#i too would love to escape capitalism by having someone else engage in it on my behalf

[kostantina]

Hetalia HRE (Holy Roman Empire) Headcanons:

- He was born in Rome (December 25, 800) to represent the imperial status of Carolus after being crowned by the Pope as Augustus and Emperor and his Roman Empire. The personification of the Franks was HRE's first guardian. And considering the circumstances of his birth, people thought he was godsent. His existence was due to an intangible entity created by the Pope and the Emperor. He didn't represent territories or a group of people with an empire. Rather, he represented the empire itself. He was the Empire.

This meant that after Emperor Louis I, he would be with the next emperors and not the rulers of East Francia unless those rulers were also emperors. Think of the imperial crown but in person. He was not East Francia, but after Otto was crowned emperor, the imperial title became permanently associated with East Francia/the Kingdom of Germany. So we could say that rather than a city becoming his heart, it was East Francia/the Kingdom of Germany, as the Empire also didn't have any fixed capital.

- He began to get close to Italy during the reign of Emperor Lothair I, but he met him much earlier.

- Having a toddler body but an older mind, HRE would be present in battles to talk about strategies or know about the situation and become a motivational symbol for his soldiers instead of engaging in a fight himself because his physical body would hold him down. But he would still have a weapon to protect himself just in case someone targeted him or there's no one else to protect him.

- Considering the religious nature of his empire, even if he managed to escape his toddler body earlier, HRE would prefer avoiding staining his hands with blood, obsessed with being pure or should I say, holy. He would order other people to do the dirty work for him, even if he could easily do it himself.

But of course, he wouldn't be able to completely avoid having blood on his hands. There would be occasions where he would be forced to do a vile act to protect himself. If needed or possible, he would try to cover it up and have someone take the blame, either willing or unwillingly. Willingly, because someone might respect him too much and be very determined to serve the Sacred Empire.

He would basically use the power of words more than a sword or other weapons of destruction.

- If he was able to grow old, he would also practice chastity to further emphasize his purity. But who knew what he was doing behind closed doors?

- As a religious person, he would pray for forgiveness whenever he sinned and then he would sin again. So on and so forth.

- He knew how to speak Arabic because of Frederick II (Stupor Mundi).

- He was frenemies with the Papal States, and they sought to undermine one another while recognizing the importance of one another.

- He was a perfectionist.

- He was very curious and eager to learn, which also had to do with him deeply wanting to be the definition of perfection as much as purity (one of the aspects of perfection for him). He loved being revered by people, and they could hate his emperor or empire but must love him. This led to him reading a lot or becoming a bookworm and becoming a workaholic.

- He was interested in theology, philosophy, alchemy, and herbalism. Herbalism, because he wanted to understand how he could take care of his health and he loved plants or nature in general.

- He also loved animals, celestial objects, and the sky.

- He was a patron of education, art, and music.

- He was the older and not younger brother of Prussia.

[thebreakfastgenie]

out of genuine curiosity, why don’t you want to write bj goes to Maine?

Well, for starters���and this probably answers your question—I hate BJ/Hawkeye. 

I capitalized BJ Goes to Maine to specify that I was referring to the popular fandom trope, not the concept of BJ ever traveling to the state of Maine. I’m not saying I’ll never write BJ going to Maine for a visit or trope subversion, because I did, but I'm not likely to do it again (except [redacted]). 

As for as BJ Goes to Maine the trope, the problems I have with it could fill libraries. This is basically just a start. 

The heart of it is, it requires characterization so atrociously OOC, I don’t recognize either character. Literally the first question I asked when I encountered BJ Goes to Maine was “what about Erin?” I have never gotten a satisfactory answer to that. The BJ we see in canon loves and wants to be with Peg. Even taking an alternative interpretation of their marriage, or saying circumstances have changed for them, does not change the fact that they share a child. BJ would not leave Erin to go to Maine. A fanfiction BJ who would abandon his child his someone I would be actively rooting against. 

BJ Goes to Maine is all about BJ. He is the one taking action, the only one making a choice. Hawkeye just waits around for BJ to show up and declare his love. Hawkeye has no agency. He’s reduced to a love interest and not even a complex one. In the show, Hawkeye constantly fights for agency, while at the mercy of a system doing everything to take it from him. Once he’s finally free to live his own life, he’s not going to let anyone determine its course for him. When Hawkeye feels strongly about something, he takes action. We see it again and again and again. If he wants something, he’s not going to sit and wait for it to come to him. 

Despite my penchant for angst, I like happy endings, and BJ Goes to Maine isn’t one. If Hawkeye and BJ remain the most important people in each other’s lives, they have to remain who they who during the war forever. It defines them and they never escape. That’s just about the bleakest thing I can imagine. They need to move on, and Hawkeye already has. Some kind of grand romcom reversal isn’t consistent with who they are. MASH isn't a romance and I don’t want to turn it into one. Intentionally or not, BJ Goes to Maine turns the Korean War into the thing that brought BJ and Hawkeye together. There is a whole complex conversation to be had about how fic that focuses on the characters and their relationships engages with the themes and message of the show, but ultimately I don't believe in policing what people write. I simply don’t like it.

The reality of Hawkeye and BJ is that their lives are not compatible. They’re very different and they were briefly brought together by the war. The bittersweetness of that parting being inherent to them finally getting their lives back is a major theme of not just the finale, but the entire show. Putting any characters together undermines that, but putting Hawkeye and BJ together undermines it more than anyone else, because of the relationship they had. The relationship they had onscreen was entirely dependent upon circumstances and cannot exist after the war ends. Hawkeye knows this and he accepts it, he just wants closure. When BJ tries to suggest ways they could see each other again and Hawkeye says “in other words, goodbye,” he isn’t just saying all of them having dinner is unlikely—though it is—he’s saying they’ll become people who get together and have dinner. That’ll be all that's left, a toast to whatever closeness they once had. And Hawkeye is okay with it. He's sad about it, but he’s okay with it. BJ refuses to accept it and refuses Hawkeye that closure, but I think deep down he knows it too, because his last word to Hawkeye is goodbye, even if he doesn’t say it. 

BJ Goes to Maine is antithetical to GFA. Hawkeye and BJ’s goodbye is final. BJ going to Maine is just saying haha, we didn’t mean it! We take it back! Why would I do that to such a great, poignant ending? It’s the lazy sequel way out, like how Andre Aciman ruined the best part of Call Me By Your Name (Elio realizing over time, as he has more relationships, Oliver remains important but stops being the most important) by having Oliver casually leave his wife and kids to go to Italy in Find Me. There's a reason Alan Alda said he didn’t know if Hawkeye and BJ ever saw each other again. 

I’m also not sure BJ would. He makes a choice in GFA, and he doesn’t choose Hawkeye. I don't blame BJ for leaving the first chance he gets, and I don't think Hawkeye would either if he handled it better. But he clearly demonstrates his priorities, and they are not Hawkeye. He only comes back because he’s forced to, and he isn’t happy about it. None of this foreshadows someone who’d uproot his life to go to Maine. Again, it would be dependent upon a wild change of heart that just isn’t consistent. BJ can barely handle being around Hawkeye while he’s hospitalized, which again I don’t really blame him for, but that doesn’t tell me he would go to Maine. If he did go, I don't see it ending well. If I didn't think BJ and Hawkeye had negative romantic chemistry, I wouldn’t be able to see a future for them. 

The tl:dr is you don’t write things you don’t like, and I hate BJ Goes to Maine. 

I'm posting this now so it doesn't get eaten a third time, but I may come back with and another thing-

[hoyatype]

does anyone else feel insane when they come across women/shaving/feminism discourse? in particular, when any assertion that having to shave one’s legs, pubic hair, etc is an unnecessary beauty standard and women should be FREE of this (my position btw)—

is immediately met w at least one woman saying: no, but i like it and i do it for me. statements like this don’t account for my particular situation where it’s not oppressive, it’s actually joyful! and i’m like…congratulations, you took a systemic analysis and narrowed it to your individual experience in an attempt to delegitimize it…thanks? it’s also deeply suspect that there are just so many women who have all independently and individually articulated a personal preference that conforms to what is normatively encouraged…starts to feel more like an enforced preference than an autonomously chosen one…

oh—and sometimes obscurely urgent reasons (it’s for sensory reasons and deeply important for this person’s neuroatypical existence) are brought into the discussion. i am sure this is sometimes true. but in many cases i also think people are uncomfortable with really facing their personal preferences and realizing that they’re not in alignment with their political inclinations, or uncomfortable having to own up to: well, i don’t have a defensible reason for this! so very often i suspect people are trying to invoke a Good reason that can elide critique…bc it’s uncomfortable to be questioned and reassuring to have a defense that forces people to drop any further questioning…

i genuinely would rather people be honest w themselves and say: i am doing this because i’m afraid of being socially and romantically and sexually penalized. it would feel more candid than having to obscure these behaviors as a personal preference.

and then we could have a real conversation about whether not shaving means that they won’t get the love they want.

personally: i’m not hardcore about this, i shave my legs when i wear shorts and skirts in the summer, but i just don’t agonize about my hair growing out a bit. it’s leg hair, everyone has it! and i’ve never ever ever shaved my pubic hair (sorry to burden anyone following me w this knowledge…) and i really haven’t had issues w this in multiple encounters and relationships with straight men. i am positive it DOES disqualify me for some straight men, but i don’t want to make a good impression on everyone, just an accurate impression of who i am and what my preferences and beliefs are. those guys are free to date women who are committed to spending $$$/month on waxing…i will never be that person and i am happy that no one i’ve loved expected me to be that person.

it’s not a terrible thing for someone to find you unattractive. it’s not the end of the world. it’s not a woman’s purpose to be attractive. and it is truly amazing and heartening that so many people fall in love with others who are not conventionally attractive! who are not dogmatically conforming to all beauty standards! “ugly” people can be loved and respected and cherished and i think that now, in an age of looksmaxxing femcel plastic surgery etc, we should remember this…

it’s funny how much i care about the Shaving Question bc in the grand scheme of things it’s a very small rebellion against beauty norms, but it is one i feel very passionate about and i really don’t understand why so many women are choosing to submit to it, spending significant time and money and effort plucking away all these hairs…especially when so many of these women, from my experience, are also constantly railing against the terrible chokehold that beauty norms and the male gaze have on them. (going to preemptively defuse a common objection here—that it’s different to defy a standard if you’re already very conventionally hot vs not—and note that the women i’ve been most perplexed by in this regard are cis white women who are fairly thin…they’re soooo close to hegemonic feminine beauty already and horribly afraid of losing out on any of it. i do think there’s some argument here that women who are already seen as ugly and unfeminine risk MORE by not conforming to beauty norms. but weirdly it’s woc, fat women, etc who are more likely ime to be the women who intentionally defect and choose their defections carefully. it’s almost like being on the wrong side of beauty standards encourages more criticality of it…)

it is just surprising and maddening to me. like. just don’t shave for 2 more days. or 2 more weeks. genuinely a lot of men do not notice and the ones that hold it against you are providing you with tremendously important insight into their expectations of women. and obviously a lot of women don’t care at all and you can be serenely unshaven together ❤️

i think it’s so important for women to defy feminine beauty/grooming standards sometimes, just for fun, just for practice—and when i say practice i mean it in the highest and most respectful sense: as a way of continually asserting your own agency against the onslaught of expectations for what it means to be a woman, to be “good enough”, to be “beautiful” (not to a specific person but in society’s eyes). i really do think women need to practice resisting beauty standards so that it becomes something possible and natural and even habitual. there is so much suffering present when you can’t escape these norms, and any act of defiance is a way of strengthening you against them imo

[akaashisupremacy]

Brimming with Hope

Summary: Having broken off your engagement for an arranged marriage with Gojo, your relationship is in shreds. As you two give your relationship a second chance, what does hope look like to two disillusioned lovers?  

Gojo Satoru  x reader

Multi-fandom Masterlist || HQ Masterlist || Ao3 version

Genre: fluff, angst, exes to friends to lovers (wc: 1.5k)

“I don’t think they’ve fully made up their mind about me.” Gojo Satoru confesses to Nanami Kento.

In between assignments and his students, Gojo finds Nanami at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech’s grounds. They’re strolling along one of the many wooden hallways when Gojo opens up about you, his ex-fiancee and his current lover.

“What makes you say that?” Nanami rarely involved himself in other people’s romantic entanglements. Too much work really.

Gojo shrugs and sighs, “It’s like their affection is platonic. They care about me as a person, but I’m not sure if they have romantic feelings for me.”

The latest development of his relationship with you has been nothing short of daunting. Your relationship, albeit not exclusive was running past the six month mark. The longer he stayed around you the more pressure he felt. Commitment is not his thing. Dating his ex is also not his thing. But you certainly are.

“Can you blame them?” Nanami snorts, “How does it feel to be at the other end of the uncertainty?”

Gojo scowls in silence, hands pressed deep into his pocket.

“Well if they’re going out with you and stuff, then that’s not platonic.” Nanami offers. “Just make sure you’re not just fucking around again. Some people deserve better, Gojo. Leave them alone if you can’t get your shit together.”

Gojo stops walking. Nanami’s words are harsh and cold, voicing Gojo’s ultimate fear about himself.

Gojo opens his mouth and closes it shut. Nanami raises a brow. He senses some hesitation.

“Everything we do feels more intimate. I’ve been with other people, but this feels so…so….deep.” he murmurs.

Nanami turns around and snorts, “It’s the feelings. You’ve caught feelings.”

“This relationship feels so temporary...just when I feel like I’ve settled in, I’m to be up on my toes knowing this isn’t going to last. I realized they eventually want a family, but not with me. Because that’s just not me. It feels like there’s a time bomb waiting to go off.” Gojo continues, his tone silent and mournful.

More than anyone, Gojo knows you deep desire to be married and have a quiet family life. It's something he doesn't want and it pains him to know that you'll eventually go your separate ways.

Nanami breathes out, waiting for Gojo to catch up with a few long strides, “You can’t have everything.”

“I don’t need everything. Just the things that count.” Gojo replies, walking by Nanami’s side.

“Then you have to look for a happy middle, for you and for them.” Nanami shrugs.

Gojo scratches his head. What can he do?

————————————————————————————— You walk out of the morgue to leave Ieri to her work. As you step out, you come face to face with Nanami, who looks surprised that you’re here.

“Didn’t expect you to be around Ieri’s lair.” he comments.

“I didn’t expect to have a casualty either.” you shrug, waving around a file.

You hardly ever see Nanami after graduating. The school grounds were big. Your schedules never line up. Neither of you were particularly close.

He silently looks around if Ieri is behind you.

“So you and Gojo…” he trails.

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, “Not you too! You know what, instead of asking me, you should ask Gojo and his commitment issues, for updates.”

Your voice rings louder on the empty walls than you intended.

“I did.” he replies.

“And?”

“Commitment issues with a capital “C” indeed.” Nanami states, as if the fact was self-evident. What’s new? You sniff.

“It’s unusual to see him so conflicted about you. You used to be his rock.” he adds.

Your eyes narrow, as if asking for more information. You were never really sure how Gojo felt about you when you two were younger. He seemed attracted during your brief arranged engagement, but his attention obviously flitted elsewhere after that.

Nanami relents, “When we were freshmen, you reminded him of home. He pretends not to be homesick all the time. He’s not very good at hiding it when he talks about you.”

“Well, that feeling didn’t last, did it?” you murmur just loud enough for Nanami to hear.

The outside of the morgue has always been a little dark. You wished the lights were dimmer because you know Nanami is observing you.

“Not to defend him, but he was so wrapped in you and your engagement that he needed to find who he was outside of that. He likes attention, too. Can’t deny that. But his affections were sincere for a time.” he says, “I don’t know where his feelings stand right now. This isn’t to give you false hope, but he can be in love, even though it’s against his greater instincts and experience.”

He bows briefly to excuse himself. He needs to head in.

“But you already know that deep down. Out of all of us, you know him the longest, and I would argue, the best.” he adds.

You're left outside stunned by his words. Out of all his surviving friends, you assumed it was Nanami who knew him better than everyone else. It was you. You knew him best, even when Gojo wasn't by your side.

You smile a bit. There are some bonds broken romances can't break.

———————————————————— On a train home from your assignment, you find the bullet train crowded as usual. Rush hour is the bane of your existence in Tokyo.

As you try to find an empty seat, you’re surprised to find Gojo opening some sort of regional snack (again).

“How is it that you have so much time for souvenir shopping?” you groan in comment.

“It’s nice to see you, too.” he offers the seat next to his.

You plop down beside him, distracted. You think back to what Nanami said earlier. What was it that Nanami said? That you were Gojo’s rock? What did that mean really?

He tries to offer you some food. You wave him off dismissively. After gathering your thoughts, you decisively turn to him.

“I just want to know,” you swallow, “How did you feel about me when we were kids.”

With his mouth ajar, he blinks. Where was this coming from?

“Why?” he instinctively asks.

You purse your lips, “I’ve been meaning to ask for the longest while. I want to know your answer.”

He leans back into his seat and puts his food down in concentration.

“I thought I knew what love was and it came in the form of you. It’s kind of dumb. What would a teenager know about that kind of stuff?” he shrugs, “I liked the idea that you liked me. You were someone who supported me. You were there for me. You were generous with your time and affection.

“Looking back it’s just infatuation, isn’t it?" he asks rhetorically.

“You sounded naive.” you say, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

He chuckles, “Who wouldn’t be at that age?”

“And sincere.” you followed up with a smile.

Gojo turns away from you. He sees glimpses of your early teenage years when he sees that smile. It was the smile you wore when he visited you at your clan’s home and helped out with your chores. You liked it when he would carry the firewood you gathered from the forest.

“...you made me feel so grown up, like I had my life together. Not everyone liked who they were engaged to, but I really liked you and you had believed in me so much.” he murmurs, “I felt so lucky to be able to marry you one day. I was literally brimming with hope. But that was 13 years ago.”

You both get off the train. The crowded station greets you both. Although you walk side by side, it is too easy for the crowd to sweep you away. You hold onto his sleeve. He doesn't notice.  

You try to say goodbye when you make it out, but he seems distracted. You begin to walk away.

“You’re not saying goodbye?” he asks, startled.

“I did, but you didn’t mind me.” you smirk with your arms crossed.

“Sorry. There’s a lot going on in my mind.” he nods, walking up beside you.

He leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek. You pull away.

“We’re in public,” you remind him. Gojo isn’t public with you on anything.

He kisses you anyway, pressing his lips on your cheek. You’re surprised but not unpleasantly so. His kiss is long and lingering. You embrace him with your arms around his waist. You briefly close your eyes to drown out the noise of the station.

Gojo can feel his heart racing a thousand kilometers per second. His shoulders relax. It's strangely freeing to be able to kiss you in public.

He knows he’s not into commitment, but whenever he sees you, he questions myself.

“I have to go now.” you bid softly.

I love you. He holds back. He waves carefully to not let his words escape his mouth. He’s not fifteen anymore. He should know better.

Gojo begins walking back to Jujutsu Tech. Being able to kiss you goodbye made him feel so grown up, like he has his life together more than he actually does. It makes him feel, once again, that he is brimming with hope.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this as a follow up for another Gojo x reader fic who used to be engaged. Check out the other parts!

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! Or write down some comments about your feelsssss

Series Taglist: @tokyo-love-hotel@samkysnks@herownescape@cherrianne192@shamelessdonutsludgebanana@kageyamakock@shirostrbl@luvang3l@cloudsinthecosmos@httpjungoo @saturnki  @itstheee-ha-chan@gucci-froggy @soy1melk @dora-the-grownup @cherryonigiri @fiona782

If you’d like to continue being part of my taglist (JJK or Haikyuu), please let me know! I also write oneshots for both fandoms and soon I’ll be doing BSD too!

[vs-redemption]

Could I request a F!Reader x William from Black Clover? Either HC or oneshot, up to you! So, William is ready to propose to his gf. He brings the engagement ring with him everywhere just in case that perfect moment comes up. He almost drops it during a random battle & reader is there. She sees him trying to grab a pouch & he almost gets hit by the enemy, but manages to protect him. She yells at him & tells him what so important with the pouch & either he tells her now or later why plz and tnx!

Thanks for the request! It’s been a while since I’ve written for William, so hopefully I was able to capture him and your idea properly ♥

The Perfect Proposal (William Vangeance x Reader)

William stared down at the tiny ring clutched firmly between his thumb and pointer finger, a mixture of frustration and impatience swirling in the reflection of his lavender eyes. Retrieving the ring from its hiding place and tucking it into the small leather pouch on his belt was basically part of his morning routine by now. He was a little embarrassed about how long he’d been carrying such a precious piece of jewelry around, but he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t have it on hand when the perfect moment to propose presented itself.

You’d been a part of William’s life for a long time now, starting off as friends and growing closer until neither of you could deny your feelings for each other any longer. Having your unconditional love and support was something he cherished and felt thankful for each and every day. Not a day passed when you didn’t bring a smile to his face, and he had never been more certain of anything as he was of the fact that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. Going out and buying a ring was one of the biggest, yet easiest decisions he’d ever made. It was finding the right time to ask you that he was struggling with. You meant everything to him and he thought you deserved nothing less than a perfect, romantic proposal from him.

“Captain Vangeance! Are you in there?” The question comes after a harsh knock on the door and William quickly tucks the ring away before grabbing his mask and greeting the magic knight who had come to fetch him.

“Yes, I’m here,” he frowns at the distressed look on the man’s face, “Is everything all right?”

“There’s been an incident at the capital’s west gate,” the explanation comes out rushed. “The Golden Dawn has been requested to send back up to the knights already fighting there.”

“Understood, tell them we’re on our way,” William was on high alert now and quickly assembled a team of his best knights to go check out the threat with him.

Upon arrival on the scene, William was not surprised to find you already caught up in the fray. Your squad was based close to the capital as well, and you never hesitated to jump in and help in any kind of situation where you thought you might be useful. You spotted him just a moment later and waved him over.

“What’s the situation?” He asks you, getting straight to business.

“Bandits,” was your simple answer. “They actually would’ve managed to sneak into the city undetected if someone hadn’t tipped us off a few hours ago about a suspicious group passing through their village. We had no idea just how many of them there were until the last minute though.”

William simply nods in understanding. There’d be more time to discuss other details later, but for now he needed to help round up the criminals so that they could face punishment for their actions. Most of the bandits were easily dealt with, but a couple of them actually had decent magic abilities. While dueling with the leader of the group, William become a bit too focused and failed to dodge a stray spell that whizzed past his side, sending the leather pouch on his hip flying off somewhere. Panic grips him once he realizes what had happened. He continues his battle while keeping an eye on the fallen pouch until another bandit suddenly sees it on the ground and makes a grab for it.

“Stop! Don’t touch that!” William tears his eyes away from the leader he’d been fighting and dives toward the bandit going after the pouch.

While dueling your own opponent, you catch sight of William recklessly going after something on the ground from the corner of your eye. It baffled you that someone as level headed as William would turn his back in a fight like that. There couldn’t possibly be anything important enough for him to risk his life over. The bandit leader was definitely going to take advantage of William’s lapse in judgement, so you throw yourself between them and quickly throw up a defensive spell just in time to block the attack aimed right for him.

“Thank you,” William sounded embarrassed once he’d apprehended the bandit and got his pouch tied securely back onto his hip. He avoids your bewildered stare and jumps back into the fight with the group’s leader as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever transpired. You shake your head and decide to let it go for now while rounding up the last few bandits. It wasn’t long before the ordeal was over, and you assist the other magic knights in loading up everyone that was captured before heading to meet the wizard king with William to report everything that had happened.

William knew better than to think you wouldn’t ask about his strange behavior, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of any way to logically explain what he’d done. Even the truth seemed rather ridiculous to him now that he looked back on it. At the time though, his emotions had taken control and all rational thought had left him.

“So, are you going to tell me what that’s about?” you ask after following him back to his office at the Golden Dawn. You gesture towards the pouch on his hip even though you knew that he understood what you were referencing. He lets out a sigh, taking of his mask and setting it to the side so that he can face you directly. He surprises even himself when he reaches down and takes out the ring, holding it out for you.

“William…” You blink back the tidal wave of emotions that wash over you. It takes just a split second for the shock to wear off, making room for both a giddy happiness and deep frustration. Thankfully, he wasn’t using the ring as a way to distract you from the earlier incident, just to provide an explanation for it.

“I apologize for earlier. It was silly of me to act so rash,” he holds your gaze, sincerity in his eyes. “It wasn’t so much the ring itself I was thinking of in that moment, but of what it meant to me. I’ve been carrying this with me for so long, hoping for the perfect opportunity, but perhaps I was overthinking it.” He pauses to take your hand gently into his while getting down on one knee. “I realize now that your answer means far more to me than the place and timing of the question. I love you so much and want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His lips pull into a soft, yet vulnerable smile.

“Ideally, the rest of your life will be a long time William,” You say despite the racing of your heart. “Promise me you won’t pull any more unnecessary stunts like you did today.”

“I promise.” He nods his head before swallowing back his nerves. “So, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you agree before the question had hardly escaped his lips. Happy tears prickle the corners of your eyes as he slides the ring onto your finger, and you waste no time in yanking him to his feet afterwards so you can pull him in for a sweet kiss. You understood and appreciated his need to make things perfect for you, but as long as it was him asking the question there wasn’t anything else you could wish for. As for William, he was ecstatic to finally have the ring out of his hands and onto yours. From now on, his routine of carrying the ring around with him would be replaced with admiring the sight of it on your finger, and knowing that you’d be by his side for the remainder of his days.

[aswithasunbeam]

December 1814

“Hush, darling,” Eliza whispered. “It’s all right.”

Angelica curled up further on the bed beside Eliza with a soft whimper. At least she was resting, finally, after hours of panic about invisible demons reaching out from the walls to take her away. Eliza had had to push the bed away from the walls before she’d been able to convince her daughter to lie down.

Eliza closed her eyes, the press of the day weighing on her already. Servants were bustling through the halls just outside the door, heaving trunks from little Eliza and Phil’s rooms. They were all bound for New York at first light tomorrow to celebrate Johnny’s wedding to his dear Maria. A joyous occasion to be sure, especially as she anticipated having their children together for the first time in years: William was meant to be coming down from West Point, and Alex and Jamie had secured time away from their posts, as well. Joyous, yes, even as it hurt that so much of her family wouldn’t be there, with Angelica and Peggy both gone, her parents, and Philip…. She swallowed around a lump in her throat at the thought of her eldest.

Her younger daughter shrieked suddenly from down the hall. “Give it back! Now!”

“I’m using it!” Phil yelled back.

“It’s mine!”

