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woman-loving · 2 years ago

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Some Lesbian/”Lesbian” Perspectives from 1980s India

Selection from “Rescaling Transnational “Queerdom”: Lesbian and “Lesbian” Identitary-Positionalities in Delhi in the 1980s,” by Paola Bacchetta, in Antipode Special Issue, "Queer Patriarchies, Queer Racisms, International", Vol. 34, No. 5, November 2002.

The following selection gives an overview of three Indian lesbian/"lesbian” activists and writers who were active in the 1980s, looking at their perspectives on oppression, the history of lesbianism in India, and political identities. (The author puts “lesbian” in quotations to refer to women who love women but don’t necessarily identify as lesbian.)

The section on the last woman, Abha, discusses the political identity “single women,” which was “designed to be inclusive of all women who have ruptured with the heterosexual matrix: "lesbians"; celibates; ascetics; unmarried women; divorced women; widows.”

Kanchana

In the 1980s, Kanchana situated herself politically in the Delhi Group, as a lesbian, and as a critical academic specialized in religions. She engaged in activism across scale: she harbored individual lesbians escaping familial repression, intervened against anti-lesbian attacks in a high school, and attended the first Asian Lesbian Network conference in Bangkok in 1991.

From early challenges to male authority on women in Hindu texts, in the 1980s Kanchana‘s focus became gender and lesbianism in sacred and secular texts across religions. At the time, she circulated her work among friends. There was no other audience. Unfortunately the bulk of her work remains unpublished today.

To understand something of Kanchana‘s engagement, it is important to know that she has been a practicing Hindu since her childhood. She was born into a (non-elite-class) Brahmin family, began learning Sanskrit as a child, and gradually added other Indian languages throughout her adulthood. Totally uninterested in any form of monolithic inscription of identity or "religious community," though her specialization is Sanskrit texts, she extended herself to work with Urdu texts, with Christian literatures, and with secular creative writing in several languages. Unlike other lesbian interrogations of the period, her project is not directly oppositional to Hindu nationalism‘s polarization of normative/anormative gender and sexuality. Though she does deconstruct this polarization, her project is primarily beyond the indigenous/alien, tradition/modernity binaries. Kanchana conceptualizes the texts she works with as a living corpus outside linear conceptions of temporality, a corpus usable here and now for her multifaceted liberation project, which both includes and moves beyond sexuality: "I clearly don‘t want myself to be reduced to a mere sexual being. Freedom in a larger sense is what I need, and such freedom would naturally entail the achievement of sexual freedom also. I also need economic, political, spiritual, and other kinds of freedom” (Kanchana 1986:13 – 14).

From an early period, Kanchana took a both/and stance in relation to lesbians and "lesbians" in Delhi, and her work foregrounds both erotic and nonerotic bonding among women. She felt

“kinship with the single women. I have not rejected the word lesbian in English, or words in any other language that mean women who love women. I have identified with lesbians and single women who live and organize independently from men (gay or heterosexual). I am a feminist and a political lesbian. I am a political lesbian and not a social lesbian.The social lesbian does not see herself as political; she just sees herself as a person who sleeps with women.” (Personal communication, 1998)

Integral to Kanchana‘s work is her denunciation of economic and political domination across scale: from colonialist, to nationalist elitist, to internal queer misogynarchal, to internal lesbian and "lesbian" forms. For example, her 1980s critique of "class, caste, religious, linguistic and north/south divisions among lesbians" in India provoked much discussion by the 1990s (Kanchana 1998a). At issue for her today is representation and representability--who speaks for whom about what, and in what type of forum. She feels that "Westernized Indian lesbians" are trying to represent Indian lesbianism for the West and are doing so erroneously. (In that sense, she understands them as internalizing and enacting what Spivak refers to as parliamentary representation).

Kanchana‘s contributions to debates in the 1980s often shifted their very terms. When some lesbian friends lamented that sexuality was invisible in India, Kanchana maintained that "[S]uch ideas come from a colonial state of mind.” For her, ancient texts are "obsessed" with women‘s sexuality: for example, Dharma Shastras, Arthashastra, Kama Sutra, Moksha Sastra (Kanchana 1986:16). If, in some Hindu texts, woman's sexuality is viewed as an obstacle to male spiritual realization (she distracts him from his spiritual path), in others it is celebrated. In the latter, women are "the main source not only of generative power of sexuality, but also of the feeling of sexuality which is called in Tamil women’s feeling. There is no ‘silence' on the issue of women's sexuality" (Kanchana 1986:5-6).

For Kanchana, it is not the texts that silence lesbianism, but rather their colonial-orientalist reconfiguration (see Chakravarti 1989; Said 1978;Sprinkler 1992) into a Great versus Little Tradition and their inaccessibility to most middle-class subjects. Great Tradition texts often present lesbianism in a negative light. For example, the epic Vyasa’s Mahabharata (800 to 500 BC) refers to two women having sex and condemns them. In Valmiki’s Ramayana (200 BC to 200 AD), the god Hanuman spots two women making love in Lanka and reads it as a sign of a corrupt society. In many ancient law books, lesbianism is a punishable crime (cf Manusmirti, 200 AD). In other Great Tradition texts, lesbianism is acceptable, but not on its own terms. For example, in his Kamasutra (fourth to fifth century AD), in chapter 4 (entitled “Auparishtaka," or "The Oral Congress"), Vatsyana presents royal harem women using penis-shaped objects with each other because their husband cannot satisfy so many wives. Kanchana (1986) critiques Vatsyana's heterosexist, phallocentric "rationale for bonding amongst women” but adds that "this information itself is valuable" as evidence of early lesbianism. In yet other texts, lesbianism is without "taboo or stigma attached" and is procreative (Kanchana 1986). For example, in the eighth-century Charaka Samhita (3.2.47), two women produce a child together. For Kanchana (1986:10-11), regardless of its connotations, women's "sexual bonding must have been prevalent, and more or less widely practiced before men could take note of it."

In the mid-1980s, Kanchana drew links between ancient and contemporary women ascetics who circumvent heterosexual marriage and lesbians. She did not find a wider audience until the 1990s, and her current reception is ambiguous. In 1997, when she read a fictional piece at an Indian university about a married woman who encounters a woman ascetic and leaves domestic life to join her, lesbian activists welcomed this, but some otherwise queer-friendly heterosexual Marxist feminists critiqued its solution as opting out (personal communication 1998). Kanchana responded that opting out of heterosexuality to bond with women is a valid mode of resistance to heteronormativity.

