody’, which meant in this case that they were kept in a room and treated with respect. Grudgingly, I had to admit that at least showed a bit of… friendly interaction.

Or a great front to put on.

On the third day, the dead soldiers were buried. All the soldiers. Both sides alike buried in the same grounds. The city’s burial grounds. With the rites of our own people.

… another thing that divided the people  in their opinions. But I knew, in the long run – IF they did not fail completely in being benign rulers – it would be seen as the 'right’ thing to do. 'We’ were actually one nation now. It was only right.

I rubbed my head. Bloody smart invaders. My family would still be controlled by another nation! We lost our independence!

Chelle kept my sanity together. She saw them taking what was rightfully ours as well. She walked the chambers up and down and gesticulated wildly. Also that this couldn’t be all they wanted! You didn’t wage a war to actually lower the taxes and offer to keep the streets in shape. And exchange medicine-recipes. It just sounded a bit too good to be true.

Two more days later, he appeared at my door. I’d asked the person outside in, assuming it was the servant bringing the dinner. Instead, it was… Samil. With the dinner.

“Lady Gabrielle? I took the freedom to relieve Winston of his duties today. You did not provide your insights for five days now, yet no one wanted to tell me what troubles you, I was worried,” he had opened the door, but stood at the doorstep, not coming closer.

… at least he had the bare minimum of manners.

“… I thank you for your concern, sir Samil… it is a mere case of faintness… you know how it is, the last days have been… stressful” it took my best efforts not to grit my teeth but treat him to a smile. You could not be rude to invaders.

His eyebrows went up and he said: “I would not have taken you for the type, but a walk in the inner gardens and some fresh air might work miracles, would you accompany for a round in them?”

… I was not sure what I wanted to make of the fact that he sounded genuine.

I didn’t want to walk with him. But then again… he might be able to tell me the current state of affairs that a handmaiden had no insight in. So, after an appropriate amount of contemplation, I asked: “The guards will be present?,” a bit of a risky question, but my honour would be questioned.

He bowed: “Of course, milady, our customs are not that different”

… mrh.

“Then I’ll be happy to accompany you for a walk”

And with that, he disappeared.

I was not actually comfortable with that much attention, but if this was what it took…

The next day, I waited on a bench for him to resurface from the towns hall. The people demanding answers from him had ebbed momentarily, so he could take a break.

It was only supposed to be a short walk, too. So this worked out fine.

Admittedly, the air was nice after having been imprisoned for this time. So the smile I greeted him with might have been genuine. He took my arm to 'support my weakened constitution’ and we walked around the courtyard. When he put a lily in my hair – with some words about how the gods smiled most on beauty, and this enhanced mine -, I wondered who had tattled about my favourite flowers. Well. No matter. It was time to see what was up with the negotiations.

And it turned out they were almost finalised. There was no toll required to cross wares over our borders now – either way – and the court will come visit once every two years, but otherwise… technology and medicine was shared and they actually volunteered to maintain our trade routes and aqueducts. There were more changes in the tax-system and there were personal cuts in our family’s wealth. I asked a few more questions about the funds for widows of the war and he actually answered, that they would supply the most of the money, but also said it was more in the hands of the government here. After all, my father would stay in control.

I wanted to hate the plan, but it was – if a million other details worked out as well – probably going to work. At least my people did not suffer. In maybe a decade I would be able to forgive them for invading my home.

It was weird, walking next to him. He was even closer than on the table. He was… tall. And his skin a bit… different from mine. His eyes almost looked black when we walked in the shadows. Again: my hair stood, there. They were impossibly dark. Somewhat warm, too, but really dark. The scar on his arm also looked a little dangerous. I was pretty sure he noticed I didn’t have a 'weak constitution’ when I gesticulated and never held onto his arm properly, but… he only continued smiling and listening, so… it supposedly was fine. We were… civil.

I excused myself after I got all information I deemed necessary and went back to my room – which I aired as soon as I got in.

The next day was the last day of questioning. And they would announce the finalised contract.

It was… a long, very long speech. All in which had to sit through in a corset and a long, 'appropirate’ dress to properly 'honour’ our 'generous adversaries’. It was horrible. Especially everyone looking. Samil and his 'trusted knights’ first and foremost. They probably never saw a woman in traditional garb of our country. Ugh.

But at least the numbers added up, as I checked them through.

Dad had made a pretty nice bargain and maybe we could almost have independence like that. It was not that bad. Wars were waged everywhere and the demanded amount of soldiers could almost be called… reasonable.

I almost wanted to be faint once again, when he announced that he had reached the very last point of demands. And that it was one to celebrate.

… I… had not heard of that before?

“… I am happy to announce the marriage between Sovereign Samil and Lady Gabrielle”

Wait. WHAT?!

I stared at my father. And Samil.

Who looked back at me, once again with a smile. I did not return it.

WHAT?!