Eliza sighed, easing herself from Angelica’s bed to go see what all the fuss was about. Phil and little Eliza were engaged in an all out tug of war over a bit of ribbon in the hallway between their rooms. She watched silently for a moment, frowning, her arms crossed, waiting for them to notice her displeasure.

Phil noticed her first and abruptly let go of the ribbon. Little Eliza stumbled backwards, landing hard on her bottom. She yelped, glared up at her brother, and aimed a swift kick at his ankles.  

“What are you two doing?” she demanded.

“She started it,” Phil said, jumping hastily out of the line of fire.

“He stole my best ribbon and he was using it to hang toy soldiers out the window.”

“I was going to give it back.”

“It’s got dirt all over it and you got it all wrinkled.” She held the ribbon up to show her mother. “See? I wanted to wear it to Johnny’s wedding.”

Phil stuck his tongue out at his sister. When she noticed, she aimed another kick at his ankles. He jumped back again, shouting, “Stop it!”

“What is all the yelling about?” Alexander asked as he slowly wheeled himself around the corner, to their collective surprise.

Despite the gathering dark outside the hall window, she was shocked to see him home; she’d hardly seen hide nor hair of him in the past days as they prepared to leave for their extended trip home. Both the children went quiet at his unexpected arrival, and little Eliza bounced up to her feet.

“Sorry Papa,” they both mumbled quickly.

“We seem to be having quite the disagreement over a bit of ribbon,” Eliza supplied when they failed to offer further explanation.

Alexander looked at her with a hint of a smile. “Want me to send them to help dig out the new latrine by the camp? That’s what I do with the men who mouth off. Very effective punishment.”

They both paled considerably, sending her matching pleading looks.

She made a show of considering for a long beat before smiling as well. “I think we can give them one more chance before we put them to hard labor.”

“We’ll be good,” Phil promised solemnly.

“I expect so.” Alexander tilted his head to the side to dismiss them. “Off you go. Stop making your mother’s life difficult.”

If only he’d take his own advice, she thought fondly.

They scampered off down the hall, both giving their father an affectionate peck on the cheek as they passed. He shook his head as he watched them go, then looked back at her, the laugh lines in his cheeks creasing. “Imps.”

“Well, we did complain the house was too quiet without them,” Eliza said. Indeed, when Alexander had sent them off to stay with family over the summer for their safety, the house had felt empty without their constant bickering and antics. She paced over to him and leaned down to kiss him, as well. “It’s good to have you home finally. You missed dinner again.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help getting ready for our trip. I’ve been in endless meetings. When I at one point raised the concern about the endless meetings, one of Jemmy’s secretaries quite unironically asked if I would like him to schedule a meeting to discuss it.”

She laughed.  

He grinned at her, but his eyes turned serious when he glanced towards the door to Angelica’s room. “How’s Geli today?”

Eliza sobered as she, too, glanced back at her daughter’s door. “She’s been having a bad day.”

He sighed. “She’s been having a lot of bad days, lately. I heard her whimpering and muttering when I got home late last night. She was wide awake when I peeked in at her. I doubt she got much rest.”

Eliza hardly needed reminding, having been up much of the night with her. “She’s resting now, finally.”

“That’s something, I suppose.”

His hands fidgeted on the wheels of his chair. She watched him a moment, sensing he had something else to tell her. The expression twisting his face usually signaled some sort of indigestion. When he failed to say anything more, she asked, “What is it?”

“Well,” he started, his hand going up to scratch at his neck uncomfortably.

Anxiety started to build up at his continued reluctance to speak. “If you say you can’t come to New York for your own son’s wedding—”

“No, no, it’s not that.” He sighed, resting his hands on the wheels of his chair once more, as though contemplating an escape even as he spoke. “It’s just, I need to meet with some people before I leave. And the only time they would both be available was tonight. So, I may have suggested they stop by the house before we leave. They’re on their way over now, actually. For tea.”

She felt her own expression twisting to match his, heartburn flaring in her chest as a suspicion about his guest list occurred to her. “Who?”

“Burr,” he said.

“Burr,” she repeated, disbelief in her tone even though that’s exactly the name she’d expected to hear. “You expect me to serve tea to Aaron Burr?”

“Well,” he started again.

“You promised me. You promised, when you suggested him for his position, that I wouldn’t need to be alone with him.”

“I said not just the three of us.” He fidgeted in his chair again, clearly not relishing delivering his next bit of news. “Someone else is coming, too.”

He seemed somehow more reluctant to tell her the next guest. How could it possibly get worse? “Who else?”  

He gritted his teeth, hesitating again before saying, “Monroe.”

A wave of cold fury washed over her. “Monroe!”

“Shh,” he hushed, pointing towards Angelica’s room behind them.

Her nostrils flared as she forced a deep breath, jerking her head to indicate he should follow her down the hall before moving around him towards his office. He liked to praise her as an endless fountain of love and patience, she thought, but much as she might try, she simply wasn’t. Her nerves were already frayed from sleepless nights and managing ornery children and overseeing the packing and planning for their journey. Now he wanted her to cap off her night by serving tea to two of the most loathsome men on earth.  

He rolled in to the office behind her, and she snapped the door closed.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Eliza—”

“No, Alexander. No. You ask too much, sometimes.”

He smiled softly, highlighting the dimples in his cheeks, and reached out for her hand. “You’d send me into the viper’s nest without my trusty mongoose for protection?”

“You can’t charm your way out of this,” she hissed.

“Betsey,” he sighed, expression turning serious. “It can’t be helped.”

“They’re not welcome here. Not in my home. Neither of them.”

“You know I try to keep them away as much as possible. I know how you feel.”

“Do you? Because sometimes, the way you act, especially around Burr—”

“I understand. I do. But I need to see them before I go. It’s important.”

“What’s so important?”

“Campbell submitted his budget, just before he conveniently resigned to see to his health. He estimated an appropriation of $25 million would be needed, which is far, far beyond the expected tax revenue of $11 million, and all that’s before factoring in the cost of rebuilding the capital.”

She sank into the chair near his desk, sensing a lengthy conversation. “Go on.”

“Then there’s this…this treasonous…convention.” She could hear the quotes around the last word as he spit it out. “Otis has called a meeting of Federalists all across New England to propose a radical change in our national compact. Because what we need in the middle of a war, apparently, is a new constitutional convention intent on gutting the Federal government.”

“Were you invited?”  

He snorted. “As if I’d stoop to attending such a farcical proceeding.”

She smiled a little. She knew he’d have gloried in attending, monopolizing the conversation until his voice went hoarse telling them exactly why they were all idiots and cowards, had he been given the opportunity. “So no?”

He shot her a glare, but then smirked, caught red-handed by her knowing look. “I think they knew what my answer would be.”

She threaded her fingers between his. “I know how stressed you are about the war and fate of the country, sweetheart. But I don’t see what a meeting with those two—” she paused, hunting for a word, and, finding none, continued with only the empty space to define them, “—helps accomplish.”

“Monroe is acting Secretary of War, and, with Campbell gone, probably acting Secretary of the Treasury as well at this point. I need him to call on Congress to establish a new national bank, which in turn will help fund additional men. At least 100,000 to start.”

“And I’m sure he’ll take your direction with great enthusiasm.”

“Not with enthusiasm, perhaps, but he’ll take my direction, once I explain the need.”

“And Burr?”

“The Hartford Convention needs to be minimized. We need a shot of patriotism in that part of the country, a call to arms to rally flagging spirits. Since the Northern theater quieted, they’ve been shouldering the financial burden with none of the chance for glory. Meanwhile, the enemy is starting to gather with an eye towards New Orleans. If we can start mustering troops in New England, threaten an invasion of Canada, we might be able to press England into peace and herd New England back into the fold at the same time.”

“And you want Burr to head the effort,” she said, intuiting his plan now. Once Monroe agreed to call upon Congress to fund new troops, Burr would ride north to start mustering a force to take on Canada again.

“Exactly.” His eyes bore into hers. “And it needs to happen now. Immediately. Congress can’t be frightened into cutting back on the army, or we’ll be a British colony again by New Year’s.”

She squeezed his hand.

“So?” he pressed.

She held his gaze. “I suppose I’ll let them in when they knock. I won’t agree to more than that.”

He leaned over in his chair to catch her lips. “That’s all I need from you.”

**

That she managed to bring in the tea service without pouring the scalding water over either of their two unwanted guests ought to have qualified her sainthood, in her opinion. She didn’t stay in the room with them, didn’t even mutter a greeting. She did stay near the door, however, listening, while Alexander laid out his plan. She couldn’t quite bring herself to abandon him, even when he’d invited the viper’s nest upon himself.

“I wasn’t a particular supporter of your bank the first time around, Mr. Hamilton,” Monroe said. “Why should I call on Congress to re-charter it now?”

“How else are you going to pay for more troops, Mr. Secretary?”

Monroe answered in a measured tone. “We’re mere weeks away from a peace treaty, according to my intelligence in Ghent. Once that’s signed, there won’t be a need for more troops. We can cut back, limit spending to match our more limited revenue stream temporarily, until imports duties return to their pre-war levels.”

“You don’t think the British are also gathering intelligence?” Burr asked. “They’ll be watchfully waiting for our new budget proposals. If we’re seen dismantling the army before the war is over, why would they ever agree to a peace deal? Might as well take us for their own again.”

Monroe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve practically already signed. And I think we’ve proven far too troublesome to bother with as a colony again.”

“Too troublesome thirty years ago,” Burr pointed out. “And we were lucrative. If we can’t mount a solid defense, no reason not to give it another try.”

Alexander added, “You need to get the dissent in New England under control. And you need funding. Even without the additional expense of more troops, rebuilding the capital will be an expensive endeavor. You need to do this.”

“I don’t like the bank,” Monroe said sourly.

Alexander laughter bitterly. “It’s me you don’t like, Mr. Secretary. And that’s quite all right. I assure you the feeling is mutual. But you have to do this. Don’t make me go over your head to Jemmy to force you into action. It will only waste time.”

There was a long silence, tension palpable. “Fine. I’ll propose re-chartering the bank and adding funding for more troops. But I can’t promise it will pass.”

“Oh, I think you’ll find the votes, Mr. Secretary,” Alexander insisted. “Necessity is a great motivator.”

Sensing the meeting was coming to a close, Eliza moved to summon the servants to bring the hats and coats. She didn’t want them lingering in the front room any longer than necessary. In the moments she’d stepped away, however, something must have happened, because she suddenly heard raised voices coming from the office. She hurried back, opening the door to the office to find Burr standing in between Monroe and Alexander.

Monroe was all but shouting, “You think just because you’ve blinded Jemmy with nostalgic appeals to a long-dead friendship that you can always have your way, just as you did with Washington. I’ll not be so easily taken in, Mr. Hamilton, I promise you that.”

Burr placed a hand on Monroe’s shoulder, trying to ease him away from Alexander.

Alexander looked blithely unconcerned, all but smirking at Monroe as he said, “I’ll remind you there is no guaranteed succession in this country, Mr. Monroe, however many hats you acquire during this administration. I wouldn’t be so assured of victory in the next election, if I were you.”

Color rose in Monroe’s face as he pushed around Burr, holding a finger out in Alexander’s direction. “Enjoy your influence while you have it. Your days are numbered.”

“That’s quite enough,” Eliza said, voice deadly quiet, fury taking wing in her chest at the implied threat.

Monroe spun around to face her. “Mrs. Hamilton—”

“You have nothing to say to me, Mr. Monroe.”

“I apologize for raising my voice,” he continued, bowing his head slightly.

“No. No. If you mean to offer anything other than a full and sincere apology, not only for the unforgivable words you just uttered, but also for all the slanders and stories you circulated against my husband in the past, I have no interest in hearing it.”

Monroe frowned. “If you mean…the business with the Reynolds papers was hardly my doing. Your husband—”

“What my husband did was a matter we have long since settled between us. But that the rest of the world was involved was very much your doing. He has earned my forgiveness. You’ve never even bothered to ask it.”

“Mrs. Hamilton—”

“And you now have the…the gall to come into my home, drink my refreshments, and then threaten the person I hold dearest in the world. Please leave, Mr. Monroe. Now.”

He stared at her for a long moment. Burr patted at his shoulder, encouraging him forward. Just before Burr himself stepped out, though, he glanced back at her husband. “You’re a real pain in the ass, Ham. You know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” Alexander had the nerve to look fond as he addressed Burr.

“Out,” she insisted.

Burr at least had the decency to avert his eyes as he passed her, collecting their coats and urging Monroe out the front door without another word.

When the door had closed, she looked back at Alexander, still sitting in the middle of the room. He gave her plaintive look. “I’m so sorry, Betsey. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. Or for you to be pulled into the middle of it.”

She pointed in the direction the two men had just disappeared, her hand shaking slightly from rush of rage and fear that coursed through her. “That man is never, ever setting foot in my home again.”

“Of course. Never again.”

Promises, promises—how he could make them. Her heart was still beating in her throat.  He rolled forward and took her hand, placing a kiss to the back of her fingers.

She softened as she looked back at him, calming somewhat with his easy agreement and solid feeling of his hand in hers. The reason for his insistence on the meeting in the first place re-occurred to her, and she felt a niggle of concern despite herself. “Do you think he’ll still put forward the proposal to Congress?”

“Yes.” He sounded completely confident. “He doesn’t have a choice. Jemmy will back me if it comes to a contest, and he knows it. I just don’t want to lose time on the argument when every minute counts. We’re too close, balanced on the edge of a precipice. I’ll not let our experiment fail over pigheadedness and pride.”  

She considered the exchanged she’d walked in on again, eyes locked on her husband. “You said that to him, didn’t you? You goaded him into shouting at you.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “I do so enjoy winding him up with impotent rage.”

She wanted to be angry with him, but amusement was quickly outpacing the sensation. Damn him, his charm, and his sweet smile, she thought. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head at him. Relief washed over his face.

“I really didn’t mean to drag you into it, though, my dearest.” He kissed her hand again, looking more relaxed. “Though I confess I enjoyed watching you kick him to the curb. My darling mongoose.”

His darling mongoose, indeed, she huffed internally.

[alj4890]

Angst Prompt

Requested follow-up to One Fateful Night

Part 2: The Dark Before the Dawn

A\N Sorry again for One Fateful Night’s angst. This picks up right after and goes a little into the future for Liam and those that survived the earthquake. It gets pretty dark in places and is long, but I think it ends on a hopeful note.  

@gkittylove99 @darley1101 @krsnlove @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30​ @yourmajesty09 @mom2000aggie @ofpixelsandscribbles @twinkleallnight @lodberg @sweatyrysconnoisseur @motorcitymademadame

Masterlist

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Unable to speak his reasons why he couldn't do it, Liam left that in the hands of his father and Regina. He didn't want to face the people without Riley by his side, without Drake standing steadfast, without Maxwell's unfailing optimism, without Hana's gentle support.

He had simply lost the will to fight.

Olivia had returned with him to the palace. Neville soon followed, insisting that he would do whatever Liam needed him to. Kiara, devastated by Penelope's death had retreated back to her family estate. Rashad was sent to Domvallier to recover from his injuries. Bastien refused to take time off and was doing his duties from a wheelchair.

Liam ignored all of it. He went to his chambers and remained secluded from the world for days. He refused entry to anyone who knocked. He simply sat there staring at the few mementos he had of those he had lost.

He flipped through the photographs Maxwell had insisted on taking of the three of them through the years. He paused at the few his mother was in, wishing she was here now to tell him how to move on from something like this. She had encouraged his friendships with Maxwell and Drake, knowing he would need them to face life in the public eye.

And now he would never have them again.

Setting the old album aside, he reached for the key chain Riley had given him the night of the Coronation. Thinking of that night and their confessions of love only to be so cruelly parted...his head dropped as he carefully set it back on the table. Next he picked up the pearl he had given her. The plans and hopes they had while meeting in secret. It had helped him through every moment he was kept from her side.

He then lifted the photograph Anna had taken of them for their engagement. Liam's fingers trembled as they brushed against the image of Riley. Her smile so warm. Her eyes so filled with joy.

Reaching for a decanter, he attempted to metaphorically drown his sorrows. In one night he had lost everything he had held dear. How was he to go on from this? There was no enemy to slay, no way to find those he loved and rescue them. Nothing. Nothing except funerals to attend. Nothing but giving them to the cold, unforgiving dirt.

All he had ahead of him was visits to graveyards. He knew his father didn't have much longer to live. It would be just one more loss in his already devastated heart.

Death was what his life had become. He had feared that when his mother was poisoned. Many a night he would wake up crying at the thought of being completely and utterly alone. This long forgotten fear rose up within him, showing that it hadn't been a nightmare. It had been a premonition.

Dropping his head in his hands, he sobbed into the void that had become his only companion.

*****************

Armed with a key, Olivia forced her way into Liam's room. With the first of the many funerals coming up, she knew she needed to get him prepared. The public would be looking toward their king, needing to see him standing against the worst life could throw at him.

Her steps faltered when she saw him. He was slumped over in a chair. Empty decanters sat in front of him, a few tipped over on the table with drops of whiskey spilled out.

The tumbler he had been using had fallen to the floor. The remnants of his drink had stained the Persian rug. His clothes were rumpled. Nearly a week's growth of beard had darkened his sunken cheeks. Dark circles under his eyes completed the look of a man trying to escape his tormented thoughts.

Olivia had to harden her heart. There had always been something about Liam that brought out an unusual softness in her. But that was not what he needed. He needed order. A purpose. Something to get him to step back out in the world.

Grabbing his shoulder she shook him hard.

"Liam!" She snapped in a louder than usual tone. "Wake up!"

He opened his bloodshot eyes with a slight groan. He weakly raised a hand to his head while trying to escape her unyielding grip.

"Get ready." She ordered. "We've got things to do."

"What things?" His hoarse voice cracked.

She ignored his question.

He forced himself to focus on her bustling about gathering his clothes before going into his bathroom. He could hear her starting a shower.

She returned with a determined set to her chin. "Hurry up." She pulled him out of his chair. "We don't have all day."

He stumbled forward, catching himself against a dresser.

Olivia bit her lip as she watched him painstakingly retreat into the bathroom.

Taking a deep breath, she bent to the task of straightening his room. Her gaze fell on the objects he had been using for his only source of company. Tears sparked her eyes when she noticed the photographs.

It wasn't fair. Liam might think he was the only one to suffer with his losses, but she was just as deeply affected. They had been her friends too. A family of sorts, one of her choosing after losing her own at such a young age. She couldn't help but depend on them. Maxwell had been the chipper, up for anything brother she wouldn't have thought she needed. Drake had been her sparring partner, always keeping her wit sharp for any upcoming altercation. Riley...

How had the one she never could quite see completely as her enemy become an actual friend? She had won Liam from Olivia, and yet...and yet Olivia had been grateful. If there was anyone in this world who saw and loved Liam like she herself had, then it was Riley.

And how could she not care for someone who did as Liam deserved?

It was all for nothing. Olivia was left alone once more. Perhaps even more so than when her parents had died. At least then she had been able to lean on Liam. Now he could barely function. It was now her turn to be the one he could depend on in their friendship.

He stepped out, pulling her from her thoughts. He stood there as if at a loss of what to do, whether he should even bother putting forth an effort.

Olivia brought him a jacket and held it for him to slip on.

"We'll eat on the road." She told him, giving him a push out the door.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"A few places." She told him. She glanced back behind her where Regina had remained out of sight. The worry on the Queen Mother's face eased some at seeing Liam out of his room. She nodded gratefully to Olivia before retreating in the shadows to report this small success to Constantine.

****************

Liam stared out the window as Olivia drove him through the capital. He ignored the people going about their day as if the world had not stopped. He didn't bother to focus as he used to on the state of the roads or on some of the older, historical buildings.

He simply didn't care. He figured it was only a matter of time before these things were taken from him too. The terrorists were probably lying in wait for when they could destroy the last of what had once meant something to him.

"I don't suppose you've spoken to anyone at the hospital." Olivia said, cutting through the oppressive silence.

Liam merely shook his head.

She waited in the hopes he would ask about Hana and Madeleine. She needed to see that the old, kind to a fault Liam was still there, only buried amongst his immense sorrow.

The silence stretched once more between them.

"I have." She said, fighting against tears of frustration.

He didn't move. He simply stared out the passenger window.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Madeleine's recovery is slow yet steady. The doctors believe though that her fair skin will always be marked with scars."

Liam didn't even blink.

Olivia grit her teeth. "Hana though has not been having an easy time."

Liam stiffened somewhat at that.

Olivia pressed on. She was determined to get him talking. Hopefully once he started he could get rid of the despair that was destroying him.

"Her parents want to take her home to Singapore but the doctors don't believe she is strong enough yet." She swallowed down her own lump of emotion. "When she was told of...of..."

Liam finally face forward. "Told of everyone dying on us? Told that I had failed in saving anyone?" His bitterness slashed across Olivia's stuttered denial at that last one. "Told that her life would never be the same again?"

"Liam, you--"

"I don't want to hear it." He responded.

"You must!" She yelled, hitting her steering wheel in her anger.

Liam didn't flinch. He didn't act like he had even heard her.

"Hana needs you! Madeleine does too." She turned into the hospital parking lot. "We all need you to--"

"To what?" He roared. "Give more empty promises that we will get through this? That we will find our way back?" He jerked his seatbelt off. "I respect them too much to lie to them. The last thing they need is a broken man trying to rally their spirits." He opened the door. "Find someone else, Olivia. I'm not the man they need."

"You are!" She scrambled out, tears falling down her cheeks unheeded. "Liam, we all need you right now. Friday is the first set of funerals. We need you there to help us say goodbye."

Liam walked off without a word.

"Liam, please!" She pleaded, chasing after him. "Even if you can't speak during the service, let those of us who love you help you."

He paused before gently pulling his arm out of her grip. "I'm sorry, but I can't do what you ask of me." His bright blue eyes were filled with tears as he raised them to hers. "I'm done, Olivia."

"Liam, you're allowed to grieve." She reached for his hands. "Take as long as you need. But your friends and country need to grieve with you."

"They won't after I inform them of my decision." He took a deep breath. "I'm giving it up."

"Giving what up?" She asked.

"Everything. The crown. The throne." He looked about. "I'm leaving this country and moving somewhere that isn't filled with memories."

"You can't!" Olivia grabbed the lapels of his jacket, shaking him in desperation. "You can't let the terrorists win! We--"

"Why not?" He bit out. "They might be the right rulers for Cordonia. My legacy has been nothing but death. My brother gave it all up because the pressures were slowly killing him. My mother died trying to do what was right. My father gave up the crown because he is dying. I've done nothing but bring death and destruction to those I love the most." He gripped her wrists and wrenched them from his jacket. "I can't do it anymore."

"Yes, you can." She followed him when he walked off again. "Just try a little longer."

He laughed bitterly. "Try? Why? My reign is already marked with uncertainty. I'm a king without a queen or heir." He released a deep frustrated breath. "What's the point, Liv? Every time I try, I get knocked down. Losing...losing Riley, Drake, and Maxwell..." He shook his head. “It is too much.”

"Promise me you won't decide anything today." Olivia pleaded. "Please?"

He ran his hands over his face. He looked up as if for divine intervention before nodding. "I won't hold the press conference today."

"Good." She relaxed some. She knew now that she would have to fight him these next few weeks over his decision. The last thing she wanted to see was his giving up on his destiny in the midst of his grief.

Slipping her arm into the bend of his she tugged him toward the hospital.

*******************

"Come in." Hana called out.

She didn't want anymore visits from her parents but couldn't bring herself to tell them. Hearing that her marriage prospects were now completely gone due to her injury had done nothing but bring her further into depression. Did they not see that what she had lost was so much worse than the lower half of her left leg?

Her dearest friends, her best friends, those that knew her better than anyone on earth were gone.

And I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get a chance to save them. Nothing.

Olivia smiled softly at Hana. "I brought a surprise."

Hana sat up straighter when she saw Liam sheepishly appear.

A sob burst from her lips as she reached for him to hug.

Liam's Adam's apple bounced a few times as he struggled to swallow his sorrow. He couldn't ignore her need for comfort and hurried over to hug her. Olivia quietly stepped out so they could grieve in privacy.

"Oh Liam!" Hana cried against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry." She clutched the material of his leather jacket, wishing they would all wake up and realize this was nothing but a dream. 

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I couldn't save them." His tears began to fall freely. "I failed them, Hana. I failed you. I failed everyone!"

She pulled back and gently cupped his face. Blinking through her tears she shook her head. "You didn't fail any of us, Liam. You saved me and Madeleine. Bastien. Rashad and--"

He clung to her. "What am I to do now? Hana, you know I can't face life without Riley. How can I go on after this?"

"I don't know." Hana hugged him again. "But you know Riley wouldn't want us giving up on life." She glanced down at her legs under the blankets. "No matter how hard it is, she would encourage us to keep fighting."

"Hana, Riley was my life. My heart." He lowered his head into his hands. "She was my strength to keep moving forward no matter what was thrown at us."

Hana reached from some tissues, sharing a few with him. "I know. She gave me the bravery I needed to tell my parents that I was more than a marriage prospect for some noble. Now..." Her breath hitched. "Now I don't know what I am or what to do."

Liam moved off her bed and collapsed in one of the chairs by her bed. "What are we going to do?"

Her hand found his. "We help each other. Isn't that what we would hope Riley, Maxwell, and Drake would do if they had lived and you and I had died?"

He wished that had been the case. Not Hana, but that he had been the one Death had come for. He would gladly switch places with them, anything to escape this unending ache in his heart.

He felt Hana's hand squeeze his.

He looked up and saw her trying to be brave for his sake.

Liam didn't know if he could. "I've been thinking of abdicating."

Her lips parted in shock. "Abdicating!"

"Everywhere I turn there is a memory of them." He explained. "I..." He gave up speaking.

"They wouldn't want you doing that, Liam." She reminded him.

He knew she was right, but he couldn't think of moving on as if his very heart had not been ripped from his chest.

"They say when a person loses a loved one that they should wait a year before making a big decision." Hana said, lacing her fingers with his. "Maybe that is what we both should do. My parents want me to go back to Singapore, and I've been tempted to so I won't be reminded of everything."

Liam slowly nodded. "I wouldn't blame you if you did move back home."

"I think what I need is to be with you. Olivia. Madeleine. All of those we still have." She tried to explain. "I need those memories, no matter how much they hurt, to help me heal."

Seeing that he didn't know how to take her advice she gently squeezed his hand again. "Why don't we wait on any decision and just try to get through these next few days."

He eyed her suspiciously. "Did Olivia tell you to say something like that?"