Today, searches for historical sources have been critiqued for reproducing the Hindu nationalist, exclusionary "Hindu=Indian" equation (see Puar‘s well-argued 1998 analysis). Thus, it must be noted that from the 1980s Kanchana expressly sought materials outside of Hinduism. The problem is the inaccessibility of her work beyond a restricted circle. To provide just one example, in an as-yet-unpublished article written in 1986(12) in the midst of the Babri Masjid and Shah Bano polarizations, Kanchana determinedly retrieved Islamic sources, such as this lesbian love poem by Muslim Urdu poet Bahu Begum dating from between 1855 and 1865:

All night when we met I wished to gaze at her She who is envied even by the moon! Another this fear arose Ah she is delicate She may be crushed By the burden of my adoring looks.

Giti Thadani Giti Thadani is India‘s earliest public, intellectual, out lesbian in this wave of lesbian organizing. In the 1980s, she wrote editorials against lesbophobic reporting on lesbian marriages and suicides (see reprint in Thadani and Anu 1993:8-84). She also published the first book in the current wave of queer organizing in India on lesbianism, entitled Sakhiyani: Lesbian Desire in Ancient and Modern India (1996). Her controversial work, discussed below, directly confronts xenophobiclesbophobic nationalist discourses (left, right, and center) that designate Indian lesbians as "not Indian."

Giti was a founding member of the Delhi Group, Sakhi, and the Red Rose Rendezvous Group. She self-defines as a lesbian feminist and khush (gay, happy, referring to both lesbians and gay men), and has revived multiple Hindi and Sanskrit terms (see below). For her, the term “lesbian"'s association with Sappho "provides for a symbolic continuum" which "does not come from a 'Westernized' position but rather from a position of erotic desire (akarshan) and love for the 'feminine' as feminine which may be lived out on many planes: the sexual, cosmogonic, psychic and kinship" (Thadani 1996: 9).

For Giti, khush is useful for some unificatory practices, but inadequate because it effaces patriarchy. She sought other Hindi and Sanskrit lesbian designations, but concluded (1996:78) that earlier terms "have lost their former sexual, cosmosocial meanings and are simply translated as 'sister' and 'woman friend'.” She (1996) thus reinvested terms to create: sakhi, bhagini (vaginal sisters), jami (twin, homosexual), and yuvati (ageless woman, in the dual form expressive of a lover relationship, related to the root yuj, to renew).

Giti’s views differ considerably from Kanchana’s on single women and the feminist movement. She (1996:90) supports single women's "effort of building a space allowed to women outside marriage," but feels that "the term 'single women’ again conjures up a victim image, that of loneliness and not having the 'privilege' of a husband. It also fits with the paternalistic model that men should provide for deprived women." (Single women "lesbians" disagree; see below.)

For Giti (1996:88), in the 1980s, the IWM [Indian Women’s Movement] sent the message that “lesbian rights express the needs of only a few 'Westernized', individualistic, and economically independent women," while other issues (poverty, illiteracy, right-wing movements, etc) are more important. She (1994:5) feels these are vital issues, but are "all linked to ideologies and structures of compulsory heterosexuality." For her, IWM single women confine lesbianism to a personal choice, while her own work posits lesbianism as political.

Beginning in the 1980s, Giti spent ten years learning Sanskrit, reading ancient texts and traveling to temples throughout India in her own truck. She (1996:10) states: "My aim is to excavate layers of erotic memories and thus recreate historical continuums from the location of the present context of lesbian invisibility" which began with the Rg Veda. Parallel non-patriarchal "Vedas" were "lost", but the Rg Veda itself contains elements that "have been derived, appropriated and manipulated from the earlier feminine cosmogonies and function as a palimpsest" (Thadani1996:17). Giti (1996:18, 21, 28 –29) explores "gynofocal traces" through the "dual feminine," in deities such as Dyava or duel mothers as jami, in Usha and Nakta, and in nonbiological-kinship mother-daughter relations that include "eroticization of the breasts" and "revelation of the body" as “part of the erotic economy." Beyond the Rg Veda, Giti has examined many other sources. She found lesbian iconography in temples in two forms: anthropomorphic (Khajuraho carvings depicting lesbian lovemaking) and symbolic (two triangles or two lotuses [vaginal symbols] touching). Giti (1996:93) links current Indian lesbians "with older pre-patriarchal cosmological figures or with the latter Kali spectrum of goddesses and Amazon warrior figures." She has shared her work widely since the 1980s by conducting workshops on lesbianism in urban and village settings and giving talks and slide shows both inside and outside India (in, eg, Germany, Britain, France, the US, and Holland).

Academic, activist, Indian, Indian diasporic, and international audiences have received Giti’s work differently. For many in India, from one setting to another, her slides have opened discussions of lesbianism for the first time. This continues today. For example, her photos were used to provoke discussion in the first official workshop entitled “Lesbianism" at an annual IWM conference, in Bihar in 1998.

For some lesbian academics/activists in India, however, Giti‘s work is historically inaccurate (see Natarajan‘s 1998 critique). As a non-Sanskritist, I will not take a position on this. Rather, I center Giti's claim to be "actively re-creating the past" (see her intervention in Parmar‘s film Khush). The process of active re-creation can be understood as a lesbian strategic creative revivalist move, directly responsive to 1980s lesbophobic exilings (which continue today). I use the term "revivalist" in Farquhar‘s (1967) sense, to mean conscious reinterpretation of existing materials in a spirit of political resistance. Revivalism privileges self-appropriation of history over historical accuracy. As Chakrabarty (1997:383) reminds us, "[A]nti-historical constructions of the past often provided very powerful forms of collective memory" that were mobilized in anticolonial struggle. Accordingly, lesbian strategic creative revivalist work might most productively be understood, not in terms of highly positioned academic criteria of historic precision/imprecision, but rather on its own terms, in its political activist significance.

The political significance of Giti‘s work has also been critiqued. For some it reinstalls Hindu nationalist "Indian=Hindu" exclusions. For others (eg Natarajan 1998), it reproduces the Hindu nationalist homogenization, demonization, and exile of Indian Islam. Giti (1996:93) does globalize Indian Islam as an "external invasion" responsible for Hinduism‘s heteropatriarchalization including through (lesbian) temple destruction, and this does echo elements of Hindu nationalist discourse. Irreducibly, paradoxically, her work also challenges Hindu nationalism and provides material for deconstructing dominant-West-based patriarchal-neo-orientalist cults with (white) lesbian members. For example, for Giti, the transformation to patriarchy begins within Hinduism, with the militarized upper-caste Hinduism that Hindu nationalists exalt. She (1996:38) points to Usha‘s rape by the warrior god Indra in the Rg Veda. For Giti (1996:71 – 72), the heterocouple Radha-Krishna (the center of dominant-West-based Hari Krishnas, who financially contribute to Hindu nationalism in India) rose through marginalizing the Radhavallabhi sect, which is centered on a female divinity and whose "visual traditions often have very explicit lesbian depictions of Radha‘s sakhis erotically playing together in water." Giti critiques representations of the male-god Shiva (found within several dominant-Western cults) as Shiv-shaktior ardhanarishwara (half male,half female). For Giti, Shiv-shakti represents, not Shiva‘s androgyny, but rather his misogyny. His shakti incorporation neutralizes feminine subjectivity; elsewhere, shakti stands independently.

