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hacked-by-jake · 3 years

Note

Jake x MC 93. Living for angst!

Are you fucking serious?

A/n: Hi @jellyfishdodraw and thank you for your request. I really hope you like it and please forgive the mistakes🙏🏻 Uhm yes, have fun..😅😊

Prompt: “We should break up”

Words: 1,8k

Warning: Angst, swearing, discussion /argument, no happy end, (Maybe a spoiler from the movie V for Vendetta?)

You didn’t have much to do today, which is why you were looking forward to it.

"MC?" Jake appears in the door of his office, you’re sitting in the living room with a drawing you’ve been planning on doing for a long time.

"I want to talk to you," Jake speaks with his soft voice, but somehow seems nervous.

"Sure" you answer, "what’s going on? You look worried".

He comes to you and sits next to you on the sofa and you put your pen aside to give him your full attention.

"Okay, listen," he starts reaching for your hands, "please don’t interrupt me".

All the alarm bells are ringing in your head, "Jake tell me. You’re scaring me".

He takes a deep breath before he starts.

"I got an offer, an offer for a pretty big deal. A group of great Hackers who have joined forces to expose a huge corruption within the government. However, they still lack someone with my skills and knowledge. I know them and know that they have only good things in mind. However, I would like to inform you beforehand as this will also be quite dangerous if something goes wrong"

For a moment, you just look at him speechless to see if he could really be serious.

"If you just asked me seriously if you could hack the government, to uncover anything, then no! Sorry", a little incredulous you shake your head as you want to go back to your drawing.

"How no?" he looks at you irritated.

"What No?" you laugh bitterly, still hoping that this is just a bad joke.

"Why?" Jake asks and tries to keep his voice at a neutral volume.

"That you’re really even asking me about this," you grumble.

"Okay, and why not?"

Vigorously, you turn to him again, "Why not? Why don’t I want you to put yourself and me in danger? Have you forgotten the beginning of our relationship?"

Actually, you don’t want to be like that, but you don’t know how to react. You feel shocked and almost a little amused about it. And that he’s seriously asking if that’s okay, hurts you. What does he think? That you’re jumping happy around and cheering? Does he want the Nobel Peace Prize?

"No, I didn’t forget but-"

You interrupt him, "but what, Jake? But what? But your plan isn’t so bad?"

His gaze turns into angry and he gets up from the sofa.

"Okay, well, the country we live in, has a bunch of corrupt politicians who are empowered to make enormously important decisions about this country. I can do something about it and make sure we don’t get into trouble in a few months, but you say no?"

He seems totally horrified.

"You’re serious, aren’t you? You really don’t understand what my problem is?"

"No, MC, I’m sorry, honestly, not"

You pull up your eyebrows and tilt your head.

"What exactly, can’t you understand? You put yourself in the greatest danger, and me too! What happens if they catch you Jake? What happens then? You go to jail your whole fucking life when that happens, and me? I’ll stay here alone. And then we play happy family every two months? If I may visit you? If I may at all, because you want to interfere in something that they do not like at all! We have already played through that. Even I’ve been through this before, and that with you! Isn’t that reason enough?" during your speech, you stood up and walked into the kitchen to grab a drink.

"No, not reason enough" he answers and leans with his arms folded in the door frame.

"Wait, wait, our relationship and I are not reason enough?" you look disturbed at him.

"MC, you know I would never put you in danger".

His sentence sounds like an accusation.

"Wouldn’t you? But you do it! What happens if it goes wrong? Do you want to escape? Should I come with you then?"

"Nobody knows if it will go wrong!"

"Yes, but nobody knows if it’s going well," you hiss and slaps on the table, "Now you ask me if you can hack the government, what’s next? You blow up Parliament like Vendetta? Jake just because you both wear the same mask, you are still far from being him. If you leave out the fact that it’s a movie. Maybe you’ve been watching the movie too much." you mock and regret it in the next moment. That might have been a little harsh.

Jake also looks astonished and then slowly nods his head, "All right, thank you" he mumbles and turns around.

"Nothing is okay" you lean down against the countertop.

"I could save a country from bad things MC." Okay, now he’s blaming you.

"Now you want me to feel bad?"

"No"

You snort outraged and looking out the window.

"You know what? Call me selfish! Call me cold! Call me inhuman or whatever you want. But I certainly don’t see you putting yourself in danger again! Jake, back then, you were alone. That’s what you decided when we didn’t know each other.

But now we’ve been a couple! We’ve been together for two years. Do you remember, that in the beginning, we couldn’t leave each other alone for two hours without fear for the other or just because we didn’t want to be alone? And now? Do you want to put us both in danger of being hunted by the government? Once again? I don’t give a shit if you can save a country or what could happen later. I care about you and I don’t want you to put yourself in danger! I remember when the agents tried to hack me and you suddenly texted me again! There was nothing worse than that I was in danger, and now you want to accept that danger? Risk that it goes wrong and we have to split up? So sorry, but for me it comes across as if it’s not bad for you anymore. I don’t really want to say it, but it just seems to me like it doesn’t matter to you, that you put me in danger too."

"But maybe nothing happens, if I don’t, we’ll never know!"

"Yeah, I know, Jake, but that’s like jumping from a height of five meters. Maybe I just break a few of my bones, maybe all of them, I don’t know, and it would be stupid to try. And I’m not taking the risk of losing you. I know you always want to save everyone and do something good for everyone, but Jake, someday it’s your turn, someday it’s all about you. And before you jeopardize your entire life, Me, as your girlfriend, am obligated to stop you!"

You just keep talking because you feel like if you stop, is everything over. It's hurting that he’s suddenly so weird and angry, that he wants to jeopardize everything.

"I can’t put my well-being above that of a whole country. I can’t do that, MC. It’s too important for me," he shouts. He can’t put it above other people’s but above yours...?

You look at him mute.

As he stands there, the hair slightly confused, his blue eyes that otherwise glow so full of love, now look rather dark and angry.

The way he folded his arms. His facial features are tense. And it hurts. It hurts a lot. That Jake is suddenly so different than usual.

"So you want to endanger us all? All of us? Hannah, Lilly, your father, Me, and even the others. What you’re up to, is not a small thing, and they’re going to involve every single one of us because anyone who knows you, could have something to do with it" the first tear flows out of your eye. Whether by your suppressed anger or because it’s really sad what he wants from you.

Somewhere, you can unfortunately understand him but you just don’t want to risk your almost perfect, quiet and harmonious life. Above all, who knows what they came across? What are they talking about?

Besides, there’s certainly another hacker somewhere who has the same skills as Jake, and can work with them.

But then the realization hits you like a slap in the face.

"You’re already in on this, aren’t you? It’s already happened or not?" you ask with a trembling voice.

Guiltily he turns his gaze to the ground and says nothing.

"You’re not fucking serious, are you?" you scream.

"Did something go wrong? Something happened ago and that’s why you’re telling me about it now?"

"MC I-"

You interrupt him stunned, "Oh, my God, Jake!" you slap your hands in front of your face. Your feelings collide and seem to eat you from the inside.

All of a sudden, you feel like you’re on a time trip to the beginning of everything. Fear and insecurity are breaking down over you and you realize that everything will start all over again if it goes wrong.

"MC, listen to me -"

"No! No, I don’t want to know, no, you know what you just did?" you ask and wipe away the tears that grow stronger and stronger.

"Oh, God, I have to get out of here," you mumble.

You rush past him to the front door.

You grab your jacket and your shoes, you open the door without putting them on.

"Where do you want to go now?" he asks desperately.

"Go, Jake, I have to go now, to Jessy or something," you sniffed while you were in a hurry putting your shoes coarsely on.

"MC, you can’t tell anyone about this! No one! You know that".

Stunned you laugh, "You’re not serious. I’m not supposed to tell NO ONE that YOU put us all in danger? Jake, what’s wrong with you? Don’t you realize what you’re doing?"

"So what I do is shit? That I want to save people? All of us?"

"Is it worth it to put your family in danger, Jake? Is it worth it to you to lose everyone? Oh God, I can’t do this, Jake. I can’t go through this again. I can’t live in fear for months, that I’ll be woken up by the FBI, breaking down our front door and suddenly standing in our bedroom to take you. Jake, I can’t do this," you cry desperately.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he almost whispers and stares at you, "What do you mean, you can’t?"

You swallow your tears and the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "That means I can’t stay by your side when this starts over. I - I think it’s better if we should break up.. I can’t do it, not again!"

"You’re leaving me?" in his face it’s horrified. To see this, breaks your heart. You really, really love him more than anything else in the world but all that stress again? Months of uncertainty? Months of sorrow and uncertainty?

"I am so sorry"

You turn around and storm down the stairs. What the fuck just happened?

-----

🌹

#duskwood #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fanfiction #Everbyte #duskwood mc #duskwood prompt

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urmomsstuntdouble · 3 years

Text

brother of mine

aka an itabros character study (?) there are characters and they’ve been studied, idk what else to tell you. this has been in my head for a long while, though i got a lil experimental with how i wrote it. anyway, this is a bit important to me and i know there’s like a lot of really good takes about their relationship already out ther, but here’s mine! i hope you enjoy it!

(pov romano, written in present tense 2nd person, in case that’s a turn off for you. all of the emotional baggage you’d expect.)

6:09- Wake up, still tired. Nothing you can do about that, but you stay in bed a little longer, listening. Is your brother awake yet? Do you want him to be? It’s already noisy outside.

6:13- Get out of bed after spending four minutes staring at that photograph of your fiance and you that’s taped to the wall. You wonder if you should frame it, but he hasn’t gotten you a ring yet, so you don’t know if he’s serious, or he’s also in love with you. And if you were to frame it, you’d have to take the tape off, and that would render your likeness without a face. Would that be so bad? And you don’t want to think about that, so you push the blanket off. Because you sleep naked, you get cold fast without the blanket. At first, you try to sink deeper into the bed, but that dosn’t work. There’s no goosebumps on your back. So you get up and put clothes on.

6:15- You walk into the bathroom, pleased that the time is such an even number. A perfect quarter of an hour. But then you see your brother, standing at the mirror, straightening his wavy hair. You sigh, and ask him how long he’s gonna be in the bathroom. You need to straighten your hair too, and you can’t use the toilet with him standing there. Maybe you could’ve at one point, or on a better day, but today isn’t one of those days.

6:39- You finish straightening your hair. Your brother is still in the bathroom, even though he doesn’t need to be. He’s crosslegged on the toilet, and you’re paying closer attention to your hair than his rambling, but you still know when to nod and fake-laugh.

6:52- You don’t pay attention to traffic on the way to work, despite driving. It was your turn to drive, but you’re not in the mood to drive. But you can’t ask your brother to drive, because then he’ll worry about you, and you’ll have to tell him why you’re fine. He’ll never believe you. He says he wants to help you a lot, but he never does, at least not in the way you need. Maybe he doesn’t understand you, or maybe you’re just stupid to him. Can he see you, really? Is he even trying? Maybe you are stupid, or maybe you can’t be helped. You almost hit a woman and her daughter, and you scream out the window that they need to walk faster. You don’t believe yourself, and your brother can tell. You growl. Maybe that’ll change his mind.

7:28- You arrive at the Parliament building. Your brother gets out of the car first, almost while it’s still moving. Don’t want to be late! he chirps, but the pair of you can’t be late. You can’t give the nation avatars their morning briefing if they’re not there. And you’re not even supposed to be there until eight, anyway. You say nothing of this and call him a dumbass.

7:37- You’re walking slowly through the halls. You have 23 minutes, and you are alone. Some coffee would be nice. You don’t trust yourself to get coffee and get back in 23 minutes, so you don’t.

8:00- You walk into the briefing room. Your brother is already there. He gives you a little wave when you walk in. Heat flashes through you, and you feel like you could rip a cork out of a bottle with your bare hands. There is no way to test that, because there are no bottles in this room. You sit beside him, in the chair unofficially designated as yours, and begin the briefing.

9:00- Another meeting. A headache nips at your temples, and you tell yourself it’s not because you didn’t get coffee. It is. In the meeding, someone mentions your separatists, and you straighten your tie. You also shrink back into your seat. They blame you, or maybe think you have answers. You don’t. You are glad your tattoo is covered.

10:00- You have nothing to do for now, so you read the news. Your brother is doing paperwork. You should be doing paperwork. If you didn’t share an office, you wouldn’t feel so bad about not doing the paperwork. The sound of his pen on paper grates at you. You can hear his progress as the ball-point gets scratchier. You keep scrolling down the news app on your government phone.

11:00- You start your own paperwork after the third time your brother harrasses you about it. Hundreds of Lovino Vargas’s make your wrist hurt, but he looks smug about finishing first.

12:54- You get a chunk of your work done. Your brother’s fucked off somewhere without telling you. You leave the office, leave the building, and find a wall to lean against. You smoke, watching your people. If they’re yours? Things are fuzzier in Rome. You wish they weren’t. No one else is so weak in their capital, and it’s only okay because Veneziano is weak here too. A girl smiles at you, and you blow her a kiss. Her blush is cute, but you can’t enjoy it because you’re engaged.

13:12- Your brother finds you. He wants to get lunch. You say fine, unenthused. You get lunch from a street market. When the vendor hands your food across the counter, your fingers brush. The look in his eyes changes, and he gapes. He knows who you are. You wink at him, and he stands a little straighter. Your brother knows what’s happened too, and beams at him. He pays in a stack of coins. The vendor chuckles, and stares at your brother in awe. They shake hands while you hold your brother’s lunch. You need to get back to work, so you take your food without shaking the vendor’s hand.

14:00- It’s another hour passed. Your pen sounds different when you sign your name, but the victory feels hollow. You’re slow.

15:00- It’s warm. Too warm. You’re heavy, and you want to take a nap. You’re sweating again, and miss the ocean. You can’t remember the last time you saw your fiance. You should make arrangements to see him again.

16:00- It’s still warm. You’ve sweated through your dress shirt. Maybe you should take your blazer off. But then people will know you’re sweating. And your brother isn’t sweating. You keep the blazer on, and wipe your forehead with a tissue. With the tissue still in your hand, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You wipe under your arms with toilet paper, and stare at yourself in the mirror. You’re behind, and you sort of miss the times when you didn’t have paperwork. It was better for your wrists, but worse for everything else. Even so, you could lean back on your fiance’s chest whenever you pleased. He had a soft spot for you. Everyone else’s soft spot is for your brother. You wonder if your fiance is the only person who will ever have such a soft spot for you. You splash your face with cold water and pat it dry. Your eyes looked better when they were lined with sweat.

17:00- It gets loud outside. You continue working.

18:00- It’s still loud. You’re still working. Your brother takes a break, smoking by the window. There’s sweat under his arms. A secratary walks in to deliver more papers. She likes his suspenders, and he thanks her. He blows her a kiss. You know, the whole point of smoking by the window is to keep the smoke from getting into the room. The secratary leaves. You ruined it.

19:00- Your brother drives you home. It’s his turn. He pays attention to traffic. You pick at your nails, and wrestle some words down. Your head throbs, and you need a smoke. Or some coffee.

20:11- You’re home. It smells like you, and you can breathe. It also smells like your brother. Maybe you smell the same.

20:47- Dinner. You sit down, punctuated by an opening door. You brother’s boyfriend walks in, and he makes him a plate. You shake your head, and push food around on your plate while they talk about trade deals. You wish he wasn’t here. Or maybe you wish you were somehwere else. Maybe you wish you were on the beach, or maybe you miss your fiance. Actually, you always miss him, but most of the time you’ve forgotten. Watching them talk about the trade hurts anyway. It’s not even trade between the two of them. You figure it out and realize that you wish you were human. If you were human you never would’ve met your brother. You’d never have left Sicilia- Or maybe you’d be married to your fiance by now. Whatever. You wouldn’t know either of the men on the other side of the table, and it would be a better life.

21:03- You brother’s boyfriend is gone. You’re screaming, and so is your brother. You’re both armed with wine glasses, and you feel yours slipping in your hand. You don’t want to drop it, because he’ll help you clean it. You can see it now- The glass falls and shatters, and you fall with it to pick up the pieces. Your brother’s hands meet yours as he does the same. You scream at him and someone bleeds while the other shouts into a pillow. You drink the rest of your wine. You try to talk so fast that you dribble wine down your shirt. Your throat feels tight and your voice pitches up, and now you sound like him. You tell him he’s stupid and obnoxious and he should’ve kept his half of the country. His eyes widen. Yours would too if someone was yelling at you in your own voice. You both ruin your shirts with tears, and Veneziano drops his wine glass. Good job, you say, and track footprints of wine out of the room.

21:49- You need to go to sleep. You can hear your brother talking to his boyfriend on the phone. You wish it was light enough to see the picture of your fiance on the wall, and you don’t want to get out of bed to turn the light on. You know it’s there, and that helps, but you really wish you could see him.