Hana felt her first laugh in over a week burst out. It sounded hollow, as if her body had forgotten how to make the joyful sound. "She might intimidate me at times, but no, she didn't put me up to this."

His lips curved somewhat before settling once more into a thin line. He knew from her words and Olivia's that no one would accept his abdication.

*****************

Madeleine did her best to look presentable. She picked up the small mirror she had insisted be left on the small bedside table. Her eyes touched on the angry, red scars gracing her face and head. Her arm and legs bore others that were long and jagged.

Taking a deep breath, she fluffed the hair that had not been lost in the deep gashes to her scalp. Refusing to give in to the need to cry over something she had no control over, she smoothed her covers and waited to greet her king.

Olivia had shared with her what he wanted to do. Madeleine knew what the fiery duchess wanted her to say and act when she saw him. But she thought she knew how best to respond.

With plan in place, she looked up when she heard a knock to her door.

Liam came in at her bidding him to do so.

He didn't pause in his walk to her bedside like so many did when they first saw the extent of her injuries. She felt her proud façade crack at that. Only Liam would be kind enough to pretend there was nothing unusual about her current hideous state.

Her own parents had handled it horribly. Her mother had been unable to look directly at her without bursting into tears. Her father had bemoaned the fact that she hadn't been able to trap either prince or any other well standing noble before her looks were destroyed.

Just what any young woman needed to hear when awakening from a near death experience.

Liam bowed over her hand while placing a kiss upon her scarred knuckles. "My lady, forgive me for not checking on you sooner."

Madeleine swallowed before asking him to sit. "How have you been?"

His red eyes lifted to hers. "How do you think I've been? I've lost three people I loved. The country lost them along with Penelope and her family. Portivira is destroyed. The Sons of the Earth burned the royal orchard." He slumped in his seat. "I've lost everything, Madeleine."

"Not everything." She corrected. "I know I'm not Riley or Drake or Maxwell." She grimaced at trying to find the right words. "But I am here for you in whatever capacity you need."

"Thank you." He replied automatically. "Your dedication to Cordonia is to be commended."

"It's not--what I meant--" Madeleine closed her eyes briefly when tears pricked her eyes. "Liam, I meant I will be there for you. As a friend." Her nose wrinkled. "As odd as that sounds, I am sincere."

He nodded once more. "Thank you."

They both sat there lost in thought.

"Do you," he cleared his throat, "do you think I should abdicate?"

Madeleine's eyes narrowed in thought. She knew her next words could possibly be the most important of her life.

"Have you done something that could or has harmed Cordonia?"

His eyes widened some. "No."

"Do you no longer care for our people?" She asked.

"No, of course not." He muttered.

"Do you not wish to help them?"

"It isn't anything like that."

"So, your reason is something more selfish." Her green eyes hardened when they met his. "Like Leo, you decide to walk away when ruling becomes too much work."

Liam got to his feet. "It isn't like Leo's reasons! I lost the woman I was to marry. My best friends! Everywhere I turn I am haunted by what was and what could have been. How can I possibly fight Cordonia's enemies when I've lost my sources of strength?"

Madeleine sniffed dismissively. "Every person has lost someone that was their support. If everyone gave up when that happens then this world would crumble to dust."

Liam took a step back from her cold tone. "Madeleine, don't you--"

"Don't I what? Miss any of them? Are saddened by their deaths?" She allowed her sorrow to show. "Of course I do. I might not have been thrilled to be tossed over for Riley, but I would have had to be a blind fool to not notice what she did for you and Cordonia. The same for Maxwell and Drake."

Liam sat back down. "Then what do you think I should do?" He looked down while his bottom lip trembled. "Riley made me a better king."

"Then by all means think of her when you must make a decision." Madeleine told him. "Liam, for whatever reason, fate has placed you as King of Cordonia. You." She stressed. "We've all known you were the better ruler when Leo was our crown prince. It is a great burden, but one that you've never hesitated to carry."

He ran a hand over his eyes. "I wanted to do what I could for the country."

Her lips eased into an approving smile. "As all rulers should be." Reaching over, she patted his shoulder. "I know it won't be easy, but I can't think of anyone better to guide us into the future."

"I feel so lost." He admitted to her. "How can I guide anyone when I no longer have the ones who were my own compass?"

"You'll find a way." She said with certainty. "It may take time, but you will."

He sighed before running his hands through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Madeleine."

"For what?" She asked. "The earthquake was something no one could stop."

"I know." He stood up. "But I'm still sorry."

She nodded in acceptance.

Liam kissed her hand once more and promised to do better checking on her and Hana as he left her room.

Madeleine slumped back against her pillows when her door clicked shut. Tears trickled down her cheeks as she hoped she had somehow said the right thing to him.

Turning to bury her face in her pillows, she allowed the tears to be for herself, Liam, and those they had lost.

******************

That afternoon, Liam departed from Olivia and insisted taking a walk by himself. He went to the private beach and slipped out of his shoes and socks. Rolling up the cuffs of his pants, he began to walk slowly along the shore, allowing the waves to roll over his feet.

He flipped his collar up when the early fall breeze blew by, hinting at an incoming cold spell. He thought it served his mood perfectly. The summer that had once been his world had ended, bringing the cold cruel reality to crash down upon him.

His happily ever after had truly been a dream not meant for the real world. He should have known that he couldn't bring a fairy tale to life. It couldn't survive the cruelness of fate.

He continued his stroll while thinking of his visits with Olivia, Hana, and Madeleine. His conversations with them had only paused his decision. Even if he were to wait as long as Hana suggested before abdicating, what good would it do? He would still be unable to regain what he had lost.

"Liam?"

He paused and turned to see his father walking towards him.

"May I join you?" Constantine asked.

Liam gave a brisk nod before focusing once more on the waves lapping at his feet.

They walked on in silence for a spell. Constantine glanced every so often at Liam’s face, searching for any word that could possibly help his son.

"Who is next in line to the throne?"

Constantine stopped in his tracks. "Who is next in line?" His eyes narrowed in concern. "Why do you ask?"

Liam shrugged. "Shouldn't an unmarried, childless ruler know these things?"

"Son, you have your whole life stretched before you. Give yourself time to grieve and heal. Then--"

"My enemies are at the door." Liam snapped. "Even if I somehow survive them and whatever next hell Cordonia thrusts me into, I will still be without a wife or heir."

Constantine gestured weakly toward a set of lounging chairs. "Sit with me for a moment."

Liam's brief burst of anger turned to resignation when he noticed his father's trembles. Placing an arm around him, he helped ease Constantine down.

Liam took the chair next to his and focused on the ocean. He wondered how he could still find such beauty in it when it had been the final place Riley and Drake had lived.

"I'm going to abdicate, Father." He stated.

Liam was surprised by the silence that followed his declaration. He expected his father to be pleading with him to reconsider or furious for even thinking it.

Instead, he found his father looking more sympathetic than he had ever appeared before.

"I made the same decision when your mother was taken from me." Constantine admitted softly.

Liam's eyes widened. "You did?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "Your mother was everything to me." His gaze became distant as he was once again in the past. "She was life itself, my strength." His lips curved into a bitter smile. "She never held back her thoughts and opinions on how we should rule." He met Liam's eyes. "I loved her with my entire heart."

Liam ran his hands down his face. "What," his voice was raspy, "what made you decide to remain king?"

"I'm afraid it wasn't one out of duty or believing anyone needed me." Constantine admitted. "My reasons were purely selfish. I knew the only way to find the ones who took my Eleanor from me was to be in absolute power." His hand balled into a fist at the memories. "For years, vengeance kept me focused on my kingly duties."

"When did it change?" Liam asked.

"It was actually you that opened my eyes."

"Me?" Liam's brow furrowed. "What did I do?"

"You were ten years old." Constantine's lips curved into a tender, proud smile. "Leo was his usual, rebellious self. He had just turned sixteen and was supposed to attend his first official ball. He was trying to get out of it when he found out he would be obligated to dance with every visiting nobles’ daughter, regardless of how attractive they were."

Liam's eyes narrowed as he tried to recall that night.

"As I was walking past the ballroom, I heard your gentle, yet firm correction to his behavior. You were reminding him what a good prince was supposed to do. Be there for his subjects. Kind. Understanding. Sacrificial." He chuckled again. "It was just the slap to the face I needed."

Liam slumped back in his chair. "That ideal is meaningless."

Constantine slowly nodded. "If I had heard it after your mother died, I would have dismissed it too." He reached over and placed his hand on top of his son's. "Time doesn't necessarily heal all wounds, but it does help in how we view them." He swallowed. "There were years where the very thought of your mother brought me to my knees. Her loss was like a festering wound that never eased."

Liam knew that feeling all too well.

"But now, though I miss her just as much as I did before; my memories of her bring me comfort." He squeezed Liam's hand. "They make me grateful for every single second I was allowed with her."

Liam blew out a shaky breath. "Well, unfortunately I can't find and fight the earthquake that took Riley. I don't see the point in being king for revenge."

"True." Constantine nodded. "But Riley, Drake, and Maxwell believed in you. They went on the unity tour for you, for your reign to be successful. Not for themselves. Not for Cordonia. All because they thought you and you alone were worthy to be king."

Liam swallowed a few times as stray tears fell from his blue eyes. "I don't deserve it. I didn't deserve their faith or..." He huffed while wiping his eyes. "I'm not worth it."

"They would say you are." Constantine swung his legs to the side and pushed himself up. "You remaining king is a way to honor them and their efforts to help you be the best one you can be."

Liam pressed his palms to his eyes as a sob tore through him. When he felt his father's arms come around him, he buried his head against his shoulder while shaking with his cries.

Constantine gently rubbed his back while promising he was there for him. That he wouldn't have to go through this alone, that he had him, Regina, and those of his friends that had survived.

Liam clung to him, unable to speak.

Father and son clung to each other as the sun set.

********************

The next few weeks had Liam attending and speaking at the funerals of those that were no longer with them. He didn't bother to try and mask his heartache in front of his people. The nation was touched by his honesty and mourned with their young king.

Constantine and Regina remained by his side. Olivia and Neville traveled with him to each graveyard. Hana and Madeleine were allowed to attend some of the funerals. Rashad stuck by their sides, even helping to push Hana's wheelchair.

Seeing them each time he took the podium reminded him of why he was doing this. His father's words about honoring his beloved and best friends gave him the strength to speak of the type of people they had been.

He didn't know how he got through those first few weeks. Though it took a great effort, he forced himself to get back to his duties. Routine helped him remain focused on what he needed to do and gave him opportunities to continue to grieve.

The rest of the unity tour was canceled. Liam instead spent his efforts in rebuilding Portivira and in replanting the apple orchard. Out of respect and because he couldn't stand the thought of a ball without Riley, he canceled the rest of the year's planned balls and palace events.

With little chance to catch the king in a position that would bring about his downfall, the Sons of the Earth were soon desperate and making foolish decisions to attack during the daylight. Many were rounded up by Bastien's elite task force. Anton was found holed up in a long forgotten Nevarkis stronghold and died in a shootout with the king's guards.

After months of turmoil and uncertainty, Cordonia was once again in a state of peace.

Constantine lived long enough to see it come about. With his sons and wife at his bedside, he quietly passed away after telling them each how much he loved them.

Liam kept working. After two years, he hosted his first ball, an engagement one for Rashad and Hana. He had smiled and gave a sweet toast to the couple, all while remembering his own happiness he had once had with Riley.

As the years went by, he was able to think back on Riley, Drake, and Maxwell with a soft smile on his face.

Then the fifth year as king, he was approached by Madeleine.

"Liam, I think it's time for you to host another social season with potential suitors."

A denial rose to his lips.

She held up her hand to silence it. "I know, but you need an heir."

"There is already an heir. The throne goes to Olivia if I die."

"Liam." She huffed. "The crown needs to be stable. The people want to see you happy with a family." She shrugged her shoulders. "Cordonians are a sentimental bunch."

A family. That had been his heartfelt wish for years. Could he do that? Have one without his Riley?

"I will think about it." He conceded.

Madeleine smiled at him. "Good." She curtsied and left him alone.

Liam rocked back in his desk chair. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"My love," he whispered. "What should I do? You were the only one I could ever picture myself marrying. Mother to my children." His brow creased. "Am I ready to try to find something that can’t possibly compare to what I had with you?"

He closed his eyes, wishing he could find the answer.

"Liam, dear?"

He opened his eyes and looked up at Regina.

She smiled warmly at him. "You fell asleep. Dinner is ready."

He apologized and rose to follow her out.

He halted mid step as the afternoon sun glinted on Regina's silver hair. The answer he needed was right there. He looked back up to the heavens.

His lips curved softly. "I understand. Though no one can ever compare to you, perhaps I can have the kind of luck my father had."

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

meat!

well that seems like a fairly conclusive response (only one person voted for just candy). you did this to yourselves

Title: soma

Summary: What’s that thing people say about ignorance?

Notes:

This takes into account and is somewhat of a followon to the stuff established in these three remixes of melliferous, so if you’re confused, i am SO sorry. it’s not that much better from this end of things, trust me.

less of an epilogue, more of an addition or maybe a series of vignettes in the melliferous multiverse. because apparently that’s a thing now. this is dubiously canon. take it as you will.

Warnings: for the usual melliferous content – bugs and drugs, death, unreality, body horror, cannibalism. And also corpse desecration, and dismemberment! If any of these even vaguely seem like they might upset you, please turn back now.

For I was hungry, and I ate you. I was thirsty, and I drank you. [sic] – Matthew 25:35

*

i.

“You know what’s bugging me?” Thomas says, millions of cycles into all of this, and two swiftly-downed shot glasses into the last of Lady Seph’s newest round of stock.

“Haha, bugs.” Patton lowers his glass of starfire briefly to give a weak fingergun in Thomas’s direction. “Because – you know, everything’s bugs down here for some reason?”

Logan is halfway to drunk and halfway to dead already. It’s just one of those lifetimes. The fact that’s he’s mostly dust and barely able to hold up his glass does not, however, stop him from theorizing, “You know, it really is entirely possible that they aren’t actually insects, and their carapacian forms are a result of some form of convergent evolution.”

“Stop trying to apply logic to them,” Roman moans. He makes a face and raises a sleeve to his mouth to try to scrub the taste of honey off of his tongue. It lingers strangely, sweetly. “Haven’t you ever heard of willing suspension of disbelief? We’re not meant to understand this.”

Remus is dissolving. But cheerfully. “Yeah, it’s more fun this way!”

“For a certain definition of fun, sure,” is Virgil’s muttered take.

“Or maybe the evolution path was divergent in form. A potential split somewhere along the line, dividing from beings of a celestial persuasion into what we find ourselves as today into insectoid and humanoid, both created in their image...”

“It does appear that God has an inordinate fondness for beetles,” says Janus. “Holistically, that is.”

Thomas frowns. “...Guys, are we having oblique yet resonant Socratic dialogue again?”

“When are we not? Someone check for cameras, I’d hate for this one to go up online, unedited,” Janus replies, somewhat sardonically, and raises his own glass. “Refill, if you would.”

A flurry of flowers, a fluttering of wings, and good old Auntie Seph is back again with another bottle of gods-knows-what. “Y’all ain’t sticking around for long this time, huh?”

“A few more minutes, maybe,” Virgil confirms as she passes by and swishes back into the darkness of the bar to continue her evening rounds. “I think I’m really going off steak at this point, honestly.”

“What were you saying, Thomas?” Roman asks, trying to sit up straighter. “Something bugging you? Something you can’t quite, um – ”

“Bee-lieve?” Patton supplies.

“Sure. Uh. The steak,” Thomas says. “I had some this time, you know? It was...” He struggles for words.

“Delicious,” Virgil says with a grimace.

“Remarkably well-seasoned for something drenched in honey and not much else,” Roman comments, who had also partaken in the steak this time around for some unknown, unknowable reason.

“Human!” Remus crows, teeth flashing white in the dimness of the lowly-lit bar. “Soylent Green is people! Or did I make that joke already...?”

“We all knew it was human flesh, Remus,” Logan sighs, listing even further sideways. “It’s not as if there are any cows down here to harvest the steak from, let alone any other animals. And if you examine the entomology and feeding habits of the American vulture bee – ”

“The humans around here don’t look very, um. Meaty,” Thomas says. “Just saying. It’s – they’re – ”

“Hollow? They would be,” Janus points out. “In case you haven’t noticed, the bees are sucking them dry. They’re all essentially husks.”

“So where does she get the steak from?” Thomas asks again, and nobody has an answer for them, most likely because they’re all far too busy shrivelling away into the darkness.

“Oh, never mind,” Patton yawns. “We’re dead anyway. What does it matter?”

“...Good point. I’ll work it out next time.” Thomas studies the bar with bleary eyes. The faded photographs and portraits on the walls, the legions of shades drinking in their usual solemn silence. “So where do you go when you die if you’re already in hell?”

“Hell 2,” Remus suggests, slumping against the bar, “This Time With More Capitalism.”

“Not too loud, you’ll give my wife ideas,” Seph tells them from across the bar, and raises her glass to them. A farewell toast. “And don’t you think too hard about the steak thing. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.”

And then it’s dust to dust, and the wheel begins to turn again.  

*

ii.

The party’s in full swing when Virgil says to Thomas, quite frankly, “I hate parties.”

The lights are bright above them. The air is fresh with the birth of spring, and the music is loud and ringing through the air like a hailing chorus fit for the arrival of a queen.

Thomas clears his throat after a moment. “Okay, not that I don’t appreciate the commentary... but, uh, Virge-?”

“I’m here because you’re anxious,” Virgil supplies, folding his arms and resting his head on top of them. “Parties, man. Just stay home and browse Netflix for the millionth time, why don’t you?”

“It’s good for me to get out, and also, I’m pretty sure you don’t need to be here for me to be anxious. It happens anyway. That wasn’t what I was going to ask.” He rests his hand on a nearby tree and watches Logan and Patton attempting to reconcile their two extremely different ideas of ‘dancing’, on the fly, on the dance floor. “...Why are you sitting on my shoulders?”

“I like being tall,” replies Virgil.

“Hm,” says Thomas. “Okay, fair enough.”

Janus is over in the far corner chatting with the grinning man; the one with the hat and the constantly-in-motion wings and the laugh like the rattling of a lock clicking open. They’re talking about car chases and unlikely escapes and flights into the night, they’re comparing false identities and secrets they’ve never told anyone else; they’re lying wildly to each other.

On top of a table of cakes and sweetmeats piled high to the heavens, Remus perches and engages in deep, fascinated conversation with a lady whose crystal-cut eyes shine in the bright sunlight. They speak of rot, of rebirth, of blazing heat and screaming cold.  Her wings are familiar. Nothing else about her is. That’s another story, though, one to be told later.

“Well, this is new,” says Seph, sauntering over. A crooked flower crown rests in her hair with all the colors of spring, and the wine glass her long spindly fingers are curled securely around seems to be filled with actual proper honest-to-god wine. Her eyes are bright, her coat is long, her wings are radiant. “Now, what brings a scattered disaster of a man like you to a party like this?”

Thomas blinks. Virgil’s arms, looped loosely around the top of his head, tighten. “I’m... sorry, do I know you?”

“In a roundabout sort of way, maybe,” she replies, and swirls the wine before slurping it up with that long, long tongue of hers. “Lady of the spring, at your service. You here by invite, or-?”

“Hey, I can’t actually remember how we got here,” Virgil mutters into Thomas’s hair.

Thomas hovers, suddenly extremely worried. “Should I. Like. Leave?”

“Not a worry. The blooming of spring is a party for everyone,” she says wisely, and then grins wide and sharp and tosses her empty glass to one side, where it shatters into crystal shards and light. “‘Specially me. Even if I’m late. ‘Specially if I’m late. Have you tried the food? It’s to die for, and for once ya don’t even have to die to eat it!”

“...Is this a fairy ring?” Virgil says suspiciously, peering down at her from his perch on Thomas’shoulders. “You legally have to tell us if it’s a fairy ring, otherwise it’s entrapment.”

Seph laughs. “Naw. Different story, that. Don’t worry too much about the details, just have fun – it ain’t gonna last for very long.” She adjusts the flowers adorning her head, tucking chrysanthemum blooms back to stop them falling over her eyes, and extends a hand in Thomas’s direction. Her long fingers wiggle; an invitation. “Here, come on and dance, kiddo, while we’ve still got the time.”

Virgil sighs and complains but gets down from Thomas’s shoulders with a catlike tumble that leaves him crouched on the ground, and he claps Thomas on the shoulder before going to join Remus.

Seph isn’t any threat. Not here, not to them. She’s a friend, in a roundabout sort of way.

“All right,” says Thomas. “So, let’s dance.”

The music blares, rising with brass and percussion and strings struck with purpose and energy both. Out onto the dance floor with them, and into the fray. Seph dances like she drinks – careless and wild; sloppy but purposeful. She whirls them around, cackling in time with the music-from-nowhere, kicking up her heels in the dirt. She’s a different person entirely, up here, full of light and laughter and a kind of rusted-and-rough love for everything around her.

Thomas lets her lead and lets her swing and swirl him around in mad spirals, wild and free as a honeybee in a summertime frame of mind. They laugh and yell and stomp and he thinks he might have started to sing along at some point, although there’s no earthly way he should know the words.

“But what about the steak?” Thomas asks as she pulls away and he stumbles back, dizzy and high on the thrill of life.

“What about the steak?” she replies, and there’s another glass of wine in her hand already. “Don’t you know what they say about ignorance? See you when winter comes around, sugar. Let’s hope we get it right this time, hey?”

*

iii.

Virgil sits and goes at it with a fork-and-knife, breaking the steak up into bite-sized chunks. It’s tough and he has to saw a bit to cut through. Juices bubble and spill across his plate, honey pooling in concentric little patterns. The centre of it is red-rare; just like he likes. He spears a chunk with his fork, and holds it to his lips.

He doesn’t take a bite.

He says, “I don’t get why we have to do this.”

Remus says, “Sure you do, it’s what we do every time. I say ‘funny how it doesn’t feel like much of a choice at all’, and you say – ”

“This is some sort of cycle, isn’t it? Some kind of loop.”

“Uh, no?” Remus puts down his steak. (He doesn’t bother using the knife. His hands are sticky with honey and meat-juice. Although the honey is a kind of meat-juice too, if you think about it.) “You’ve never said that before. Usually it’s something sardonic to hide the fact that’s you’re extremely freaked out.”

“Remus,” says Virgil thoughtfully, still staring at his fork.

“Mm?”

“How often are you aware of the fact that we’re stuck in some kind of horrible time loop cycle?”

“Oh, only when it’s funny,” says Remus, and tears off a long, thick strip of meat from his meal with his back teeth.

“Right,” says Virgil. “Right, okay.” He pauses. “So, have we figured out where the steak comes from yet, or..?”

“Shh,” says Remus, sloppily raising a filthy-sweet finger to Virgil’s lips. “Don’t spoil the moment, Great Skittish Bake-Off. I never get invited over for family dinner, this is a novelty.”

“Gosh, I wonder why,” Virgil mutters, but shuts up and eats his damned steak like a good little cog in the machine.

*

iv.

“Okay, here’s another question,” Thomas says, tossing a stone into the Styx. It doesn’t make a sound, mainly because an infinite number maggots don’t tend to have much surface tension to break. “When you all went and decided ‘right, time to go get Thomas back from being extremely dead’...”

“Mm?” says Janus, sorting through their makeshift tacklebox with an absent look on his face.

“...Do you want to explain why your first thought was let's go to hell?”

Patton acquires an extremely shifty look on his face, and doesn’t reply. Instead, he casts his fishing line high and wide, and nods approvingly as the hook and lure and end of the line disappear into the seething mass of maggots.

“What are you even fishing for,” Virgil complains, trying to smudge excess honey off his clothes. “More maggots? It’s not like there’s any fish in that whole mess.”

“You don’t know that,” insists Patton, stubbornly optimistic. “There might be fish.”

“Dead fish, maybe,” Logan says dryly.

“Guys, no, seriously. What specifically did I do to make you think I was in hell. I mean, you weren’t wrong, but I – I really desperately need to know your reasoning, come on, don’t just – ”

Remus lies on his stomach several distance away. He’s also fishing, but he’s doing it with his bare hands. Which doesn’t seem very safe or sanitary, but stopping him would probably be more trouble than it’s worth. “Maybe he’s fishing for the steak,” he suggests.

“That’s even more unlikely than the fish,” Roman replies, snorting.

“Eh. ‘Bout as likely as anything that goes on down here.” Remus makes a wild swipe into the river and comes up with a bloody fistful of maggots. “Just saying. Maybe that’s how she gets her hands on the meat. She dredges through the river and pulls out the people that fell in and fries them all up for dinner, sweet and hot.”

“If the maggots don’t get to them first,” Virgil points out.

Remus holds up his hand obligingly, letting everyone see that his fistful of maggots are currently going absolutely to town on the meat of his hand. Bone is gleaming through the raw-hamburger mess of red and more red.

“I thought maggots only went for dead flesh,” Patton hums, and jolts as his fishing rod jerks and bends, straining against some pressure on the other end of the rod.

“Patton,” says Thomas glumly, having resigned himself to the fact that nobody at all is planning to answer his extremely pertinent and important question, “I have to break this to you, I really do, but we are all extremely dead.”

“Oh, yeah,” Patton says, reeling in his catch. “Ha! I keep forgetting about that, would you believe it? Now, I wonder what I caught...”

The catch is maggots. It’s all maggots, down there. Some are much livelier than others, but still maggots. Not that any of that’s going to stop Patton, though. What’s that thing people tend to say about hope?

*

v.

Back straight, hands clasped, chair pulled up tight as it can go to the lip of the kitchen table. His leg jitters on the underside of the table, his nervousness invisible in the darkness.

“I just want to see,” Thomas says.

Missus Hades hums lowly to herself, before raising her cigarette up and away, letting the smoke peel off towards the dark ceiling tiles. The lights buzz, or maybe that’s the bees. “You really won’t like what you find, you know.”

“Let me guess,” says Virgil, pressed up tight in the corner like he’s trying to melt into Thomas’s side. “We never do.”

“Don’t know about that,” she says. “Far as I’m aware, you’ve never asked. I just know you’re really not going to like it.”

The smoke doesn’t smell scratchy and musty in the way that Thomas expects cigarette-smoke to smell. It’s like a bonfire. Maybe a bit floral. A hint of nostalgia to it.

“We’ve been doing this for so long,” Logan says. The lighting in here does weird things to his glasses, makes them all honey-red-shiny and alien. He doesn’t come in here often, never has. “If it doesn’t impact us, surely there’s no harm in telling us. And if it does, we really would like to know.”