Abha Abha positions herself politically as a single woman. In the 1980s, she had been living with a woman for over ten years. She has been an IWM activist since the inception of this wave. She was briefly in the Delhi Group, but her main work has been with IWM single women across classes and religions.

According to Abha (personal communication, 13 February 1998), during the 1980s events outlined above, in the context of IWM organizing:

“[W]e were raising the issue of women’s status outside the heterosexual institution of marriage and family. As we went along, we were not only able to form strong collectives of single women but also explore a whole range of erotic, sexual, affectionate interaction between women. I have, along with basti (urban slum settlement) women, resisted the definitions and prescriptions that homogenize women's sexual expressions and experiences. Naming a group of people or the issue is a political act.”

The term "single woman" was formulated in the context of building broad alliances across classes, religions, castes, regions, and now sexualities and asexualities. It was designed to be inclusive of all women who have ruptured with the heterosexual matrix: "lesbians"; celibates; ascetics; unmarried women; divorced women; widows. For Abha, single women disrupt patriarchal genealogies while establishing lineage with women within and outside their families who may or may not have been “lesbian": "an unmarried aunt; unmarried activists in movements; ascetics or nuns" (Interview with Abha). This autonomous, non-sanguinal female connection disempowers male sanguinal kin who might otherwise expect to exercise control over no-longer married or unmarried women kin, including through corporal/ erotic policing.

Abha feels that the term lesbian, while enabling in the West, is not politically useful to her struggles. Most of the women she works with have little access to English and have never heard the word "lesbian." For Abha, what constitutes woman-to-woman relations and the notion of visibility itself signify disjointedly in "Western" and Indian contexts. She feels the "gender segregation" that is normative in India paradoxically has historically both concealed same-sex love and provided a space for its expression in multiple forms. Announcing woman-to-woman sexuality (as lesbian or in other terms) would isolate sexuality from its wider erotic/affective continuum, thereby reducing it while constituting a threat to the space of its expression. For Abha, giving up that female-only space would be counterproductive. Further, introducing the English term “lesbian" would unnecessarily impose diversionary debates about Westernization. It would mean grappling with the national/alien binary--with lesbophobic exile--instead of getting on with the work of construction of autonomous female collectivity.

The term "single woman" inadvertently interrogates the place reserved for "lesbians" in the hetero/homo binary: as part of a separate, bounded category; forcibly assigned what Martin (1993) terms a "totalizing identification"; as condemned to be a numerical minority. The term “single woman" positions "lesbians" elsewhere: beyond a totalizeable sexual identity, within an autonomous female potential majority that could destabilize the binary‘s dominant term by shrinking it (even heterosexually married women can divorce or become widows). Under the rubric of "single women," lesbianism is not isolatable; the "lesbian" potential in all women‘s relations can be recognized.

In her praxis, Abha links the classed, gendered, and sexuated spatiopolitics of the basti to single women's struggles for total autonomy. As an urban territory spontaneously squatted, often by subaltern rural exodussed subjects, a basti is vulnerable to landowner and state invasions and evictions; it is an unhomeable home in the world. Basti based IWM women have self-organized for a very long time. They have collectively demanded state-supplied water and electricity, unionized trades such as sweeping, spread health information, and supported the decisions of battered women to divorce. The construction of single-woman collectivities radicalizes women‘s struggles against male dependency across scale.

In their organizing praxis, single women from Delhi and elsewhere have agitated openly against lesbophobia and homophobia across scales, within India and beyond. They propelled IWM prolesbian stances on the suicides and marriages cited above. They organized the first workshop (called "Single Women") in which "lesbian" relations were discussed at an annual national IWM conference, in 1990 in Calicut. They led the first passage of a national IWM resolution stating that all women have the right to sexual choice (1994, Tirupathi). They confronted the state in agitations against IPC 377. And they inserted their politics transnationally in a public statement against "the assumption of heterosexuality and the marginalization of lesbians" at the Indian preparatory assembly for the1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing (Abha, personal communication, 13 February 1998). Single women insist on autonomy from gay men but demonstrate solidarity with them. For example, during a 1993 ABVA/Sakhi seminar, single women critiqued ABVA sexism and demanded a womanonly space therein (Jagori 1992 – 1993). But in 1994, when Vimla Farooqi, a leader of the Communist Party‘s National Federation of Indian Women, asked the Prime Minister to ban a gay men‘s conference in Mumbai, single women organized a nationwide IWM protest (Jagori 1994-1995). Finally, single women contributed to IWM support for lesbian rights when these rights were publicly attacked in 1998 by Hindu nationalists in the controversy over Deepa Mehta's lesbian film, Fire.

#india #lesbian history #south asian women #single women #lesbian #lgbtq history

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

“Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

“Congratulations, your graces.”

The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

“Your grace?”

You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

“Are you all right, dear?”

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

“Jemilla?”

You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

You nodded.

“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that so?”

“Why yes. Look.”

He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

“Did you call me a coward?”

You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

“Quite fevered,” you whispered.

Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

“Already hiding from your husband?”

You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

“Tessa.”

You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

“Your grace,” she said.

Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

“Are we, your grace?”

Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

“Stare into my eyes.”

They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

“Stare into my eyes.”

You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

“After you, your grace.”

You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

“Welcome, your graces.”

You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

“Your room, your grace.”

“Thank you. what is your name?”

She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

“Hello there.”

The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

“No! No. Thank you.”

You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#pleasing the duke fic #rege jean page fanfiction #the duke of hastings fanfiction #regency fanfic #the duke of hastings x ofc #bridgerton fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

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apenitentialprayer · 3 years ago

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The Cult of the Saints: An Outline

The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, by Peter Brown.