5:03- You didn’t sleep much last night. The quiet in the house hurts a little. You’re still in yesterday’s clothes. You wander downstairs. The floor is clean now, and the kitchen door is open. Your brother is outside.

5:06- You’re not sorry and you let him know. He’s okay with it and you sort of wish he wasn’t but you’re glad he understadns. He makes you cry too much, but you also make him cry a lot. Maybe you shouldn’t live together. You don’t say that, because it might make him cry again.

5:08- His head is on your shoulder. You can’t move. You think you’re supposed to put an arm around him and be comforting. Your hands were always too rough, too violent, too dirty. They never learned how to love gently. You wouldn’t know how to comfort. You were never supposed to learn what tenderness was. Last night, you wished you hadn’t.

5:18- You hug him. He does most of the work. You bury your face in his shoulder pretending it’s someon else’s.

5:19- He’s sorry. You don’t believe him.

5:20- You say thank you.

5:21- Niether of you talk. You might not be ready to talk yet. Is it okay, you ask him? He shrugs, because he’s not ready either. No one’s ever ready.

5:24- You agree to try again today. You both know it won’t work. You try again.

#there it is folks! hope it's snazzy #sorry if this is annoying i really love romano so much #also! author's notes/personal hcs:#lovino is his legal human name and that's what he puts on government documents (what it says on his driver's licsense)#the nations do work at their government's place of governy shit #romano thinks he's engaged to spain because of that fuckin thing where spain proposed ot him but spain doesn't think theyre engaged #bc he thinks romano turned him down #anyway i think thats all i have to say #hetalia #hws #hws romano #hws italy #hws veneziano #italy brothers #itabros #character study #my writing #long post (?)#ceros posting

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imagine-that-one-thing · 3 years

Text

Her Majesty || 16

Letters patent.

Anastasia’s POV.

The papers fall from my hands, hitting the floor before I step over them, “Excuse me,” I mutter, hurrying past Harry and finding my way to the bathroom. My hands grapple with clutching the edge of the sink as I bow my head in defeat.

This can’t be happening.

One hand stays grasped to the edge, and the other holds my hair back, my stomach twisting at the realisation of everything.

The door creaks open, and Harry steps into the bathroom, thoughtfully pushing my hand away and holding my hair back for me.

“This is why you need a break.” Harry sighs, stroking my back while my stomach violently turns and the remainder of my afternoon tea makes an awful appearance.

I take a breath and press a hand to my stomach, straightening my back slightly, “Now isn’t the time for sly remarks,” I murmur, closing my eyes for a moment, another wave hitting me harshly.

I lift my head again, taking another breath and praying that it’s the last time I throw up.

Harry lets go of my hair as I lean back on him, my energy depleting extremely quickly.

We are stuck. Harry and I are bound to the monarchy with no way out. “He tied me to the monarch?” The words leave my mouth, and Harry nods his head as I gaze at him through the mirror, “We are stuck in it… Why’d he do this?” I softly question, tears falling down my blushed cheeks, “I can’t end it.”

Harry wraps his arm around me carefully, “Sweetheart, I think the point was so that the monarch can’t end at all. Your Dad issued letters patent.”

“The only person who can end this shitshow is my hypothetical child?”

“That’s how it seems.” Harry nods.

“The only way anyone can cause this monarch to end is if I have a baby? Not even Pippa can end it? Parliament can’t even end this fucking shit?”

Harry again shakes his head, “The monarch can only end with your kid.”

“Our,” I correct him, “Our hypothetical kid.”

“What do we do, Anna?”

I take a moment before I take a breath. I step away from his embrace, and I turn to face him, leaning against the counter, and I smile up at him softly, “We rule the monarch with an iron fist, Harry.”

“Excuse me?” Harry’s eyes grow big.

“We do what was intended, to rule the monarch and keep it thriving. But you’re going to call for a dissolution of Parliament. Every seat in the House of Commons will become vacant.”

“Why? Pippa said parliament seats couldn’t change.”

“She is wrong. Call for the dissolution, Harry. Then we can work on getting her disbanded as Primeinsiter.”

“We can’t get rid of her. We can’t vote; royals stay neutral in that branch.”

“Harry, I am aware of how this works. Please, listen to me, clear the seats, order new parliament officials. It’s a strategic dissolution.”

“So, now you want to end Parliament since we can’t end the monarch?”

I nod my head, “You and I both know some of the people who want me dead are currently members of parliament, call for re-election, so they lose their seats. If they are not voted in, you can figure out how to keep them at bay and away from us,” I respond.

“Isn’t there a rule about Parliament only being dissolved at a certain time?” Harry asks.

I shrug my shoulders, “Parliament can be dissolved at the beginning of the 25th working day before a general election… The Fixed-term Parliaments Act, which you are also going to sign and change today. Before the Fixed-term Parliaments Act, the government had the power to call elections at a time of its choosing, and I want that back.”

“I hate being the middle man,” Harry groans, “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Then let me have the crown back.”

“Talk to your mother about it, Anna. I don’t have a say over having the fucking crown. I have tried to hand it back… Pippa and your mother have not allowed me.”

“The best thing about you being King is that you can sign whatever the fuck you want and not listen to them. You can hand me the crown; you just have to sign it on over or find a loophole as my father did.”

“I much prefer my daily job as security than as King.”

“Listen to me and do this, Harry. When Parliament is dissolved, all unfinished parliamentary business falls, including bills that have not received Royal Assent. Bills cannot be carried over. Whatever plans any of them have will fail. If I can’t abolish this circus, I will join them and end it for them and take back the monarch... You are either with me or against me, Harry.”

“I am with you, Anastasia,” Harry responds instantly, “I will start the process of everything, not that I know what the fuck I am doing,” Harry trails off, “Any other requests while I am here? Perhaps request my blood?”

“Oh, ha, ha, you’re funny,” I roll my eyes, “That’s all for now, I will keep thinking of Royal assents I want you to part take in… Until then, I have to make my first appearance as Queen, even though that is far from the truth. Are you attending?”

“I am,” Harry nods, “Matthew has Oliver and myself on your service.”

“Great… and if you don’t wish to participate in my plan to take back control of the monarch, we can always have a baby and abolish the monarchy.”

“Uhm…” Harry trails off, “No. All due respect, but if we have a kid, I’d rather we talk about it properly, and right now, I don’t want a baby in this mix, no, no— and no.” Harry shakes his head sternly.

“I’m sure parliament would love it.”

“I’m sure that would piss them off and make things worse, no.”

“Great, so you’ll be on my side?”

“Yes. Anna. I have always been on your side. Now I’m going to take a nap until your event. Please, for the love of God, don’t start shit, don’t make any plans, don’t do anything irrational like you did the night with Henry. I don’t need more blood on my hands, literally and metaphorically.”

“I will be the perfect princess everyone knows me to be.”

“You say that with an evil look to your eyes… I really don’t need to do a protocol.”

I shrug my shoulders and step closer to him, “You have my word, I won’t start shit,” I smile, drawing small circles on my stomach, feeling a bit more relaxed, oddly.

“I am confused as to what made you switch from hating the monarch to wanting to control it again?”

I take a breath and shrug my shoulders, “Sometimes you just have to play the cards you are dealt and hope that the hand you have is the winning hand.”

“But you suddenly flipped your switch, Anna… Do I need to be concerned? What happened to the Princess that wanted nothing more than to leave and have a normal life?”

“She realised that it would never happen. This is what I was born for, Harry. I have tried to get away so many times, and I can’t. I have no choice but to deal with it. You can still leave. You don’t have to be stuck in this, Harry. You have an out.”

Harry shakes his head and takes my left hand with his, “Anna,” Harry begins with a soft breath, his thumb rubbing over where my rings would rest if I were able to wear them. He reaches his other hand up to my neck where he follows the thin chain and pulls out my rings from under my shirt, “I gave you this ring and proposed for a reason, I put that wedding band on, for a reason, I wear my wedding band, for a reason. I love you, and I want to be with you. I don’t want an out. I don’t want to leave. I can deal with the monarch. It does not scare me.” Harry informs me sweetly and calmly, “I may not be able to tell the world I love you or act upon things right now, but I don’t want to not live life without being your partner, even if you do despise me for taking your damn crown,” Harry chuckles, breaking the slight tension in the space between us.

I do not despise him for taking the crown. I will admit that him having ownership of it is a better option. I am still in no headspace to hold such power, and I am still struggling with daily activities. Royal life isn’t easy, but it is much more challenging when you lose your father but gain a monarch to run that you are not ready for. My father may have prepared me in a royal status sort of way to run the place, but I was not mentally or emotionally prepared. I don’t think anyone can be emotionally prepared for the loss of a loved one.

“Are you sure?”

Harry nods his head, “I am more than sure, sweetheart. Are you okay? I still don’t understand how you changed your mind about the monarch.”

I shrug my shoulders, “I don’t know if I am truly okay. Today’s news physically made me sick,” I admit, “But this is my family legacy. I would be destroying what generations have built. My father did build a great monarch… It may have some evil people involved in it, but the people are thriving, and the country is doing well. I can sit here and wish to abolish and destroy it all because of my own bitterness, or I can figure out how to lead without being held back.”

Harry smiles softly and nods his head, “It is good to see you coming to your power as Queen, darling.

“I have a great husband and King to back me up.”

“No, baby. You don’t have a King. You have a husband. I am merely the husband to have your back.”

I shake my head, “No, Harry. If I am reigning Queen, you will be known as King. I will be changing that. You will have that title. I can be Queen and reign on my own, don’t get me wrong, but I want a King by my side.”

“We can cross that bridge when we get there… But I want to know when the staff will know about us, and I am tired of hiding us. Surely the staff have figured it out.”

I shake my head, “The staff do not know, but you are still the talk of the ladies,” I laugh, “A lot of the ladies keep their eyes on you. Rumour has it that there is a pool on how long it takes you to get a girlfriend.”

“What?”

“The staff, they make assumptions about you since you’re so private. Some think you have a secret girlfriend, and others think that you’re just a workaholic.”

Harry rolls his eyes, “Jokes on them, I have a secret wife, and I am a workaholic. Do they just sit and talk about me to you?”

I nod my head, “Yeah, I learn new things about you all the time.” I chuckle, unsure how he doesn’t know that many of the female staff swoons over him.

“And you don’t mind?”

“No, I find it amusing,” I respond, “I don’t know how they haven’t figured out we are together. You are always in my room.”

“I am security,” Harry shrugs, “I think a few of them know. They just keep quiet. I know Grace has an idea. She keeps smirking at my ring.”

“Oh well, I don’t care, I am unsure how the people will react, but I guess we will find out. I need to get ready for the event… I am giving a speech.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “So Pippa told me. How do you feel about that?”

“I think I am okay, considering I just threw up a handful of times,” I sarcastically respond. “I uh… I haven’t seen the speech. I am not allowed to write my own. They don’t trust me.” I roll my eyes, “I much prefer if I could write things myself. I don’t like being dictated to.”

Harry steps to the side and grabs one of the face towels that are folded neatly. He runs it under the cold water before touching it to my cheeks lightly, “I don’t think you’re okay at all. You don’t have to do this speech.” Harry taps the damp towel to my forehead, my eyes closing as it soothes me. “You look like you need to sit down for a few minutes,” Harry softly enlightens me, and I nod my head in agreement.

My body feels weak and exhausted.

Harry guides me back to the bedroom, being overly protective. I sit on the bed and rest against the soft pillows. Harry sits beside me on the edge and dabs my forehead, “Seriously, if you’re not up to it, you don’t have to do the speech.”

“Harry, I have to be a big girl and face the fear. One way or another. It’s all just a lot to handle,” I sigh, “Will you just ask my lady maids to come in an hour later than usual? So I can lay down.”

Harry nods, “Yes,” He leans over and kisses my forehead, “Try to relax.”

“It’s hard when the damn papers are on the floor and dictate my future.”

Harry shakes his head, “We will figure it out. One way or another, it’ll be okay.”

He is right; one way or another it’ll work out the way it’s meant to. What’s meant to be will always be. Right now, what’s meant to be is taking my world and turning it upside down.

♚ ♚ ♚

With heavy breaths, I try my best to compose myself and steadily speak, but with every word I am forced to utter, I feel a heaviness in my chest that’s threatening to break my walls of resistance and cause me to break. This speech is the first public speech that I have addressed, and it is turning out to be a lot harder than I had anticipated.

I hold back my tears, aware that cameras everywhere and several sets of eyes cast upon me. It was too soon for me to have to do this. Speaking about my father is still raw and cuts me like a knife. I shouldn’t have let Pippa coerce me into delivering a speech, and I should have taken my time with healing and working through things. The monarch and the expectations can wait. My mental and emotional health is more important than addressing the public and all the national leaders who acquire my attention.

I sense a hand to the small of my back, and I take my eyes away from the paper in front of me. I glance to my side and see Harry beside me, my other half, my shoulder to cry on and the person who holds me up when I’m down and praises the happiness with me. “I can’t,” I whisper, choking up with tears, finally allowing them to cascade down my cheeks. I attempt to turn into him so that I can’t be viewed grieving, but I can’t wholly hide, I can’t lean in for a hug and sob like I want to. I have to remember the boundaries between the royal and security guard as the people are viewing.

Harry doesn’t say anything. He naturally places an arm around me, leaving no gaps between us before moving the paper closer to him. Harry clears his throat and, without warning, begins to continue my speech for me. “He was an honorary member of society, a king that will be remembered for his devotion to the nation but most of all will be remembered as a loving father and doting husband.”

I subtly wipe a few of my tears away, doing my best to hold firm as a future Queen. Coronation day hasn’t arrived, so I’m technically not Queen until then, not that it matters considering it will be Harry’s coronation. I stand before my people, vulnerable and emotional, something that is frowned upon and has been for years. It is rare to see a royal display emotions other than pleasure and power, especially when broadcasted over news outlets and social media. A royal is to uphold a particular disposition. We aren’t meant to come across as weak. As I stand here, with tears, I’m aware that I may seem inadequate, but I’d rather appear weak and show the world I have emotions than hide them. Anyone in my shoes would still be mourning the loss of their father, no matter his status, for me to uphold the image that I’m absolutely fine and emotionless is not what I want to support. I do not want to be Queen and viewed as though I have no emotions. Raw emotions show character. It teaches people it’s okay to feel things, it’s okay to break, no matter who you are— it doesn’t make me any less of a Queen. For those who look up to me, I don’t want them to observe me as just another royal or another one who follows all protocols and traditions, and I will not sustain the image of perpetually being emotionless. I am Queen, and I am human.

The speech ends, and Harry guides me away from the small podium, escorting me to escape behind closed doors, where I find a place to sit and compose myself, “Thank you,” I breathe out, “It was too soon,” I whisper, wiping a few tears away from my eyes, doing my best to hold myself together. This is not how I wanted things to go. I didn’t want to break down and for Harry to have to save me from emotional wreckage.

Harry bends down to my level, placing a hand on my knee, “You did a grand job.”

“I started to stutter and cried. I balled my eyes out, Harry.” I don’t feel proud of myself because I couldn’t finish the speech and honour my father in the way he deserves.

“And? That shows that you’re human; you’re normal. Us normal people stutter and have emotions, baby,” Harry winks, managing to pull a chuckle from me, “Pippa did that on purpose, to have you break down in front of people...” Harry trails off.

I would love to say I’m surprised, but I’m not. I’m the centre of attention with the media spotlight, and it would make her night to have me breaking down. Anything in an attempt to continue to prove I’m unfit to take the crown. That’s probably her plan, prove I am incompetent and make sure I never have that royal power. Unlucky for her, Harry is on my side and not hers as she thinks.

“How kind,” I sigh, “Thanks for saving me.”

“Always,” Harry responds, “Wipe the tears away, put on a smile and show them the tough Queen I know you can be, don’t let that speech or Pippa bring you down, okay?”

“Are you giving me a pep talk?” I stifle a laugh as I wipe away a few more tears.

“Someone has to,” Harry responds, standing back to his feet and offering his hand to help me off the chair and to my own feet. He brings me in for a hug and holds me close, “Pippa wants you to fail. She’s watching,” Harry murmurs, “I love you.”

I draw away and nod my head, mouthing an ‘I love you, too’ before taking a step away from him, well aware that it’s only a matter of seconds before someone bursts through the door to summon me. I adjust my dress and posture, taking a deep breath and looking for Harry’s nod and gesture for me to head back to the same room that left me weeping. I stroll in, head held high, my heels hammering the marble flooring and keeping my composure as a strong-willed, calm and collected woman.