Missus Hades leans sideways, bends down to skritch-scratch one of her larger-than-average pets behind its ears, or where its ears would be. They seem to enjoy it, at the very least. Her smile is sideways and strange and barely genuine. “Now what’s that they say about curiosity, again?”

“There’s no cats down here,” Roman points out. “Just bees.”

“An unholy amount of bees,” Janus mutters, shifting back into the shadows. He never seems to like Hades’s house. Not that any of them do, but – well.

“Fine,” says Hades, and stubs out her cigarette, crushing it under the heel of one shining chitinous hand. “Now, follow me, and don’t you go and say I didn’t warn you.”

You’d think that the layout of Missus Hades’s house would be simple, looking at it from the outside. But two hallways down and two stairways up and three right turns (and not necessarily in that order, either) and none of them could even begin to recall how to get to where they’re going.

It’s in the middle of a hallway like any other, in fact. Just another room in a house far too vast for one person to live in alone. Looks like she and her wife haven’t quite fixed things up properly, not this time around, but oh well. There’s always time and there’s always next time.

The door is locked and the door is solid metal. Not a lot of metal down here, come to think of it, not in the buildings. It’s just for the garden gates and the deadbolts, and anything made to keep people out.

Hades fishes for keys in the deep thick pockets of her long skirts. Thomas watches, and so do everyone else. They’re all here, which is nice – it doesn’t happen all the time, but it’s better when they’re all together.

“All right,” says Hades, and the door unlocks with a click. She pushes it open, flicks on the lights, and steps back.

It’s clean; almost obsessively tidy. The knives are sharp and shiny, the equipment not new but definitely well-maintained. The butcher knows what she’s doing. It would almost be pristine if it weren’t for the bloodied countertop and the source of the meat, which is –

Thomas takes an instinctive step back.

There is a pile of him on the ground, in various states of decay and dismemberment.

He recognizes the shirts, even. Lots of flowers. He’s always liked the flower shirts. His gaze travels sideways, to the countertop where a new steak is being prepared.

Oh. All right.

Okay.

“I really don’t know what I expected,” Thomas says.

Hades shrugs; the shifting of a mountain. Her face is impassive, although she seems to be watching him closely. “Neither do I, if I’m completely honest.”

Virgil says, “I’m going to go throw up now,” and does. He at least goes to do it outside, which is kind of him. The smells’ awful enough in here as it is.  

“I’ve heard of eating your heart out, but...” Patton trails off, and winces, going pale. “...Nevermind. I’m going to go join Virgil.”

“Well, hey,” says Remus. “It kind of makes sense. You are what you eat, you know?”

“Remus,” says Logan flatly. “Please shut up.”

“You don’t like me much, do you?” Thomas asks.

Hades tilts her head; her version of a startled blink. She sounds genuinely confused when she asks, “What makes you say that?”

“You are repeatedly carving up Thomas’s lifeless remains to serve to variations on his personality as a last meal,” Logan summarizes, rather succinctly – his steady voice a neat counterpoint to the whiteness of his knuckles and the faint trembling of his lips. “Are you telling me that is how you treat people you hold any sort of affection for?”

“You were hungry,” comes the reply. “I never forced you to eat, only served you the meal. Why for the love of all things above and below would that mean I hold any sort of animosity towards you? I don’t not like you, Thomas Sanders. And trust me, if I disliked you, you’d know about it.”

Logan stares at her for a long, long moment, and then turns on his heel and walks out of the room as fast as he can.

After a moment, Roman follows, not even saying a word.

Janus takes Thomas’s arm, and steers him out of the butchery. “Next time, let’s pick something other than the steak to fixate on, hm?” he says, voice entirely too calm.

“Hm, I’ll drink to that,” Thomas agrees, letting himself be steered. “And drink. And drink. And keep on drinking. Hey, let’s go to Seph’s right now; I feel like developing a major alcohol dependency for the sake of my own mental health. Who’s with me?”

They pretty much all are, not that it matters. This time around is going to be over soon enough, just like the others, and it really is completely up to chance whether any of them will remember this, or will remember it in time, or will even care.

Hades, alone in the butcher’s room, picks up a clean knife. She weighs it from side to side, thoughtful. She doesn’t exactly understand all the fuss – meat is meat, after all, no matter where it comes from. She doesn’t regret sharing the information, only that her wife may be upset by the fallout.

She’s wearing her nice clothes, and she never likes staining the gold and white – it’s absolute hell to get out, and she of all people knows that’s not an exaggeration – so she replaces the knife and casts one last glance around the room before turning and stepping out with the shift shift shift of moving fabric and the gentle clik-clak of boots on marble floor.

The light clicks off.

The smell of meat lingers.

*

[riversofmars]

Sorry for the delay folks, rl responsibilies eating into precious writing time! But here we are, all pieces moving into place as we head for the final showdown, just a few more chapters! Hope you enjoy this one <3

Chapter 13: The Bells

“I’m sorry, Missy…“ Missy couldn’t tell if the regret in Clara’s voice was genuine or not. She was still struggling to catch up with what was happening.

“What are you…“ She stared at the heavy metal cuff Clara had snapped around her wrist. She had been so naive. She should have known Clara had had an ulterior motive when she had asked her here.

“This is my chance to prove myself.“ Clara replied giving her a half smile as she stepped away. It had been a cheap trick, asking for Missy’s help, using the connection they shared. Clara wasn’t exactly sure what exactly their relationship was, Missy had never given her much of an indication one way or another but they had something of a connection. And of course it was something the Emperor was only to happy to exploit once he found out about it. So here they were.

“You don’t have to do this.“ Missy said softly. “I should never have… you don’t need him, just come with me instead. Let me go and…“

“I think it’s a bit late for that.“ Clara cut in, her voice surprisingly bitter. “Just tell him what he wants to know.“

“What is this?“ Missy raised her arm with the cuff but before Clara could answer, the teleport engaged and the world around her disappeared.

Moments later, Missy materialised in a sort of tube. She needed a moment to orient herself. She stumbled out grasping for air and found herself in a dusty stone-walled room. She looked around for clues as to where she was but she couldn’t figure it out. She had been transported somewhere but where? She bent down and gathered a handful of dust from the floor, letting it run through her fingers as she looked around.

“I know you’re responsible for this, Emperor!“ She called into the quiet, just on the off chance someone as listening. Clara has said to tell him what he wanted to know… Whatever she was, she knew it was on the Emperor’s orders. Up ahead a door slid open by itself and Missy tentatively made her way out of the room. “The equipment in that room is consistent with an augmented ultra long-range teleport. So, I'm not more than a single light year from where I was, and I'm in the same time zone.“ She mused out loud as she looked down the empty corridor. There were windows now too and she stuck her head out. All she could see were very high towers, this appeared to be some kind of castle.

“Come on, chop chop, I’ve just been betrayed by the person I thought could help me put an end to you, my day can’t get much worse, let’s see about yours!“ Missy called out but there was no reply. If the Emperor was watching, he wasn’t inclined to talk. That was when she noticed the screens along the walls and she realised something was following her. She set off down the corridor but quickly found herself at a dead end, the last door revealing solid stone behind it. She turned round and found herself facing a hunched over creature, she couldn’t see its face if it even had one, just two pronged hands extending towards her and flies circling around it like they might around a corpse.

“I can’t actually see a way out of this… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, to just stop running, we’re all done for aren’t we…“ Missy swallowed as she contemplated the futility of her fight against the Emperor. She had been trying for so long and even using Clara had backfired. Maybe it was time she gave up the ghost. She wasn’t sure what would happen when the creature got to her but it certainly felt like death was stalking towards her.

“This is new. I'm scared. I just realised that I'm actually scared of dying.“ She admitted and suddenly, the creature stopped in it’s tracks.

“Something I said? What did I say?“ She mumbled as even the flies froze in mid air. “Why did you stop?“ Suddenly, there was creaking and banging and the castle started to move. The wall behind the door moved aside and Missy quickly stepped into the adjoining room.

Everything after that was a fight for survival and a quest for answers. What was this place? Why had she been brought here? And was there a way out? It didn’t take her long to realise this was a sort of torture chamber, specially designed for her. Exactly the sort of thing the Emperor would dream up. Everything, from the appearance of the stalking creature to the screens on the walls was designed to scare her. An automated haunted house, a mechanical maze.

It took a few more encounters with the creature until she realised that it was the revelation of secrets that stopped it and made the castle reset. That was also when she realised there was just one truth, one secret, she held that the Emperor would care about. One last victory that had eluded him for so long. She couldn’t possibly tell him. Protecting Gallifrey was the last thing she could do at this point and she was determined to do so.

When she finally encountered the wall of Azbantium that separated her from the outside world, the penny dropped at last. She would find a way out, even if it took a while. She’d done this before and she would do it again. She had been following her own breadcrumbs the entire time, she realised. There was a way out. And she would keep going, even if it was futile, even if it was just out of spite, she wouldn't let the Emperor break her.

As Missy smashed her fist into the wall she thought back to the moment that brought her here. Clara’s betrayal. She only had herself to blame. She was only grateful not to be able to remember all of this. Every time, every circle around, it was like the first time. It was only when she saw the stars that she realised how long it had actually been. But now she was so close to escaping. She smashed her fist into the unforgiving crystal and finally, four and a half billion years later, the wall crumbled.

The bright light of the binary suns blinded her, Missy needed a moment to orient herself. She blinked until finally, in the distance, the towers of the capital came into sharp focus and Missy felt her hearts lift with joy. Gallifrey. She was home at last and safe. She had escaped the Emperor’s torture chamber which, as she turned around, folded back in on itself and turned back into her confessionary dial. She bent down to pick it up but froze when suddenly, the noise of a TARDIS materialising sounded behind her.

——

“You’re not sleeping, are you.“ Missy rolled onto her side on the uncomfortable mattress. She was glad that both her and the Doctor were petite, else they would have had no space at all, but the Doctor was still close enough to keep her up with her fidgeting.

“Nope…“ The Doctor admitted and turned towards Missy. She had accepted that they had to get some rest but her brain simply refused.

“Why not?“ Missy asked though she could think of a thousand reasons to have sleepless nights.

“I feel like I’m missing something…“ The Doctor explained, slightly annoyed with herself.

“If you’re looking for a magical solution, Doctor, there isn’t one.“ Missy gave her a sad smile but the Doctor shook her head.

“That’s not it…“

“Then what?“ Missy frowned.

“Clara…“ The Doctor mused and lay back on her bed, staring up at the makeshift ceiling. “She doesn’t fit in.“

“What makes you say that?“ Missy asked, pushing herself up on her elbows.

“With the Ponds and River here… she’s the odd one out.“ The Doctor explained. Having witnessed the animosity between the Pond family and Clara, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that she didn’t really belong there. “When I bumped into my Clara, I was alone so I needed someone to travel with me… but in this universe the TARDIS would have been rather crowded already… So why did they ask her along if they don’t like her?“ The question had been bugging her for a while now.

“I don’t see how it matters.“ Missy replied in an off-hand sort of way that gave the Doctor pause.

“What’s your history with Clara?“ She frowned looking over to her.

“What makes you think I have…“ Missy started but the Doctor interrupted her:

“In my universe, you were responsible for bringing us together.“

“I see…“ Missy sighed.

“In my universe, Missy thought Clara and I would bring out the worst in each other, that we were two parts of an ancient prophecy about throwing the universe into chaos. Did you… do you have anything to do with Clara being with the Emperor?“ The Doctor sat up now. She could tell from the way Missy avoided her eyes that she was on to something.

“It was a stupid idea, it backfired…“ Missy knew she couldn’t lie to her but she didn’t exactly want to talk about it either.

“What were you trying to accomplish?“ The Doctor asked shaking her head a little to herself.

“Same as what you just said… I thought she would… destabilise them. Their relationships, their…“ Missy gestured a little but she didn’t really have the words. It had been stupid. “I thought it was working but then…“

“She fell in love with the Emperor as well, she betrayed you and gained her trust like that, didn’t she.“ The Doctor was quick at putting the pieces together and Missy laughed a little. She couldn’t help but be impressed.  

“How did you figure that out?“ She asked.

“You seemed genuinely concerned that she would get herself killed with whatever she’s planning.“ The Doctor explained. Missy’s opinion on Clara’s plan hadn’t gone unnoticed. “You care about her at least a tiny bit.“

“That really has no baring on anything anymore, that was a long time ago.“ Missy waved it off.

“How long?“ The Doctor asked as a disturbing thought occurred to her.

“Sorry?“ Missy frowned.

“How long ago was that for you? Cause there is something else that’s been bugging me…“ The Doctor said and Missy sat up as well, she could tell neither of them would be getting any sleep tonight.

“What’s that?“

“Why are you here, Missy?“ The Doctor tilted her head, trying to get the measure of her.

“I told you, to help people…“ Missy didn’t understand why she was asking again.

“No, I mean here, of all places, on Gallifrey. Where you’re right under her nose and she could kill you if she wanted to. Like you’ve said before, there is nothing we can do here, no resources, the royal guards just there, the Quantum Shade… you have no wiggle room. So why not go somewhere where the Emperor’s influence is less… and start your resistance there? It’s what I would have done…“ The Doctor went on to explain.

“Why did you ask how long it’s been for me?“ Missy circled back to her original question.

“Because I think there is nowhere else to go. We’re at the end of time, aren’t we.“ The Doctor revealed her suspicion and Missy’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How do you know that? Not many people do.“

“It seems like a lot of the events that happened to me also happened here, just differently.“ The Doctor realised and got to her feet. She couldn’t sit still anymore. Missy had been through some of the same things she had. “I think if I knew more about everybody’s personal history, maybe I would be able to understand them a little better to make a plan… In my universe Gallifrey was hiding away at the end of time in a reality bubble too, I know because I went there the long way around…“ She looked back to Missy. “So how did you get here, Missy? Where is your TARDIS?“

“I don’t have a TARDIS anymore, Doctor, I didn’t time travel here… but it sounds like you know exactly how I got here.“ Missy gave her a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry, Missy…“ The Doctor didn’t know what else to say.

“I’d rather not talk about it.“ Missy shook her head, she didn’t want to dwell on it.

“Right okay… so when the Emperor calls themselves ruler of the universe, it’s really just Gallifrey, is it?“ The Doctor decided to focus her energies on something productive, rather than dwelling on the misery of the past.

“In this timezone, yes. Keeps her safe from any sort of uprising I suppose, when all other races are dead.“ Missy replied.

“But when I first met her, she’d been to Sontar, there was still blood on her hands…“ The Doctor frowned.

“The Empire doesn’t just exist in space but also time, Doctor.“ Missy swung her legs out of bed, sitting up on the side properly. “Here, in this time, the universe is pretty much over. Gallifrey is the perfect fortress, perfectly safe when so few are able to travel in time anymore.“ She explained. “The generals watch the time streams. Whenever any civilisation that she’s conquered diverges from its predetermined course of obedience she can just jump into her TARDIS, arrive early, and set things right.“

“Right…“ It was the perfect set up, pretty fool proof. The Doctor started pacing, trying to find something useful in the new information.

“She thinks of everything. We can’t go anywhere because there is nowhere to go and without time travel…“ Missy shrugged. “And even if we had it, the Council would be on us like a hawk. Not that anyone can fly her TARDIS anyway…“

“That’s it! That’s where we need to start, Missy, you’re brilliant!“ The Doctor exclaimed as an idea struck. She hadn’t paid enough attention to the world around her. Picking up on the things that were different but also those that were the same or reversed. A plan was forming in her head.

“What?“ Missy had no idea what she was talking about.

“I have an idea Missy, and I need you to trust me. It’s a bit risk but I think this could work. I think I’ve worked this place out at last.“ The Doctor turned to her, full of excitement.

“You’re not making any sense, Doctor.“ Missy chuckled, marvelling at her endless positivity.

“You’re gonna hate this but I’m gonna need to get back into the palace.“ The Doctor gave her an apologetic smile.

“Doctor…“ Missy sighed, it was a terrible idea.

“Gonna need a change of clothes too, and a way in that they won’t expect…“ The Doctor carried on. Suddenly, in the far off in the distance, a bell tolled and both of them froze.

“That’s…“ Missy got to her feet unsettled.

“A Cloister Bell…“ The Doctor nodded, recognising the distinctive sound.

“They only toll when disaster is drawing near…“ Missy said and the Doctor, despite everything, smiled.

“I just thought of a way to get us back into the palace.“

“Us?“ Missy raised her eyebrows.

“Oh yes, you’re coming with me. I will explain on the way!“

——

Drowsily River rolled over in bed, pulling the covers closer around herself. She was cold, falling asleep naked and sweaty, her body had cooled out. She stretched her hand out, looking for her wife to cuddle into her for some warmth but the bed was cold beside her. Sleepily River sat up, slowly she was coming to her senses, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Her wife’s side of the bed was empty.

“Sweetie?“ She called into the darkness but no response. She swung her legs out of bed and nearly tripped as she got up in her sleepy state but her wife’s absence alarmed her. She found her balance after a few steps and grabbed her dressing gown from the chair by her dresser. “Sweetie?“ She called again, worry sweeping through her, as she walked into the adjoining room. Her eyes fell on the TARDIS, the door slightly ajar. She walked to the door and pushed it open. She breathed a sigh of relief when she found her wife sitting by the console, tinkering with bolts, screws and cogs.

“Is everything okay, Sweetie?“ River asked and the Emperor looked up surprised, she hadn’t noticed her coming in.

“Sorry, did I wake you?“ The Emperor gave an apologetic smile.

“I just turned round and you weren’t there, I got worried…“ River admitted, pulling her nightgown closer around herself feeling cold still.

“Just thinking…“ The Emperor replied giving a dismissive wave to the equipment around her. River smiled a little. Her wife used to do this a lot. When she had a problem to solve, she would retreat into her TARDIS and fix or make things, it helped her focus.

“Is everything okay? Something I can help with?“ River asked.

“Everything is fine.“ The Emperor said getting to her feet.

“And yet you can’t sleep.“ River observed. She clearly was worried about whatever Clara and the Doctor could be up to. Before the Emperor could respond, a bell tolled in the distance and they both froze. “Was that…“

“A Cloister Bell. They haven’t rung in years…“ The Emperor was halfway out the TARDIS before River could even respond. “We are in much greater danger than we realise.“ This was proof that the nagging thoughts, the undercurrent of worry, she had been feeling, were justified.

“Something must be happening.“ River agreed as she followed. The Emperor was already throwing clothes on.

“I'm going to go see the Council.“ She said pulling on trousers quickly. “You stay here.“ She insisted when River went looking for clothes as well.

“But…“ River looked around confused. She had never told her to stay behind before. She tried her best not to feel hurt.

“Seriously, don’t argue.“ The Emperor interrupted her buttoning up her shirt in a hurry. “I need to know you’re safe, you stay here.“

——

“What was that?“ Yaz demanded to know entering with palace’s security office. Ryan and Graham were following close behind. It was the middle of the night, there were off duty, but the entire city had heard the bell.  

“A Cloister Bell, Ma’am.“ One of the officers on duty answered as they all jumped to their feet saluting.

“They have been silent for years, give me eyes on the Cloisters.“ She demanded as she stepped up to the screens.

“The sliders are getting increasingly more active. They’re sensing something is wrong, something is going to happen.“ Graham observed as they brought up footage from the Cloisters on the screens. Shapes were moving among the shadows and the fog.

“This is not a coincidence.“ Ryan agreed.

“I’m going to take a team down there. Find out what’s going on.“ Yaz decided. They had to find out what was going on. It was as good a place as any to start.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? No-one that goes into the Cloisters comes back out.“ Graham grabbed her arm as she walked past them.

“Legend says there is a hidden exit into the city, it could be how the Doctor is getting about. I’m going to check it out.“ Yaz shook him off. They had to find the Doctor. “In the meantime, one of you inform the Emperor and keep guard, the other keep an eye on Clara Oswald.“

——

“What is going on?“ The Emperor burst into the Council chamber with purpose and determination. The Cloisters indicated this was the greatest threat they had faced in years and she wasn’t about to let anything jeopardise her reign.

“Emperor…“ The generals had gathered upon her command, some only filing in after her, some still fumbling with the buttons of their council robes. She wasn’t impressed.

“Wake up you mumbling fools, a Cloister Bell has rung, what is going on?“ She smashed her hand onto the table for emphasis. “You are tasked with protecting the Empire, what is going on? Are we under attack?“

“Nothing, as far as we can tell. Everything is quiet, no unexpected developments across the time streams…“ One of the council members spoke up. “The city is quiet as well, since you went amongst the people, they have grown more… respectful.“

“Are you absolutely sure?“ The Emperor pressed on focusing on him. He seemed to be wide awake at least in comparison to some of the others. They took turns with the night shifts, there was no need for everyone to be present all the time.

“See for yourself Emperor, the time streams are quite, your personal guards have taken it upon themselves to see if anything is the matter in the Cloisters themselves.“ Another general spoke up and by raising his hands from the table, he brought the readings up into the air for everyone to see.

“Things might not be happening yet but they will. The Bells are a warning, foreboding, prophecy…“ The Emperor mumbled leaning onto the table observing the time streams herself. They were right, everything looked completely normal so it had to be something happening here, on Gallifrey. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to wait for Clara to make her move after all.

“If you’re concerned about something happening, we can postpone tomorrow’s celebrations?“ Another general suggested.

“No. That would be a sign of weakness.“ She shook her head vehemently. “Everything will go ahead as planned…“ She straightened herself up again and a thought occurred to her. “In fact, not as planned. Round up ten civilians that have acted out in some way. And Missy. I want Missy.“ She decided.

“What for?“ Another council member asked, sounding concerned.

“Is it any of your business?!“ The Emperor snapped glaring at him. She couldn’t stand people questioning an order.

“I just meant if we should organise anything else or…“ He carried on in a small voice averting his eyes.

“Just do as you’re told.“ She growled. “I’ll be in my quarters, if there is only the slightest change or cause for concern, I expect to be informed.“

——

“You’ve done this before…“ Missy mumbled as they pressed themselves to a pillar to avoid a cloister wraith that headed in their direction.

“So have you…“ The Doctor observed with a smile. “I’m beginning to think we have a lot more in common than I realised. I think you lived through some of the same things I have, our roles are reversed in some ways.“ She explained as they waited for the wraith to move past. She had been so focused on wrapping her head around her own situation, she hadn’t really stopped to think about the history of the people she encountered.

“So it seems…“ Missy agreed. As she looked back at the Doctor she felt unsettled. They had dressed her to look like the Emperor and it was unnerving.

“About the confessionary dial…“ The Doctor said quietly as they carried on. “I came the long way around too…“ They ducked behind another pillar. “What kept you going? There was this moment when I realised what had been done to me, what they were trying to do… and I was about to give up…“ In a way, knowing Missy had been through the same thing as her, allowed her to talk about it for the first time.

“But then you realised you couldn't just let them win. You had to keep going.“ Missy agreed with a small smile as they carried on.

“Who were you doing it for?“ The Doctor asked.

“Myself? I knew I had to be better than this. I couldn’t let her win.“ Missy shrugged.

“I guess you’re right… I thought I… I thought I was doing it for Clara at the time, she had just died and I wanted to find a way to save her, so I had to get out of there… but now, I just think I wanted her to be proud of me. I wanted to be the Doctor. And I couldn't let the bad guys win.“ The Doctor answered after brief consideration.

“So here we are, braving the Cloisters.“ Missy chuckled. “But at least you know what you’re doing it for.“

“Not just for River, if that’s what you think. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had already managed to find a way out of her predicament, she doesn't need me to look after her, not really. I’m doing it for the same reason as you.“ The Doctor felt the need to explain.

“Cause we can’t let the bad guys win.“ Missy smiled and reached out for the Doctor’s hand. “I am so glad that I met you, even if we never should have, not really… I’m really very grateful that you are here, whether we succeed or not.“ She gave her hand a squeeze and the Doctor smiled.

Suddenly up ahead the wraiths grew more agitated. In the distance they saw an elevator door slide open, revealing several royal guards, weapons drawn.

“Right, let’s see what’s going on down here.“ The Doctor recognised Yaz’s voice immediately and she pulled Missy behind a pillar.

The Cloister Bells tolled again.

——

River was pacing their quarters, she couldn’t sit still. The situation was unnerving. There was no way you could go back to sleep so she had gotten dressed instead. She could just go to find her wife, this was ridiculous. There was no immediate danger.

“Right, that’s it.“ She huffed getting fed up and made her way to the bedroom. She walked to her dresser where, among other things, she kept her gun. It had been a while since she’d last made use of it but she appreciated her wife’s concern for her safety. It couldn’t hurt to carry it.

She was just exchanging the battery pack, when she heard the door to their quarters open. Her wife returning at last, she thought, as she breathed a sigh of relief.

“In the bedroom!“ She called out and put the gun back on the dresser.

“That’s quite the invitation… Mind you, I’ve always been curious what it would be like to sleep with myself.“

River whirled around and found herself face to face with an exactly copy of herself. In the distance, another bell tolled.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Snow White’s Revenge pt 2

Hey everyone! Here’s a pt 2 to the short I wrote last time. I had a sudden urge to continue it for a couple of parts or so.  

Part 1 linked here. 

Enjoy!

____________________________

“I can’t believe that worthless brat is still alive!” 

The Queen’s angry shout was accompanied by the loud crash of her wine glass against the wall. The shattered pieces flew through the air, landing on her skirt and shoes, but the woman ignored them, her gaze focused instead on the blood spattered girl being escorted through the palace gates. The entry guard had already passed on her story, the words causing the Queen to wish there were more things to smash in the room.

“A wild animal?! Killing the huntsman but not that brat?!” She shook her head. “How is it possible?” 

“Is that a question for me?” The golden eyes in the enchanted mirror showed enjoyment as the item watched the Queen’s fury. “I’m more than happy to exchange the answer for a few years of your life energy.”

“Shut up, you useless piece of junk!”

“Not my fault you start the day off by wasting your daily question.” The mirror laughed. “Be careful not to frown too much, or even your magic won’t be able to hide the lines in your face. You might be dropping to third fairest soon! What are you going to do then? Kill every attractive female in the kingdom?” 

“If I have to.” She muttered in response, but quickly calmed her facial expression. “No matter what, Snow White must die.”

“Then why not kill her? Why do you make things so needlessly complicated?” The golden eyes rolled with disdain. “Foolish human.”

He queen sighed. “She’s the daughter of the late king and queen. My claim to the throne is temporary, and fragile at best. If it were known that I was behind her death, the citizens… even the other kingdoms wouldn’t stand by. It would be seen as disregarding the natural order of royal blood. But if it’s an accident…”

Her slim, well-manicured finger tapped against her jaw. “Now that she’s back, I’ll have to be careful. Prince Alexander will be arriving tonight. He will likely wish to discuss an engagement with that girl.”