Chapter 2: “A Fine and Private Place”

1. Inscriptions on graves stretching over a millennium are “reminders of the massive stability of the Mediterranean care of the dead.” Funerary customs were simply “part and parcel” of the human condition, and so rituals were surprisingly indifferent to labels like “pagan,” “Christian,” “elite,” or “popular.” They were less a religious experience as they were a human experience, with the central aspect in all cases being the importance of the deceased’s family in taking care of the dead. 2. At the same time, the grave became a flashpoint where tensions between communal and familial loyalties could be expressed and played out. Different societies at different times have attempted to deal with the apparent contradiction of loyalty among its constituencies in different ways; some have been content to allow certain members of the dead “to retain a high profile,” while others have attempted to suppress the power of certain deceased and their families. (x) 3. Though such tensions shift the field of conversation from overt theology to more subtle sociological concerns within the community, the language used to discuss these tensions nonetheless remain religiously charged. Granting ammunition to those scholars who use the two-tier popular religion model, writers of this period like Augustine and Jerome attempted to frame undesirable practices as pagan holdovers. 4. This framing of undesirable practices as pagan holdovers has influenced later historians; by taking such claims at face value, scholars like A.H.M. Jones could later look at texts written by these same authors that speak positively of the cult of the saints and frame these texts as the final victory of the vulgar in pressuring the practices of the elite. But such a view fails to hold up under scrutiny. 5. For example, the elites who decried ‘paganisms’ that had infiltrated Christian practice often blamed a phenomenon of mass conversions that had happened in the century since Constantine’s conversion to Christianity. There are two issues with such reasoning; recent archaeological work at Hippo has failed to find evidence of a sudden mass conversion to Christianity among its 4th Century inhabitants; the growth of the community seems to have come from a rising population occurring within a stable Christian community. Second, the practices being described as pagan in origin were often practiced by the elite Christians themselves, and had been practiced by such Christians for generations before. 6. By looking beyond the writings of a select few elites who lived during the generation of Augustine and Jerome, a different picture starts to be formed; this picture forces us to confront the tensions between the universal Church, which articulated itself as a form of extended spiritual kinship, and the biological kin units that were members of this Church. 7. The increased centralization of the Church in late antiquity, combined with the central ritual meal in which all members would participate, allowed the institution to become a form of “artificial kin group.” This is shown by their funerary practices; by the early third century, the Church in Rome had its own cemetery, and the burial of non-Christians within its territory was seen as a breach in kinship ties. Likewise, the Christian Church prayed for its dead specifically, at the exclusion of heathens, apostates, and excommunicates. Likewise, the dates of the deaths of martyrs and bishops were recorded and memorialized as a form of family history. 8. At the same time, the ‘privatization’ of the cult of the saints threatened the universality of the Church; writers like Augustine and Vigilantius criticized devotions centered on ancestral graves and relics for this very reason. There was an anxiety that the rise of feast days dedicated to localized saints could threaten the importance of Easter, and the holy sites in Jerusalem could be neglected in favor of tombs closer to home. 9. By keeping these conflicting interests in mind, the framing of the controversy changes from a Christian intellectual elite trying to suppress a ‘vulgar’ religious practice to a battle between two different Christian elites attempting to position themselves as the proper patrons of the cult; the bishops representing the universal Church, and the families of the venerated deceased. 10. This conflict can be seen in the creation of shrines and the private possessions of relics by wealthy laypersons. Families would often construct shrines to saints with the intention of burying their own dead in proximity to them, depositio ad sanctos. This led to some resentment; the grave of one poor person located outside a chapel had an inscription which said his position outside the church was a result of his poverty, but quips that he nonetheless is “as warm as they” who were laid to rest by the saint. In another case, a woman named Lucilla was rebuked by a deacon for kissing the bone of a martyr that she owned before receiving the Eucharist in her mouth. 11. In Rome itself, tensions between these groups were less severe; the Christian poet Paulinus praised a Roman senator who held a feast at the grave of an ancestor on his death-day, for example. Pope Damascus, likewise, was able to exert influence on prominent members of wealthy Christian families in order to keep a hold on “cemeteries that could so easily have slipped irrevocably out of their control.” Outside of Rome, Ambrose of Milan would play a prominent role in the cooling of this crisis. After the relics of Saints Gervasius and Protasius were discovered in 385, Ambrose was swift to appropriate them for himself; he collected the corpses and placed them in a basilica of his own creation, “inseparably link[ing them] to the communal liturgy.” 12. Ambrose had neither created the practice of saint veneration, nor did he simply accept cult veneration as something outside his control; by linking relics to particular churches and basilicas throughout his territory, Ambrose had essentially “rewired” the practice by connecting it to places of public worship. Augustine’s writings in favor of the saints would perform a similar function; whereas their intercession was previously a largely private affair, his recording of ‘authentic’ miracles by their intercession made these stories the public domain of all Christians. 13. In the generation directly after Augustine, the ambivalence towards the cult of the saints had shifted; figures like Gregory of Tours and Paulinus were greatly enthusiastic with the celebrations of the saints. Two factors may have played a part in this; first was the economic situation in western Europe; even during Augustine’s term as bishop, his community controlled more wealth than he ever did as an individual, and in fact struggled to find ways to spend it. 14. While much of the Mediterranean struggled with financing its ecclesiastical ambitions, Italy, Gaul, and North Africa seemed to have an abundance of wealth; whereas Alexandria “had to choose between shirts for then poor and the itch to build,” western Europe did not have the surge in population that made it difficult to fund reliefs for the poor and sick. And, without the traditional ways of spending wealth for the community, resentment for their possession of the wealth could fester. The cult of the saints allowed the Church to avoid that; by publicly funding shrines and hosting feasts and ceremonies at them, the money could be funneled back to the community. 15. Furthermore, the cult of the saints helped to redefine urban life in the Roman world. Before, the city was divided into citizens (men belonging to the city) and non-citizens (women, children, the poor, and visitors). Most of the time, these latter two categories were allowed to remain in the city, but at times of war or famine they were forcibly expelled; the line of who belonged was drawn. With the rise of the cult of the saints, both women and the poor were able to participate in public life like never before. 16. The most dramatic expression of women’s involvement would be the processions on feast days, which scandalized even some of the clergy; men and women, married and unmarried, walked and mingled together during these celebrations. Later, under Islamic rule, there are records of young men coming to such festivals specifically to see the women. In some cases, illicit sexual activity did occur - Augustine had one in one of the basilicas of Carthage before his conversion to Christianity. 17. Beyond the physical mixing of the sexes, the cult of the saints allowed women to partake in situations that were not dominating by men in the traditional sense. Most shrines were located in cemeteries, where the regulation between the sexes was more lax. Beyond that, however, the escape from the “rigidities of her urban setting” could mean a complete escape from the masculine presence in its entirety. One account of a pilgrim details her walking a circuit of shrines in which even the male saint being venerated did not act in the traditionally Roman masculine form. (x) 18. The poor, meanwhile, often congregated around shrines, as they were heavily associated with charity and gift-giving. This was part of a larger shift to a postclassical society in which the citizen/non-citizen divide was replaced with the rich and poor as the primary separator; the rich were expected to provide service to the poor through a religiously charged expression of patron-client relationship. The poor were not to be thrown out “at the first touch of famine,” but were essential parts of this system of patronage. 19. The inclusion of the poor as social recipients was mirrored by the inclusion of women as givers. This development allowed women to participate in public life at a time where public laws were still forbidding them to participate in politics; under the Christian worldview, charity was an act of mercy, and not an act of politics. Women could therefore visit the sick, feed the poor, and fully participate as patrons of shrine-based ceremonies without breaching this ban. 20. These developments hopefully show that the development of the cult of the saints was not the result of a “vulgar,” half-pagan majority forcing their will on a reluctant, educated Christian elite. Rather, it was a development within the Christian community that created intracommunal tensions and resulted in a tradition that broke from traditional paganism.