I make my rounds by talking to different people and allowing certain photographers at the event to take my photo. With everything that has happened, we need some excellent media coverage within the royals. I am sure Victoria’s death will continue to be in the headlines. I’m sure somewhere down the line, the issue that happened at the palace with Henry’s doppelgänger will arise and spark significant headlines. Royal scandals and murders seem to be the headlines everyone enjoys. I will not be the following headline or humiliation. The media will not predict my downfall or portray me as weak.

As I politely dismiss one of the diplomats, Pippa makes her presence known and offers me a smile, “May I hug you?” She questions and I shake my head.

“Security isn't allowing me to be touched,” I lie, not wanting Pippa’s hug nor anyone else’s. I’m not much in the mood to be touched.

Oliver nods his head, “Correct, strict orders, she isn’t to be touched.”

Pippa rolls her eyes, “Harry’s orders?”

“No,” Oliver instantly responds before I can, “Head of security, please respect the decisions,” Oliver narrows his eyes towards Pippa, not caring that she is a government official. Harry has trained him well, I see.

Pippa nods her head in agreement, “I just wanted to say that the speech was lovely.”

“You wrote it.”

“You’re very hostile, Anna,” Pippa sighs.

“You set me up.” I point out the obvious.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” Pippas' voice is soft as she cocks her head to the side. “It was kind of Harry to step up, but now people will start to speculate,” she trails off into a whisper, making sure nobody can hear her. God forbid if the world knows I have a steady relationship with someone who isn’t royal.

“Perhaps if I weren’t forced to make the speech, he wouldn’t have had to step up and comfort me. I don’t appreciate the events of this evening.”

“Anna, it is not my fault,” she shakes her head, “I followed procedure. It was time you spoke.”

“And as it is time for me to walk away from this conversation, good evening, Pippa,” I dismiss the conversation, walking away before either of us can speak any further. I do not care for what she has to say right now or for the excuses. I’m sure she will blame my mother and say my mother was partly to blame for the speech. Which, I’m sure my mother agreed to the address and for me to speak tonight, and I believe they were both wrong for forcing it upon me and not letting me grieve, but my anger is towards Pippa for now.

♚ ♚ ♚

For the evening, I stood my ground; I didn’t let anything bother me or break me down— I didn’t run to Harry or have him, or Oliver devise an escape plan— I survived my first event without my father and as QUEEN… Just not officially. I know I can do this, it may be arduous, and it may take everything I have inside me, but I can do this. It does make it a little more manageable to know that I have Harry beside me if I need him. That alone gives me a little extra power and support. Sometimes, all someone needs is a bit of confidence and support to thrive.

I escort across the grounds with Oliver, my heels in my hand, while my other hand prevents the hem from dragging across the soft grass that smells of sweet saturnine with every step I take. For the first night in a while, there are no battering winds that howl until the early hours, there is no bitter chill, it finally feels bearable to be outside without the need of heavy coats and wraps, perhaps this is a short-lived moment, but I will take it and relish in it the best that I can. Oliver gently grabs me and pulls back on me, drawing me behind him. “Don’t come any further,” Oliver shouts, his hand reaching for his gun.

“What is it with the men always pulling a gun on me, geez,” Madeleine responds sarcastically.

“Announce yourself formally,” Oliver responds.

“Princess Madeleine Noelle Veil of Denmark. Anastasia, tell him who I am,” Madeleine huffs, holding her hands up as Oliver continues to stare her down.

“She’s fine, Oliver.” I chuckle.

“That’s not what Harry said,'' Oliver responds, causing me to laugh. I am not surprised that Harry and Madeleine don’t get along.

“It’s fine,” I assure Oliver, “Harry has already screened her. She was here for the funeral, remember?” I try to jog Oliver's memory.

Oliver nods his head and steps aside, allowing me to walk closer to Madeleine, “Why are you out here?” I softly ask, looking around, unsure why she is by herself and unaccompanied by a guard.

“Fresh air, Harry said I could come out; he is watching from the doors,” Madeleine gestures towards the Palace doors a little further from our position. “They burned down the Palace, though.”

“Who?” I softly question, walking beside Madeleine.

Madeleine lifts her shoulders into a shrug, “I don’t know. Louis seems to think it is the people who are causing everyone havoc.”

“Why would they target your Palace? I am sorry. Which one? Charlottenlund Palace?”

Madeleine shakes her head, “Amalienborg, lucky nobody was there. It was intentionally set. Mum and Dad were meant to be there.”

“Perhaps it was an accident, surely?” I suggest, unsure of who would purposely do such a thing to Amalienborg. Madeleine’s family have nothing to do with us British royals; they stay mutual and don’t cause issues— They’re the quiet royals that don’t mind being under the radar— They show up for special events and go on about their business.

Madeleine heavily sighs, and I push the Palace doors open, not allowing Oliver to open the door for me, “So, you and Louis have been talking?” I change the subject, not sure how to go about the issue with her Palace catching fire. I don’t fully believe that it was deliberate— there has to be some logical explanation.

Madeleine grows quiet, walking into the Palace behind me, “Madeleine?”

“He is lovely to talk to, a good man.”

“Stay away from him, Madeleine,” I warn her, not wanting to see either of them get hurt or drag me into their mess.

“What? Why?”

I raise a brow and shake my head, “He is my childhood best friend. I can’t choose between you both, so if you break up, I can’t choose.”

Madeleine laughs, “Who said anything about dating?”

“Whatever the two of you are doing, I am sure it is more than talking,” I mutter, knowing both of them too well. They’re stuck in a palace together on the same floor, and I highly doubt they’re talking about royal duties and discussing policies.

“I beg to differ,” Madeleine shakes her head, “He is good company.”

“Whatever you do, be nice to him.”

“You have little faith in me.”

“You tend to be intimidating, be nice. Do you need me, or are you just roaming the palace?” I softly question as we reach my floor. I’m not trying to dismiss her rudely or be a horrible friend, but I think she’d prefer to find comfort in Louis than me.

“Roaming,” she responds, walking off before I can say anything further.

I glance towards Oliver and raise a brow, “Do you think she and Louis are a thing?”

Oliver shrugs his shoulders, “I know nothing and see nothing.”

“Mhm,” I hum, not convinced, “I know that’s a lie, but for now, I’m going to leave it alone. I don’t know if I want to know,” I chuckle and shake my head, “Thank you for your service,” I respond, stepping into my room and closing the door behind me.

I smile over at Harry and walk towards him, “I did it, I survived, and I didn’t need you.”

“Ouch,” Harry laughs, and I sigh, realising how my words came out. “I know,” he shakes his head before I can say anything, “I’m proud of you.”

“Me too,” I grin, stepping closer to him and kissing him sweetly. He pulls me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck, deepening the sweet kiss.

I have missed the taste of his lips and the burning energy that spreads like wildfire and ignites my soul. He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me into his lap, where I straddle him at his hips, his hands roaming my body while mine eagerly moves to his button-down, flicking each button before he draws his honey lips from mine. He leans closer and presses his lips to my neck, causing me to go weak instantly. I tilt my head to the side and press my hands to his shoulders, the soft kisses down my slender column already causing my head to spin. I feel him bite down gently before pulling away with a devious smirk and bright, cunning eyes. He drops his hand to my thigh and glides his hand against my soft skin, ever so slowly and delicately, ignoring my dress and inching closer and closer to the material of my underwear. He dances along with the lace band, teasing me before I harshly kiss him, needing to feel him, one way or another. He caresses the lace, causing my breath to hitch when I feel it move slightly to the slide. I pull away from his lips and see him smirk, his eyes gleaming with delight at my eager anticipation and my yearning. “No foreplay, no teasing, let’s go,” I shake my head, my hand moving to his pants and unzipping them. Harry chuckles and disagrees.

He puts me at ease and slides a finger in, a breath exhaling from my lips as I move my hips slightly to his circular motions. His fingers slide upwards, relentlessly moving, dipping, swirling and circling around, adding pressure and attempting to obtain the one spot I have been craving to be touched.

“No, please,” I sigh, the sound of the door knocking echoing through the room, taking me away from the sensational feeling I have been deprived of, “Don’t stop,” I instruct, my hands pressed to his shoulders, my nails digging into the material of his shirt.

“Really want me, huh?”

“Tired of interruptions,” I whisper with all honesty. Every single time we get time alone, we are interrupted. It has been a few weeks, at least six since we had a moment to ourselves, and I’m pretty sure we were also interrupted that time too.

I tilt my head back, my mouth allowing a small groan to escape as I am enthralled with the circular touch and rhythm he’s presenting me with. “Harry,” I huff, “Keep going,” I instruct, feeling the aching desire through my body, the sensations radiating through every nerve possible. I feel my body begin to go weak as he holds me firmly closer to him, my legs starting to quiver, and my body squirming against him. “Harry—“ I breathe out, my chest rising rapidly.

Abruptly, without warning, Harry stops and slides his fingers out, causing my mouth to drop in utter disappointment.

You have to be fucking kidding me. He shakes his head and uses his free hand to adjust his pants, managing to do so without bothering to move me, “Ye’ all wet.”

“No shit, you got me all hot and bothered,” I mutter, my irritation washing away the moment he unzips my dress from the back and takes it off of me with ease.

He stands up, holding me against him, forcing his pants down his legs and leaving them on the floor before setting me down on the bed and wasting no time with moving the lace in his way and teasing me with the tip of his length at my entrance. I curl my fingers into his shirt and draw his chest closer, taking bold possession of his mouth, tasting the honeysuckle flavour and moving my hips to the motions of his. My body absorbs the intimate feel of him, blood humming in both our veins’ with every deep repetitive thrust that takes place. He moans into our kiss, and I tighten my grip on his shirt, the heat between us intensifying. Probing in a slow, repetitive rhythm, he perceives my every desire.

My head spins with the achy feeling of him inside of me, my legs quivering. He takes my hands and forces me to release his shirt, moving my arms over my head and holding them in place, “Hold it,” He instructs, my breath hitching in my throat as I’m getting closer and closer.

Tangy taste and male scent fill the air between us with every powerful thrust that drives us closer and closer to the barrier of resistance I am fighting. Our tongues dip and swirl between the soft groans of the two of us while entangled together in the heat of our bodies.

My breaths become shallow, and I can feel the tingly sensation in my toes that radiate around my body. My body closes tightly around him, and he squeezes my arm slightly, “Anna,” he breathes against my lips, my back beginning to arch, my body fighting the urge and squirming under him.

Our breaths quicken and the desire between us thickens to the point it's almost unbearable, and we can’t get any closer to each other or enough of each other.

He falls beside me, and we catch our breath with crooked grins. I tilt my head to look at him, “Was worth the bloody wait,” I chuckle.

Harry swallows hard, “Had been a while,” he agrees, propping up on his forearm and looking at me with his cheery grin, “Round 2?”

“We’d get interrupted,” I laugh, inching closer and pressing my lips to his just as his phone vibrates on the side table, “Fuckin’ hell, does everyone just have a bell that goes off every time we attempt to be intimate?” Harry pulls away and mutters, reaching over for his phone, “Fuck,” Harry sighs, forcing himself off the bed.

“What now?”

“I’m pretty sure a bell goes off when we try to make love, constantly interrupted,” Harry huffs, walking around the room and finding a clean pair of pants, “Always fucking something,” he shakes his head, his fingers quickly typing away on his screen, “I won’t be coming to bed any time soon, I’ll see you in the morning,” Harry informs me, looking at his shirt and noticing the creases, making the quick decision to change it.

I nod my head and pull the sheet to cover my exposed body, “Is there a problem?”

“I just have to watch the cameras until five in the morning to make sure there’s no suspicious activity from the staff who are currently being blamed for Henry’s murder,” Harry informs me, his eyes narrowing towards me. Whatever Victoria and my father managed to get themselves into has proven to be more than any of us can handle.

Harry claims he can handle it and figure things out, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s just a matter of time before it all catches up to us. He can protect me all he wants, but the plot continues to thicken. “That means you won’t be on my service,” I sigh, remembering my royal duties for tomorrow.

“Probably not. I need to sleep at some point. Matthew or Oliver will look after you. Guess I have to look into the palace fire for Madeleine, too.”

“What about Henry?”

“I don’t know about the arrangements.”

“No, how are you handling it? Sweeping it under the rug? Announcing it?”

“Baby, I do not know. I think they’re going to release that he passed peacefully in his sleep from an unknown cause… The palace doesn’t need any bad publicity, so I’m trying to hide it the best I can.” … “Just don’t talk to anyone about this, okay? Not even the lady’s in waiting or your assistant or publicist, nobody.”

I nod my head, “I know… Eleanor hasn’t mentioned it.” … “Good luck, King, I’m going to sleep now,” I half-smile, not thrilled that he has to handle this circus and not myself.

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weirdestbooks · 3 years

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The Shot Heard Around The World Chapter 7

Enough Is Enough

Thirteen Colonies POV

March 18, 1766

Uncle England had just given me great news. The Stamp Act had finally been removed. Thank goodness. Now with that mess cleared up the tension in Father and I's relationship will be cleared up. My people can stop rioting and things will calm down.

"Father?" I asked him, as I stepped into his office. I knew that everything surrounding the Stamp Act was complicated, and Father didn't want to remove it, but I'm glad he did.

"Yes Thirteen?" Father said. I shifted my feet. Something in Father's voice sounded off.

"I wanted to that you for removing the Stamp Act. I know my people-"

"Don't say that." Father said cutting me off. I was confused. Did he not want me to apologize? Or was it about my people? They were my people. I could call them that.

'I knew it. The British Empire think our people are his, and only his. That's why he thinks he can tax them at will. He ignores us and our assemblies.'

'But it can't be about that...can it?'

"What? What do you mean?" I asked. Father couldn't be telling me to not call my people, my people. I had always done this. Father never seemed bothered by it before. So it couldn't be that. It...it couldn't. Right?

"The colonists. They're my people, not yours. I let you call them your people, but with my American colonists thinking they're the only ones who can place taxes, I've had to resort to other measures. Parliament had passed an act that allows us to have say in all colonial affairs. You have assemblies, but that doesn't mean you have more or equal power to Parliament." Father said.

'What the hell? What about the salutary neglect policy?'

'Our assemblies don't have power? Then why the hell would be have them?'

'That fucking bastard.'

'Does he think the colonists will be peaceful after hearing that?'

'We have governed ourselves for over a hundred years and he wants to declare that invalid?'

'FUCKING BASTARD! THEY'RE OUR PEOPLE!'

'He wants to stop riots and he does this.'

'Bastard infringing on our rights.'

'This is worse than the Stamp Act.'

'This isn't they way to bring peace between people.'

'After everything that's happened, this is where we end up.'

'Oh man. Things just got very complicated.'

'British Empire you just messed up again,'

I was shocked, my internal voices shouting more than they every had. My headache was growing, and I stumbled backwards, legs weak from shock. Father, he...he...he...why?

"Thirteen are you alright?" Father said. I shook my head.

"Why? The...it's...why?" I stuttered out before leaving the room and running back to mine, pushing Uncle Wales out of the way.

"Thirteen?" He said as I slammed the door to my room shut.

'Fucking bastard.'

'We can't just take this. We need to go back. Yell at him. He can't just...'

'But he did.'

'Dammit.'

I sighed and shoved my face into my arms. I thought with the removal of the Stamp Act, everything would be fixed. It just got worse.

"Thirteen are you okay?" I heard Uncle Wales ask.

'The rest of the British Isles most likely already know this. Why is he asking that question?'

'Probably thought it wouldn't effect us this badly.'

"Go away!" I yelled back at him. I needed time to myself. How could Father do this? They were my people. They will always be my people.

'You're a pawn, a colony. You get used for money and resources, but you don't have real power.'

'The wording is a bit dramatic, but it is a good point.'

I...Father was taking away the power in my assemblies, and talking away my right to call my people my own. Why did he think he could do that? This was the first time my people had refused to listen to Father's laws. Removing the Stamp Act would fix that, but then he had to go and pass the Declaratory Act?

I always wanted to support my Father, but after this? I was just so conflicted. I didn't understand what was happening. So much was changing. My Father isn't as good of a person as I though he was.

That was a terrifying thought to me. Father...he...he...did he really love me? Or was I really just a pawn?

'You are! Remember what Quebec said?'

Sommes-nous juste des pions sur un échiquier avec lesquels les empires peuvent jouer? (Are we just pawns on a chessboard for the empires to play with?)

'Isn't this drastic-'

'No!'

'It is. This act so horrible, but there's no need to get overemotional.'

'Our identity was just taken away and you want us to be calm?'

My headache was growing, making it harder for me to focus. My thoughts were growing louder demanding different things from me. It was making me so confused. I wanted to go back and yell at Father for doing that, but another part of me was trying to convince me to remain calm.

'Being aggressive is only-'

'Damn him! Be aggres-'

'You can't!'

'You have to!'

'We need represe-'

'Our assembl-'

'We need a say so we don't h-'

'Are they going to bring back the St-'

'We're being unreasonable.'