“And you care? If he takes her away you can be fairest in the land, right?”

“Fool. She’ll have a powerful backer to support her should she wish to take the throne. Rather than compete with his brothers, the prince may fancy taking over an easier fight here.” Her hands clenched into tight fists.

“Whatever it takes, I have to make sure that this marriage does not happen.”

____________________________

 “I have to make sure this marriage doesn’t happen, Phil.” Prince Alex forced a smile for the crowds as they rode into the Royal Capital, towards the palace.

“Again, I think you’re an idiot for turning down a beautiful sweet girl, but sure, so you’re just going to tell her that you won’t marry her?” Phil sighed, keeping a diplomatic expression on as he rode behind the prince.

Alex shook his head slowly. “Our parents had pretty much guaranteed the marriage before the late king passed. If I just refuse it now, her mother could make a huge political scandal out of it. That could hurt my chances for the throne back home.”

“You really need to think this through, Alex. First of all, I don’t know if her stepmother cares…”

“Snow White has to be the one to reject the marriage.”

“… I’m taking back all my concern for you. You’re an idiot.”

Alex grinned. “No, I’ve got it all planned out! I’m going to act like a violent thoughtless brute…”

“So you’re going to act like yourself?”

“And once she sees how different I am from the prince in her dreams, she’ll cancel the engagement and I can negotiate a non-marriage related treaty in exchange! It’s fool-proof.”

Phil stared at the prince with pity in his eyes. “I think you meant ‘foolish’.”

“You just wait. After I’m done, there’s no way Snow White will continue to hold onto the dream of marrying me!”

____________________________

“There’s no way I’m going to marry the prince.” Snow sighed as she tossed her knife at the practice dummy in the corner of the room. “Maybe it would be easier to just kill him?” 

“Your highness!” Gertrude, the middle-aged nursemaid who had always been by the princess’s side since she was an infant, stared in horror at the stuffed figure that now had a blade sticking through its crotch. “I thought you couldn’t wait to marry Prince Alexander!”

That was the innocent dream of a dead girl. Snow thought but didn’t say out loud. “Things have changed, Nanny. I have too much to worry about now to pay attention to love and marriage.” She hesitated. “Unless… is the prince really strong?”

“Strong?”

“You know, can he fight? Cut off his enemies heads and torch their homes, stomp their corpses into the mud?”

Gertrude gasped in shock. “Prince Alexander is a gentleman! He would do no such thing!”

“Then he’s useless. Someone else can marry him.” Losing interest, Snow picked up another knife, taking aim.  

“But he’s such a handsome young man!”

“Handsome?” The princess snorted with disdain. “Being handsome only attracts attention, and isn’t helpful in a fight.” The knife flew from her hand striking the center of the dummy’s chest. She stared at it with satisfaction, and then nodded.

“Yep, I’ll just have to tell him to look elsewhere for a bride. Someone weak and delicate, who suits a man like him.”

The nanny sighed. “Very well, Miss. I can’t claim to understand your thoughts, but as long as you’re happy…”

“Don’t worry.” Snow stepped forward, grabbing the knife still embedded in the stuffed target’s groin and pulling it upwards, slicing the whole dummy into two pieces. She tested the still sharp tip and smiled brightly, the delicate beautiful smile lighting up the entire room. “I’ll make my own happy ending.”

____________________________

 “A toast to our princess, and her safe return!” A portly duke raised his glass, and with everyone else slowly got to their feet and followed suit.

Snow sighed with mild annoyance, sipping at the wine with a disgusted frown. Alcohol had been a much-coveted luxury in her old world, with many people willing to trade weapons and food for a chance to cloud their despair in a drunken stupor. She had fairly good tolerance back then, but saw it as more a necessary evil for business transactions rather than something to enjoy. Drunkenness meant letting your guard down, a chance for someone to kill you.

Not that it mattered in the end. Snow thought bitterly. I was completely sober when I was betrayed and killed.

She stared down at the wine in her hand, disliking the weak, sweet taste. At least the food was rich, well flavored, much better than the scraps she had grown up on.

Seems like the prince is enjoying the food too. She glanced over the handsome young man sitting across from her, who was carelessly shoveling food into his mouth without a concern for manners or etiquette. Food was smeared around his lips, falling to the table around his plate, causing others to stare in dismay, but he ignored them, focusing on eating his fill.

Snow nodded in approval. That’s how a leader should eat. None of this delicate small bites nonsense. Eat the food quickly, in case the enemy attacks while you’re weak. Maybe this prince isn’t as bad as I thought.

Curiously enough, seeing her positive glance at his behavior, the prince seemed frustrated and panicked, his behavior becoming even more loud and boisterous.

“I haven’t eaten food this good since the Battle of Brent!” He yelled out desperately, swinging his wine glass and spilling the liquid inside. “I was decapitating enemies left and right, crushing their corpses, ignoring their cries for mercy!” 

Many of the noblewomen turned pale at his violent words, covering their mouths with handkerchiefs. A few even stood up to leave, too overwhelmed as he went into detail as to how he killed and dismembered his foes. Even the Queen seemed overwhelmed by the Prince’s brutish behavior, keeping her eyes on her own plate. Only two people in the room seemed unfazed by his words, his friend Phillip, the son of the Duke of Willowford, who just rolled his eyes, and Snow herself, who found herself increasingly interested in the man in front of her. 

Maybe the previous soul had good taste after all… She studied him closely, unsure as to why he seemed so frustrated. He seems like a violent, merciless warrior, without concern for this kingdom’s silly rules for politeness. He doesn’t look all that strong though…  I’d have to fight him to see if he is worthy to be an ally.

But as for marriage… Snow was still against it. She had seen too many fighters lose their lives at the hands of their so-called loved ones, and so had avoided relationships previously. Besides, the betrayal of her second in command in her previous life was still too fresh to consider trusting someone again very soon.

He’s probably looking for a delicate, submissive wife, so it shouldn’t be too hard to persuade him to look elsewhere. Just as Snow thought this, she realized that an opportunity had presented itself in the form of a dessert.

She took a small bite of the cake in front of her, a familiar tingling on her tongue alerting her to the poison inside. She tapped her leg under the table, hiding the green flash of her magic as she checked her body’s condition. It targeted the gastrointestinal system causing large volume vomiting and diarrhea within minutes of ingestion. 

I assume the Queen wants to humiliate me, by forcing me into such a state before I can escape to the privacy of my rooms? She took another bite, tapping her knee again, her magic nullifying the poisons effects. Still, it seems like too good of a chance to pass up. Getting back at the Queen and disgusting my potential fiancé at the same time… With a smile, she took one more bite, this time only partially nullifying the effects of the poison.

Her face turning a bright white, she staggered to her feet, not missing the Queen’s satisfied smirk. For an odd reason the Prince seemed excited too, standing up as well.

“My rough manners and words must have offended you Princess, I understand if you need to excuse yourself…” 

BLEGH. 

Snow staggered over to the head of the table, vomiting all over the Queen.

“…” The room went silent as they stared in shock at the scene before them. The Queen’s eyes were wide, her hands shaking as she glared at Snow, who smiled sweetly back.

“Mother, I don’t feel well. May I be excused?”

“…Go ahead.” She answered through gritted teeth.

“Thanks, Mother!” Grinning as if the woman who just projectile vomited at a formal dinner party was not her, Snow skipped out of the room, heading back to the courtyard outside her rooms.

____________________________

 “… The party is over.” The Queen finally spoke up again, stepping up and rushing from the room, dripping vile smelling fluid.

Prince Alex sighed sadly, covering his head in his hands. “That didn’t go well.”

Phil looked over. “Really? It looked like you were having fun?”

“Well, yeah, I don’t normally get to eat and talk however I want and formal functions, it was kind of a relief to get to act like I do out in the battlefield rather than play the part of the charming prince.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Snow White wasn’t offended!” Alex groaned. “Did you see her smiling at me throughout the dinner?”

“Maybe she’s not as delicate and weak as you thought?”

“No. She must be so captivated by my looks that she doesn’t care how brutish I act.”

Phil rolled his eyes, looking physically pained. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“I’ll have to strike more directly, be insulting.” Alex stared sadly at the leftover food for a few moments, before standing up.

“The poor girl just vomited in front of the entire royal court, don’t you think you should give her a break?”

“This is for her own good that she’s not engaged to me…”

“And your selfishness that you want her to be the one to break it off…”

Alex sighed. “You’re not wrong. But I’m going to try.” With that he walked away in the direction Snow White had fled earlier.

“Idiot.” Phil muttered, following slowly behind.

____________________________

 The prince came upon Snow White as she was rinsing her face and mouth in a bucket of icy water in the courtyard outside her rooms. Without giving much thought as to why the delicate princess was using stale cold water outside rather than taking a warm bath, he stepped forward, keeping his voice harsh and overbearing.

“Hey you!”

Snow White turned towards the prince with a neutral expression. “Are you talking to me?”

“Yeah! I have something to say.”

The princess straightened up, stepping closer while drying her face with a rough cloth, obviously willing to listen. Alex took a deep breath, mentally steeling himself.

“I think you’re  scrawny looking!”

Snow White nodded pleasantly. 

“And you’re ugly!”

Despite his horrible words, Snow White continued to stare at him, unconcerned, as if his words were simple facts rather than terrible insults. Feeling desperate and guilty, he tried once more.

“No man in his right mind would marry you!”

The princess shrugged, her flawless features still tranquil. “Is that all?”

“…” Defeated, Prince Alex’s shoulders slumped, and he whispered “No. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m lying, I’ve tried to do something terrible, when all you’ve done is be pleasant and polite. I’m so sorry!”

“… okay?”

“The truth…” He sighed. “The truth is that I can’t marry you, but I wanted you to be the one to break off the engagement, so I insulted you and tried to scare you off.”

“…” If anything, Snow White looked more confused.

“I do think you’re a lovely girl, but the royal court back home is a battleground right now, and I can’t bring someone as weak as you into danger. I wouldn’t be able to protect…”

RIP!

The tearing sound of the towel in Snow White’s hands interrupted the prince’s gentle explanation. She stepped closer, the torn cloth clenched in her fists, her face taking on a furious expression.

“WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?!”

“Umm…” Confused, Alex backed away a few steps, only to have the princess close the distance once more, now whispering.

“Did you call me ‘weak’?”

“…Yes?”

The torn pieces of towel flew into his eyes, blocking his vision. Alex tried to swipe them away, but before he could recover…

BAM!

Snow White’s right fist struck his face, knocking him backwards.

____________________________

 Snow was mad.

Everything had been going so well. She had vomited all over the Queen, and while she was cleaning up, the prince had approached her of his own volition and seemed to be expressing an unwillingness to marry her. 

He called her a few names, such as “scrawny” and “ugly.” Snow found herself nodding in agreement. This body had very little muscle mass, she missed the thicker arms and legs she had worked so hard for in her previous life. As for ugly… well, Nanny had told her she was beautiful, and Snow had no complaints about the features in the mirror, but who knows what counted as attractive in this world? Perhaps this kind of face wasn’t popular? Either way, it seemed that the prince wasn’t interested in getting married, which solved another one of her problems.

Snow was very satisfied.

At least she was right up until the man called her weak.

WEAK?!

Snow remembered the feeling of her friend’s knife in her back, their whispered words in her ear still echoing in her heart.

“You’re too weak to lead anymore, Snow.”

Seeing red, Snow had already started to fight before she could think things through.

BAM!

After distracting his sight with a torn piece of cloth, she punched him in the face.

Ow! This body is too weak!  Feeling regretful, Snow tapped her arms a few times, infusing healing magic to the max , hoping to augment her strength and speed a bit.  To her relief, she felt her muscles respond, giving her more to work with in the fight. 

The prince had staggered back at her initial blow, more surprised than hurt. “Ow! Why would you…?” 

He was interrupted as she kicked him in the chest, knocking him back further. 

“We’re fighting.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed as he watched her draw closer. “If you keep at this, I’ll fight back you know.”

She swung at his head, smiling as he dodged the blow only to get her knee to his face. “Good.”

“I- I won’t go easy on you!” Alex clutched his broken nose, glaring.

“Who said I needed you to?”

And with that the two began to fight in earnest.

The prince was good, Snow had to admit. He had quick reflexes; his reactions were obviously honed on the battlefield. Even though he was injured right from the start he compensated quickly and launched a powerful attack towards her face, taking advantage of his bigger size and reach.

But she was faster.

Dodging within his range, Snow rammed a fist into his gut, causing him to bend over at the waist. Taking advantage of the lowered height, she kicked his head, causing his whole body to tumble backwards. Surprisingly, despite the heavy injury, he staggered to his feet, a bloodthirsty smile on his face.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been able to fight with everything I’ve got!” He lunged forward, seeming to stumble as he moved. Snow thought to take advantage of the slip, aiming a punch towards his chest, but he bent out of the way, showing the initial clumsiness to be nothing but a feint. Grabbing her wrist, he tried to force her around; to put her into an arm lock, but Snow simply went against the motion, allowing the bone to break.

CRACK!

The sickening sound caused them both to slightly flinch, but before Alex could recover she had already struck again, her foot smashing into his cheek, knocking him onto his back. Then, not allowing him time to stand, she stepped on his stomach, forcing the air out of his lungs in a painful gasp. 

“Let’s get one thing straight, prince:” She smiled, not noticing that the beauty of the expression caused even the heavily injured prince to be dazed for a moment. “We are not getting married, true… but it’s not because I’m too weak. “ She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment. “It’s because you’re not strong enough to stand beside me.”

 With that she struck him once more, knocking him unconscious.

“I’m out of practice.” Sighing with dismay, Snow reached over and healed her broken wrist, wincing as the bones reset themselves. She then stared down at the prince, wondering what to do next. A strong blow like she had given him could have definitely caused bleeding within his brain. If she left him alone he could definitely die.

“He did give me a good fight… and he’s not terrible at combat…” Muttering to herself, she leaned forward and held a hand to his forehead, allowing her almost drained power to flow into the prince’s body. 

“What are you doing?” Another young man, Snow recognized him as Phillip, the prince’s friend, had walked up, staring at the unconscious prince with a mildly concerned expression. 

“Healing him.” Snow answered honestly, most of her focus on the injured man in front of her.

“Why? Aren’t you the one who injured him?”

“…Aren’t you his friend?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure he deserved the beating he got. “ Phillip watched her for a few moments. “Are you a witch?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not bathing in the blood of virgins or summoning demons or anything. I just happen to have abilities that are useful for times like this.”

As she spoke, the prince’s injured face slowly returned to its normal state, the swelling and broken nose fading as if they never had been there in the first place.

“Again, I feel like I should ask why. Your stepmother could use your abilities as an excuse for you to be burned at the stake if she learned of your powers.”

Snow smiled at the young man. “Who would believe that the delicate and mild mannered ‘Snow White’ beat the snot out of a man and then healed him?” She gestured at the now normal appearing prince. “He looks completely fine to me.���

“Good point.” Phillip smiled, and bowed gracefully. “Then I will thank you, Your Highness, for showing mercy in not killing my foolish friend.”

“Smart man.” Nodding, Snow stood up, brushing her hands off on her pants. “He’s all yours.”

With that, she turned around and entered her rooms, smiling.

____________________________

“PLEASE TEACH ME HOW TO FIGHT!” Snow was greeted the next morning by the sight of the handsome prince kneeling, his hands clasped in front of him as he begged with a serious expression. 

It’s too early for this nonsense.

Sighing, Snow looked over the young man with a critical eye. “Why?”

“I’m very sorry that I insulted you earlier!” Alex stared at her respectfully. “But now I know you’re really strong and I look up to you! I have so much that I can learn from you to increase my own strength!”

“No, I know why YOU want me to teach you.” She shrugged. “That’s obvious. What I want to know is why should I? There’s nothing in it for me.”

Alex considered her words for a few moments. “I’ll marry you?”

“Rejected. You’re too weak.”

“I’ll pay you?”

“I’m a princess, set to inherit the crown. I’m in a better financial position then you, who is still fighting for your own claim to the throne.”

“…I’ll be your servant?” 

Snow rubbed her forehead, frowning. “I don’t have a use for you. If anything, that young man would be more helpful, since at least he’s smart.” She pointed at Phil, who was watching their interactions with an amused expression.

“Traitor!” Alex frowned at his friend, who backed away.

“You two violent creatures leave my poor innocent self out of your discussions. I’m just here to try to reign in the area of destruction a bit.”

“…” The prince lowered his head and thought. “Is there anything you want that I can give you?”

Smiling, Snow nodded. “As a matter a fact there is.”

“Really? Because I’m willing to give anything…”

“I want your sword.”

“NO!” Alex clutched the well-worn blade hilt with a crestfallen expression.  

“I thought you said anything?”

“You might as well ask for my first born child!” 

“Again, not interested. They’d probably just be weak like you.”

Phil sighed loudly, stepping between them. “What do you like about the sword, Princess?”

“It’s well balanced, has been kept oiled and sharpened, and seems to have an appropriate length and weight that I could use.”

“If we can get you a similar sword, or perhaps one even better, would you listen to this stupid prince’s request?”

 “Hey!”

Snow ignored Alex’s shout and thought it over. “Sure.” She smiled slowly. “But I won’t go easy on you, weak prince.”

The young man stood up, shaking her hand with a grin of his own. “I’m counting on it, Snow White.”

____________________________

 “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?” The Queen, having just finished her morning routine and makeup, stared into the magic mirror with a desperate expression.

Her reflection was replaced with a gleeful pair of golden eyes.

“Again, the same question. For an evil witch you’re quite boring you know.”

“ANSWER IT!”

“Still Snow White, your beautiful and talented step daughter, who has quite good aim when it comes to vomiting I hear.”

CRASH!

A crystal case of powder broke into pieces on the floor.

“When are they going to learn to not put anything breakable in your room?”

“I’ll make her suffer for that stunt she pulled last night.” Ignoring the mirror now that she had asked her daily compulsive question, the Queen pulled a hidden lever on her wall. With a screech of rusty gears the wall near the switch separated, rotated itself and an attached dresser around, revealing a hidden room behind it. She entered it, and without hesitation, grabbed a knife and slashed her own hand, dripping blood into the cauldron at the center of the room.

“I may not be able to kill her directly, but let’s see how she deals with the dark fiends of the underworld when they come to torture her in the dead of night.” She poured a few more ingredients from various jars and tubes, smiling wickedly as a green smoke began filling the air. “Just a simple contract, a few years of life force, but worth it if her torment will be enough to push her into complete despair.”

“You know what I love about you? Your boundless optimism.”

The Queen ignored the mirror’s words. “You won’t escape me this time, Snow White. You’ve been lucky this far, but in the end, everything will be mine!”

Her laughter slowly filled the room, echoing off the walls, as if the whole castle was laughing with her.

[awkotacosummoner]

What Had Happened

Summary: Kiran asks Lif what had happened to the Kiran of his world.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134002

Warnings: Major character death

Alfonse, no Lif, was seated in the castle’s garden.  A stone bench was next to rose bush.  Kiran realized it was the same bench that they and Alfonse would sit at all the time.  Alfonse always showed Kiran Askr’s stars, and Kiran would talk about how different they were compared to their world.

It was one of the things that Kiran just adored doing with the prince.  Nobody ever bothered them when they sat on that bench.  It was as if nothing else ever existed when they sat there together.

Kiran and Alfonse had silently to avoid the bench when Lif was summoned.  Kiran and Alfonse had been sitting there, enjoying themselves like they did every night.  But when they left, Kiran had noticed Lif not too far from where they sat.  Kiran brought it up to Alfonse and they decided that they would let Lif spend time there for a while.  It was the least they could do for him.

But for some reason, something just seemed to pull Kiran to this spot.  They knew full well that Lif would be there and that they should give him space, but they felt like they should go see him at least.

Kiran had stood there just watching quietly for about fifteen minutes before they finally got the courage to approach him.

When they finally did, they took a seat next to him on the bench.  Lif did not acknowledge them, but he made no effort to get them to leave either.  They just sat in silence for another few minutes before Kiran finally spoke up.

“Have you talked to anybody?” was all Kiran asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Have you talked to anybody about what you went through?” Kiran re-worded.  “Maybe Sharena?  She’s really worried you, you know...”

“I can’t.” said Lif.  “I put her through so much back in my world, I can’t do it to this world’s Sharena too.”

“What about me?  You know how great of a listener I am.”

“Kiran...” Lif slumped over, putting his face in his hands.  “You have no idea how much it hurts to see you, no matter the circumstance.  I see you all day, and then at night you’re in my nightmares.  Both you and Sharena.”

“Lif... I’m sorry, I had no idea.” Kiran apologized.  “I know it’s hard, but I really think you should talk to someone about this.  It’s not healthy to keep everything to yourself.  If you were to share that burden with someone, I’m sure you’ll feel at least a little bit better.”

Lif didn’t respond to that.  He knew Kiran had a point, but he believed it was his burden to bear.  No one else’s.  Kiran had pulled one of his hands from his face and slowly slipped his hand into theirs.  It was so cold for Kiran.  They gave the hand a tight squeeze before continuing.

“Could... Could you at least tell me what happened to the me in your world?  Keeping this to yourself is only going to hurt you, Lif.”

“Are you sure you can handle it, Kiran?  I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that if things were just a bit different, you’d be dead.  Do you really want to know how it would’ve happened and what came after?”

Kiran thought for a moment before squeezing Lif’s hand a second time.

“Yes.”

Lif took a deep breath before telling Kiran what he’d been keeping to himself for so long.

----

“Al-Alfonse...” Kiran tried to speak through the gurgling noise of the blood in their throat.

“D-Don’t talk, Kiran.  Stay still, a healer should be here soon.  Everything will be okay.” Alfonse sobbed, cradling Kiran’s head in his lap.  His hand resting on their cheek, unable to look away from the gaping hole in Kiran’s gut.  It was obvious to anyone that Kiran was not going to make it, Alfonse refused to accept anything else.  He had already lost so much, if he were to lose the love of his life after his sister, it would be too much to bear.  

“I love you, so, so much, Alfonse.” Kiran rasped, a little bit of blood pooling out of their mouth and going down their chin.  “I just want you to know that I don’t regret coming here.  I’m so happy I got to meet you, my love.”

Alfonse held Kiran’s hand to his chest and simply nodded.  

“I love you too, Kiran.” he sobbed.  “I love you more than you could ever possibly know.  And I promise you, that I will find a way to bring you and everyone else back to me.   Both you and Sharena.”

“Don’t... push... yourself... ” Kiran’s breath was starting to get laboured, Alfonse realized as Kiran took a deep breath between words.  “Just focus... on surviving...”

As soon as Kiran had said that, Alfonse could feel their hand go limp in his.

Alfonse couldn’t bring himself to do anything except cry into his beloved’s hair.  He just sat there and cried until Eir had finally returned with Askr soldiers.

They had managed to convince Alfonse to return to the castle with them.  Eir stayed away from Alfonse, thinking he must have blamed her.

But in reality, Alfonse didn’t blame her.  He didn’t blame anyone except himself and Hel.  Hel took his parents away, slayed his sister before it was her time, and she had now taken the life of someone who should not have even been here in the first place. Hel.

This was all Hel’s fault.  Alfonse would not rest until he had personally destroyed Hel himself.  He clenched his fists in anger.  For the rest of the march back to the castle, all Alfonse could think of was how he was going to kill Hel.

----

When they had finally arrived back at the castle, it was pretty much empty.  No one except the castle staff and the kingdom’s army remained.  Alfonse discovered that all the heroes Kiran had summoned were returned to their worlds when Kiran died.  Kiran was the only thing keeping them in this world and now that they’re gone they weren’t able to stay.

He knew the castle would feel empty, but not this empty.  It was practically silent in the building.  There were a few confused servants, who were most likely confused by the sudden disappearance of all the heroes.

But Alfonse could care less right now.

He was all alone right now.

Yeah, sure; Eir was there.  He knew despite everything, she’s still there for him.  Kiran and Sharena both were close to her.  She loved them, and he knows she loves him too.  But he just can’t face her right now.  If he saw the daughter of the woman who killed his love and sister... he just didn’t want to throw any misdirected anger toward another victim.

----

Time blurred for Alfonse.  The moment he arrived at the castle he retreated into his room and had stayed there.  He had no idea how much time had passed.  One moment he looked out the window and the sun was up, he faced away for a bit and the next he looked it was dark.  He couldn’t really remember anything he had done for the past few days.  He vaguely remembers eating the meals that the castle staff had urged him to eat, but the meals were the only way he knew how much time had passed.

It must have been a week of this before he heard this frantic pounding on his bedroom door.  He slowly got out of bed and answered it.  No longer caring about appearances he put no effort into making himself look presentable.  When he opened the door he saw it was one of his general’s.  The name escaped his mind at the moment but the man immediately started his report.

“Prince Alfonse, Hel and her army have been seen marching toward the kingdom.  We believe she’s making her way for the Capital.”

Alfonse stood there for a second, taking in the news.  Not quite sure how to respond to this report.

A part of him was ashamed to admit that he didn’t really care about the war anymore.  Most of his kingdom is gone, most slayed by Hel and her army.  He had no real kingdom to protect anymore, he had no family to fight with him, and he no longer had a love to fight for.

But there was also a part of him who wanted to march straight to Hel and destroy her and get revenge for all that he had lost.  To make her pay for everything that she had done to him and his people.

He finally reached over and grabbed his sword and looked at the general.

“Grab any soldier who’s willing to fight.  We’re ending this once and for all.” he said.

“Y-Yes, sir!” the man saluted before running off toward the barracks.

Alfonse changed into his armor.  He wasn’t going to let Hel have her way, not without a fight.  That’s not what Kiran or Sharena would have wanted.  If Hel wanted a fight, well he’d give her one.

----

With both the Askr army and Hel’s army marching toward each other it wasn’t long before they met and engaged in combat.  Alfonse and what was left of the Askr army did what they could, but soon only Alfonse remained.  He held his sword up, directed at Hel and glared through the rain.

“It seems that after everything you still want to fight, Prince Alfonse.” Hel said, looking down at him from her throne.

“There is nothing you could do that would make me stop fighting you, Hel!” Alfonse yelled.  “I will kill you, and avenge everyone you’ve slaughtered!”

“Is that so?” she asked.  “Well if that’s what you want you’ll still have to reach me.  I have one guard who I think you’ll have difficulty fighting.”

“Send anyone, Hel!  I’ll kill them if it means I can finally kill you!”