#history #sociology #Christianity #Saint Augustine #Saint Ambrose of Milan #The Cult of the Saints #long post

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casualcatte · 4 years ago

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[LFRP] FFXIV: Gospel Lightfaith

Age: Adult (late 30′s approx.)

Race: Hyur, Midlander - Ul’dahnian

Gender: Female

Hair: Silver

Eyes: Blue

Height: 5′9″

Build: Fit and well-muscled but not bulky.

Common Accessories: She keeps a rosary-like set of prayer beads on her person, though never worn. A silver sigil of Thaliak is attached to them.

Server: Balmung

Profession: Free Paladin, Mercenary-for-Hire

Hobbies & Interests: Dancing, helping others, reading, writing, painting, art, music

Residence: The Mist, Ward 23, The Topmast, Room 50

Birthplace: Ul’dah, Thanalan, Eorzea

Religion: Thaliak, the Scholar

Fears: Higher Voidsent, abandonment (by those she cares about), failure (in a number of things)

Smoking Habit: Never. She keeps her body in peak physical condition.

Drugs: A few times in her youth, but after a few bad experiences she hasn’t bothered with them since.

Alcohol: Yes. A nightcap to relax after a hard day’s work. Or sometimes excessively when stressed or in pain.

Food: She can cook fair, basic meals, but nothing extravagantly gourmet. Humble, simple food like what she grew up with as a merchant’s daughter.

Status: Single

Sexuality: Demiromantic, Heterosexual Do not expect to get involved with my character without significant investment. No one night stands, no love at first sight.

Spouse: None.

Children: None.

Parents: Elspeth and Alexander Lightfaith

Siblings: None that she is aware of.

Other Relatives/Close Friends: Valeria Camena @thehouseofvs

Enemies/Rivals Zerey Zeyad @therpperson

Animal Companions: Venator, her gryphon mount.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Honest / In Between / Dishonest

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

You need something killed. Gospel is a mercenary-for-hire, though typically to common smallfolk and tradesmen primarily. She has an extremely moralistic code that doesn’t allow her perform duties that she finds morally repugnant, like harming the innocent. Expect questions.

You need protection. Her shield is also for hire, if you find yourself in need of one. Again, she prefers to work with lower class citizens, but isn’t above working for the occasional noble or entertainer.

You are an Ul’dahnian merchant. Gospel’s family are a generational line of armor and weaponsmiths, primarily focused on metalworking. Merchant-folk are welcome to have heard of Lightfaith Arms & Armory either directly or in a tertiary sense. They’re known for swords and plate armor, as well as household common items like pots, pans, and wagon wheels. Their Maker’s Mark is a radiant sun stamped in gold foil on their items.

You are an Ul’dahnian resident. Gospel worked for a number of years for her family’s smithy, mostly as their Public Relations / Advertising / Salesperson. Residents of Ul’dah are welcome to know her directly or in passing as a woman often seen about town trying to tempt adventurers and common folk into buying their wares. She also later became known for her mercenary-for-hire and protection services.

You are/were a member of the Maelstrom. A former captain of the Maelstrom, Gospel earned her notoriety as a bulwark against the tides of battle, oftentimes defending and protecting wounded soldiers as they waited for evacuation from the field. A friend to mages and healers, she was especially protective of them in battle. After her retirement and return to Ul’dah, members of her regiment often spun tall tales of her exploits in the tavern. The Knight of the Lily is a name often bandied about in such cases.

Friends, acquaintances, and adventuring buddies, age 21+. Nothing against younger players, I’m just a 40-year old lady and enjoy playing the game with other like-minded adults.

People who like growing things organically, particularly relationships. I don’t like making things up out of thin air and I don’t like friendships and romances that flourish overnight. Put time and effort into creating things!

In-game RP sessions, primarily! (Discord available for OOC coordination.) I’ve had pretty bad luck with keeping Discord threads and the like active, so I prefer in-game sessions whenever possible. Not to say those methods are completely off the table, but reserved for folks who are genuinely interested in upkeeping and maintaining them.

Lore flexibility. I’m not as well-versed in FFXIV lore and I don’t need/want people around me who want to hammer the Nth of the lore and make roleplay feel more like homework. As long as it’s a good story and an engaging character, that should be enough!

Story and Character-driven Plotlines. I love a good epic story. I love long-term connections, be it friendship or rivalry. Slice-of-life and general hanging out is fine on occasion, but I truly thrive in a story-driven environment.

Late Night/Overnight Friends. I tend to keep late hours, so people who are around/available between 8pm and 8am (Central US Time) are ideal.

People who aren’t afraid of OOC communication. Seriously, this is a big one. If you can’t talk to me OOC about a session, what you like, don’t like, or have issues with then please don’t seek me out. I view roleplay as collaborative storytelling that we should all have fun with and a large part of that is talking things through OOC to ensure we’re all on the same page and having fun.

IC/OOC Blending. If you’re a person that can’t keep your IC and OOC separate, don’t seek me out. I am not my character. My character is not me. Whatever interactions you have with my character are not a reflection of my views/personality as the Player. Do not conflate them.

ERP, gore, extreme violence, torture, horror, et cetera. I have a pretty stressful life, I RP and play games to relax and these topics don’t contribute to that. At the very least, please ASK me before starting anything involving these themes.