'Unreasonable? What about that idiotic-'

I curled up into a ball on my floor as the pain in my head grew to an unbearable amount. There we so many conflicting thoughts that just kept canceling each other out. What was I supposed to think?

Most of them were angry about this act, but a couple still were saying that we had to keep peaceful. I...I...I just wanted the Stamp Act to be removed. Father knew our reasonings. Some of my people couldn't pay that tax. And not all of my people were okay with the violence and riots.

Father knew this.

So why did he place an act that wouldn't help things. He knew my people felt that internal taxes were meant to be placed by the assemblies. Saying that the assemblies could not longer solely do that, and a government 3000 miles away had to place taxes for a people they know nothing about wasn't going to help things.

Father didn't know what my people were like. They were my people, not his. Even if they were British, they were still my colonists. He thinks their just like hie people in Britain. They aren't. They left Britain because they weren't accepted, or wanted there. They left for religion, and for money.

And then they stayed. 3000 miles is a long distance, and one hundred and fifty years was a long time. And it was enough time for my people to become different than Father's. They weren't the same. That's why the local governments are important to us, why representation is important to us. Father couldn't just place laws, or taxes without knowing what my people wanted and needed.

'We need representation if Parliament going to be allowed to have direct control over our taxes.'

The chaos of my thoughts began to calm down, as my headache began to go away. I realized that Quebec was in my room with me, and that I had been crying.

"Are you okay?" He asked. I nodded. Quebec raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? You were crying and I kept calling your name and you wouldn't answer." Quebec said.

'We pulled him down that far?'

'I though we were just like voices.'

I wondered what that meant, but pushed it out of my mind as I answered Quebec's questions.

"I'm sure. I just had a headache. It made it hard to pay attention to things." I told him as I sat up, leaning against him. Quebec gave me a disbelieving look, but dropped the topic.

"You've been getting more headaches recently. Do you think you have an illness? Or do you think its being caused by the unrest in your colonies?" Quebec asked, as he began running his hand through my hair. I guess I really worried him.

"I'm fine. It's just a couple of headaches. It's not like they're being caused by some...I dunno...disruption." I answered him again. Quebec worried to much. I began feeling really tired, and let my head drop on Quebec's shoulder.

"Are you tired?" He asked. I nodded.

"Bad headaches make me tired. You're a good pillow." I told him as I began drifting off, my eyes slipping shut.

'You know we've been more than just voices for a while now. We've been affecting him, physically.'

'So what does that mean for the future?'

'Like we know. We'll have to wait and see.'

————————————————————— June 5, 1767

Things had been less tense then I though they would, but there was still tension between Father and I. I had tried to avoided calling using the phrases 'my people' and 'my land' in front of Father, but it slipped out sometimes. When that happened Father would just sigh and explain to me why I couldn't say that.

He always explained it to me like I was an ignorant child.

My thoughts hadn't gotten any better too. They were all so loud and my headaches had become more frequent. I hadn't had a headache that was bad enough to make me collapse again, although I was sure it would happen.

Quebec also seemed to be overly concern every time I got a headache, and I think he told Father and our uncles about me collapsing, because they get worried whenever I have a headache. They treated me like a child. I hated that.

'Of course you hate it. You're not a child.'

'And just because you're a colony doesn't mean you're not mature.'

I had a growing headache headache today as my thoughts once again battled on whether I should talk to Father about calling my people, my people.

'You should. Nothing's going to change if your just sit around and let yourself be bossed around.'

'But what if it makes things worse?'

'But what if it doesn't? If we allow British Empire to do this, then we're only sending him a message that he can do whatever he wants and we won't complain.'

'It's that what the Declaratory Act is doing? Giving him a say in all colonial affairs, in all cases?'

'So would it really matter if we put up a fuss?'

"Thirteen?" I heard Uncle Scotland say from behind me, "Are you okay? Are you having another one of your headaches?"

"No I'm fine." I said. I didn't feel like being babied today. I learned that it best just to deny it, and wait for them to leave me alone.

"Are yo-"

"Yes I'm sure! Will you guys stop babying me about a couple of headaches? They aren't even that bad!" I cut off Uncle Scotland. Uncle Scotland took a step back.

"Sorry. We're just worried about you. You've been different recently. More angry." He explained.

'And I wonder whose fault that is?'

'British Empire?'

'No you dense...never mind.'

"Well its almost like my people have been really upset over all of these ridiculous acts and taxes that have been placed on us." I told Uncle Scotland. Uncle Scotland sighed.

"I know your upset about them, but there's not much you can do other than learn to deal with them." Uncle Scotland said. I sighed. I knew he was partially right. There wasn't much I can do about them, but that didn't mean there wasn't something I could do. I could deal with this.

"Hello Thirteen." Uncle Ireland said as he walked up to Uncle Scotland and I, "Britain wants to talk to you. He's in his room."

I nodded and got off the couch, walking up to Father's room.

'If it's another tax, I'm going to lose it.'

'It probably is. British Empire still needs to pay off his debts, and due to the Declaratory Act, he thinks he can tax us.'

'If it is a tax, at least he's giving us a warning.'

'There's going to be another major headache soon.'

I walked into Father's room, knocking on the doorframe as I did so. Father was standing by his bed.

"Hello Thirteen." He said, looking up at me as I entered the room.

"Hello Father." I said back, "What's this about?"

"The Providence of New York hasn't been complying with the Quartering Act of 1765-"

'Yeah, because it's a fucking stupid law'

"-So Parliament has decided to pass the New York Restraining Act. This will forbid the New York Assembly and the governor of New York from passing any new bills until they agreed to comply with the Quartering Act."

'WHAT?'

'WHAT THE FUCK!'

'̷̛̬̽̉͒͐̆͛̐̉̇̑̆Ì̷͔͔̞̲̻̯͖̥͇͉̟̯̌̈́̈́̊̓͊͠'̴͈͎̥͚̱̯́͛̒̊́͌m̴̧̡̮̜̼̰̙̽̈̀̌̀̋͊̎͐͠ͅ ̸̛͕͖̫̝͉͈͒̓͒g̸̢̨̞̬̻̻͔̟̈͋̌͒̆̍͛̈́ͅo̴̗͎̘̲̦̤͕͓͉̼͉̱̖͌̓͂͑̓̈̓̀͠i̵̧̗̜̓̚͜n̴̨̛͈̙̬̫̹͆̎͊͒̿̋̅̽̔̌́͜ͅg̶̨̻̬͎̣̜͈̀́ ̶̡͚̼̪̻͎̳̳̿̀̏ţ̶̨̺̠̝̹̺͎̥͙͖̣̎̍̀̃̆̉̉͌̚o̸̧̡̟͚̜̠͔̘̠͙̟̤͛͊̽̎ ̵̭̰̻͍͕͚̟͎̳͍̠̜̯̑̑̏͑̓́̓͛͐́̀͘ķ̷̛̻̯̲̌̔̑̏͒̔̌̔̂̾i̷̡̡͉͉̩͚͑̅́́̃̀͘̚ͅl̶̖̊̏͒͛̿͑̌̓̎̚̚l̷̘̯̼̥̟̳̗̒̑͋̿͐͌̕͘ͅ ̷̭̔̽̊͗̈͛̚͠h̵̗͂í̶̡̧̱͙̳̮̪͙̥̦̭͈̦̰̒̒̄̃́̋̋̆̑͊̕m̷̛͎͙̹͚̬̂͊̽̃̎̆̀̾̀̕͝.̴̡̛͍͖̹̼͕̪̭̠̭́̓͗͒͠ͅ ̸̡̘̠͋̏̇́̌̈̈̅̆͠Ī̵̡̧̨̻̩̟̟̍ ̵̳͇̜̽̆͐̌͝͠͠͠ŵ̴̼͋̓͗̑͒̎̕a̴̳͗̄̆͒̓̄̚̕͝n̴̛̹̣̻̮̎̉̄̋̄́͋͐̒̅̈́̚͝ţ̵̢̛̛͓͎̩̹̮̖̼̣̣̤̅̆͗̄̍̄̈́̾̃̑͘͝ ̴̢̱̯̜͚̯̬̣͚͆͒́͋͑́́͂̈́̿͛͝c̵̢̯̺͚͎̦͉͂͗̊̎̎͂́͘͝͝o̴̧̡̝̲̤̖̰̱̮͚͈̹̒̍͜͜n̵̨̛͚͉̻̭̥̮͙̥̪̳̊͗̊̂̀͐̈́̓̅͐̈́t̴͙̼̞͙̗̦̩̙̺͇̣̓̿̐̍̿̔̔̔��̔͒̐ͅr̷͉̯͍͖͈͈̮̹̰̈́̊̈́̓̀͆̚͜ͅo̵̢̧̧̗̳̟͇̼̅̂̌̕ļ̷̢̨̞̠̳̘̯͈̦̻̗͊͆̾̇̌͒͆̑̿̌̔͝͝ͅ ̶̧̢̦͙̩͖͔̲̙̳͒́̔̓͊̈́̿̂̀͒̀̕̕o̸̡̰̲͍͙͇̱̣̮̓̐̎̎͜v̷͎͖͉͕̭̳͔͑̎̽̊̅̿̈́͝͝ͅͅe̵̥̤͓̰̦͚̥͎͔͔̦͒̏̎̎̅͗̂͗͛̄̽̊͘͝r̷̦̜̩̊͒ ̸̫͔̜̣̤͓̻͚̱̖̬͑͑͜ǫ̷̡̥̦̰̭͙̠̗͇͑͂͋̈́̅̀͠ͅù̵̹͊͌r̶̨̨̗̼͇̤̯͕͔̖͈̀̕ ̶̖̣̏̃̌̿̄͆̆̎̊́͝͠b̷͎̟͖͕͙̖͍̦́o̸̧͍̝̘̭̝̦̐̉̈́̅̎̓̅͝͝d̷̖̦͖̱̞̙̘̮̠͎͕̓̃̊́̏̀͐̇̾̾̕͝y̸̧̧̫̹̗͓̤̠̺̌̆͆́̎̔̊́̆͝ͅ.̶͎̜͈͇͔͎̣̣̌̌̈͑̈́́̊́̈́̅̅̕̚͠'̵̧̢̡̳̤̟̫̹̜̦͇̪̻́̇̈́͆̀͐̕

I held my head in pain as the distorted voice echoed around my skull. My limbs began feeling numb and heavy and I felt like I was about to pass out. I felt a presence begin creeping into my mind as my body swayed.

'̸͔̬͗G̷͕̯͎̼̬̾̎͋͑͜͝ĭ̵͖v̶͚̹̲́͐̇͜è̴̳̳͓̍͌́́̈́̕ ̶̹̝̰̺̤̀̃̈́ͅͅm̷̖͎͕̀̊̈́̓̀̚͠ͅë̵̠̲́̈́̄̃͂̓̂ ̶̰̯͕͙̞̔͂͝c̵̖̽̈̑͂͜o̷̥̫̞͇̞͑́̍̐ń̶͖̃̈̓̃t̵̮̱͍͎̻̙̓̾́͒̑͛͊ṙ̶̢̨̛̳͓͋́ṏ̷̖̼͙͉̲̯̏̾͋ͅl̷̘̱̜̀̿̑́̈́.̴͖͒̽́̂̉̌ ̵̠̬͐L̸̦͂̓̿͝͝ȩ̴̨̙͕̘͈̖̈́̈́̑ṭ̵̗̥̂̈́̍ͅ ̵̡̫̼̮̯̻̈͐͆́̈́ͅm̴̫̰̥̾̓ḙ̵̱̔͗͛̐̈́ ̴̛̰̔̔̚ş̵̠̯̹͓̀̋̊̍͊͝h̴̤͊͘͝ȃ̷̢̛̰̦̺̳̪̀͌͘̕͜r̷̗̺̦̘̘̃̌e̸̱̦̲͎̤̬̪͌́̌̕ ̴͉̳̣̮͖͔̉o̶͖̥̜̹̹̰͇̓̚u̵͇͓̺͒̀͌̓͝r̶̝͔̻̤̟̝̽̽̈́́̒͂ ̴̬̮̻́b̷̭̐̔͐͘̕õ̵̞͚̩̮͈̋̀̕͠d̷̞̖̀͋y̷͚̬̬͚͇͔͛̔́͝ͅ.̸͕̗̓͒̒͝ ̶̨̗̲̗͆̈́̇L̵̢̩͉͌̆̾̓͆̚ë̶̩̘́͒̊̚ͅt̶̩͓̯̬̿ ̵̡̼̠̦͇̲̻̐̔̄͝m̸͖͓̩͑̽͋͗̕͝e̶̙̋̾ ̸̯̥̯̝̏̆̈́͐̎̎͜͝ş̷̜͕̆̾̀h̶͔̰͎̜͓̲͗̈́̌͒̀ȏ̶̧̡̼͓̽͋ẉ̸͍͎̮̣̌̓̅͝͝ ̵͔̂͂̇͜͝Ḃ̴͇r̵̢̘̥̬͍͙͇̈́̑i̵͚̼̥̳͈̓̊͜t̸̙͑̀̓͋̈ì̴̤͗s̴̥̳̥͓̱̹̤̓h̵̨͍̹̗͖̓̿͗̾̎ ̴̪͈̬͆͐͂̎Ę̴̠̰̮̳̉̓ͅm̶̛̹̀̓̀͛̍̀p̵̩̼̪̃ͅị̴̻̈͐̓͊͂͛r̸̢͕͈̞͑̃̾͋͝é̷̟̯͓̫̺͛̃͠ͅ ̸̡̤̳̗͗͝w̵͇̼̱̱̗͉̄̓̉̀̆̃͘h̷͖̓̀͑̊ỳ̸͔̱̣̿͌̈́ ̵͚͎̪̊̄̚͜͝h̶̨̛̟͚̃e̴̗̱̝͙̘̋́ ̷̪̈͘s̶͙̗̒́̍h̴̺͑̉͋ő̸̹̼̀͂̍̅ŭ̵̥̳́l̵̪͕̞̟͉̪̻̅͑̀͝͠ḍ̷̨̮̀̽n̷͔̂̃̈'̴͖̗̳̰̔̾͊͒ṱ̸̠̠̜̽͛͂͐̾͗͆ ̶̟͛̇̂r̴̫̣̩̅̓e̴̳̺̭͊̒̈́m̶̹̀̀̾̔̈́͛͠ͅo̸̥̫̦͇̠͊͋͌̔͗͝v̷̨̹͉̆̃́e̶̜̠̱͙̱̋͑́͘͜ ̴̤̮͎͙͐̽̉͒͝ṃ̶̦͋͊̌͠ỹ̷̳̩̗̯̭̩̂̀ ̵̲̮͔̱̤̔̀̊͠a̵̛̗̼͕͖̳̠̅̋̽̉̂͜͠s̶̡̫̥̗̘̗͍̍͂̈̆̑́͝s̶̙̺̪̹̄̉̈́̒̈̔͜ę̷̨͎͓̝͙͑̋̽̕m̸̻͗̅͊̎b̶̳͇̦̪̮͉̐̓͐͠͝ͅl̵͙͋y̸̢̯̳̳̼̽̇̽͌̃̆͐.̷̢͉̜̻̕͜͠'̷̧̰̥̣̱̉̾͝ͅ

I felt tired and I was having trouble forming thoughts. Any thoughts that began forming were chased away by the anger of the distorted voice and its presence. Suddenly, the presence left and feeling returned to my limbs.

"-rteen! Thirteen can you hear me?" I heard Father say as the pain in my head began decreasing. I scowled.

"I can hear you just fine. I think you have a problem with hearing me. You're decreasing the power of the New York assembly?" I questioned.

"It's only until New York complies with the Quartering Act. But that's not important now. Are you alright? You're shaking."

I was? I looked down at my hand and saw that it was shaking violently. I let out a shaky sigh.

"Just leave me alone. I need to think this over." I said as I stumbled out of the room, barley keeping myself up. I fell against the wall and began using it for support.

"Thir-" Father began.

"Just leave me alone!"

'I'll show him one of these days.'

"Thirteen you can barley stand. What happened?" Father asked. I wasn't entirely sure of the answer to that myself, but I wasn't about to tell Father I heard voices. He would just think I'm going insane.

"I just had a little headache I'm fine. Just leave me alone." I told Father again, walking off, this time with more success.

"Thi-"

"Please, just leave me alone. I need to think about this. You saw how they reacted to the Stamp Act. Do you really think they're going to like this?"

I hoped this would be the last act, but I knew it wasn't. Something else was going to come.

——————————————————————

June 26, 1767

I walked into Father's office without knocking. Father looked up from some papers before frowning.

"Thirteen, remember your manners." He lectured. I was tired of them, tired of being babied.