Hel closed her eyes in thought for a second before opening them.

“Very well.” she said, and motioned for someone to come closer with her hand.

Alfonse readied his sword and got into position, he was going to cut down anyone who got in his way.

When the person Hel called for had finally reached the front of the army, Alfonse felt all the color drain from his face, he was nearly brought down to his knees from the shock.

There in front him, standing guard for Hel, was his beloved Kiran.

But Kiran didn’t look like themselves anymore.  Their skin was no longer the same color, instead it was a colorless gray.  Their eyes no longer held the same glow it usually had, they looked sunken and lifeless.  Even their hair looked dead and brittle.

It was then that Alfonse recalled one of Hel’s abilities.  She was able to bring the people she killed over to serve her.  As a part of her army of the living dead.

This... This was just too much.

This, he just couldn’t do.

Being forced to fight the person he had fallen in love with?  It was unthinkable.

“Alfonse...” Kiran’s small voice reached his ears, causing him to look them in the eye.  Kiran had a sword ready in their hands.  “Please, kill me.”

Alfonse’s eyes widened at their request.

“K-Kill you?  Kiran, I can’t kill you.  I’ve already seen you die once, I can’t handle it again.” Alfonse argued, feeling tears build up.

“You have to.” Kiran said, tears running down their face.  “If you don’t, I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to kill more people.  Innocent people.  I’ll never be able to rest as long as I live like this.  Alfonse, I can’t control my body at all.  Everything I’m doing is against my will.  I can’t stand this much longer.”

Kiran’s sobbing ripped Alfonse’s heart apart.  He remembered having to do this for his father after he took the curse meant for his son.  Kiran was right, they’d never be able to rest, never move on to the afterlife, as long as they were here a part of Hel’s army.

It was their last wish, for Alfonse to free them from this living Hell that they had been forced into.

Alfonse dragged them into all of this, he’ll get them out.  He promised.

Alfonse looked at Kiran through teary eyes and readied his sword.

“Alright, I’ll kill you.” Alfonse said in a tight voice.  “If it’ll free you from Hel’s will, I’ll do it.”

He saw Kiran smile through their tears before running over and raising their sword.

“I’m sorry!” Kiran cried.

“Don’t be.” Alfonse smiled as well, blocking Kiran’s sword.  Kiran was never strong to begin with.  Alfonse insisted they stay behind the army at all times so they never really had to learn how to use a weapon.  Alfonse knew that despite Hel controlling Kiran, they still couldn’t go beyond the limits they had when they were alive.  He knew that this was just to keep him from fighting.

Well, he wasn’t going to let her use Kiran as a shield.  He’d free Kiran from this nightmare and give them the peace of the afterlife that they deserved.  He at least owed them that much.

Alfonse closed his eyes and swung his sword and felt it penetrate skin.  His eyes clenched tighter when he heard Kiran grunt in pain.

‘This is for the best.’ He reminded himself.

He took a look and saw that his sword cut right through Kiran’s abdomen.  Kiran stood there for a second, sword still raised from moving to cut him down, frozen.

Kiran smiled before coughing up blood that splattered onto Alfonse’s face, but he didn’t even care.  Kiran’s arms dropped along with the sword and Alfonse caught them in his arms before they fell.

“Thank... you...” Kiran smiled as what little life they had left drained from their face.

“Anything for you, my love.” Alfonse said as he held their hand up to his cheek.  “Anything for you.”

----

“It was after that, that Hel proposed the deal.” Lif finished.

“The deal that if you served her she would bring back everyone who dies in this world back to life in your world?” Kiran asked.

“Yes.” he said.  “The thought of losing you not once but twice was too much to bear.  I couldn’t handle the idea of having that image of you working for Hel to be the last thing I saw of you.”

“Are you upset that I summoned you here?  Are you angry that you have to keep living in this world?”

Lif was silent for a second, but he spoke up after a few seconds of thinking.

“Sometimes.  It hurts that I’m not able to be with the Sharena and Kiran of my world.” he said.  “But being here, and seeing you two live happily now comforts me.  It makes me feel like I’ve made the right decision.  I feel like this is what the Kiran and Sharena of my world would have wanted.”

Kiran leaned onto Lif’s shoulder and squeezed his hand once more.

“I think so too.”

[d3-iseefire]

Little Swan Lost Chapter 35

Note: New Chapta! :D Also, awesome fan art made by the amazingly talented @metrosideros-excelsa! Check it out here: https://d3-iseefire.tumblr.com/post/617297103876718592/this-is-so-awesome-i-love-it-thank-you

Bilba sat nervously in a chair that probably cost more than her apartment in Shire and wondered if perhaps she should have chosen to put up with Kyra after all.

When Ori had invited her to breakfast, Bilba had envisioned a quaint little café, like the ones she, Rosie and Bofur had often frequented back in Shire. Small, cozy places with worn vinyl seats and round tables. Tiny windows that let in the light and sounds of birds chirping from outside and muted the quiet clink of silverware and conversation from inside.

King’s Landing was the exact opposite of that.

The restaurant was a sleek, multi-level building located on a rocky plot of land overlooking the ocean. The inside was dark and dimly lit so that it felt as if she’d stepped from the brightness of morning to the gloom of twilight. Circular, leather couches sat around what looked like marble tables and a live violinist paid quietly from a dais in the back corner.

Having never been before, Bilba had asked Cici to pick out her clothing. She’d felt worried she’d be overdressed in the resulting dress and heels but, now that she was here, she was mildly concerned she was underdressed.

Not that she would have fit in either way.

It hadn’t really occurred to her that going to breakfast would be the first time she’d officially appeared in public. Or that the eyes of every noble would be on them as they were led through the dining room to a private room.

If it weren’t for that private room, Bilba was certain she’d have turned around and walked right back out. There was simply no way she’d have been able to sit for any length of time with the weight of all those judgmental eyes on her.

The room itself was as larger than most of those cafes back home with black paneled walls, a black marble table and matching carpet. The only light came from the far wall, which was comprised entirely of glass from floor to ceiling and presented a truly amazing view of the ocean down below.

“So,” Ori’s voice broke into her musings, “what do you think?”

Bilba jumped pulled her gaze away from the window. A plate she hadn’t noticed being brought in sat before her and her stomach rumbled at the sight of the piles of food on it. At least this wasn’t one of those restaurants where they gave you a splash on the plate and called it a meal. “It’s very nice,” she said non-committedly, as she picked up her fork.

She frowned toward the door. Gareth was stationed just outside it, while Cerys stood inside. It felt awkward to be eating while the other woman just watched, but she’d already asked Cerys to join them and the offer politely declined.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ori asked. “We could have gone somewhere else if you preferred. I just thought – here is already vetted, you know? Anywhere else we’d have needed to wait for security checks, and that would take time and ---”

“And you were helping me avoid Kyra for a day,” Bilba broke in with a small smile. “I know. I just didn’t realize it would be such a—” she waved her hand as she searched for the right word. “Spectacle,” she finished finally.

That was exactly the word for it. They’d have to take a convoy, with multiple cars and she didn’t even know how many guards. Someone had clearly called ahead to let the restaurant know they were coming, and a veritable red carpet had been laid out with the owner and chef ready to greet her and escort her inside.

No one had been unkind, but the entire thing had left her stomach tied in knots. There was simply no way it had gone unnoticed. She had zero doubt that every news organization in town had been alerted to the fact she’d left the palace and the thought of having to face them when she left—

“You made a pretty big step up in rank,” Ori was saying. “And Erebor is a lot larger than Shire. How many guards did you usually have in Shire? Like ten?”

“None,” Bilba said without thinking.

Ori’s mouth literally gaped, and she dropped her fork with a clatter. At the door, Cerys shifted, but said nothing. “None?” Ori repeated, dumbfounded. “How could you have had none?”

Bilba shrugged. “I had a large family, and most of them lived in the capital. I was about as far from there as you could get. Most days, I’m sure there were few who even remembered I existed.”

“You didn’t visit?” Ori asked.

Bilba tried not to flinch. “Sometimes.”

She frowned and tried to focus on her food and not the dozens of reporters probably gathering outside, or the fact that she’d have to deal with watching Kyra fawn over Thorin at meals starting tomorrow.

Why had she thought leaving her room was such a great idea again? She’d love to just go for a walk, maybe visit Bombur and apologize for missing her first day of work, or perhaps see if she could find the college or even the ballet studio she knew existed somewhere in the town.

In Shire, she could have just done it. Here, it would be a whole thing, and even then she probably would have to check with Soren over her schedule and whatever it was she was expected to do for the day.

She absently chewed on her lower lip. She’d never actually promised Thorin she wouldn’t sneak out again, just that she’d alert her security team before leaving. Perhaps if she could think of a way around that...

Or, a petty part of her butted in, she could also tell Thorin she’d give up sneaking out if he gave up prancing about with his mistress all the damn time. He’d probably personally escort her through the passageway on the beach if she were to do that.

Maybe she should.

The second the thought crossed her mind a sour feeling settled over her. Handing him off to Kyra…grated. Not because she wanted him, but just because of how much their relationship was flaunted. An outsider might think Kyra was still his fiancé the way the two behaved and the thought of sitting back and behaving like everything was fine while she was publicly cuckolded was just…degrading.

Ori asked her a question, and Bilba tried to pay attention. She soon became engrossed in conversation with the other woman but stayed careful about what she said. No doubt every word she spoke would be reported to Ori’s husband and brother and the last thing she needed was either of them taking more than a passing interest in her.

The food was gone before she knew it and, after another half hour or so of idle talk, it was time to leave.

Cerys opened the door to the quiet sounds of the other patrons and Bilba tried her best not to panic. Already, she could tell there were far more people out there than when they’d first come in and she wasn’t the least bit surprise to catch a glimpse of reporters gathered in the parking lot past the plate glass front windows.

You’re a princess, she reminded herself firmly. It was imperative she make a good impression, and not just because of her rank or marriage to the crown prince. It was because every time she turned on the blasted TV it was to hear herself being compared to Kyra. She was always found grossly wanting. Every impropriety and misstep the other woman took was glossed over while Bilba was vilified for so much as breathing.

And that was before she had made any official, public appearances. The last thing she needed now was for them to see her falter. It would just prove the slander and lies in their eyes and pour fuel on a fire that seemed destined to burn forever.

Head high, she reminded herself as they headed out of the private room, back straight. Eyes ahead, pleasant expression. She had to tread the fine line between respecting her rank without appearing haughty or arrogant.

She was proud of herself. She didn’t start shaking until they had nearly reached the exit. When the sheer number of reporters in the parking lot became obvious, along with their cameras and other equipment. Several of the male reporters looked quite large and she mentally cringed at the thought of one or more of them grabbing her and trying to drag her over for questions. It had happened more than once in Shire, and the resulting bruises had taken days to fade.

“Your Highness,” Gareth spoke softly as they stopped just before the doors. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” Bilba said, voice shorter than she’d intended. She really wished everyone would stop asking her that. She could see the limo she’d ridden in parked at the curb just a few feet away but it felt like miles. There were guards that had closed around her the second she’d left the private room, and still more outside, but there’d been guards like that in Shire too, hadn’t there?

Everywhere she’d gone while in the capital her grandfather had made a show of surrounding her with guards. Guards who’d done precisely nothing to keep her safe. If anything, experience had told her to be more afraid of them than of anyone they might have hypothetically protected her from.

Gareth pushed the door open and an involuntary, strangled noise escaped Bilba’s throat. Heat washed over her, and black spots danced in her vision. She felt more than saw Ori next to her, Cerys behind them and Gareth in front. He stepped out and Bilba physically forced her feet to follow.

She could do this. She’d been through worse, much, much worse, and she’d never had a choice on whether or not she wanted to go through it. There was never any choice when her grandfather was involved.

Or, at least, there was never any good choice. Go forward or face the wrath of her grandfather for defying him.

Voices instantly assailed her, so fast she could barely make out the questions, though the ones she could understand seemed to follow a familiar theme.

“Your Highness! How do you feel about the prince having to break his engagement to marry you?”

“Your Highness! Is it true you have a volatile temper?”

“Your Highness! Did you plan this to force the prince to marry you?”

The car appeared in front of her, door already open. Bilba stopped in surprise at having reached it so soon. Past the car, the reporters were still shouting questions at her, but none of them were attempting to surge past the line of guards standing between them and her.

How very odd.

“Your Highness?” Gareth’s voice made her jump. She gave him a shaky smile and slid into the car. As she settled into the leather, she felt the same mixture of relief and trepidation she always did. Limos had always been a blessing and a curse. The blessing was that the windows were tinted while the curse…was that the windows were tinted.

Ori got in, and Bilba was surprised to see her face was pale. Before she could react, the other woman leaned forward and grabbed her hands. “I’m so sorry! I never thought about reporters showing up!”

“It’s okay,” Bilba said with a tight smile. Gareth and Cerys slid in and the door shut, cutting off the shouts and rapid-fire clicks of cameras. She tried not to imagine what the stories would be. Probably something like “Princess Flaunts New Position” or else perhaps a montage of Kyra going to the same restaurant and a comparison of how she’d somehow pulled off breakfast flawlessly while Bilba had failed on every level.

The car pulled onto the street, more cars in front of and behind it, and left the reporters behind to write their stories, and spin them in whatever way they saw fit.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Ori asked.

“I don’t know.” Bilba raised her head from where she’d dropped it against the seat back. “Soren has my schedule, but I have no idea what’s on it.”

“Probably not much,” Ori said. “They’ll probably ease you into things at first.”

Bilba made a non-committal noise, and idly stared out the window as they drove back to the palace. There were people on the sidewalk, going to breakfast, wandering in and out of shops, or hurrying on their way to work. A few stopped to watch as the limos raced past before returning to their routines.

None of them had to worry about reporters, nasty rumors, unwanted husbands or ever-present exes. Once, she’d have been among them, hurrying on her way to grab a morning cup of coffee before heading to her first class of the day. Or maybe she’d be window shopping with Rosie or walking with Bofur back to the studio for an early morning rehearsal.

She might have stopped for a moment to watch as the limos rushed past, but she wouldn’t have wondered about them. Wouldn’t have fantasized about who was inside or what their lives were like. That had been Rosie, and Bilba had done her best not to disillusion the other girl.

Bilba had no need to fantasize. She’d already known what it was like and had been more than happy to have the life she’d led.

More than happy…

Ahead of them, the first limos pulled past the gates leading onto the palace grounds. Bilba watched through the windshield as they pulled up the long, winding drive toward the palace. A fairy tale castle to many a young girl no doubt. Her mind went to little Wynne and she bit back a smile. Moving into the palace must be like a dream come true for her.

Her grandfather’s scheming had brought happiness to one person at least.

The car slid to a smooth stop and one of the guards opened her door. She allowed him to help her out and cast a regretful glance toward the gardens and, further down, the now closed gates leading out to the rest of the city.

Ori came up beside her while Cerys and Gareth took up position behind her.

To her surprise, Soren was waiting for her just past the entrance.

“Your Highness,” he said with a bow. “King Thrain requests your presence immediately. I’ve been sent to escort you to him.”

All the air left Bilba’s body.

“Your Highness,” a cold voice slithered in her mind. “Your grandfather requests your presence, at once.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ori said next to her.

“I’m sorry, Lady Ori,” Soren said, sounding not at all apologetic. “My instructions were to bring only the princess.”

“It’s fine.” Bilba clasped her hands together in front of her and stepped closer to Soren. “Thank you for the invitation to breakfast, Ori. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ori looked uncertain, but there was little she could do about it.

“We’ll get to work on setting up your security team, Your Highness,” Gareth’s voice reached her, and she nodded.

Soren turned away and she quietly fell in behind him, hands still clasped before her. She walked with confidence, or the appearance of it anyway, and kept her eyes fixed on nothing. A trick she’d learned long ago to avoid having to see the smirks, and smug looks on the face of her relatives as they watched her being marched off to the executioner.

If asked later, she could not have said where, exactly, the king’s office was. She felt detached as they walked, her mind wandering to a different place where she didn’t have to face whatever it was that lay before her. Where she was still in Shire, living in her apartment with Rosie and waiting for Bofur to pick her up for a date.

Back in Shire, before she’d met Bofur and Rosie, she’d take herself back even further. Back to before her parent’s had died, when the only grandfather she’d known had been Mungo Baggins. He’d bought her first pair of ballet slippers and been front and center at all of her performances, alongside her parents. He’d always applauded louder than anyone, no matter how small or inconsequential her part.

Sometimes, if she tried very hard, she could still feel the rush of the breeze as he pushed her on the swings at the park or hear his laugh whenever she did something silly to amuse him.

The last time she’d seen him they’d been preparing to take a walk to the next town over. He’d taken her to the store to buy food and snacks to prepare a lunch to have along the way, and they’d spent the evening planning when they would leave the next morning, when they would return and where they would stop along the way. Bilba had even been given a little money to be able to buy a small souvenir or dessert once they arrived.

Everything had been ready, her clothes laid out and sack lunches waiting in the fridge. She’d had a sleepover that night at a friend’s house, and had wanted to make sure everything was ready for when Grandfather Mungo came to get her the next day, so she could just get dressed, grab her bag and lunch and off they’d go.

The walk never took place.

Her parents had died that night and the shock of hearing the news had caused Grandfather Mungo to suffer a massive heart attack.

He’d lingered in the hospital for nearly a week.

She hadn’t been allowed to visit.  

They stopped in front of a large set of double doors, and Bilba pulled herself back to reality. As much as she didn’t want to, there was no other choice when facing her grandfather but to exist in the moment. He did not respond well to her failure to pay attention.

The door opened and she tensed. Soren bowed low in front of her, said something she couldn’t hear over the roar in her ears, and then stepped aside and bowed her in.

She entered and, for an instant, the room shifted and wavered into the one she was so familiar with in Shire. Her grandfather was obsessed with showing off not just his opulence, but also the impression that he was just a kindly old man. His office was homey with thick rugs, overstuffed bookcases and portraits of his family on the walls.

The sight had always made her nauseous.

The door shut behind her with a quiet click, and the room faded into the one she actually stood in. Rough, unfinished stone walls adorned with swords and weaponry. Cold rock under her feet. One, small bookcase with a few books stacked on it, and a large, rickety looking desk dominating the center of the room.

Her new father-in-law looked nothing like her grandfather.

Where her grandfather was usually near smothered in robes and jewels, the king of Erebor wore armor and the only jewelry he sported were beads in his hair and a few rings. Where her grandfather wanted to portray a false image of safety, it was clear that Thrain wished to convey one of threat.

At least he was honest about it.

Piercing eyes studied her, and Bilba dropped into a deep curtsey. Silence stretched, and she silently thanked ballet for giving her strong legs and good balance.

“Rise,” the king said finally, his voice a deep baritone that was very similar to Thorin’s.

Bilba obeyed. “Your Majesty.” She was careful to keep her voice soft and fixed her eyes on the desk.

He made a harrumph sound. “At least you have some training, not that it prompted you to introduce yourself upon your arrival.”

“My apologies,” Bilba said quietly. Part of her wanted to point to the deception by the head housekeeper and head butler but she realized that Thrain must already know. Reminding him would most likely be seen as an insult, or as her making excuses.

Thrain muttered under his breath and leaned forward in his chair, bringing his arms and hands into her view as he rested them on the desk. They were gnarled and craggy, as was the rest of the him, a ruler used to hard work and getting into the muck and mire alongside his subjects. It spoke well of him in one aspect at least. Her grandfather would no more sully his hands than he would allow a perceived slight to go unpunished.

“Now that you’ve finally deigned to show yourself,” Thrain said in a cold voice, “tell me, Your Highness, how it is that you and my son have been married a full month and have yet to produce a child?”

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743620/chapters/3723188

[alexboehm55144]

Alex Final Wars 2: Dark Alex, Chapter 23 - Devastation

Hello! How is everyone doing? Its summer, at least here in the northern hemisphere. So enjoy the warmth and sun of this time of year, but don't forget to social distance! If you're free and need some reading material, then good news for you! Because I have an action packed chapter right here thats waiting to be read! Once again I would like to thank JKnight97 for beta reading this!

00000000000

Heroes had been dispatched to Japan, where persistent Chinese efforts had managed to breach US and Japanese defenses, and now People’s Liberation Army forces were flooding into Tokyo. Although it was the most heavily defended part of Japan, it was also the most valuable target, hence the reason the Chinese concentrated much of their military might on the city. Japan was a key US ally at a location close to China, and that was a problem for the PLA. The Chinese needed to deal with it so that they could strengthen their own position. The most recent attack had broken through into the city far more quickly than expected, and US military personnel were baffled as to why this attack was so different from earlier assaults.

Even before the Typhoon reached Japan, everyone could tell that Retsuko and Haida were upset. Tokyo was their home city, and just the thought of the destruction being wreaked upon the city was almost enough to bring them to tears. Toothdee had told the couple they could have the day off, and everyone was trying to console them somehow. Jack and Skye promised they wouldn’t rest till the Chinese were routed from Tokyo, while Judy had tried making a blueberry and carrot pie to cheer them up. However, it was difficult as Nick kept eating the blueberries.

Heroes gathered on the bridge as Toothdee guided the ship through a bank of clouds towards their destination. When the vessel exited the cloud bank near Tokyo, everyone could see the scale of the devastation. Columns of smoke stretched upwards into the night sky, blocking out the stars. The orange glow of massive fires illuminated tall buildings, and anti-aircraft guns fired upwards, trying to down enemy aircraft.

Sighs spread through the assembled warriors as they looked at the horrible scene in front of them. This was the city they had rested in just a short time ago, after the Korean campaign. Many members of Heroes would consider this one of the most depressing and soul crushing sights they had ever seen over the course of this war. Although combat was their life, it still hurt to see homes burning and the country’s capital drowning in smoke.

On the bridge, the couple watched as their home town was slowly being destroyed by the invaders. The red panda was crying and covering her face. Haida knelt beside her and put his paws on Retsuko’s shoulder. She turned and buried her face in the fur of her hyena, the situation being too much to bear. Things only deteriorated further as a radio call from a US marine in the city came in.

“This is Private Norton of the US marine corps; we have a confirmed sighting of dark heroes! Repeat, confirmed sighting of dark- HUGH!”

The call was quickly cut off and those listening heard what sounded like a chainsaw. They instantly assumed it was Dark Alex’s weapon, cutting through the US soldier. This explained why the Chinese assault had been so successful, and it would make the Heroes’ response all the more difficult. Their counterparts appeared to revel in conflict, and it seemed like the desire to fight was what drove them.

Holding back the horrible thoughts about such destruction and the presence of dark heroes, captain Boehm tried to rouse his friends into a fighting spirit. He always tried to be positive, even in dire circumstances.

“I know it hurts to think about what’s happening in that city, but remember, preventing further disasters like this is why we do what we do.”

It hurt to see the innocent Retsuko brought to tears. It hurt to see the entire team looking downtrodden.

“We beat them in Zootopia, we can beat them in Tokyo! Let’s inflict on those Chinese forces, what they inflicted on this city! Tenfold!”

The captain saw a few small smiles, but the aura of depression could still clearly be felt. As the Typhoon landed in an empty container storage area near the city docks, Toothdee took this opportunity to check on Kion and assign everyone’s orders.

“Kion, do you feel like you're ready to get back in the fray? It’s okay if you don’t.”

“I’m fine, besides I want to help.”

“Very well. Jack, Skye, go out and see what you can find out about Chinese movements. Laval, Eris, link up with the US forward operating base. Nick, Judy, you're with me guarding the Typhoon. Alex, JayJay, assault the main Chinese positions with the US Marines. Kion, Jasiri, search for any civilian stragglers and evacuate them.”

Everyone only responded with simple nods and left the bridge to gear up. As they left, many heroes gave Haida and Retsuko a hug or a pat on the back as they passed by. Today, Heroes would be fighting for their friend’s homeland.

000

The teams left the Typhoon and went their separate ways into the burning city. There wasn’t much in the way of chatter. The destruction wreaked on Tokyo had left a somber mood. Jack and Skye found their way down into the Tokyo subway system. Using a map on file, they began moving behind enemy lines.

“It’s like Zootopia all over again.” Skye said “It never gets any easier.”

“I know,” Jack responded. “But, this is what we’ve trained for. We can do this!”

Skye appreciated her partner’s enthusiasm, and gave him a playful nudge as they continued down the subway tunnel. All of a sudden Jack stopped in his tracks, and Skye bumped into him a few seconds later.

“What?” The arctic fox asked.

“Chinese soldiers.”

Flashlights appeared at the end of the tunnel and the two could hear soldiers speaking in a foreign language.

The pair frantically looked for somewhere to hide, and quickly dove under a bench nearby. They huddled closely to each other in order to stay concealed, but it wasn’t anything they were not used to.

From where Jack and Skye were concealed, they could see a trio of boot pairs passing by the bench. Once the soldiers had passed, the pair exited cover and snuck up behind two of the unsuspecting soldiers. Silenced weapons finished off the three unfortunate soldiers, and the pair continued.

Jack radioed Toothdee and informed her that the Chinese were using the subway to move around the city. Toothdee said she would alert US forces. As the two went deeper into Chinese territory, the tunnel got darker due to the ongoing power failure. Jack moved to turn on the flashlight on his weapon, but Skye stopped him, saying that the light might alert any more Chinese soldiers they came across.

“But, I can’t see.” Jack protested.

“Here, I’ll guide you. Watch out for the third rail.”

The fox took Jack’s paw and started leading him through the darkened section, with both mammals enjoying the touch of the other. Once they left the pitch black section of the subway, the pair continued to hold hands, not out of necessity, but simply out of love.

However, once Jack and Skye came to a subway exit, they let go of each other’s paws and prepared themselves for whatever was next. Peeking up onto the surface, they spotted a Chinese armored personnel carrier and infantry. The two then sprinted into a nearby building so they could get to higher ground. Finding their way up to the third floor, the elevated position revealed a lot more of the Chinese assault force. There were dozens of soldiers and a large number of vehicles, both armored and unarmored.

Skye turned on the camera on her uniform and got a few good shots of the enemy force. Jack rooted around the building and found out that it belonged to a company called Chararyman Trading. Now they had the position of a lot of Chinese forces, as well as their numbers.

“I think we have all we need.” Skye said, “let’s get out of here and move on to somewhere else.”

Suddenly the pair heard yelling coming from nearby, and turning to the door of the room they were in, they saw a PLA soldier. Jack gunned the soldier down, but not before his opponent managed to get a shot off. This alerted other Chinese soldiers who began to enter the building.