These first two, especially, are deal breakers and I will cease contact with people that can’t respect these boundaries (which is why OOC communication is a MUST with me.) If you aren’t sure – please ASK!

Most roll-based system RP. I’m a big fan of D&D-style systems, if they incorporate character sheets that allow Characters to have aspects to them that shine and fail. Being subject to random RNG without attributing bonuses for character skill and experience feels imbalance to me. (And RNG generally hates me, so... XD)

Mundane-focused RP. Slice of life, hanging out, and less-active scenes are fine, but only in moderation. If that’s all you care to do, Gospel and I are probably not a good fit, because we both are adventuresome souls that like getting involved in things!

Experienced Roleplayer. I’ve been roleplaying for almost 30 years now. I love discussing roleplay ideas and implementing them. I’m not worried about “spoilers” or ruining immersion by discussing and planning storylines OOC. Planning ensures that everyone has a chance to contribute ideas that are fun for *them* so everyone has a good experience.

Patient and Understanding. I tend to be patient with people of all roleplay styles and experiences. Just be courteous if you need to AFK mid-RP for an extended period or reschedule the scene. I understand well that Real Life and your own well-being come first, so just be up-front with me about things.

Special Information. I am a 40+ year old woman with severe Rheumatoid Arthritis. This means I may need to cancel plans last-minute depending on my pain levels/fatigue or I may need to leave mid-scene. This is NOT an indicator of interest – or lack thereof – I have a disease that needs careful tending and I have to listen to the needs of my body before anything else.

Availability/Contact Information –––

Timezone: GMT/UTC -5 or Central (US) Time. I’m mostly avaliable from 8pm to 8am, Sunday through Tuesday. Beyond that, my schedule gets pretty unpredictable, but I’ll do my best to let you know ahead of time if I have any conflicts and what my availability is.

Discord: casualcatte#1384

In-Game: Gospel Lightfaith@Balmung

Last Updated: May 1, 2021

#Gospel Lightfaith #FFXIV #FFXIV RP #FFXIV Roleplay #FFXIV Roleplayer #FFXIV Balmung #Balmung #Balmung rp #Balmung roleplayer #FFXIV Crystal #Crystal RP #Crystal Roleplay #Crystal Roleplayer #balmung roleplay #ffxiv lfrp #lfrp #looking for rp #looking for roleplay #cast of characters

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kickingitwithkirk · 4 years ago

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Greetings From Austin

Pairing: Alpha!Jensen Ackles x Alpha!Jared Padalecki x Omega!OFC

Summary: Jensen and Jared are at odds over a monumental decision that changes their lives in a way they couldn’t have envisioned.

Word Count: 2616

Warnings: a/b/o, homophobia, bisexuality, biphobia, angst, cursing, self doubt, depression/anxiety, medical stuff, sexual dysfunction, infertility

*additional warnings to be added in future parts.

A/N: Here we go again with one my weird as hell dreams, series Inspired by this art.

A/N II: There is no intentional hate or malevolence intended towards any of the Ackles or Padalecki families. This is a purely fictional piece containing real and created persons/names/events set in the fictional A/B/O verse. Some dates/events altered to fit story.

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

*divider by @writeyourmindaway

*images found online

Prologue

Austin, TX

Mid July

“Babe,” Jensen softly says in a low voice to the person seated next to him in the waiting room, “Babe,” he says a bit louder, still getting no response. Leaning close, he blows into their ear.

Jared starts, his “what” muffled by the finger he’s been chewing on.

“You know you can’t do that, don’t want you getting sick.” Taking his hand Jensen pulls it away from his pretty pink lips, gently caressing the finger. Jared had finally stopped chewing on his hands when Covid-19 became widespread.

“Where’s your gum?” Jared bite his lip not answering.

Sighing, Jensen shifts retrieving his pack and hands a piece to him. “What’s got you masticating again?” He inquires as Jared pops the stick in his mouth.

Jared chews the gum nervously weighing how to answer the question knowing Jensen won’t accept anything less than the whole truth. “What if something goes wrong again because of me.”

Jensen’s brow furrowed. He learned years ago that while their relationship is one of equals, he had to be lead Alpha when Jared’s mental state overwhelmed him as it had the last few weeks.

***

After the public announcement in March 2019 that season fifteen would be Supernaturals last, they had agreed when finished with the pickups they would take an extended break, return to Austin and concentrate on their marriage.

Jared intended to stop acting indefinitely, pursuing other interests and Jensen wanted to concentrate on his music.

Of course, things didn’t quite end up how they planned.

Jared entered negotiations to star in the Walker, Texas Ranger reboot, along with being an executive producer. Jensen got a call from Kripke wanting him for the role of Soldier Boy in The Boys third season.

But by March of 2020, everything came to a halt thanks to the Corona-virus.

The shutdowns left Supernaturals final two episodes with no definitive filming date and their seemingly never ending last season put their other projects on hold.

For the first time in years they had the luxury of a leisurely schedule, not having to be somewhere on a timetable, they could communicate with friends and family uninterrupted, deal with their other businesses, charities, etc, leaving most days free to enjoy being together without constraint.

But even amazing, awesome, vigorous sex on every horizontal/vertical surface that could support the two big Alphas only filled so many hours and like many couples, they started getting each others nerves and looked for other ways to stay occupied.

By late May, Jared was unable to sleep or eat, even going out of the house became a chore. When he hit a consecutive fourth day in bed, Jensen bodily dragged him into the bath for a desperately needed shower and loaded him in his truck driving to his doctor's.

Upon checking in they were told patients only allowed in the facility. Jared started panicking, saying he was having chest pains and couldn’t breath. He was rushed in with Jensen hot on their heels after morphing into an overprotective Alpha mate no one was stopping.

Jared’s doctor deduced with the lock-downs prohibiting him from his routine checkups and periodic adjustments needed to his medications triggered this episode.

The first step was to wean him off his current prescriptions and change to a newly approved, alternative regime. He was checked in a facility for ten days under observation while detoxing off his meds.

His therapist switched his twice weekly tele-counseling sessions to daily for the foreseeable future and Kodas certification as an emotional support animal was approved. His progress was slow but he was returning back to his sweet natured, big hearted, exceptionally tactical, overgrown puppy self.

When the surprise call from the clinic came a few days ago about an appointment opening, Jensen initially didn’t want it, still in his overly excessive protective Alpha mode. Jared’s outburst made him relent, fearing they were on a collision course for a major setback if he didn’t.

And Jensen, being Jensen, went overboard to ensure the appointment was absolutely private.