"To hell with my manners! Don't tell me there is another fucking tax." I told him, slamming my hands down on his desks.

'Aggressive.'

'Necessary.'

"Thirteen, you have to understand and stop getting so unreasonably angry over these taxes." Father began.

'FUCK YOU! IT'S NOT UNREASONABLE!'

'We have our assemblies for a reason. Our past situation worked fine.'

'And someone had to change it.'

'British Empire's the problem here.'

"Just tell me what your taxing now. The ability to leave a house? Talking? Breathing?" I questioned. Father looked at me.

"Thirteen, don't be ridiculous."

"The only thing I'm being is just like your taxes." I shot back. Father's taxes were ridiculous, so my ridiculous examples made perfect sense. Father sighed.

"The taxes is only on glass, lead, painters' colors, paper, and tea. And it gives custom officials broad authority to enforce these taxes and punish smugglers." Father said.

"Oh only on that. Thanks I'm so grateful for the five new taxes. A truly wonderful way to benefit society." I said while rolling my eyes. Father narrowed his eyes.

"Thirteen. Just because you haven't been feeling well, and had some sort of attack a couple of weeks ago doesn't mean you can act this way." He said.

'Don't listen to him.'

'When has he every shown an ability to listen to what we want?'

'Just listen. It'll make things go smoother. You know how he is.'

"I am tired of your stupid taxes. I'm stressed and pissed off. Is there anything else you plan on taxing, just so I can get a warning? Or are you going to surprise me with a new tax?" I asked. Father sighed.

"We're planning on passing two new acts soon." He said.

'How perfect.'

'Two new acts. Just what we needed.'

"What's in these acts?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"One of them is just to keep the British East India Company from going bankrupt and collapsing. It's making the tea from that company cheaper than the smuggled Dutch tea." Father explained.

'That wasn't as bad as I though.'

'That's because it doesn't effect us dipshit.'

"The next act is going to create a new Customs Board for the North American colonies, headquartered in Boston with five customs commissioners." Father explained.

'Oh come on! How are we supposed to smuggle things now?'

"Well at least it's not more taxes." I said. Father looked surprised.

"You're not mad?" He asked.

"About the first one, yes. The two new ones you'll be passing soon, not really. It's not going to negatively affect m-the colonies, aside from the fact that smuggling with decrease." I told him.

"You think smuggling is a good thing?" Father asked, giving me a suspicious look.

"No, it's just that a lot of the colonists depend on it, so some people are going to loose business." I told him.

'And we like the smuggling.'

Those acts weren't that bad. Hopefully this mean things could get better.

—————————————————————————

July 6, 1768

I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. Things had actually been getting better. My headaches had been decreasing, the tension between Father and I was decreasing, and then Father had to go and pull this.

'How can he think he has the power to do this?'

'First my assembly and now this?'

'For fucks sake!'

'I actually though things were going to get better.'

'We're so naïve.'

"Father explain this to me one more time." I told him, barley concealed fury in my tone as my thoughts raced around for an explanation.

"This act is being passed to aid the prosecution of smugglers. It's giving Royal naval courts, rather than colonial courts, jurisdiction over all matters concerning customs violations and smuggling." Father said.

"Didn't you already have one of those? In Nova Scotia? Why do you need more?" I asked as a headache began to grow.

"Smuggling in a big problem Thirteen. I'm enforcing new acts around it so the problem can be fixed." Father explained.

'We have our own courts.'

'We were perfectly fine before you came butting in.'

"What about my courts? They can handle this." I protested. Father sighed.

"No they can't. The colonial courts have done nothing to stop the smuggling, which means I must take action myself." Father explained, putting an emphasis on the colonial courts. He didn't want me calling them mine.

'Does he even what us to have anything?'

"Are you going to provide transportation for my colonists trips to these courts? Or are you just going to let them struggle on their own? And is there going to be a jury?" I questioned.

"Decisions will be made solely by the judge and the accused person will travel to the court of jurisdiction at his own expense. If they do not appear, they are automatically considered guilty." Father explained.

'What?'

'No jury? A jury is one of our rights!'

'What if they're unable to make it to court, but innocent?'

'Are we going to throw innocent people in prison?'

'Are we actually going to make people travel to these corrupt courts?'

"That's bullshit. The entire act is bullshit." I said before turning around to leave the room.

"Where are you going?" Father asked.

"I'm leaving." I said.

"We can talk more on this tonight then." Father told him. I laughed.

"Not your office. I'm going to my colonies. If you want me to come back, come and find me." I said before bringing myself to New York. I made my choice. I was siding with my people.

———————————————————————

British Empire's POV

I watched in stunned shock as Thirteen vanished. I could believe he did that, although I had reason to believe he wasn't himself. Quebec told me that when Thirteen collapsed his eyes had been chasing colors and his face quickly changing expressions.

Then when I told Thirteen about the New York Restraining Act, his eyes when from blue to a goldish-yellow. His face briefly changed expression, and something about him felt different. When it changed back to looking and feeling like Thirteen, he was pale and shaking.

I was afraid those troublemakers, the Sons of Liberty, were affecting Thirteen in a bad way he didn't realize. If they were creating a new countryhumans, or at least once that could possess Thirteen, then we had a serious problem on our hands.

If there was a new countryhuman that was affecting Thirteen, then they could be the reason why Thirteen gets unreasonably angry over the taxes, why he has constant headaches all the time. I had told my brothers of this theory, and they agreed it could be true.

We had been keeping an eye on Thirteen during his headaches just in case their was some sort of possession going on. The closest call was the one I had, but if Thirteen was in the colonies alone, who knows what could happen. I was going to send England over to find Thirteen.

I didn't want to lose my son.

#the shot heard around the world by weird #countryhumans #countryhumans 13 colonies #statehumans #weird’s wattpad stories #american revolution #writing

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thekidultlife · 4 years

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The Most Convenient Escape | Jihoon Soulmate!AU (6)

⍟ Pairing: Jihoon x fem!reader

⍟ AU: Fantasy/ Soulmate AU

⍟ Genre: ANGST, SLOW BURN, fluff

⍟ Warnings: mentions of abuse, drinking, and sex

⍟ Word Count: 6.7k

⍟ Synopsis: For all your life, you have a deep disdain towards Soulmate Bonds, so much so that you are able to write opinions about it in a local newspaper. However, as life would have it, you wake up one day bonded to a person you hardly knew. Throwing in an investigation, annoying roommates, and a revolution looming just beneath the surface, you had to seek for the most convenient escape.

⍟ A/N: It’s been a while since I updated TMCE skskks sorry;;; i missed my drawing tablet so much, I just drew this whole time lmaooo but here you go~ something like a transition chapter!! hope you enjoy? :DD

⍟ Taglist: To those who commented on the previous chapter ;;w;; thank you so much!!! @minkwans, @ialamityo-o, @oprandomfeels, @haotheheckk, and @svt13roses!!! I always say this, but your comments and reactions really keep me going on;;;

HALF A MILLION MURMURS by Alex Fireflower

The Porta Persa Edition, November 2nd

To those divinely ordained by the people and the coin with Power and Authority:

Surely, in some way or another, it had not escaped any person of good conscience and fair moral character the plight which has befallen our fellow men—the Cilvekans—despite differences in and not limited to nationality and/or race; more so and I surely hope so, that it had not escaped the attentions of persons with great abundance in wealth and power such as yourselves.

Surely, in some way or another, you are not deaf to their pleas—gagged and maimed by a bill, now law, which was carefully crafted to entrap more than half a million people for whatever reason the Parliament has in its defense. These people who had a hand in making our trades grow, making our lives a little bit easier, making this nation prosper to its opulent glory of today—how easy, how convenient it is to leave them to the dust, to fend off on their own all the evils of Porta Persa. Certainly, it had touched your benevolent hearts that the very same people who sweep your marble floors, who wash your dirty ball gowns, who polish your diamond rings, are in need of your help—the very same people who had helped you in your daily lives. Yet even if they had not become a part of your lives in some way or another, surely, maybe, that the fact that Cilvekans are fellow human beings who move and act just like us would convince you that what had been brought unto them was a violation of their rights as human beings, rights which are rightfully bestowed to everyone on this Earth—Cilvekan, Porta Persan or whatnot.

Surely, in some way or another, you have come to an understanding that the creators of this bill had intentions way beyond the national security of this nation. Surely, it is indisputable, with all the abuse of power and discriminate arrests which happened in the course of a few days, that there is no way Porta Persa would attain national security in this manner; but rather, had only caused chaos and anger among the population. How can one, who had held himself with high regard in the face of god and the heavens, be so blissfully ignorant to these people who had been abused and indiscriminately arrested in the middle of the night for various reasons the Royal Guard had come up with as they spin their wee little roulette of crimes and violations? How can we, as human beings, rationalize our inaction and ignorance of this issue with a mentality that “if this does not happen to us in front of our very eyes, therefore, it does not exist”? Of course there is no reason for it to happen on your graciously manicured courtyard because the gold coin had given you the privilege to grab the laws of this land by the neck and turn it to your favor.

Surely, surely, and I do hope so that beyond the loud voices in your head screaming at you that there is no need to help, that the problem is simply perceived by the victims, that this issue does not affect you in any way possible—I hope that you are able to hear the half million murmurs of Cilvekan voices stranded in our ports and stations, banished from their jobs and separated from their families. I hope that you are all able to hear whispers calling out to the warm compassion that is hopefully still inside of your hearts.

As more than half a million Cilvekans congest our ports and stations—sent back to an ironically unfamiliar country with almost no possessions; inside our jails and police stations, tortured to admit a sin they had never committed—let us not ignore their cries of help. Whether or not they had aided us in our lives before, they are still human beings just like us, who need the same rights as we do. Let’s listen to the murmurs of half a million…

◇

“Your girlfriend sure is livid.”

Yoon Jeonghan, in his platinum blond hair and rather sleepy eyes, said as he tossed the newspaper on the marble garden table. The Minister for the Culture and the Arts was finally present in the meeting, though still in Joshua Hong’s grey pavilion in the middle of his rose garden and still drinking freshly brewed coffee.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and I am very much assured that she is unaware of our soulmate bond,” Jihoon groaned as he massaged his temples, the hangover gradually diminishing with the help of a hangover potion you had forced him to bring along. “How many times do I have to reiterate this?”

“Someone sure is a rainy cloud today, what do you reckon, Minister of Foreign Affairs?” Jeonghan remarked as he received a cup of coffee from Joshua, who had only laughed at his friend’s comment.

“It’s your fault for not coming by lately. You missed out a lot.”

“Did I?” The other smirked, and then looked around, “Oh? It seems our adorable general isn’t here yet?”

“Seungcheol told me he wouldn’t be joining us today,” Joshua informed him primly as he finally sat on his own seat with a cup on his hands. “And for reasons you all already know, unfortunately.”

“What about you though? Aren’t you having a terribly marvelous time trying to deport all these people?” Jihoon asked, his eyes cold and a tad bit exhausted.

“That’s the immigration’s responsibility, not ours. Though drafting an explanation to the Cilvekan government as to why there are half a million people to be deported back to their country isn’t a walk in the park either.”

Jihoon grunted, to which Jeonghan only smiled.

“I’m having trouble with this as well. Several valuable artists living in Porta Persa are in danger of being deported which isn’t in any way favorable in my position. I wouldn’t want to lose Wen Junhui and Xu Minghao in the middle of their own respective careers,” Jeonghan added in a playful tone despite the severity of his situation.

“And just when I was finally able to acquire some tickets to Wen Junhui’s play!” Joshua remarked with a slight scowl, annoyed that his tickets would probably become mere pieces of worthless colored paper.

“Tough luck for all of us, huh?” Jihoon remarked as he pressed down the bridge of his nose, the smell of the decaying rose petals around him was making him nauseous.

As the wind blew across the wide rose garden, a companionable silence enveloped the three of them. While they seemed to be so lighthearted, they all knew the situation was a lot worse than they had feared.

“Is there any way we could reverse this decision?” Jeonghan finally asked.

“If there was, I would’ve done it already. Not to mention how much political power I’ve lost because of this,” Jihoon replied, thumbing on the cork of the potion he was holding. "If not for the laws of this land, I would've wrung Kang's neck by now."

“Seems like your plans on running for Prime Minister is thrown out of the window,” Jeonghan continued to which Jihoon only gave him a cynical look.

“I would continue if I was crazy enough,” he answered with a snort. “Look, there’s really not much I could do as of the moment. The Conservatives are probably holding the biggest victory party of their lives at the seaports, herding off Cilvekans inside cargo ships like cattle, and it’s so frustrating how I could only watch them do what they want.”

“What about going to your grandfather then?” Joshua suggested and Jihoon stilled for a moment before aggressively shaking his head.

“No, no, no. Absolutely not,” he replied with a hint of panic in his eyes. “Not in a million years.”

“Why not?” Jeonghan asked. “He’s still a powerful man after retiring as Prime Minister years ago. Who knows, maybe he has some useful connections.”

“You guys already know why not,” Jihoon responded with a snarl. “There is certainly no way I would return to Santaragossa considering the state of my soulmate bond.”

“Ah, that,” the two men eventually nodded in understanding as they remembered why Jihoon was hesitant to go.

“But maybe this is the right time to tell Y/N that your soulmates,” Joshua was the first one who remarked. “You could bring her along and tell her the truth.”

To that comment, Jihoon only gave an incredulous look. “Please don’t give me any more of these suicidal suggestions, Joshua. You already know that’s not going to work.”

“But you could at least try?” Jeonghan offered. “I mean, Porta Persa is only an inch short of imploding, and we could be headless in a month's time if this escalates rapidly, so what does a lover's quarrel mean in the face of a civil war?”

As soon as he had heard Jeonghan’s words, the dark haired male simply sighed and leaned against the chair he was sitting on. He just can’t believe he was considering this. Returning to Santaragossa could be another mess he wished he had never signed up for, much like the current situation with the Cilvekans. But he knew that if he really wanted to act on the benefit of the greater good, a worthy sacrifice is already a given. What even is a falling out with his soulmate to a half a million people who are more or less starving and afraid?

Jihoon sighed again. Things are spiraling out of control.

“I’ll think about it.”

◇

A few weeks later. November 25th

“Oh god, I almost strangled the bastard if you guys weren’t there!”

It was already late in the morning when the three of you entered Wonwoo’s dorm room in a weirdly tense mood; a mood that was emphasized by the fact that the political atmosphere in Porta Persa was rigidly discordant all throughout the past few weeks. As active journalists, it had of course affected you three.

“I might have bitten his head off twice too,” you were fuming as much as Soonyoung was, tossing your heavy leather bag on the bed which you sat on as well with an exhausted huff.

The only calming force in the room was Jeon Wonwoo, who simply sighed and dropped most of his things on a wooden desk carpeted with heavy tomes of Magical Law. Yet despite is fair countenance, it doesn’t mean he wasn’t exasperated by everything that was happening.

Today, the three of you were scheduled to interview a staunch advocate of the recently passed travel restrictions and border control measures, and to say the least, it did go well, yet at the expense of everyone’s tempers.

“Just—how can someone be so ignorant of this situation?!” you exclaimed as you let yourself fall on the bed, your arms held high in the air. “I-I mean, the ports where Cilvekans had been crowding for days now is just a five-minute walk from his stupidly large mansion! Can’t they see anything?!”

“Not only that! Not only that, goddamn it!” Soonyoung added, furiously pacing around the room. “He even has the gall to question why Y/N was there! Y/N! One of Porta Persa’s best editors! What kind of question is that? Are girls not allowed to do anything anymore? I just wanted to punch that guy’s beer belly!”

“That was really insulting,” you remarked, your voice much quieter now.

Soonyoung groaned-screamed, pushing Wonwoo’s wooden chair before stalking towards the wall and punching it hard. The wall was of course rock solid but Soonyoung’s knuckles were now red and in pain, yet it didn’t really matter. If he hasn’t done anything, chances are he might explode in his place then and there.

Wonwoo only watched, leaning against his desk, as the two of you blew off steam by ranting and just being generally loud, yet in his mind, wheels were turning.

“You know what else is concerning?” Wonwoo spoke, his voice as soft as a mutter yet it was enough to get the attention of everyone. “It’s not only the wealthy who are fine with this as what we might’ve expected, but also some of the upper and lower middle class people.”

You and Soonyoung immediately exchange glances, their eyes glinting with curiosity. So Wonwoo continued on.

“I’ve checked all the interviews we conducted since last week and though they differ in motives, they generally have no problem with this law. The rich are basically ignorant and indifferent. To them, this law is just like all the other laws of Porta Persa. For the middle class citizens however, they saw Cilvekans as an adversary—someone who would steal their jobs and opportunities.”

“Like, ‘why are these people getting rich while I, a true blooded Porta Persan is struggling to get a job?’” you asked, to which Wonwoo nodded.