Thinking quickly, the two sprinted to the other side of the floor and reached a window through which they could see the roof of the next-door building one story below. Skye shot out the window with her firearm and then readied a crossbow she had on her back. The crossbow was designed to fire zip lines, with the weapon itself capable of being affixed to the ground to make an anchor for one end of the line. Taking aim, Skye discharged the weapon and the arrow embedded itself in the roof of the other building. She then affixed the crossbow to the ground. With the line now stabilized, Jack tossed a grenade at the advancing Chinese soldiers to buy them some time to escape. The pair used their weapons as trolleys to zipline across to the other roof, before pulling out the arrow and preventing Chinese soldiers from following them the same way.

“Toothdee, we could use a bit of help here.” Skye said into her radio just as the Chinese soldiers on the Chararyman Trading building opened fire, forcing her and Jack to duck for cover.

“Kion and Jasiri are nearby, I’ll send them to help.”

Jack and Skye managed to get down via the fire escape on the side of the building, and began running down the street to avoid any Chinese forces. An enemy off-road vehicle began to pursue the two mammals, who ducked into an alleyway to avoid being run over. The vehicle stopped and the soldiers got out and pursued the team on foot.

Jack and Skye turned around to engage, when suddenly Kion and Jasiri were at their side, weapons at the ready.

“Someone order a rescue?” Kion said, blocking enemy bullets with his sword. The other three heroes laid down gunfire, killing some enemy soldiers and forcing the others to retreat.

“Thanks for the assist.” Jack said “we owe you two.”

“Don’t mention it, all in a day's work for two Heroes.” Jasiri said. “I hear you two got some good information.”

“The location of dozens of Chinese soldiers and vehicles. I think with this we can kick them out of the city.”

“Excellent job!”

“All in a day's work for two agents of the ZIA!”

000

While Jack and Skye had gone behind enemy lines to ascertain information about the Chinese forces, Alex and JayJay were meeting the enemy head on in combat. They were in charge of clearing a specific sector of the city, while US marines cleared adjacent sectors. The plan was for all forces to converge on the Chinese line. Currently the human and wolf pair were walking down a street, keeping watch for Chinese soldiers.

“All this destruction.” Alex said, “it’s like Zootopia and Guam all over again.”

The wolf went over and patted her ally on the back in case he was feeling depressed.

“Hey, remember what you told me. We can’t let ourselves feel down, we have to keep going to prevent further devastation.”

“True, it’s definitely motivating. It pushes you to do your best to prevent more damage.” The Captain looked up at the smoke filled sky. “Even though there’s a lot of enemy forces out there.”

“With you by my side, I feel like I can get through anything!”

Alex playfully pushed her and the pair laughed, before JayJay’s keen wolf eyes noticed a glint in a nearby window.

“Get down! Sniper!”

JayJay pushed Alex out of the way and jumped back as a bullet struck the street next to them. The pair took cover in an alleyway, and formulated a course of action.

“What’s the plan?” JayJay asked.

Alex noticed a flyer on the wall, which he ripped off and held outside of cover. A bullet went through the paper, confirming the sniper had a good shot on them if they got out of cover.

“You stay here and keep them distracted, I’ll sneak around.”

The wolf nodded and fired blindly around the corner of the building, while Alex headed down the alley towards the building where the sniper was. The Captain saw shots coming out of a window, and quickly climbed up to the window using a fire escape. Alex timed his climbing with the gunfire, so the sniper wouldn’t hear the fire escape creaking.

Alex crept closer to the window, and in a split second, looked in the window and fired his pistol, killing the sniper.

The captain whistled and let JayJay know the coast was clear, before returning to street level.

“I expected more enemy soldiers.” JayJay said.

“I know, it’s quiet, too quiet.”

JayJay held up a finger, prompting Alex to be silent. She closed her eyes, sniffed the air, and remained silent for a few seconds.

“I can smell and hear a vehicle, but it’s hard to tell with all this smoke.”

“Well, that's good to know. Let me know if you detect anything else.”

“Will do.”

The pair continued down the street, and soon they came across a Chinese ZBD-09 light armored vehicle sitting in the street, along with some infantry.

“You were right!” Alex whispered, the pair sneaking up to the vehicle. Alex took a spent shell casing and threw it, distracting the Chinese soldiers and prompting them to move out of the way of the Heroes. JayJay knocked on the hatch on top of the vehicle. When a Chinese soldier opened it up, the wolf quickly punched him, knocking him out, and dragged him out of the vehicle so that she and Alex could climb inside.  They immediately neutralized the enemy driver and companion before they could even draw their firearms..

“Can you drive?” Captain Boehm asked, moving the downed soldiers out of the way and back up through the top hatch.

“I mean.... it’s just like a car, right?” JayJay said nervously as she felt the controls.

Alex shut the top hatch and got in the gunner’s seat. “Then, let’s get moving.”

The wolf put the pedal to the metal and the vehicle lurched forward, nearly running over two Chinese soldiers. Alex used the turret to open fire on any enemy troopers he saw, making sure he took down every one.

The vehicle crashed through several stopped cars, hitting a Chinese soldier. Other soldiers in the vicinity opened fire, including some armed with rocket launchers.

JayJay messed with the controls inside the vehicle and fired the main gun, eliminating the pair of  PLA infantrymen. Alex targeted any trooper with a rocket launcher, making them a priority due to the danger they posed. Most infantry ran for cover as the captain opened fire on them, taking down one hostile after another.

After all the infantry had been neutralized, another ZBD-09 entered the fray, engaging the heroes with its weapons. The wolf at the controls stepped on the gas and spun their vehicle around the enemy vehicle.

“JayJay...” captain Boehm said, unaware of what she was planning.

JayJay sent their armored vehicle crashing right into the side of the enemy vehicle, pushing it into a construction site. The wolf then backed up out of the site and the duo then fired at the building’s support structures with their weapons.

The concrete and steel buckled and came crashing down, crushing the enemy vehicle. As the dust settled, the pair could see part of the enemy ZBD peeking out from under the pile of rubble, crushed like a tin can.

“You think we got them?” JayJay asked.

“It never hurts to be careful.”

The pair fired at the immobilized vehicle, causing it to burst into flames. There was no way the crew could have survived.

“I think we got them.” Alex said, giving JayJay a thumbs up, before they moved onwards. The pair had to disembark the vehicle at a certain point and move through an alleyway into a market. Although the air was still heavy with smoke, JayJay’s keen wolf nose picked up something, and it wasn’t market food.  

“I smell something familiar.” the wolf said “and yet... different...”

The area was illuminated by bright red neon lights and the glow of fires in the city. Smoke still obscured visibility. Two figures ominously appeared at the other end of the market, and the Heroes readied their weapons. As the unknown combatants drew closer, their identities were revealed. It was Dark Alex and Dark JayJay, smirks on their faces as they were obviously thinking about how doomed the Heroes were.

“Well, well, well,” Dark Alex said. “Here to stop the Chinese invasion?”

“We were, but you will be a good substitute.” Alex said, getting out his sword.

“Ha! Prepare to be disappointed. You will surely be a worthy opponent, I enjoy fighting the best!”

Dark Alex drew his blade, and the chainsaw inside hummed as the glowing red blades rotated around the sword.

The two wolves prepared themselves for paw to paw combat, each warrior staring down their counterpart.

The pair of swordsmen charged forward and clashed blades, as JayJay and her counterpart engaged each other.

Alex and his adversary got in a sword lock, causing the chainsaw on Dark Alex’s sword to stop, as it was blocked by Captain Boehm’s blade.

“This is your end!” the dark warrior yelled.

“Last time I checked, Heroes killed four of your members!”

Meanwhile the pair of wolves battled, each of them landing melee strikes on the other, but blocking each other’s attacks. Both warriors had heightened levels of agility and endurance, making their fight fast paced.

Dark Alex fired his grappling hook, but the Captain managed to dodge out of the way. Alex grabbed the line of the grappling hook as it passed and pulled, knocking his enemy off balance, before delivering a powerful punch to his opponent’s chin. The dark warrior yelled in anger and took a few steps back to collect himself.

JayJay’s dark counterpart performed a drop kick on her enemy, hitting the wolf square in the chest. The young Hero was sent staggering away while she regained her senses.

Dark Alex was now closer to JayJay, and Alex was now closer to Dark JayJay. Each warrior decided to attack the enemy nearest to them, switching up the partners in the fight.

The dark wolf stared down Captain Boehm. “You know you're kinda cute.” She said, chuckling to herself.

“No thanks, I’m taken by that wolf over there.” Alex said, gesturing to the other Hero in the battle.

Dark JayJay ran forward and attacked with a series of kicks, but Alex blocked them with his sword.

Every sword swipe the Captain attempted was merely dodged by the wolf. Dark JayJay used her agility to dodge Alex’s sword swings, with JayJay using the same tactics against her enemy.

Dark Alex tried to bring his sword down onto JayJay, but she evaded the strike and landed a few good hits. The dark warrior retaliated with a shoulder charge that put the hero on the defensive.

Alex managed to land some good kicks and jabs on the dark wolf, as he was able to predict most of her attacks, blocking them accordingly. The Captain then used the wolf’s own force against her, evading an attack, spinning around her, and kicking her in the back.

Dark Alex tried another shoulder charge, but this time JayJay was ready and easily jumped out of the way.

With some good timing, both dark warriors were sent slamming into one another, dazing them. The pair of Heroes used this opportunity to get in a few good strikes. Dark Alex and Dark JayJay regained their senses and once again prepared to resume combat.

“Come on then!” Captain Boehm said, his blade hungering for combat.

“Let’s see what you’ve got!” JayJay yelled.

The intense fight began anew, with each fighter squaring off against  their counterpart. Swords and fists clashed together, and the marketplace was filled with the sounds of combat and yelling.

The duo of  swordsmen got into a blade lock, their weapons pushing together, sending sparks flying. But the dark Captain knew how to get the upper hand.

“You fight so hard for your country. Such ferocity.”

“All to stop you and the Chinese. They started this war, and now we’ll finish it!”

“You think China started this war? Hasn’t the US always been good at starting pointless wars? What you’ve been told is lies, it was your nation that fired the first shot.”

While the Heroes leader was distracted, absorbing this information, the other swordsman took the opportunity to push his enemy back, sending him staggering.

As the two pairs fought, they soon became aware of a loud sound coming closer and closer. Artillery fire began raining down closer and closer to the marketplace. A nearby building was struck by incoming shells, causing debris to start falling down on the market.

The Heroes ran for cover towards the market, while the villains ran for cover in the opposite direction. Alex and JayJay took shelter in an alcove on the side of a building, while their counterparts disappeared into the smoke. The Captain instinctively shielded the wolf with his own body, as artillery and debris crashed down nearby. The earth shook and JayJay yelled in fear as dust and smoke filled the alcove. But as quickly as it had come, the bombardment ceased, and the world was silent once again.

“Are you ok?!” Both heroes asked each other, before quickly assuring the other that they were alright. They raced out of the alcove and peered through the marketplace, their vision heavily impaired by the particles suspended in the air.

“Do you see them?” The wolf asked.

“I can’t see anything.” Captain Boehm said, activating his flashlight and moving through the dust.

As the particulates started to settle, the Heroes reached the other end of the market, but they still hadn’t come across their counterparts.

“Aww, they ran off? I was just getting started!” JayJay said.

“Oh don’t worry, this war isn’t over yet. I have a feeling that we will see them again.”

000

A few hours had passed, and the sun was steadily rising. Darkness still covered the city despite the sun having risen above the horizon, due to the many fires that raged throughout the area.

Haida and Retsuko were sitting out on the deck of the Typhoon, watching their home city enveloped by destruction. But, at least for now, there were more US troops in the city than Chinese. Haida had been holding onto something he wanted to say, and until now he was just unable to find the correct moment to speak. The hyena knew he couldn’t let the silence linger between him and his red panda any longer, and he gathered up the courage to talk.

“Reports coming in say the Chinese have been pushed back, for now.”

Retsuko still remained quiet, just looking at her feet.

The silence returned, both mammals too upset about the state of their home city. But now, it was Retsuko’s turn to say a few words.

“Our city.... our home.... ”

Hearing Retsuko speak felt like the only thing that gave Haida joy in this trying time.  

“I know.... I know it hurts.”

The red panda squeezed her mate’s paw, prompting Haida to wrap her in a hug.

“Just to see Tokyo burning like this...” Haida said. “I hoped this city would emerge unscathed.”

“Places we know, places we’ve been, all gone.”

The hyena nodded, and patted his red panda on the back.

“At least.... I still have you Haida.”

“We can make this right Retsuko, we can help fix this...”

“I know,” the red panda said, more determined than ever to carry out her job aboard the Typhoon, “we will make sure this never happens again.” Although she wasn’t doing the fighting, she knew her work was a big part of the war against the Chinese.

Haida pulled back and looked Retsuko in her eyes, which looked so beautiful, even with the fires from the city nearby reflecting off them.

The space between the two grew smaller and smaller, the burning city moved out of sight and out of mind. The only feelings the pair had being a gentle breeze, a rapid beat in their chests, and the soft touch of the other’s lips.

They had both vowed to do whatever they could to stop the Chinese from causing further destruction to Japan. Although their home city had suffered, they still had the most important thing to them: each other.

00000000000

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Stay safe and wear a mask!

[blondeblackwidow]

S U R E F I R E: CH VII

summary: amicea has been a queen since her eleventh day of life. with the first order’s shadow beginning to grow, and with the love of her life joining on the opposing side, while thrown into in an engagement with the newest commander in the first order. she begins to feel her control on her own life spiral. 

pairings: poe dameron x original character x kylo ren

header made by the lovely @whirlybirbs​ !

Ch VII. the opposition (AMICEA)

The Queen’s meeting hall was a large room with stone walls, and grand windows. It was meant to seem larger than life, to intimidate, to inspire, even. The chairs at the main table were simple, nothing about them was special. The head of the table though, had a large velvet chair with gold adornment. It was a visual reminder that only one person wore a crown in this room. 

She felt like her neck was going to break from the metaphorical weight of it before this was all over. Kylo sat at her right, a few trusted advisors scattered around, and the vultures in recycled Imperial uniforms filled the empty chairs. One of them, pale and red haired, had worn his wool great coat and thick trousers, sweat was brewing on his brow already from the sun.

  Good. She thought. Let him be uncomfortable.

This meeting wasn’t one of happenstance or coincidence. First Order troopers have been scouring the outer mining villages for weeks. Amicea was waiting for them to have enough gall to ask for what they wanted. So here they were, troopers shifting in their boots, and officers standing as she made her entrance. 

She wore another white gown, her own act of rebellion against the wolves swallowing her palace in black. Her lords were first to rise, followed by Kylo, and then the generals who needed some reminding of their manners. She took a seat at the head of her table, and the room filled with silence as the rest of her guests sat. She waited, finally looking over at Kylo, before starting to speak.

  “Are we going to talk or?” She turned back toward the men. Her hands folded neatly in her lap. She felt like she should be nicer, but all she could think about were Kylo’s words in the gardens.

“Your Majesty.” Lord Vadik, spoke first. “The people in the capital have felt unnerved by the First Orders presence.” 

“I believe we talked about this?” She furrowed her brow and Kylo sunk in his chair. “They were supposed to pull out weeks ago.”

“The Supreme Leader thought it best to leave the troops in the Capital…” Kylo began

“The Supreme Leader isn’t Queen, Commander Ren.” Her tone was cold, and ice-like. The officers in the room were shifting in their seats at such a remark about their master. “Pull all marked troopers out of my city, please.” She cleared her throat. “Is that it?” They all blinked, wondering how to word their next comments. 

“The First Order needs access to the mining villages, your highness.” The red headed one spoke first.

“What is your name?” 

“General Hux.” He smiled with pride.

“Well, General, your highness is reserved for Princes and Princesses. And I haven’t been a princess since I was an infant.” She forced a smile back, quickly letting it fade. “I was also under the impression that the First Order was already in the mining villages.” She quirked her head. “Unless I have my facts wrong.” 

“We have sent out preliminary patrols to confirm…”

“Why wasn’t this told to me?”

“It was a secure project -”

“Security? You can’t possibly be doubting my loyalty when I’ve already agreed to marry your commander.” She scoffed.

“The mining villages have a rare crystal.” Kylo interrupted the banter. “We need them in order to continue operations. It’s nothing that your economy considers of value, you won’t notice it’s gone.” She nodded slowly. He was a breath of fresh air in this room, the dark robes and pointed glances felt like they would suffocate her. 

“There is one more matter.” Hux stood. “About the title of our commander upon marrying her Majesty.” She smirked at the correct use of her title.

“Prince Consort, as all husbands of Adroran Queens before him.” Lord Vadik responded and Amicea turned to a very uncomfortable Kylo.

“We believe that this is not suitable for a man of his achievement.” Hux smirked. “King consort is more appropriate.” Every lord in the room choked. The once soft and kind queen that was hidden during this meeting, truly died at that moment. 

“King?” She laughed, and stood. 

“We believe..” 

“You believe what, General Hux?” She tilted her head. “The was a Hux that was part of the Empire as well, if I’m not mistaken. And he only had one son, which was a bastard.” Her face fell flat. “I would rather burn then let a bastard boy lecture me on titles.” 

“Your Majesty.” Kylo gestured softly, offering his hand, as if to calm her. Maybe in the garden weeks ago, it would have worked. But now, here was a room full of vulturous Generals trying to take what was hers, and she couldn’t be calmed. “You were born to lead your planet, to protect it.” His voice rang in her ears.

  “In case you all are unclear, the title of King goes to the male monarch of Adrora. The title of Queen goes to his wife or the female monarch. The title of Prince consort is exclusively reserved for the husband of the Queen.” She placed both her hands on the table, leaning forward. “Whatever you believe in, whether it be some magic energy that binds us or your Supreme Leader. Being Queen is my birthright.” She growled. “You try to undermine that again, Generals, I will give the New Republic what they need to burn you to the ground before you can even blink.” She nodded and folded her hands back in their place, turning and exiting the grand hall.

= 

Amicea sat on her balcony overlooking the ocean, she had been crying for a couple of hours. Her family had ruled this planet for generations, her father held it strongly in the face of the Empire, and all she could feel was her grip on her people loosening the longer the Destroyers stayed in orbit.

She felt like she might lose it completely when she goes through this marriage. 

“If it helps, I didn’t know Hux was going to try that, I am sorry.” Kylo spoke from behind her, she jumped, only to relax when she saw his face. He pulled up the second chair next to her. 

“Considering that it’s not the reason I’m crying, it’s not much solace.” She half smiled and pulled her knees to her chest. She felt so informal, but she felt so lost, she just wanted to feel normal for once in her life. 

“Why are you, then?” 

She sighed, how does she put into words that her system is rapidly spinning out of her control, and she felt like the best shot she had feeling at ease in her life stormed out of her chambers months ago. “It’s complicated.” She finally responded. 

“I do apologize for any part I’ve played in it.”

“I’ve done it all to myself.” She sighed. “You should get back to your ship, I doubt your Supreme Leader would appreciate you associating with such a traitor.” She responded, staring at the shoreline. 

“Amie, I am sorry for the way I acted..”

“You had no right.” She snapped. 

“I think there was some justification to it all.” Amicea whipped her head to stare at him.

“You cannot be serious, justifying going through my things, reading notes that were personal to me, from someone who came long before any proposal was ever suggested..” Her volume was going louder with each word as she stood.

“The Order would have laid waste to your planet if they had caught you.” He began to yell to match her.

“Why?! He’s just a republic pilot, who cares what his opinion of the First Order is?! It’s the same as everyone else on Hosnian Prime.” 

“Because he’s not just a Republic pilot anymore, he’s a commander in Organa’s Resistance.” She felt all the air escape her lungs. Poe Dameron was her grey area, her neutral zone and he had officially stepped over the line. “This is so much bigger than you realize. Snoke has a plan, and he will crush whoever is in his way. I know you love your people, and I care about you, so please, get rid of the notes, and anything else you have. If you are named a sympathizer your life will become so much harder.

“Like it’s already so easy? Your troops are going to land in the villages tomorrow. I am not naive, Ren, they are not going to be courteous to my people. They will take what they want and leave them to die.” She pressed a finger into his chest. “I am trapped in a life I cannot control, and am losing more and more of my planet everyday, because you and your precious order have your sights set on me and my people and no one will tell me why.” Kylo opened his mouth to speak and she kept going. “Unless whatever you are about to say is the entire truth, I suggest you take your leave, and do not come back until I call for you.” 

He simply bowed his head and left the room, too struck to speak. 

Amicea stared out at the sea. She turned to her glass cups on the outside tea table and threw them against the stone, and she screamed. 

A queen's life is never her own. Her mother’s words rang in her ears. It will always belong to her people.

[gerec]

Day Two: Rare Pair

Daily Prompts for the Month of August

Pairing: Cherigan (Charles/Erik/Logan) Warnings: None

Thank you to every one who sent in suggestions for Rare Pair! I finally decided to go with a slightly revised version of @mnemo-ink‘s prompt, which was ‘charles/erik/apocalypse. As for a prompt… spaceau? or is that too vague?’ Unfortunately, Apocalypse doesn’t show up in this ficlet, but this actually sparked the idea for a short followup to my Old Republic Star Wars au, Escape from Nar Shaddaa! No need to have read the previous fic to understand what’s going on; basically Logan and Erik are loveable smugglers/scoundrels and Charles is the sweet Alderaan-ian noble son of House Xavier who was being secretly trained to be a Jedi by his Master En Sabah Nur...

-----

They hear the explosions in the near distance, one followed by another as Ororo and Betsy set off the remote charges as planned. The confusion should give them the time they need to locate Charles and get him to the rendezvous point, where the Blackbird waits to get them off Balmorra and back into Republic space. It’s risky, with just the three of them on extraction, but Erik’s gotten them out of plenty of tight spots before. Plus they have Raven too, who looks ready to murder every Sith she sees with her bare hands, for daring to abscond with the brother she had sworn to protect.

“Let’s go,” Logan says, pointing down the first hallway with a wave of his blaster, “time’s a wastin’.”

There’s nothing Erik hates more than wearing heavy armor, except maybe what they’ve all been forced to don at the moment; the hideous black and red monstrosity that all the Sith troopers wear. He can barely breathe with the bucket on his head, let alone aim and shoot with his blasters. Luckily, their mission is to infiltrate the base and rescue a prisoner, and not to engage with a battalion of the Emperor’s elite forces.

And hadn’t that been a lovely surprise, to arrive planet side and discover the presence of the Emperor’s personal guard, here in some random outpost instead of their Capital on Dromund Kaas?

The soft beep on Raven’s tracker signals their arrival a moment later, outside a non-descript door in what appears to be the residential wing. It’s at the opposite end of the base from the prison cells, according to the stolen schematics they acquired for far too many credits, off Ororo’s shady looking Twi’lek contact Foc’diri. And luck seems to be with them today, after weeks of planning and months spent tracking Charles down; there are no guards in the vicinity, and no one around to see through their disguise.

He’s got a bad feeling about this.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Erik mutters, just as the door swooshes open, revealing someone’s rather luxurious if empty quarters. Nice enough to belong to the base’s Commander if he had to guess, which is not where they expected to find their wayward Jedi-in-training. Logan curses under his breath and pulls his blaster out of his holster, prompting both Raven and Erik to do the same.

“Your brother is gonna get us killed,” Logan says without any heat, as though he’s already resigned to the mission going sideways, “I knew he would, the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s always the pretty ones.”

Raven scoffs. “Don’t worry Howlett, I’ve got your back. Plus you’re too ugly to die.” “Is no one else even a little concerned with how easy this whole thing has been so far?” Erik hisses, because now is really not the time for witty banter.

Leveling his best glare at Erik – which hasn’t worked even once in the fifteen years they’ve known each other – Logan snaps, “You call this easy? We’re in the middle of a base crawling with Sith, on a planet controlled by the Empire! It’ll take a bloody miracle to get us all out of here in one piece.”

“I’m just saying there’s a lot of—”

They freeze, blasters aimed and ready, when the inner door suddenly opens to reveal the subject of their search, looking wryly amused and entirely unruffled. Charles looks rather well for a prisoner, his blue eyes sharp and blue as ever, and Erik can scarcely contain the joy and relief that overwhelms him, threatening to manifest itself in some sort of sappy declaration entirely inappropriate for the occasion.

Instead, he yanks the helmet off his head, crossing the room to wrap his arms around Charles and pulling him into a deep and lingering kiss.

He is very pleased when Charles kisses him back, opening up to him like a flower in bloom.

He is less pleased when he feels an arm grabbing his shoulder, and hauling him away from the object of his – now not so secret – affection.

“Logan, what the hell—”

“Now’s not the time to lose your head, Lehnsherr,” the man growls, giving him a good shake. “Charles is…” He shakes his head. “He’s not in any danger. We, however, are royally fucked.”

“What’s the matter, Logan,” Charles teases, “aren’t you going to kiss me too?”

Logan stiffens, but doesn’t look Charles in the eye when he replies, “I don’t kiss no Sith, Xavier.”

It’s only then that Erik realizes what he’s missed; what Logan’s cool head and Raven’s sharp senses caught the moment Charles stepped into the room. His old leathers are gone, along with the blaster that Logan had lovingly retrofitted for him only three days after their first meeting on Nar Shaddaa; in its place are rich robes in red and black, and a double bladed lightsaber hanging at his side.

Erik knows in his heart of hearts, that the lightsaber glows red.

[crimethinc]

Hong Kong: Anarchists in the Resistance to the Extradition Bill An Interview

Since 1997, when it ceased to be the last major colonial holding of Great Britain, Hong Kong has been a part of the People’s Republic of China, while maintaining a distinct political and legal system. In February, an unpopular bill was introduced that would make it possible to extradite fugitives in Hong Kong to countries that the Hong Kong government has no existing extradition agreements with—including mainland China. On June 9, over a million people took the streets in protest; on June12, protesters engaged in pitched confrontations with police; on June 16, two million people participated in one of the biggest marches in the city’s history. The following interview with an anarchist collective in Hong Kong explores the context of this wave of unrest. Our correspondents draw on over a decade of experience in the previous social movements in an effort to come to terms with the motivations that drive the participants, and elaborate upon the new forms of organization and subjectivation that define this new sequence of struggle.

In the United States, the most recent popular struggles have cohered around resisting Donald Trump and the extreme right. In France, the Gilets Jaunes movement drew anarchists, leftists, and far-right nationalists into the streets against Macron’s centrist government and each other. In Hong Kong, we see a social movement against a state governed by the authoritarian left. What challenges do opponents of capitalism and the state face in this context? How can we outflank nationalists, neoliberals, and pacifists who seek to control and exploit our movements?