Part I

Jared was about to speak when a woman in scrubs called out, “Mr. Bonham and Mr. Page.” they got up crossing over to her, “Hello, I’m Sissy, Dr. Rodgers nurse, please follow me.”

They pass through the doorway leading through a maze of halls like that of any other medical clinic except this one specialized in a very specific service.

The nurse opens a door near the back of the clinic gesturing for them to enter the spacious office, “Please have a seat, the doctor will be with you shortly.” She closed the door and they sat down in the pair of chairs directly in front of the large, dark mahogany desk.

Jensen, scenting Jared’s nervousness, lifts his right hand kissing his palm, making him chuckle at the tickle of Jen’s soft beard before twining their fingers together and setting them on his left thigh, smiling reassuringly.

There was a brief knock before the door opened and an older, silver haired Beta entered. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rodgers, how are we doing today?” He asks, moving to his chair behind the desk.

Jared gave him a tight smile and Jensen remained placid.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, “Relax Mr. Page, this is just a visit to go over the paperwork before deciding about how we proceed, not the Spanish Inquisition.” Jared releases his held breath but couldn’t completely calm himself.

“I know the process can be overwhelming but I must ask, is there something we’ve done to make you uncomfortable?” Dr. Rodgers inquires.

“No, everyone’s been really nice, very professional. It’s just we..we had issues the first time we attempted to do this.” Jared finished his sentence quietly, in the recess of his mind; something bad is gonna happen and it’ll be my fault.

Jensen squeezes his hand tighter, instinctively sensing Jared’s mind was trying to spiral again, “When tried this before someone leaked our plans to the media. It wasn't ever proven the clinic was involved but...”

“We do everything possible to keep our clients anonymity protected here. All of our staff have been thoroughly vetted and sign NDA, given your professions, you're familiar with how they work. Your real identities will remain completely confidential, even if you choose to not proceed. It is why you chose this particular clinic, yes?”

“Yes, it is.” Jensen replied.

“How about we get this bit of paperwork out of the way, then we can have a more relaxed visit. I’ve gone over the applications you both submitted and have noted a few discrepancies in the medical section that need clarification before we proceed,” He opens the top file, “Mr. Bonham, why did you omit Genu Varum from your medical history?”

Jensen kept his expression neutral as he felt his stomach automatically clench. He had been mercilessly teased throughout his childhood about his bowed legs by his older brother Josh and later his buddies from school when they’d come over to hang out. By the time he was in high school Jensen’s extraordinary looks and personality were what got people’s attention first. Nowadays, many a fanfic waxed poetic about those bowed legs.

“The questionnaire inquired about inherited genetic medical conditions and since mine isn’t, I didn’t think it was necessarily applicable.” Jared hears an edge creeping into Jensen’s voice and gives their tangled fingers a quick squeeze.

“Did you see an orthopedist and were they able to determine what caused the condition? Did they suggest any surgical procedures or therapies to straighten your legs?”

“I was born a preemie, the orthopedists my parents consulted decided my condition was attributable to that.” Jensen replies tersely, dropping his vocal range. Jared gripped his hand harder, telling him to cool the attitude. “The doctor didn’t recommend surgery but sent me to physical therapy, thought it would help them straighten as I grew.”

“So no others in your immediate family have this issue?”

“Everyone my family has straight legs, including my three children.”

Jared piped in, “He hates it but he does have an exercise regimen; stretching, strength training. Oh, he also takes several different vitamins, omega oils, turmeric and extra vitamin D to support his joints.” They watched the doctor scribble a few more notes in the file before closing it.

“Mr. Page,” Jared sits up straighter in his chair, “I appreciate that you went into detail about your mental health status. I see you’ve recently been hospitalized, your medications have been changed to an alternative regiment and you’ve also increased your therapy sessions?”

Jared’s interview continued for another twenty minutes as Dr. Rodgers questioned him in depth about his depression and anxiety, feeling said anxiety ratcheting up so he focused on Jensen’s thumb rhythmically moving over his hand and used every ounce of his acting skills to appear confident and in control.

Dr. Rodgers closed his file, “I only have a few general questions left then we can discuss how you wish to proceed.”

After a more relaxed, genial conversation with the doctor, Sissy took them to a couple private rooms with paraphernalia to help stimulate them into producing a couple semen samples.