“So a ‘good riddance’ thing, huh?” Soonyoung bobbed his head up and down in realization, his anger already half abated.

“Precisely. This is why this whole situation is largely divisive. There are people who care about it, but there are also a lot of people who are more than happy that this happened,” the bespectacled boy replied, adjusting his glasses.

“Ain’t that depressing,” Soonyoung grumbled, finally plopping on the plush armchair by the fireplace. “Has anybody started a petition yet?”

“Lee Jihoon already beat you to the chase,” you commented casually. “He’s been busy gathering signatures from prominent people to junk the law, but so far I think he hasn’t really filled his quota yet, right Wonwoo?”

“Yes, I reckon he needs even more powerful people, like someone closely connected to the monarchy or someone with a really huge reputation,” Wonwoo replied, folding his arms over his chest.

“Who else is even more powerful than Lee Jihoon? Even he can’t stop that bill from becoming law,” Soonyoung inserted, now much more cynical because of all the frustration that had built up.

You only shrugged. “We don’t know. At any case, we must continue this responsibility we imposed upon ourselves. Let justice be done though the heavens fall.”

“Indeed,” Wonwoo replied before straightening himself up. “In that case, I suppose it’s time we inspect those documents we found a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot about them!” Soonyoung remarked, turning as he watched Wonwoo walk pass him and to a hidden safe behind the bookcase where he kept it secure. “We were so preoccupied with all the interviews that we didn’t have time to look at them.”

“I do hope we get something out of those,” you said, standing up from your place on the bed and walked to the round wooden table where Wonwoo had placed the documents.

Gathering round and seated comfortably, the three of you began to carefully examine the documents like an efficient production line.

Wonwoo was assigned to the actual semantics of the documents, inspecting everything word per word and whether or not they mean something else other than what was thought at first glance. Soonyoung on the other hand was in charge of looking into those which contained shipping and trading information—he may not be the brightest of you three but he has trading experience all throughout his life which was more than what you and Wonwoo could do. Finally, you had the task of doing the final inspection, to see if the Soonyoung and Wonwoo had missed anything.

Yet despite all these efforts, even after five hours of perusing the said documents, in the end they all turned out to be rather boring pieces of yellowed paper.

“And here I thought we were going to find something phenomenal…”

Soonyoung was pouting, now more than exhausted as he slumped sulkily on his chair. You and Wonwoo were no different, as you sat silently on your places around the table with long faces.

“I guess we effectively wasted most of our afternoon,” you remarked, standing up to stretch your stiff muscles.

“I couldn’t agree enough,” Wonwoo snorted, “That novelty shop was phony from the beginning.”

“Well, what’s done is done,” Soonyoung exclaimed, also standing up to walk around the room. “And oh, speaking of that shop, the fortune teller asked us to give something to you, Y/N. Wait here for a moment while I run to my room!”

Without waiting for you to reply, Soonyoung already dashed out of the door and to the hallway, leaving both you and Wonwoo to exchange curious glances.

“You know something about that?” You asked him.

Your friend shrugged, “You left so suddenly that day and then everything was so hectic right after that we forgot to tell you about it.”

Understanding the situation, you simply sighed and waited for Soonyoung to return, which wasn’t that long since he was already back before you could even form any thoughts on what Madam Adora had left for you.

“I’m back!” he exclaimed, on his hands a small black box that seemed to resemble a box for a ring. “Here you go, Y/N!”

With that said, Soonyoung placed it on top of the table which you walked towards to see what it was inside. You turned it over and heard a small dull thud, giving the impression that there was a small object inside.

“Did you peek?” You asked him, seating back on your chair and taking a closer inspection at the object.

“What? Of course not!” He denied, which you deemed was true, considering that the seal on the opening was still intact. You smirked at him, revealing the fact that you were only kidding around.

“Well, let’s see what this is.”

Breaking the seal, you opened the box while the two onlookers peered curiously behind you. The climactic tension in the air rose dramatically as the three of you became increasingly intrigued by the contents of the box.

“It’s…” Soonyoung narrated, his eyes glistening at first but then faltered after realizing what it was, “It’s just a coin.”

Inside the box, nestled on maroon red velvet was a mere gold coin—one which Porta Persa uses as currency—the Dossimer.

You held it up between your fingers, studying it as closely as you could with eyes filled with bewilderment. Eventually, you made a nod.

“Yes, it’s just dossimer.”

Wonwoo sighed. “This day seems to be filled with anticlimaxes.”

“I guess that’s life for you,” you replied, shrugging. “Though I’m not that sure why she would give this to me. It’s not like I lack money or anything.”

“I’m as bewildered as you,” Wonwoo remarked, again adjusting his slipping glasses.

Huffing, you placed the coin on the table harshly, cluttering loudly across Wonwoo’s room. “Fate sure is playing tricks with us, and I’m not liking it.”

“Yet what else can we do?” Soonyoung asked. “We’re at a stalemate now. The investigation is going nowhere, the Cilvekan situation is worsening, and we might be persecuted by the monarchy at any time.”

Wonwoo simply sighed. “Indeed, nothing seems to be moving right now, but we still have to do something, no matter how little they are. It will have a rippling effect all over Porta Persa.”

While the two were bickering, you had unintentionally blocked them out, focusing only on the gold coin on the table, atop the documents you had inspected, wondering over and over again why it was on your hands.

“Are you suggesting we run away then? Run to the mountains of god knows where—“

Wonwoo had raised his voice already, further proof that the argument was getting heated, yet despite that, you paid no heed. Instead, you continued to stare at the coin, still tossing and turning ideas in your head.

The more you gazed at it, the more you felt like you were beginning to imagine things. The coin was glowing with a golden light around it, and while magic isn’t something odd, the fact that the coin was shimmering was definitely out of the ordinary.

Blinking several times, you tried to shook the hallucinations away yet the glowing continued and had now spread over the papers underneath it. You were sure you hadn’t drunk anything weird that day, or maybe it was the fatigue—but fatigue doesn’t really make things glow in front of your very eyes.

Funnily enough, it took you a moment to realize that none of what you had thought of was the truth, and strangely enough, the coin was actually and most definitely glowing.

“Um…guys…” you muttered, pulling on their sleeves as they were already about to pounce on each other. “I’m not imagining that the coin is glowing, right?”

Your words immediately stopped the two of them from their tracks and immediately turn their attentions to the coin on the table. Astonished as you were, they only gazed at it in confusion.

“It’s really…glowing,” Soonyoung remarked, his hands about to touch it.

“Wait—! Don’t go near, Soonyoung,” Wonwoo warned as he fetched a fountain pen on his desk to poke the coin with.

“Isn’t that as dangerous as well?” you asked him, wanting him to reconsider his course of action.

“It’s fine, I’m not directly touching it.”

With a sigh of forfeit, you only watched as Wonwoo moved the coin with nothing much of a reaction other than the bright white glowing.

“It seems to be making the papers glow as well,” he observed, moving his body around it to see all sides.

“Not all the papers. Just that one,” you corrected him since you were seated next to it on the table and had a better viewpoint. “Could you guys get that?”

Without anyone prompting him, Soonyoung snatched the paper from the table and looked at it with a rather confused look on his face.

“What is it?” you asked, turning to him with an expectant look.

“Not to add on our several disappointments today but these are just some shipping routes. I checked this earlier, you checked it again after, and we found nothing. And oh, it stopped glowing.”

“Wait! Why don’t we place the coin over it and see if it glows again?” Wonwoo this time suggested, pocketing his fountain pen, and then continued speaking after seeing the look of hesitance on your expressions. “And the coin is clearly safe, other than the fact that it’s, you know…glowing.”

“You pick it up then,” you instructed as Sonyoung returned the map of the shipping routes on table and laid it there flat.

“Fine,” he conceded sulkily and took the coin from where it sat and placed it over the parchment.

Amazingly, the paper did start glowing again, making the map invisible and then forming scribbles of white glow on the paper. The three of you crowded in front of it, trying to assess what you had discovered.

Soonyoung sighed. “I still don’t know what it is.”

“I’m as clueless too,” you added before stepping away.

“That’s a geass.”

The both of you turned to Wonwoo who was still scrutinizing it with meticulousness.

“I hope you’d care to explain?” you asked, walking to the place beside him.

Wonwoo closed his eyes and adjusted his glasses.

“It’s actually pretty rare. But basically, a geass is an agreement. However, it’s a thousand times more powerful than your ordinary paper and ink contract. It binds parties through magic which makes it unbreakable. If anyone attempts to do so, they will be met by a horrific death.”

“That’s nasty,” Soonyoung remarked with a scrunch on the nose.

“Indeed it is. Which is why nobody really attempts to seal agreements using geasses anymore because it binds for life. You only reserve it for incredibly important things. You could consider the soulmate bond as a form of geass made between two people.”

“Two unconsenting people, you mean?” You added, making a terse glanced at Wonwoo.

“Yes, right. So in this case,” Wonwoo continued, picking up the paper but making sure the coin is still in contact with it. “What we have here is a geass made between the Gestalts and…one Gustav Lemaire.”

“Hey, isn’t that the same judge?” Soonyoung called out, his brows knitting with intrigue. “You know, the one who dismissed the tax evasion case of Luce Trading? His name really fits the corrupt judge image so it stuck with me.”

“That’s novel,” you remarked with playful snide. “But anyway, if it’s between the Gestalts and the judge, then is this some kind of settlement?”

“It kind of is,” Wonwoo replied, as he read the script with narrowed eyes. “It says here…”

“It says what?” you asked, impatient.

“Give me a moment. It’s written in archaic script and I haven’t really mastered it yet,” Wonwoo said, still hunched over the document. “So, it says here that in exchange for the dismissal of the case as well as increased support for Luce Trading, the Gestalts agreed to…to illegally smuggle in Cilvekans into Porta Persa…”

Wonwoo turned his gaze back at you and Soonyoung as if he had realized something. His eyes were blank and his lips ajar as he uttered the same last words he had said like a whispered chant—clearly, it was a huge epiphany.

“I think we might’ve ran into something much bigger than we had expected.”

◇

Dusk was already settling on the horizon when you were able to return to your gaudy dorm room; painting the marble white walls in a gradient of pink skies and sunset orange. You hesitated before turning the doorknob which usually led to the common room—wondering if Lee Jihoon went back earlier than usual, and what you were going to do about it considering what had happened a few weeks ago.

There was really nothing left to say.

You shook those thoughts away and just braced yourself for the unforeseen. It made no sense to overthink situations which happened weeks ago. Lee Jihoon’s presence in the dorm was pretty much lacking ever since the whole Cilvekan issue had blown up. He might’ve forgotten it already and it made you look ridiculous being so hung up over it.

Unsurprisingly, the common room was empty and you only sighed at your dramatics. You thought something had changed between you and Jihoon that night, but it seemed like it was only your imagination. The dorm was as empty as when you had first arrived a few months ago.

With an innocuous shrug, you stepped away from the doorway and went for the dinner table. The suppressant you had drank from last night was wearing off and you needed another dose before that invasive voice in your head starts speaking again. You were glad that your body had finally developed a tolerance to the painful side effects of the suppressants, or else, people would’ve easily noticed how much pain you were trying to conceal.

Opening your pack of alchemical compounds and ingredients, you took a transparent olive green bottle and swirled it around to agitate the particles that had settled to the bottom. Removing the cork, you took a whiff of the godawful scent and simply prepared yourself for the equally rancid taste. Before you could though, you…hesitated.

Hm?

You looked down on the bottle you were holding, the solution inside swirling as much as your mind was. Why were you hesitating? What was stopping you from taking another dose from the same suppressant you had been drinking for the past month? It was strange. Truly strange that you were making a decision over such a simple task that you had done over and over again for the past few months.

Didn’t you want to block that voice? Didn’t you want to prevent yourself from hurting that’s why you’re doing this? Then why are you hesitating? What’s stopping you from drinking?

“I feel heavy…”

You muttered softly as if any more weight in your voice could make it more unbearable. It was indeed strange—every time you decided to drink it, the heavier your heart becomes as if some parts of it were slowly turning into ice. You felt guilty for something; felt sorry for something you had no idea of. Could it be that you were actually feeling remorseful for the things you’ve done to your soulmate?

Gazing at the bottle one more time, you only felt more sick and grossed out; your stomach belching. It was like the dark liquid inside was a direct representation of all the hate and cold heartedness brewing inside your heart, and you didn’t like how it looked. It felt like some kind of cruel karma finally hitting you back.

Please don’t leave me…

A voice echoed in your head. You instantly panicked, afraid that it was really your soulmate, but it wasn’t. It was Jihoon’s voice. Jihoon wasn’t your soulmate.

Please don’t reject me. I’m sorry…

You didn’t know how to describe the pressure, the pain wringing your heart. It was excruciating. You felt sick. The look on Jihoon’s face that night was all your mind’s eye could see; the way he pleaded for you to stay by his side; the way he held you tightly between his arms as if you were going to slip away at any second. It was like you had caused him direct pain even if you didn’t know how or why.

“Jihoon…”

Your eyes wandered to the bottle in your hands again, but this time you stuck the cork back in, sealing it away for now. Whether or not you’ll stop taking them was a decision you weren’t ready to make. For now, it was best not to tempt karma.

Before you could utter another word however, you heard the main door open and you hurriedly cleaned up your mess on the table. You placed the green bottle in its usual place, glancing at it with thoughts in your head, before dismissing them altogether.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you’d be here,” a familiar voice echoed across the room, making you turn in an instant.

Jihoon was still clad in his formal attire—an all-black suit that made him look like he was going to a funeral. He had been busy running around gathering support for the petition he was championing and it had truly been an exhausting day. He had just finished hanging his coat over the sofa when you averted your attention to him.

“I—well, this is also my dorm so…” you awkwardly replied, your hands gesturing wildly.

“Ah, right, right. Sorry,” Jihoon replied, now a bit embarrassed of his rather obvious observation before he decided to walk away from you.

Considering his usual attitude, you assumed that he would immediately march his way towards his room and lock himself away from the outside world. However, the fact that he was still in the common room, pacing back and forth like some anxious teenager, debating internally if he wanted this or that remain, hinting that he was not done yet.

“Jihoon…?” You asked, slightly worried about him.

“I—“ he began, then wavered, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. It was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t find the courage to say what he wanted to say. Not after the fact that he had cried in front of you that night.

“Are…are you ok?” Your brows were furrowed, now wondering what was the matter with him. “I can make some basic potions—“

“No! No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” Jihoon interrupted and then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “It’s just, well…you remember a few weeks ago when I got drunk? I realized I haven’t thanked you yet and I just wanted to make it up to you and well…”

Upon hearing his words, you immediately raised your brows in surprise. This was definitely not what you had expected.

“No, it’s ok! You don’t have to thank me!” you replied, now a tad bit embarrassed as well, as you gave him a small smile.

“But I want to,” he said with the usual firmness in his voice, glad that it was back. “And despite being roommates, we never had the chance to get to know each other better.”

“Oh,” was the only thing you could say at that time. He had a point though—you both were partners back in that stupid ball, plus he had seen your breakdown before and you had already seen him crying. You both should just call it quits and end the not-so ‘indifferent’ relationship you had between the two of you.

“Maybe we could have dinner together…?” Jihoon asked tentatively as he checked his pocket watch. “I know a place you might like.”

“Out-outside?” You asked, wholly astonished by how fast things had turned out. “I-uh…”

Honestly, there was no harm in having dinner with your roommate. You already live virtually together, so what’s a small dinner to the both of you anyway? And for some deeper reason, you wanted to indulge him. Maybe because you felt sorry for him that night, maybe you had grown fond of him over time, you don’t know. You weren’t sure. Maybe something did change that night.

“Only if you want to, of course. We can eat here as well—“

“It’s fine, Jihoon,” you interrupted, fiddling with your fingers because you couldn’t bear to look at him, especially with how fast your heart was racing. “Let’s have dinner together.”

◇

It was a rather lovely night outside.

The skies were dark and the moon and stars were twinkling brightly underneath you. Yet what caught your attention the most was where Jihoon had taken you for dinner.

Lanterns of various colors lit up above you, hanging on string and bathing the whole area in a warm and vibrant glow. There was live music as bands strum their mandolins and played their fiddles, creating an ambiance of celebration and vivid colors.

A lot of people had gathered in the area, raucous laughter and loud chatting could be heard from everywhere. All of these placed next to a cliff side which had the best view of Porta Persa at night; the lights from houses and street lamps shimmering against the dark backdrop of the port city like distant stars high above the night sky. It was truly a sight to behold, especially when things had gotten tense and gloomy lately.

“It’s a night market,” Jihoon explained, still clad in his all black attire though he had removed his tie and unbuttoned the first two on his shirt. “Since the ports are where most tourists enter Porta Persa, we coordinated with all the local governments in the country and established a night market to boast the different cuisines found in Porta Persa.”