As China extends its reach, competing with the United States and European Union for global hegemony, it is important to experiment with models of resistance against the political model it represents, while taking care to prevent neoliberals and reactionaries from capitalizing on popular opposition to the authoritarian left. Anarchists in Hong Kong are uniquely positioned to comment on this.

The front façade of the Hong Kong Police headquarters in Wan Chai, covered in egg yolks on the evening of June 21. Hundreds of protesters sealed the entrance, demanding the unconditional release of every person that has been arrested in relation to the struggle thus far. The banner below reads “Never Surrender.” Photo by KWBB from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

“The left” is institutionalized and ineffectual in Hong Kong. Generally, the “scholarist” liberals and “citizenist” right-wingers have a chokehold over the narrative whenever protests break out, especially when mainland China is involved.

In the struggle against the extradition bill, has the escalation in tactics made it difficult for those factions to represent or manage “the movement”? Has the revolt exceeded or undermined their capacity to shape the discourse? Do the events of the past month herald similar developments in the future, or has this been a common subterranean theme in popular unrest in Hong Kong already?

We think it’s important for everyone to understand that—thus far—what has happened cannot be properly understood to be “a movement.” It’s far too inchoate for that. What I mean is that, unlike the so-called “Umbrella Movement,” which escaped the control of its founding architects (the intellectuals who announced “Occupy Central With Love And Peace” a year in advance) very early on while adhering for the most part to the pacifistic, citizenist principles that they outlined, there is no real guiding narrative uniting the events that have transpired so far, no foundational credo that authorizes—or sanctifies—certain forms of action while proscribing others in order to cultivate a spectacular, exemplary façade that can be photographed and broadcast to screens around the world.

The short answer to your question, then, is… yes, thus far, nobody is authorized to speak on behalf of the movement. Everybody is scrambling to come to terms with a nascent form of subjectivity that is taking shape before us, now that the formal figureheads of the tendencies you referenced have been crushed and largely marginalized. That includes the “scholarist” fraction of the students, now known as “Demosisto,” and the right-wing “nativists,” both of which were disqualified from participating in the legislative council after being voted in.

Throughout this interview, we will attempt to describe our own intuitions about what this embryonic form of subjectivity looks like and the conditions from which it originates. But these are only tentative. Whatever is going on, we can say that it emerges from within a field from which the visible, recognized protagonists of previous sequences, including political parties, student bodies, and right-wing and populist groups, have all been vanquished or discredited. It is a field populated with shadows, haunted by shades, echoes, and murmurs. As of now, center stage remains empty.

This means that the more prevalent “default” modes of understanding are invoked to fill the gaps. Often, it appears that we are set for an unfortunate reprisal of the sequence that played itself out in the Umbrella Movement:

appalling show of police force

public outrage manifests itself in huge marches and subsequent occupations, organized and understood as sanctimonious displays of civil virtue

these occupations ossify into tense, puritanical, and paranoid encampments obsessed with policing behavior to keep it in line with the prescribed script

the movement collapses, leading to five years of disenchantment among young people who do not have the means to understand their failure to achieve universal suffrage as anything less than abject defeat.

Of course, this is just a cursory description of the Umbrella Movement of five years ago—and even then, there was a considerable amount of “excess”: novel and emancipatory practices and encounters that the official narrative could not account for. These experiences should be retrieved and recovered, though this is not the time or place for that. What we face now is another exercise in mystification, in which the protocols that come into operation every time the social fabric enters a crisis may foreclose the possibilities that are opening up. It would be premature to suggest that this is about to happen, however.

In our cursory and often extremely unpleasant perusals of Western far-left social media, we have noticed that all too often, the intelligence falls victim to our penchant to run the rule over this or that struggle. So much of what passes for “commentary” tends to fall on either side of two poles—impassioned acclamation of the power of the proletarian intelligence or cynical denunciation of its populist recuperation. None of us can bear the suspense of having to suspend our judgment on something outside our ken, and we hasten to find someone who can formalize this unwieldy mass of information into a rubric that we can comprehend and digest, in order that we can express our support or apprehension.

We have no real answers for anybody who wants to know whether they should care about what’s going on in Hong Kong as opposed to, say, France, Algeria, Sudan. But we can plead with those who are interested in understanding what’s happening to take the time to develop an understanding of this city. Though we don’t entirely share their politics and have some quibbles with the facts presented therein, we endorse any coverage of events in Hong Kong that Ultra, Nao, and Chuang have offered over the years to the English-speaking world. Ultra’s piece on the Umbrella Movement is likely the best account of the events currently available.

Our banner in the marches, which is usually found at the front of our drum squad. It reads “There are no ‘good citizens’, only potential criminals.” This banner was made in response to propaganda circulated by pro-Beijing establishmentarian political groups in Hong Kong, assuring “good citizens” everywhere that extradition measures do not threaten those with a sound conscience who are quietly minding their own business. Photo by WWS from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

If we understand “the left” as a political subject that situates questions of class struggle and labor at the center of its politics, it’s not entirely certain that such a thing even properly exists in Hong Kong. Of course, friends of ours run excellent blogs, and there are small grouplets and the like. Certainly, everybody talks about the wealth gap, rampant poverty, the capitalist class, the fact that we are all “打工仔” (jobbers, working folk) struggling to survive. But, as almost anywhere else, the primary form of subjectivity and identification that everyone subscribes to is the idea of citizenship in a national community. It follows that this imagined belonging is founded on negation, exclusion, and demarcation from the Mainland. You can only imagine the torture of seeing the tiresome “I’m a Hong Konger, not Chinese!” t-shirts on the subway, or hearing “Hong Kongers add oil!” (essentially, “way to go!”) chanted ad nauseam for an entire afternoon during recent marches.

It should interest readers from abroad to know that the word “left” in Hong Kong has two connotations. Obviously, for the generation of our parents and their parents before them, “Left” means Communist. Which is why “Left” could refer to a businessman who is a Party member, or a pro-establishment politician who is notoriously pro-China. For younger people, the word “Left” is a stigma (often conjugated with “plastic,” a word in Cantonese that sounds like “dickhead”) attached to a previous generation of activists who were involved in a prior sequence of social struggle—including struggles to prevent the demolition of Queen’s Ferry Pier in Central, against the construction of the high-speed Railway going through the northeast of Hong Kong into China, and against the destruction of vast tracts of farmland in the North East territories, all of which ended in demoralizing defeat. These movements were often led by articulate spokespeople—artists or NGO representatives who forged tactical alliances with progressives in the pan-democratic movement. The defeat of these movements, attributed to their apprehensions about endorsing direct action and their pleas for patience and for negotiations with authority, is now blamed on that generation of activists. All the rage and frustration of the young people who came of age in that period, heeding the direction of these figureheads who commanded them to disperse as they witnessed yet another defeat, yet another exhibition of orchestrated passivity, has progressively taken a rightward turn. Even secondary and university student bodies that have traditionally been staunchly center-left and progressive have become explicitly nationalist.

One crucial tenet among this generation, emerging from a welter of disappointments and failures, is a focus on direct action, and a consequent refusal of “small group discussions,” “consensus,” and the like. This was a theme that first appeared in the umbrella movement—most prominently in the Mong Kok encampment, where the possibilities were richest, but where the right was also, unfortunately, able to establish a firm foothold. The distrust of the previous generation remains prevalent. For example, on the afternoon of June 12, in the midst of the street fights between police and protesters, several members of a longstanding social-democratic party tasked themselves with relaying information via microphone to those on the front lines, telling them where to withdraw to if they needed to escape, what holes in the fronts to fill, and similar information. Because of this distrust of parties, politicians, professional activists and their agendas, many ignored these instructions and instead relied on word of mouth information or information circulating in online messaging groups.

It’s no exaggeration to say that the founding myth of this city is that refugees and dissidents fled communist persecution to build an oasis of wealth and freedom, a fortress of civil liberties safeguarded by the rule of law. In view of that, on a mundane level, it could be said that many in Hong Kong already understand themselves as being in revolt, in the way they live and the freedoms they enjoy—and that they consider this identity, however vacuous and tenuous it may be, to be a property that has to be defended at all costs. It shouldn’t be necessary to say much here about the fact that much of the actual ecological “wealth” that constitutes this city—its most interesting (and often poorest) neighborhoods, a whole host of informal clubs, studios, and dwelling places situated in industrial buildings, farmland in the Northeast territories, historic walled villages and rural districts—are being pillaged and destroyed piece by piece by the state and private developers, to the resounding indifference of these indignant citoyens.

In any case, if liberals are successful in deploying their Cold War language about the need to defend civil liberties and human rights from the encroaching Red Tide, and right-wing populist calls to defend the integrity of our identity also gain traction, it is for these deep-rooted and rather banal historical reasons. Consider the timing of this struggle, how it exploded when images of police brutalizing and arresting young students went viral—like a perfect repetition of the prelude to the umbrella movement. This happened within a week of the annual candlelight vigil commemorating those killed in the Tiananmen Massacre on June 4, 1989, a date remembered in Hong Kong as the day tanks were called in to steamroll over students peacefully gathering in a plea for civil liberties. It is impossible to overstate the profundity of this wound, this trauma, in the formation of the popular psyche; this was driven home when thousands of mothers gathered in public, in an almost perfect mirroring of the Tiananmen mothers, to publicly grieve for the disappeared futures of their children, now eclipsed in the shadow of the communist monolith. It stupefies the mind to think that the police—not once now, but twice—broke the greatest of all taboos: opening fire on the young.

In light of this, it would be naïve to suggest that anything significant has happened yet to suggest that to escaping the “chokehold” that you describe “scholarist” liberals and “citizenist” right-wingers maintaining on the narrative here. Both of these factions are simply symptoms of an underlying condition, aspects of an ideology that has to be attacked and taken apart in practice. Perhaps we should approach what is happening right now as a sort of psychoanalysis in public, with the psychopathology of our city exposed in full view, and see the actions we engage in collectively as a chance to work through traumas, manias, and obsessive complexes together. While it is undoubtedly dismaying that the momentum and morale of this struggle is sustained, across the social spectrum, by a constant invocation of the “Hong Kong people,” who are incited to protect their home at all costs, and while this deeply troubling unanimity covers over many problems,1 we accept the turmoil and the calamity of our time, the need to intervene in circumstances that are never of our own choosing. However bleak things may appear, this struggle offers a chance for new encounters, for the elaboration of new grammars.

Graffiti seen in the road occupation in Admiralty near the government quarters, reading “Carry a can of paint with you, it’s a remedy for canine rabies.” Cops are popularly referred to as “dogs” here. Photo by WWS from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

What has happened to the discourse of civility in the interlude between the umbrella movement and now? Did it contract, expand, decay, transform?

That’s an interesting question to ask. Perhaps the most significant thing that we can report about the current sequence that, astonishingly, when a small fringe of protesters attempted to break into the legislative council on June 9 following a day-long march, it was not universally criticized as an act of lunacy or, worse, the work of China or police provocateurs. Bear in mind that on June 9 and 12, the two attempts to break into the legislative council building thus far, the legislative assembly was not in session; people were effectively attempting to break into an empty building.

Now, much as we have our reservations about the effectiveness of doing such a thing in the first place,2 this is extraordinary, considering the fact that the last attempt to do so, which occurred in a protest against development in the North East territories shortly before the umbrella movement, took place while deliberations were in session and was broadly condemned or ignored.3 Some might suggest that the legacy of the Sunflower movement in Taiwan remains a big inspiration for many here; others might say that the looming threat of Chinese annexation is spurring the public to endorse desperate measures that they would otherwise chastise.

On the afternoon of June 12, when tens of thousands of people suddenly found themselves assaulted by riot police, scrambling to escape from barrages of plastic bullets and tear gas, nobody condemned the masked squads in the front fighting back against the advancing lines of police and putting out the tear gas canisters as they landed. A longstanding, seemingly insuperable gulf has always existed between the “peaceful” protesters (pejoratively referred to as “peaceful rational non-violent dickheads” by most of us on the other side) and the “bellicose” protesters who believe in direct action. Each side tends to view the other with contempt.

Protesters transporting materials to build barricades. The graffiti on the wall can be roughly (and liberally) translated as “Hong Kongers ain’t nuthin’ to fuck wit’.” Photo by WWS from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

The online forum lihkg has functioned as a central place for young people to organize, exchange political banter, and circulate information relating to this struggle. For the first time, a whole host of threads on this site have been dedicated to healing this breach or at least cultivating respect for those who do nothing but show up for the marches every Sunday—if only because marches that number in the millions and bring parts of the city to a temporary standstill are a pretty big deal, however mind-numbingly boring they may be in actuality. The last time the marches were anywhere close to this huge, a Chief Executive stepped down and the amending of a law regarding freedom of speech was moved to the back burner. All manner of groups are attempting to invent a way to contribute to the struggle, the most notable of which is the congregation of Christians that have assembled in front of police lines at the legislative council, chanting the same hymn without reprieve for a week and a half. That hymn has become a refrain that will likely reverberate through struggles in the future, for better or worse.

Are there clear openings or lines of flight in this movement that would allow for interventions that undermine the power of the police, of the law, of the commodity, without producing a militant subject that can be identified and excised?

It is difficult to answer this question. Despite the fact that proletarians compose the vast majority of people waging this struggle—proletarians whose lives are stolen from them by soulless jobs, who are compelled to spend more and more of their wages paying rents that continue to skyrocket because of comprehensive gentrification projects undertaken by state officials and private developers (who are often one and the same)—you must remember that “free market capitalism” is taken by many to be a defining trait of the cultural identity of Hong Kong, distinguishing it from the “red” capitalism managed by the Communist Party. What currently exists in Hong Kong, for some people, is far from ideal; when one says “the rich,” it invokes images of tycoon monopolies—cartels and communist toadies who have formed a dark pact with the Party to feed on the blood of the poor.

So, just as people are ardent for a government and institutions that we can properly call “our own”—yes, including the police—they desire a capitalism that we can finally call “our own,” a capitalism free from corruption, political chicanery, and the like. It’s easy to chuckle at this, but like any community gathered around a founding myth of pioneers fleeing persecution and building a land of freedom and plenty from sacrifice and hard work… it’s easy to understand why this fixation exerts such a powerful hold on the imagination.

This is a city that fiercely defends the initiative of the entrepreneur, of private enterprise, and understands every sort of hustle as a way of making a living, a tactic in the tooth-and-nail struggle for survival. This grim sense of life as survival is omnipresent in our speech; when we speak of “working,” we use the term “搵食,” which literally means looking for our next meal. That explains why protesters have traditionally been very careful to avoid alienating the working masses by actions such as blockading a road used by busses transporting working stiffs back home.

While we understand that much of our lives are preoccupied with and consumed by work, nobody dares to propose the refusal of work, to oppose the indignity of being treated as producer-consumers under the dominion of the commodity. The police are chastised for being “running dogs” of an evil totalitarian empire, rather than being what they actually are: the foot soldiers of the regime of property.

What is novel in the current situation is that many people now accept that acts of solidarity with the struggle, however minute,4 can lead to arrest, and are prepared to tread this shifting line between legality and illegality. It is no exaggeration to say that we are witnessing the appearance of a generation that is prepared for imprisonment, something that was formerly restricted to “professional activists” at the forefront of social movements. At the same time, there is no existing discussion regarding what the force of law is, how it operates, or the legitimacy of the police and prisons as institutions. People simply feel they need to employ measures that transgress the law in order the preserve the sanctity of the Law, which has been violated and dishonored by the cowboys of communist corruption.

However, it is important to note that this is the first time that proposals for strikes in various sectors and general strikes have been put forward regarding an issue that is, on the surface of it, unrelated to labor.

Our friends in the “Housewives Against Extradition” section of the march on September 9. The picture shows a group of housewives and aunties, many of whom were on the streets for the first time. Photo by WWS from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

How do barricades and occupations like the one from a few days ago reproduce themselves in the context of Hong Kong?

Barricades are simply customary now. Whenever people gather en masse and intend to occupy a certain territory to establish a front, barricades are built quickly and effectively. There is a creeping sense now that occupations are becoming routine and futile, physically taxing and ultimately inefficient. What’s interesting in this struggle is that people are really spending a lot of time thinking about what “works,” what requires the least expenditure of effort and achieves the maximum effect in paralyzing parts of the city or interrupting circulation, rather than what holds the greatest moral appeal to an imagined “public” watching everything from the safety of the living room—or even, conversely, what “feels” the most militant.

There have been many popular proposals for “non-cooperative” quotidian actions such as jamming up an entire subway train by coordinating groups of friends to pack the cars with people and luggage for a whole afternoon, or cancelling bank accounts and withdrawing savings from savings accounts in order to create inflation. Some have spread suggestions regarding how to dodge paying taxes for the rest of your life. These might not seem like much, but what’s interesting is the relentless circulation of suggestions from all manner of quarters, from people with varying kinds of expertise, about how people can act on their own initiative where they live or work and in their everyday lives, rather than imagining “the struggle” as something that is waged exclusively on the streets by masked, able-bodied youth.

Whatever criticisms anybody might have about what has happened thus far, this formidable exercise in collective intelligence is really incredibly impressive—an action can be proposed in a message group or on an anonymous message board thread, a few people organize to do it, and it’s done without any fuss or fanfare. Forms circulate and multiply as different groups try them out and modify them.

In the West, Leninists and Maoists have been screaming bloody murder about “CIA Psyop” or “Western backed color revolution.” Have hegemonic forces in Hong Kong invoked the “outside agitator” theme on the ground at a narrative level?

Actually, that is the official line of the Chief Executive, who has repeatedly said that she regards the events of the past week as riotous behavior incited by foreign interests that are interested in conducting a “color revolution” in the city. I’m not sure if she would repeat that line now that she has apologized publicly for “creating contradictions” and discord with her decisions, but all the same—it’s hilarious that tankies share the exact same opinion as our formal head of state.

It’s an open secret that various pro-democracy NGOs, parties, and thinktanks receive American funding. It’s not some kind of occult conspiracy theory that only tankies know about. But these tankies are suggesting that the platform that coordinates the marches—a broad alliance of political parties, NGOs, and the like—is also the ideological spearhead and architect of the “movement,” which is simply a colossal misunderstanding. That platform has been widely denounced, discredited, and mocked by the “direct action” tendencies that are forming all around us, and it is only recently that, as we said above, there are slightly begrudging threads on the Internet offering them indirect praise for being able to coordinate marches that actually achieve something. If only tankies would stop treating everybody like mindless neo-colonial sheep acting at the cryptic behest of Western imperialist intelligence.

That said, it would be dishonest if we failed to mention that, alongside threads on message boards discussing the niceties of direct action tactics abroad, there are also threads alerting everyone to the fact that voices in the White House have expressed their disapproval for the law. Some have even celebrated this. Also, there is a really wacky petition circulating on Facebook to get people to appeal to the White House for foreign intervention. I’m sure one would see these sorts of things in any struggle of this scale in any non-Western city. They aren’t smoking guns confirming imperialist manipulation; they are fringe phenomena that are not the driving force behind events thus far.

Have any slogans, neologisms, new slang, popular talking points, or funny phrases emerged that are unique to the situation?

Yes, lots, though we’re not sure how we would go about translating them. But the force that is generating these memes, that is inspiring all these Whatsapp and Telegram stickers and catchphrases, is actually the police force.

Between shooting people in the eye with plastic bullets, flailing their batons about, and indiscriminately firing tear gas canisters at peoples’ heads and groins, they also found the time to utter some truly classic pearls that have made their way on to t-shirts. One of these bons mots is the rather unfortunate and politically incorrect “liberal cunt.” In the heat of a skirmish between police and protesters, a policeman called someone at the frontlines by that epithet. All our swear words in Cantonese revolve around male and female genitalia, unfortunately; we have quite a few words for private parts. In Cantonese, this formulation doesn’t sound as sensible as it does in English. Said together in Cantonese, “liberal” and “cunt” sounds positively hilarious.

Does this upheaval bear any connections to the fishball riots or Hong Kong autonomy from a few years ago?

A: The “fishball riots” were a demonstrative lesson in many ways, especially for people like us, who found ourselves spectators situated at some remove from the people involved. It was a paroxysmic explosion of rage against the police, a completely unexpected aftershock from the collapse of the umbrella movement. An entire party, the erstwhile darlings of right-wing youth everywhere, “Hong Kong Indigenous,” owes its whole career to this riot. They made absolutely sure that everyone knew they were attending, showing up in uniform and waving their royal blue flags at the scene. They were voted into office, disqualified, and incarcerated—one of the central members is now seeking asylum in Germany, where his views on Hong Kong independence have apparently softened considerably in the course of hanging out with German Greens. That is fresh in the memory of folks who know that invisibility is now paramount.

What effect has Joshua Wong’s release had?

A: We are not sure how surprised readers from overseas will be to discover, after perhaps watching that awful documentary about Joshua Wong on Netflix, that his release has not inspired much fanfare at all. Demosisto are now effectively the “Left Plastic” among a new batch of secondary students.

Are populist factions functioning as a real force of recuperation?

A: All that we have written above illustrates how, while the struggle currently escapes the grasp of every established group, party, and organization, its content is populist by default. The struggle has attained a sprawling scale and drawn in a wide breadth of actors; right now, it is expanding by the minute. But there is little thought given to the fact that many of those who are most obviously and immediately affected by the law will be people whose work takes place across the border—working with and providing aid to workers in Shenzhen, for instance.

Nobody is entirely sure what the actual implications of the law are. Even accounts written by professional lawyers vary quite widely, and this gives press outlets that brand themselves as “voices of the people”5 ample space to frame the entire issue as simply a matter of Hong Kong’s constitutional autonomy being compromised, with an entire city in revolt against the imposition of an all-encompassing surveillance state.

Perusing message boards and conversing with people around the government complex, you would think that the introduction of this law means that expressions of dissent online or objectionable text messages to friends on the Mainland could lead to extradition. This is far from being the case, as far as the letter of the law goes. But the events of the last few years, during which booksellers in Hong Kong have been disappeared for selling publications banned on the Mainland and activists in Hong Kong have been detained and deprived of contact upon crossing the border, offer little cause to trust a party that is already notorious for cooking up charges and contravening the letter of the law whenever convenient. Who knows what it will do once official authorization is granted.

Paranoia invariably sets in whenever the subject of China comes up. On the evening of June 12, when the clouds of tear gas were beginning to clear up, the founder of a Telegram message group with 10,000+ active members was arrested by the police, who commanded him to unlock his phone. His testimony revealed that he was told that even if he refused, they would hack his phone anyway. Later, the news reported that he was using a Xiaomi phone at the time. This news went viral, with many commenting that his choice of phone was both bold and idiotic, since urban legend has it that Xiaomi phones not only have a “backdoor” that permits Xiaomi to access the information on every one of its phones and assume control of the information therein, but that Xiaomi—by virtue of having its servers in China—uploads all information stored on its cloud to the database of party overlords. It is futile to try to suggest that users who are anxious about such things can take measures to seal backdoors, or that background information leeching can be detected by simply checking the data usage on your phone. Xiaomi is effectively regarded as an expertly engineered Communist tracking device, and arguments about it are no longer technical, but ideological to the point of superstition.

This “post-truth” dimension of this struggle, compounded with all the psychopathological factors that we enumerated above, makes everything that is happening that much more perplexing, that much more overwhelming. For so long, fantasy has been the impetus for social struggle in this city—the fantasy of a national community, urbane, free-thinking, civilized and each sharing in the negative freedoms that the law provides, the fantasy of electoral democracy… Whenever these affirmative fantasies are put at risk, they are defended and enacted in public, en masse, and the sales for “I Am Hong Konger” [sic] go through the roof.

This is what gives the proceedings a distinctly conservative, reactionary flavor, despite how radical and decentralized the new forms of action are. All we can do as a collective is seek ways to subvert this fantasy, to expose and demonstrate its vacuity in form and content.

At this time, it feels surreal that everybody around us is so certain, so clear about what they need to do—oppose this law with every means that they have available to them—while the reasons for doing so remain hopelessly obscure. It could very well be the case that this suffocating opacity is our lot for the time being, in this phase premised upon more action, less talk, on the relentless need to keep abreast of and act on the flow of information that is constantly accelerating around us.

In so many ways, what we see happening around us is a fulfillment of what we have dreamt of for years. So many bemoan the “lack of political leadership,” which they see as a noxious habit developed over years of failed movements, but the truth is that those who are accustomed to being protagonists of struggles, including ourselves as a collective, have been overtaken by events. It is no longer a matter of a tiny scene of activists concocting a set of tactics and programs and attempting to market them to the public. “The public” is taking action all around us, exchanging techniques on forums, devising ways to evade surveillance, to avoid being arrested at all costs. It is now possible to learn more about fighting the police in one afternoon than we did in a few years.

In the midst of this breathless acceleration, is it possible to introduce another rhythm, in which we can engage in a collective contemplation of what has become of us, and what we are becoming as we rush headlong into the tumult?

As ever, we stand here, fighting alongside our neighbors, ardently looking for friends.

Hand-written statements by protesters, weathered after an afternoon of heavy rain. Photo by WWS from Tak Cheong Lane Collective.

In reflecting on the problems concealed by the apparent unanimity of the “Hong Kong people,” we might start by asking who that framework suggests that this city is for, who comprises this imaginary subject. We have seen Nepalese and Pakistani brothers and sisters on the streets, but they hesitate to make their presence known for fear of being accused of being thugs employed by the police. ↩

“The places of institutional power exert a magnetic attraction on revolutionaries. But when the insurgents manage to penetrate parliaments, presidential palaces, and other headquarters of institutions, as in Ukraine, in Libya or in Wisconsin, it’s only to discover empty places, that is, empty of power, and furnished without any taste. It’s not to prevent the “people” from “taking power” that they are so fiercely kept from invading such places, but to prevent them from realizing that power no longer resides in the institutions. There are only deserted temples there, decommissioned fortresses, nothing but stage sets—real traps for revolutionaries.” –The Invisible Committee, To Our Friends ↩

Incidentally, that attempt was a good deal more spontaneous and successful. The police had hardly imagined that crowds of people who had sat peacefully with their heads in their hands feeling helpless while the developments were authorized would suddenly start attempting to rush the council doors by force, breaking some of the windows. ↩

On the night of June 11, young customers in a McDonald’s in Admiralty were all searched and had their identity cards recorded. On June 12, a video went viral showing a young man transporting a box of bottled water to protesters who were being brutalized by a squad of policemen with batons. ↩

To give two rather different examples, this includes the populist, xenophobic, and vehemently anti-Communist Apple Daily, and the “Hong Kong Free Press,” an independent English online rag of the “angry liberal” stripe run by expatriates that has an affinity for young localist/nativist leaders. ↩