Your eyes were still filled by the sights while Jihoon began talking, yet despite that, you were listening to him intently, and his explanation just made you explode with amazement.

“Oh wow! Really? That’s actually quite ingenious!” You exclaimed with a bright smile, turning to him as you both walked around to check the stalls. “We should definitely feature this in the Edition! Look at what most people are missing out!”

Jihoon made a small smile at your comment, watching as you checked every single food stall for something you haven’t seen yet. He liked it when you were just having fun, unbothered by the problems of the world—just genuinely at the moment, smiling and laughing in front of him. If you could stay like that, he felt like he was at peace.

“Look Jihoon!” you called out to him excitedly, on your hands was a grilled fish on a stick. “This is a delicacy from the Oihe region! They would soak the fish for a month in Rejhu juice, which is a fruit only found there that has impressive preservation properties, and then grill it! It could go on for several months which is perfect for the region’s harsh cold climate. That’s what the lady told me though.”

“I haven’t tried that yet,” he remarked, and then smirked, “Maybe I’ll take some from your share.”

“Eh…but this is mine,” you pursed your lips and turned your head. “You go buy your own.”

Acting like a petulant child, Jihoon couldn’t help but chuckle at your antics, much to your chagrin. With an irate expression, you looked at him, who was covering half of his face with his hand as he laughed—you didn’t really appreciate being laughed at.

“What’s the matter?” you asked with your eyebrows knitting, your hands on your waist.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he replied, still in his laughing fit which eventually subsided into a smirk in a few moments. “I just—I never expected you to act like this at all.”

“Act?” you leaned your head to the side in bewilderment. “But I’m always like this.”

“I always thought you were the serious type, you know,” Jihoon explained, his lips curving; his eyes glistening against the vivid golden lights up above you. “I just never anticipated you could be so adorably childish as well.”

“Adorably childish?!” you repeated, now a bit flustered that you had been acting that way the whole time. “That—that was never my intention!”

Jihoon only smiled at you and patted your head gently. “It’s okay. I like it.”

You couldn’t muster a reply to that comment because of how heated your face had become. No one really complimented you like that, and above all, it was Lee Jihoon who did it—the same person you were rather indifferent four months ago.

“Come on, let’s go have some dinner,” he simply said without further ado. Taking in your silence, Jihoon decided to move on and walk around the market, leaving you in your thoughts.

In the end, both you found yourselves sitting on a table with a clear view of the Porta Persa skyline, giving the situation a rather romantic ambiance which you never really had planned on. Before you, warm food of various origins were placed neatly on the table, waiting to be eaten and fill your hungry stomachs.

“You have…. rather interesting choices,” you remarked upon seeing Jihoon’s meal of choice while you carefully dissected your fish from before.

“Hm?” Jihoon looked up to you with a questioning look, a fork and a knife on his hands. “Oh, these are from Santaragossa. They might be a bit spicy, but I do miss them from time to time.”

“Ah, you were from Santaragossa? I always thought you were born and raised in the capital,” you replied, taking a sip from a citrus fruit blend you found rather interesting.

“Why so?” he asked, downing a piece of braised meat. “I assumed I gave an impression of someone from the provinces.”

“Not at all,” you gave him an austere look. “You seem like you run the place.”

“Do I now?” Jihoon asked, his lips again curving into a tiny smirk. “I never realized you thought of me that way. I appreciate your sentiments though.”

“But what is it like?” you suddenly asked. “I mean, living in Santaragossa?”

Jihoon leaned his head to the side, wondering why you were asking him this so suddenly.

“That place was my childhood. The summers were cool and the winters were not too cold. Most of the land are large vineyards and olive groves so I would run around a lot and play with the animals and so on. There is also a large lake near the house which is a great place to swim in during summer months. I do have private tutors, so please don’t get the wrong idea that I wasn’t in school.”

As you watched him talk about his hometown, you noticed how Jihoon had brightened up, rekindling fond memories from his childhood. He seemed to be at peace and less troubled than he was a few hours before, and it gave you a sense of serenity as well, gazing at him like what you were doing at that moment.

“Just by looking at you, I could already tell that it’s such a great place,” you remarked, grinning. “I’ve never really left the capital before, that’s why I always wanted to go to one of the provinces. Since you definitely sold me the idea, I might want to go to Santaragossa someday, given the opportunity.”

A thought struck Jihoon in an instant.

“Hypothetically speaking, if I’d invite you to come with me to Santaragossa next week, would you go?”

At that very moment, in the middle of a night market, you were stunned to silence.

#seventeen #caratwritersclub #svtcreations #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfics #seventeen woozi #lee jihoon #the most convenient escape #seventeen angst #seventeen fluff

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makarov-my-beloved · 3 years

Text

Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev shorts

@burgoyned A little short from the AU ^^ Hope you like it :D

André sat nervously behind the defendant’s row as Parliament began to fill up. Upfront, Albion Chief Lord George Germain sat next to his Director of Journalism Frederick North. Sitting on the witness stand was Charles Cornwallis, playing with his phone while awaiting the testimony to begin. Richard and William Howe sat in the defense seat in front of the judges. André glimpsed past the shoulders of other members, watching William fiddle around with his laptop nervously while Richard sat back on his chair, coolly browsing his phone.

*Hours before the testimony*

“I don’t want to make this worse than possible,” Bagley protested. “Come on, Bagley, you had our back before why not help us out with this?” Richard asked. André unplugged the laptop’s wires. “Bagley can help, but he doesn’t know the whole situation. And so far, everyone is believing the other side. Only we know the real story, but that won’t help since nobody is willing to listen to us.” “Well, if it helps, I can plug in my phone and have Bagley look through everything,” Richard offered. “I can do that,” Bagley said. Plugging his phone next to the AI, Richard watched the data compile through Bagley when the screen closed, and Bagley reemerged.

“Done! I have gathered all the evidence I needed. This shouldn’t take long,” he chirped happily. “Great! Now we just need to sneak you in….” “Don’t worry about that. May I suggest using the computer bag sitting by the PC? I may be a detectable device, however, the guards are not that bright in discovering something from a bomb to a personal assistant.” “Alright. If you don’t mind me turning you off-“ “No, please do. Let’s get this over with,” Bagley chimed. André turned the AI off and placed the device into the computer bag. “I’ll bring the laptop in case Billy might need something,” André suggested. “Please do. He gets annoying when he’s bored,” moaned Richard. The two then left the Safehouse and into the pub. The pub was empty except for Hanger who was scrubbing the bar floor.

And now here we are. André held his breath as Germain stood up to begin the trial. As Parliament settled down, Germain walked to the front of the room where William quickly shut down his laptop. Richard typed in his last few messages before putting his phone into his pocket. “Ladies and Gentlemen of Parliament, we are gathered here today in the trial of the accused William and Richard Howe- (William shifted in his seat) for breaching the security of the Bank of London – (crowds murmured to themselves) - that resulted in a crypto market crash across the globe.” He turned to face the rest. “This violation of security protocol is a threat to our national security. We will begin this trial by asking the only witness to this. Now, your Lordship Cornwallis,” Germain turned to the witness. “What did you see during the night of the security breach?” Cornwallis shrugged. “So far I haven’t noticed anything damaging except accidental data leak,” he replied.

Parliament whispered to themselves, and Germain quickly shushed them. “ ‘Accidental’ you say? How do you justify a crime; a crime that almost destroyed the fabric of this nation’s security, that almost caused inflation in other parts of the world, as accidental?” “Look, I only know that the leak was unintentional and was not intent on breaking the crypto market. Besides, some websites require little to no effort in tracking down their cookies.” “Interesting. And were you, by any chance, an accomplice to this breach?” “No sir, I’m not,” Cornwallis said while passing William a look of ‘What the fuck is happening?’. William shook his head. After pondering for a few minutes, Germain nodded in satisfaction before turning to the defendants. “It appears the witness testimony is quite uninformative and lack of evidence (“How fucking dare you,” hissed Cornwallis under his breath), but now that we are here, how would you explain…or should I say….defend your actions on breaching security at the Bank of London?”

“Like this,” Richard replied as he pulled out a device from the computer bag and sat it down. He pressed the power button and Bagley popped up. “Good morning, Parliament!” he announced. Surprised gasps arose while others quickly started whispering to each other in confusion. “I see we have some confused reactions to my presence. My name is Bagley, and I am a personal assistant to these fine lads sitting front of me!” “Thanks, Bagley! Always appreciate a good compliment!” said William before putting his head on the table and staring off into the distance. “Haha! In any case, shall I gently remind everyone that once I’m here, your information is no longer safe?” Cornwallis ducked behind his stand to cover his laugh. Richard cocked his head to the side, smirking.

Germain glared at Bagley. “I presume you are the defense council for these accused?” “Indeed I am. And I prefer you used the term ‘defendant’ as these two are innocent without a shadow of a doubt.” “And how do YOU know that?” inquired the Chief of Journalism. “Easy! Let me start with this: March 15th. A beautiful fair maiden is sitting in front of me…” “Hang on! That is NOT what I asked for!” Germain interrupted Bagley. “Ohoho! Getting a little frightened I see. Is there something you’re hiding?” Bagley cooed snarkily. Germain turned to North, whose face was beginning to grow red. Bagley continued. “March 15th. A beautiful fair maiden is sitting in front of me; her golden hair glistened in the sunlight and her eyes glistened in the sunlight. I watched her every movement and it was as if Aphrodite herself swept through the room. A mere bartender yes….”

“WAIT!! YOU … “ William shot up, staring at Germain. “Were you….HITTING ON CAROLINE??” he demanded. Cornwallis quickly moved out of his witness seat and tip-toed to André’s spot as Parliament let out a gasp of pure shock. Richard casually pulled out his phone, pretending as if nothing happened. The Albion chieftain began to panic as Bagley continued reading his notes. “Yet her graceful move was everything I could want in a woman. A maiden no doubt. Her breast was voluptuous, as was her behind….” William stared straight at Germain, who was now beginning to back away from the defendant’s table. “….is it wrong for me to ask, God, that a man could want more in life?” Bagley finished reading. By this time, Parliament was already chattering about Germain’s diary.

“Well, if I hadn’t heard enough!” Caroline Howe announced as she got up from her seat and stormed down the aisle to face Germain straight on. Richard looked at William with a big smile on his face. Grabbing him by the collar, Caroline dragged him down the row as members burst out laughing at the sight of Germain’s beet-red face. North, by this time also feeling humiliated, announced the end of the testimony. One by one, Parliament began to disband. André and Cornwallis waited until the aisle was almost empty before walking to the front of the room. The four men convened in the now empty room. “Well, I guess that’s the end of that,” William sighed. “Be thankful I haven’t read your diary in front of everyone,” Bagley said matter of factly.

“Read it back in the Safehouse. I’m done for today.” “Agreed. Why doesn’t everyone grab a drink at the pub and relax?” “Sounds good to me,” Cornwallis said. André closed Bagley before leaving with everyone back to The Earl’s Fortune.

#watch dogs legion x amrev

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akimmito · 4 years

Text

Heroes are made by the path they choose

Previous | AO3 | Next

________________________________________

Chapter 4

Chloe Bourgeois is not having a good day, the National Assembly has spent the whole morning discussing the mayor's ridiculous decisions regarding the orders given to the MT and, indirectly, to the heroes regarding the danger of the new villain.

She's the youngest member of the 577 deputies that make up The National Assembly of the French Parliament, having the minimum age to enter the elections and having demonstrated her worth, far from the stigma of her father as mayor, she won a position. And she has been doing everything possible for the good of France (especially Paris, with the miraculous butterfly still loose).

The arrival of the first Akuma in seven years shocked the entire country. She knows the senate must be chaos too and not to say the presidency, she can only imagine the Elisha Palace on fire with everyone screaming as they run in all directions… Or, a similar scene, many adults almost yelling in panic while pretending not to panic. It's good that the meeting is held in private.

Which brings it back to the real reason for the whole discussion, since the events with Hawkmoth, the French Government has been more involved in what happens (which should have been from the beginning being because is the capital of the country) and they have been active in trying to laws allow arrest for embezzling the use of a prodigy (leading to a long list of crimes). And when she joined, she did her magic and started talking about a way to prevent someone from using the prodigies to misuse, making the MT an organization recognized by the Government for the protection of Paris (therefore, the heroes also have that faculty to be treated as part of a whole) and of France as a whole; they have access to the government, the MT is above the police in power to enforce the law, but always maintaining its independent character (not that someone should know it and she has said nothing, all to prevent Marinette from giving an attack for that).

The entire process involved each State Institution and lasted four months; it was stressful, but two months later, everything is going smoothly and the news no longer mentions prodigies, evidence of jewel magic and any non-butterfly mentions have been removed. Additionally, anyone posting information about the prodigies will face legal charges accordingly.

The only requirement for this was to provide a list of the official members (they didn't ask for identities knowing that it's dangerous), both teams gave their members and it was recently updated with the inclusion of Thuban.

Everyone is aware of the mayor's request and she's smirking, that inept is worse than her father. Ask the MT not to investigate a dangerous criminal who in just one day of his appearance caused at least a hundred deaths with her first Akuma? That the cure of Rakkīgāru (official name since last night, after making it clear that Ladybug is not a cloak with an immovable name) brings everything to its former state does not exonerate the murder.

France designed a maximum underground security prison protected with safeguards similar to those of the MT headquarters, where the most violent criminals are sent (so that they don't become weapons of the new criminal). Unfortunately the safeguards can't be put in all of Paris or they would start to cancel each other, so they use them for the important thing. Suzaku, who is Marinette's vigilant identity, is in charge of all the processes.

But going back to the important thing, she hopes that a new law will be created or the status of the MT within France will be made public.

She, of course, understands Felix and Marinette's plan. Agreeing not to investigate is another way to investigate while relaxing from active work because they went so far to say that the patrols are canceled for the entire week and if they ask, it was the mayor. And it was the two days of silence that led the vice president of the country that morning to send a message to the MT (something funny, if they ask her, just two days and they worry) and, therefore, to find out that the mayor asked them without giving an explanation (said by Corvus, Felix was very specific with his concerns about it and that they didn't want to cause problems with the government). That generated all the meetings she knows are happening.

At lunchtime, she escapes to the MT in search of Marinette or Felix, to tell her about government disaster they caused, to discover that the demonic blonde is in Romania supervising the recording of a movie and that Marinette went to her country house. Oh well, she can tell they after the chaos comes to an end. The only thing she finds is Kagami being hugged by Luka to appease her anger, a gracefully adorable image in her eyes.

____________

Alizee @AlizeeShin_

In my opinion, the government has reacted well to the return of the butterfly. I lived in Paris nine years ago and the government then did nothing. Good for us!

Elliot Renault @Elliot_Renault

The MT has been silent since the Akuma appeared, they have not been seen on the streets or on the roofs. The Government is treating the matter as the problem that it is, since today the institutions were in full swing and surely we will soon have news about it.

Chloe B. @QueenBourgeois

I need urgent vacations, a break from all this madness would be good. I 'm sure that all of Paris has the same desire.

Michel J. Laforet @LaforetLeGrand_

Such a scandal about a man, perhaps the heroes are not so heroic. They only accumulate failures.

Chloe B. @QueenBourgeois

@LaforetLeGrand Soon, all of Paris will know that it was your father, the ridicule that she asked the MT not to investigate, today at 8:00 pm on the National Chain;) ___________________

As the French Parliament catches fire figuratively and almost literally, Marinette is engaged in her little investigative work on the Mayor of Paris and his son, especially his creepy son, still remembering that he had to deter Damian, five months ago, from assaulting his home and murdering him (using methods intended to cause the greatest physical pain as he dies) for harassing her during a party (which they went to just because Chloe took them). Damian was ready to pounce on Michel with the first sharp thing in hand when he saw him put a hand on her butt; in the end, it was Felix who sent him flying politely with an explicit threat in his words.

"Mother, you are still working..." Damian is not happy, especially when he sees the face of the man who dared to lay hands on his mother without his consent (man who should be dead). He doesn't understand why she investigates them.

"I'm just curious, Pierre Laforet doesn't seem like the type who would want to sabotage our work."

"Yeah, Michel Laforet doesn't seem like a sexual depraved either, and I'm sure he's capable of raping a poor defenseless lady." There is poison in his words, he still wants to see him writhe in agony as life slowly leaves him. No man has the right to approach his mother with such impure thoughts.

"Could be..." She replies distractedly, reading on the surface, if she want to go deeper into them, she must do it from the MT.

"Mother, let's play with the dogs. They are happy to see you, too. ”Damian tightens her shirt sleeve to get her attention, not that he enjoys acting like the ten-year-old he is, but his mother needs a break from everything that stresses her out.

"Uh, fine." She closes the laptop and agrees to go out and play with the dogs, which are huge and knock her down as soon as she goes out into the yard, as a bonus, they also do it with Damian and the two ofthem are being overwhelmed with doggy love for four adult dogs, two puppies and a black cat (which is like a miniature dog for being raised by the two German Shepherds), Dafne only watches from the bottom in disgust.

Hugo watches everything from the kitchen window, listening slightly to Marinette's laughter and Damian's humorous complaints. The employees whisper beside her about how excitable canines are with their owners.

Those little happy moments are necessary to face the difficulties that arise and enjoy them to the best of your ability.

__________

Violet @SilkenLavanda

There was an explosion in or near the Louvre... I can see the fire from here. I doubt it's an Akuma...

Paris News @ParisNewsTWT

An explosion is reported around the Louvre Museum, people are invited to keep their distance. Authorities confirm that the cause was a bomb, two fatalities and eleven wounded. More information in the 6 o'clock newsletter.

Max K. @ MaxKan_Tech

What was missing…

#maribat #dickinette #dick x marinette #ml x dc

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thessalian · 3 years

Text

Thess vs Tier 4

Be me, going to the hairdresser for the first time in months because I was tired of looking like a badly trimmed hedge.

Be the receptionist of my little salon, watching BBC news on the till/computer as sort of background noise.

Be me, noticing everyone in the salon going a little quiet as the phrase “tier 4″ came up.

Be the receptionist of my little salon, turning up the volume a little bit as word hit of an emergency press conference by the PM.

Be Boris Johnson, in a suit that actually fits and doesn’t look like it was dragged out of a Pringles tube before he put it on, with a Remembrance Day poppy pinned to the lapel.

Be me, realising that this means that Shit Is About To Hit The Fan.

Be Boris Johnson, saying that London and the South-East is going into “Tier 4 restrictions” - that all non-essential retail, indoor gyms, ‘personal services’ etc were going to be shut down entirely.

Be me, noticing that “Tier 4 restrictions” actually sound more severe than the so-called ‘lockdown’ we were in up until a couple of weeks ago.

Be Boris Johnson, saying that this starts tomorrow, giving non-essential businesses zero prep time to shut themselves down and giving everyone else zero prep time to get their Christmas shopping done.

Be me, having to comfort an entire salon full of freaking-out hairdressers.

Be Boris Johnson, saying that, yeah, also, for London and the South-East, Christmas is basically cancelled, despite how he said only three days ago when we first heard about the new variant that it was “too late” to cancel Christmas plans.

Be me, sitting quietly grateful that my family had already cancelled Christmas anyway.

Be the hairdressers: “Well, I moved in with my mum at the first lockdown and am still there, so ... the turkey! I have to get a turkey!” “It’s non-essential shops, Mum; groceries still count as essential. You’re fine.”

Be Boris Johnson, explaining that this is because of this new variant of COVID that’s going around the South-East but that there’s no evidence whatsoever that it’s more harmful or resistant to the vaccine; just that it’s more easily transmissible and given the state of things, he has to listen to The Science.

Be me, thinking that given how slowly he usually reacts to “The Science” when it could harm “The Economy”, there’s a whooooooole lot of other shit that we don’t know about and won’t for as long as he can get away with it.

Be my hairdresser, apologising to me for stopping my haircut to listen to this all.

Be me, saying: “Don’t worry about it; I wanted to listen too and I couldn’t if you were buzzing clippers by my ear”.

Be the other hairdressers, basically quietly freaking out about dashed holiday plans.

Be me, dropping a 25% tip on my hairdresser and buying some fancy shampoo before leaving with the thought, “Wow, I’m glad I randomly decided to get my hair cut today instead of waiting until my post-Christmas week off like I originally planned...”

I have a feeling things are going to get a lot worse. We knew most of the stuff Johnson was on about three days ago and he did and said nothing. The fact that he’s taking such decisive action now means that there’s new information that we don’t have yet that he’s hoping to get ahead of so that he can look prescient and forward-thinking when it hits instead of floundering in the face of things like he normally does. That and now he doesn’t have to answer to Parliament’s angry questions about their communities being effectively locked down (since they’re on recess) so he can do as he likes.

The other option is that he needs to do something before the situation with the lack of hospital beds gets out of hand and people start asking questions about the still-on-standby Nightingale Hospitals and he has to admit that there was never enough staff to run the bloody things in the first place.

I mean, he could have just been playing straight with us, but ... no. I can’t believe that. Johnson has lied his way through several careers and he’s not about to start telling the truth now.

Between Brexit and this, all I can say in summary is: “we who are about to die, salute you”.

#Thess on COVID

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warsofasoiaf · 4 years

Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

14 March 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

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

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

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

---

13 April 1937 - Northern Maryland, United States of America

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

Our Congress and our president have long since taken flight

No ammo, no armor, no pills, no cargo

No prayers, no chance, no hope of tomorrow

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

8 May 1937 - Áras an Uachtaráin, Dublin, Ireland

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

15 July 1937 - West Virginia, United States of America

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

10 September 1937 - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Images

Cactus Jack Becomes President

Standoff in America

Second American Civil War Begins

Battle of Baltimore

Encircled Federal Troops in Kentucky

US Moves the Capital to Denver

Germany Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Spain Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Italy Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The Netherlands Approves the Irish Business Initiative

The United States Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Canada Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Sweden Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Austria Approves the Irish Business Initiative

Rigged 1937 Election

The Wall of West Virigina

The Battle of Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh Battle Map

The Fall of New York

-SLAL

#creative #kaiserreich #celtic tiger

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cryingcow · 4 years

Text

Sera, Jingu, & Kazama - The Tojo Clan Secret [RGGO] - Ch. 4-5

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 .

A bit late because of emergency schoolwork, but here we go!

Previously: Jingu asked Sera if he is “ride or die” with him, which Sera answers with an enthusiastic yes (a declaration that he probably really regrets 17 years later). He then probably knocks on every Chinese restaurant in Yokohama, chases a boat with a helicopter, and wakes Lau Ka Long from his beauty sleep.

Warnings: Major Yakuza Kiwami/1 spoilers coming up. Also some super minor Y3 spoilers, where Kazama may or may not be vaguely referring to Joji

CHAPTER 4

[Tokyo Bay – Snake Flower Triad ship]

Sera: “If it isn’t Lau Ka Long . . . General of the Snake Flower Triad’s Japanese Branch.”

Lau: “Are you a regular yakuza? You seem to have quite the organizational strength.”

Sera: “Well, you’re close.”

Lau: “That’s right, that face . . . I remember now. The Tojo Clan’s Third Chairman.”

Sera: “I’m taking back the 10 billion.”

Lau: “Fu . . . I don’t appreciate you getting the drop on my men.”

Sera: “That’s on you. The one at the top should be the one who makes the best tactical decisions.”

Lau: “Wrong . . . The one at the top should be the strongest.”

Sera: “I can be that too. Don’t let your guard down.”

{Boss fight against Lau Ka Long happens. Sera defeats him.}

Sera: “It’s unlikely you could ever win against the entire Nikkyo Consortium.”

Lau: “Fu . . . you are a bad opponent.”

Sera: “I’d say the ones at the top are the ones with an edge. Unlike you, distracted by the game.”

{A Snake Flower member bloodied and bruised runs in.}

Snake Flower member: “Boss! It’s in their ship! They took the 10 billion!”

Lau: “What’s that?!”

Sera: “Thank you for buying us time by fighting with me. See you.”

Lau: “Tch! I’ll never forget this!”

----

|Next day.|

[Tojo HQ - Meeting Room]

Jingu: “Sera! You did well!”

Sera: “So . . . is that 10 billion to be managed by the Tojo?”

Jingu: “Oh, of course! If you manage the money, then I wouldn’t have a hand in it.”

Sera: “That’s true . . . but it’s still 10 billion. It’ll take some time to clean it.”

Jingu: “I don’t mind. It gives me time to deal with the police executives.”

----

|After that, Sera undertook the dirty work of Jingu, while Jingu secretly backed Sera.|

|A few years pass . . .| (It doesn’t say the year, but presumably it’s 1995/1996 now)

[Tojo HQ - Meeting Room]

Jingu: “. . . Sera. Thank you once again for your help.”

Sera: “As always. Come straight to me whenever you are in trouble.”

?: “Sera? Are you here talking with Jingu?”

{Kazama comes in with Yumi following right behind him.}

Sera: “Kazama-san. And also Yumi . . .”

Jingu: “Hello Kazama-san. Yumi-san.”

Yumi: “Jingu-san . . . “

Kazama: “Jingu. Don’t drag Sera into too much trouble. You may be an old friend, but he’s the Third Chairman.”

Jingu: “I already . . . I know that very well. By the way, Kazama-san, I actually promised Yumi-san I would drive her around today. I would like to ask permission from you as her guardian . . .”

Kazama: “What? Is that why you wanted to come to Tojo Headquarters with me?”

Yumi: “. . . yes. I’ll be out until dark.”

Kazama: “. . . is that so. Alright.”

Jingu: “Well then . . . let’s go, Yumi-san.”

{Jingu and Yumi leave.}

Sera: “Jingu seems to be getting along with Yumi lately.”

Kazama: “That seems to be the case . . . Yumi has changed a lot. I’ve been busy since she lost her memories about Dojima-san a few months ago.”

Sera: “Kazama-san, Yumi still hasn’t remembered?”

Kazama: “Her memory is still gone. She can’t remember anything about the incident . . . or Kiryu. She just needs time. By the way, what kind of man is that Jingu?”

Sera: “He is a man burning with ideals. He doesn’t shy away from power and he sticks to his aspirations. . . . he has many enemies because of that. In order for him to realize his dreams in the front world, I want to help him from the shadows.”

Kazama: “If that’s what you buy . . . then I guess I can’t say any more on the matter. But Sera, I’m worried about you, too.”

Sera: “Why’s that?”

Kazama: “Because a relationship between a government official and a yakuza always ends in tragedy.”

Sera: “Don’t worry. We’ve been inseparable since we were students.”

Kazama: “Is that so . . . in that case, good.”

Sera: (We worked together to crush the police’s scheme with that 10 billion. There is nothing to worry about . . . )

-END-

CHAPTER 5

[Tea Room]

Sera: “. . . Jingu. What do you need help with this time?”

Jingu: “It’s a little troublesome.”

Sera: “Heh. It’s always been, so far.”

Jingu: “No, it’s a lot more so this time. I’m being shaken down by a civilian.”

Sera: “A civilian? Jingu, what did you do?”

Jingu: “A few years back, I faced a tough opposition. In a head-on battle, I didn’t gain much traction. The people I met at the time . . . I made a request . . . for them to obstruct the elections . . .”

Sera: “Election obstruction? You’d do that . . . ?”

Jingu: “I had no choice . . . There was no other way.”

Sera: “Who are you in trouble with?”

Jingu: “The owner of a building company. A former yakuza, though not associated with the Tojo Clan. He has a memo with my orders and is threatening me with it. They were rough guys; the election obstruction was done more than necessary . . . some people got seriously injured.”

Sera: “Assault on top of election obstruction?”

Jingu: “Sera! It’ll be bad if the public finds that out! My image would definitely be tarnished!! I’ve already solidified my position in parliament. The secretary-general has been hinting at it . . . “

Sera: “. . . what would you have me do?”

Jingu: “I want you to get back that memo. And I want you to take care of the man, make sure he never makes trouble again.”

Sera: “ ‘Take care’ . . . no way, are you asking me to kill him?”

Jingu: “N-no. If you can hurt him and threaten him into not doing it again, that’s fine. . . . but if he won’t listen . . .”

Sera: “. . . alright. Let’s do this.”

Jingu: “I’m sorry for pressing such a thing . . . !”

Sera: “I’ve dirtied my hands with far worse back in the day. But . . .”

Jingu: “What?”

Sera: (Kazama-san’s warning . . . a tragedy is created by establishing a connection between the government and the yakuza . . . I believe in Jingu. That feeling hasn’t changed. But . . .)

Sera: “Jingu. What about you and Yumi?”

Jingu: “What? That came out of nowhere.”

Sera: “You two are dating, right?”

Jingu: “. . . ah. Well, that’s correct. However, I’m thinking of breaking up with her. She’s all alone. I don’t think she has anyone she’s close to, and no relatives.”

Sera: “. . . ? What’s wrong with that?”

Jingu: “Sera. For politicians, engagement is a political strategy. Yumi has no relatives, and thus no connections. Kazama-san, who can be said to be her only family, is a yakuza. It’s a juicy story for those who want to burn me. I think he’s a good person. But . . . this could be a stumbling block to the realization of my aspirations.”

Sera: “Your girlfriend Yumi is Kazama-san’s family. Don’t play her.”

Jingu: “I know. I will break it off in good faith.”

----

[Builder’s Office]

{Sera and his men storm in, fight with the builder Imaeda and his lackeys, and defeat them. Imaeda is tied up and interrogated.}

Sera’s subordinate: “Didn’t you hear me? That memo. Take it out.”

Sera: “Answer the question. Where is the memo?”

Imaeda: “. . . I don’t know what you’re talking about . . .”

Sera: “He won’t talk. Torture him.”

Sera’s subordinate: “Understood.”

{Sera’s subordinate beats up the builder.}

Imaeda: “I’m used to . . . bastards like you . . .”

{Imaeda passes out.}

Sera’s subordinate: “Chairman, he’s completely out. He won’t wake up for a while.”

Sera: “Look around for a memo in the room. Then tie him up and put him in the trunk of the car.”

Sera’s subordinate: “What are you going to do?”

Sera: “It’s not enough to just hurt this guy. We need to end him.”

----

[The forest where people go to murder people, aka where Nishiki tried to shoot Kiryu. I’ll call it Murder Forest from now on.]

Imaeda: “. . . hnn. What? Where am I?”

Sera: “You’re finally awake.”

Imaeda: “My feet hurt. Is this- is this concrete? Damn it! What are you going to do to me?”

Sera: “The bottom of the lake is full of aquatic plants. When corpses get tangled up, they don’t seem to float up. It’s unlikely you’ll ever be found with concrete attached to you as you sink. Drowning sounds like a painful way to go. By the way, we’ve recovered the memo. But I don’t suppose there’s a copy?”

Imaeda: “Okay, just let me go and-“

Sera: “Oh well. It’s not like a copy would matter when you’re submerged in the lake.”

Imaeda: “W-wait!”

Sera: “Do it.”

Sera’s subordinate: “Yes sir.”

{Imaeda is dragged towards the edge of the lake. The sound of splashing water can be heard.}

Imaeda: “Wait! I no longer have a copy of the memo, and I swear I won’t get involved with Jingu ever again! Please spare me!”

Sera: “Is that true?”

Imaeda: “It is! I have a 5 year old son, I just want to live . . . !”

Sera: “Children can grow up without parents.”

{More splashing is heard.}

Imaeda: “Please!!! I’m begging you!! I’ll do whatever you want!!!”

Sera: “. . . alright stop. Help him out.”

{Sera’s subordinate drags Imaeda back onto dry land.}

Imaeda: “Ah . . . thank you! Thank you!”

Sera: “But . . . don’t forget the words you mentioned earlier. If you break your promise – no matter where you are in the world, I’ll hunt you down and make you sink. This time with your son. That would be sad. Oh, we forgot your wife. I’ll do the same to her.”

Imaeda: “Y-you devil . . . !”

----

[Car]

Sera: *on the phone* Hello. I’ve recovered the memo.”

Jingu’s voice: “That guy . . . did you kill him?”

Sera: “There was no need to kill. You’ll never face his bared teeth again.”

Jingu’s voice: “Is it really okay? I don’t want a scandal right now!”

Sera: “It should be fine, nothing to worry about.”

Sera: (Jingu . . . he’s impatient. That’s because he’s always been in the political world. I wonder what he’s willing to lose at bigger stakes?)

----

|A few weeks later . . .|

[Tojo HQ - Chairman’s Office]

Sera: “Yumi is . . . pregnant?”

Kazama: “Yes. It’s been 3 months.”

Sera: “That is . . . congratulations. And the father . . . ?”

Kazama: “It’s Jingu. Didn’t he tell you anything?”

Sera: “N-no . . .”

Kazama: “It seems we will not be able to make anything official until Jingu has settled his affairs. So for now it’s a common-law marriage. Yumi . . . I hope her eyes are set on the future.”

Sera: (Jingu, what are you going to do . . .?!)

-END-

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

#rgg online #rggo lore #rggo #rgg #Ryu ga Gotoku #yakuza #masaru sera #kyohei jingu #lau ka long #shintaro kazama #yumi sawamura #@parttimeyakuza you were right #sera's too Gray to be a full himbo #still a hunk tho #and a bit dumb when it comes to his bestie jingu

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