Jensen was getting close to finishing with his favorite spank-bank fantasy when he felt Jared’s frustration across their bond.

~~~

Jared couldn’t get aroused.

He felt as useless as his flaccid cock.

His doctor warned him that loss of sex drive could be a possible side effect of his new regiment until his body adjusted to it. He had struggled with temporary impotence a few times on his old meds, always fearful Jensen would finally see him as undesirable, no longer a satisfactory mate.

Rationally, he knew it was his illness causing these exceptionally hard to deal thoughts recently and the nagging idea this wasn’t the right thing for them to attempt again continually kept creeping in.

Jensen’s unspoken reluctance about having more children at his age was also weighing on his conscience, warring against his own biological longings.

They had a humongous argument when he told Jensen about taking the appointment. Jen thought this was the wrong time to attempt it again, pointing out he was just getting his equilibrium back setting Jared went off on a rant about how he no longer wanted him and would leave him like Genevieve had because he was too broken to deal with anymore.

Unmitigated anguish was written across Jensen’s beautiful features, the very notion that Jared could conceivably believe that he’d ever abandon him made his soul hurt in such a way no verbal language on earth could ever express his devastated feelings traveling across their bond.

***

Everything they’d been through; from that bar fight solidifying their friendship, Jared’s first breakdown, the years of living as roommates while secretly a couple to finding wives who understood their unique relationship and still married them both in 2010.

The joyous arrival of JJ three years later that unfortunately exacerbated Genevieve's frustration of not being able to conceive coming out with a vengeance at Jared. His unexpected breakdown in Switzerland was the final nail in their marriage. Gen was there for him but in the end it was all too much and she filed for divorce.

Shortly after, Jared’s iCloud account was hacked. It was believed, but never conclusively proven, that Gen was behind it since her lawyer was trying to break their prenuptial agreement, the videos documenting his private and explicit sexual relationship with Jensen were legally considered adulterous. In the end, the court upheld the legal document but the ramifications...

They were summoned to L.A. for the meeting from hell with WB executives, both convinced it was the end of Supernatural and their careers.

After the reaming out, they each received a weeks pay suspension to cover some of what it was gonna cost PR in time and money to deal with the inevitable repercussions and placate the show's sponsors.

How would the show’s fans react? Would they still be able to accept them as brothers only on TV while in real life they were involved in a highly stigmatized relationship?

When they returned to work there was an atmosphere of tension that hadn’t existed before. It was an open secret that all shows had their share of bitchiness and backstabbing behind the scenes. Jensen may have the thicker skin, keeping tighter control on his emotions, but Jared knew it hurt him just as deeply the loss of some of their friends because of prejudicial, social beliefs that two Alpha males shouldn’t be involved.

Jensen’s parents showed up unexpectedly in Vancouver a few weeks later. What started out as a not quite comfortable visit quickly deteriorated with his religiously conservative parents. They had not raised him like this and blamed Jared, saying he had corrupted him, leading him into a sinful lifestyle. He needed to repent and return to his wife to whom he had made a commitment before god.

Jensen blew up, replying it was none of their business, it was between them and oh, yeah, Danneel knew about them before marrying him and they better not say anything to her. Without another word his parents left. When he later called them to make amends, his mother coolly stated that he was no longer part of their family and to never contact them again.

Three months after the twins were born in 2016 came the finalization of Jensen’s divorce from Danneel, painful but congenial. They easily agreed on joint custody and still spent most holidays together. Jensen gave Dani financial security in their settlement, he wanted to make sure she didn’t have to worry about working again unless she wanted to.

All these years later, Jared continually has nagging thoughts that they had let everybody down. They received support when they publicly came out as bisexual then lost some of it when they married, being mocked for not coming out as gay.

***

There was another knock at the door and Jared ignored it, it was that nurse checking on his lack of progress again. The knock turned into pounding, “Jared, open this door now dammit!” He flinched realizing Jensen knew what was going on with him. Releasing the privacy latch and opening the door a crack he saw concerned green eyes only.

“Sorry, I thought you were that nurse,” he stepped away and sat back down as Jensen came in and re-latching it behind him. “She came to get me when you stopped answering,” Jensen said, walking over to him and started running his thick fingers through his husband’s long hair, “what’s going on babe?”

He glances up knowing that Jensen already knew, “It’s okay Jay, take as long as you need.” He paused at the unpleasant scent wafting around him. “If you’d be more comfortable we could do this at home…” Jared shakes his head, “There’s the risk of damage, contamination and or not able to get it back in time that could make the semen unusable.” Jared quotes from a website.

Jensen softly chuckled, “Nerd.”

Jared notices the bulge in his jeans, “You didn’t...”

“Drain the snake..choke the chicken..spank the monkey.”

“Fuck, okay, you didn’t! Stop using old man slang.” He shook his head smiling at Jensen intentionally goading him.

Jared reached up for the hand playing in his hair, grasping it to draw Jensen down next to him.

“Jack, I don’t want to wait any longer on doing this. I love JJ and the twins, you know I do, but they'll always be yours and Danneels. I know the timing could be better... but I'm almost thirty-eight and I want my..our own pups running around the house driving us crazy.”

“For the next eighteen years?”

“Minimum.”

tbc

Part II

SPN: @donnaintx @lyarr24

GFA: @babypink224221 @waywardjoy @let-me-luve-you @all-4-wincest

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva

#J2 #alpha!jensen ackles x alpha!jared padalecki #jared x jensen #a/b/o #alpha!jensen x alpha!jared x omega!ofc #alpha!jensen ackles #alpha!jared padalecki #a/b/o ofc #Jensen Ackles #Jared Padalecki #spn au #husbands

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annebrontesrequiem · 4 years ago

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CLAMP Timeline BS: How xxxHolic and CCS are Connected

Major spoilers for xxxHolic, TRC, and minor-ish spoilers for Cardcaptor Sakura and Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card

Also it long

Backstory

Cardcaptor Sakura run: 1996-2000

xxxHolic run: 2003-2011

Clear Card run: 2016-present

What I have read: The entirety of xxxHolic

What I have watched: The entirety of Cardcaptor Sakura, the entirety of Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card, xxxHolic season 1

Crackpot Theory Time

So I got the idea for this after seeing some post somewhere (I’ll try to look for the post later) something along the lines of “maybe Sakura in Clear Card will be so powerful she’ll be able to influence the TRC universe/help the members of the CLAMP universe.” Then I started thinking about how, though there have been many posts on the TRC/xxxHolic timeline, I haven’t seen an xxxHolic/CCS timeline. I’m sure it exists somewhere, but since I’ve got my own theories I’m not writing one myself.

This is less of a timeline and more of a “how are they connected”, basically I’m going to be going back through the anime and the manga and saying whether I think CCS and xxxHolic take place in the same universe, and whether or not they’re taking place at the same time.

Let’s start with the most stuff (and apologies the manga scans are ones I made myself so if they’re kinda wonky that’s why)

Also one day I’ll update this when I actually read TRC (lol)s.

Also some of these are a bit crazy.

Plot Points

Since xxxHolic came second it’s unsurprising that the majority of the things I’m going to be discussing comes from this series. So I’m going to start by framing this around xxxHolic, dipping inThis is going to be a bit all over the place but since I’m focusing on a specific chapter it shouldn’t be too confusing.

1. In Chapter 2 of xxxHolic we see the most references to Cardcaptor Sakura. Namely Watanuki and Yuuko have an argument about the plastic replica of the Clow Key that Yuuko owns.

2. Now the version that Yuuko has is the first iteration of the key. That means that when Yuuko acquired it (whenever she did) it was most likely during the first part of Cardcaptor Sakura (although yes I understand in meta it’s because it’s the most iconic iteration). Then again the key has been around for a long time, as it’s the original iteration. It’s possible that Yuuko got a copy of it from Clow, or some point before Sakura got hold of it. Although that’d most likely have to be before Kero fell asleep for 30 years, and before the cards got into the Kinomoto house.

3. Another thing to note is that Yuuko only has a prop version. Although you might use this to say CCS is a show in this version, it’s pretty obvious that this is just for a gag. Considering the fact Watanuki doesn’t recognize it, there’s little chance that CCS is a beloved kid’s show in the xxxHolic universe.

4. This is further proven by Yuuko’s words: “…The one who owns the original now is the creep’s [Clow’s] blood relation, a cute young girl.” This is probably the best indicator that CCS is taking place at the same time of xxxHolic. Although it’s possible that CCS takes place in an alternate world/universe, that also seems unlikely. Although Yuuko never seems tied to the shop in the way Watanuki is in the latter half, there’s also (in xxxHolic) no proof that she’s jumping around worlds. Besides, it seems unlikely she’d bring it up to Watanuki in the present-tense if that were the case. Thus we can pretty safely say that Sakura is both alive and still a little kid in the xxxHolic world.

5. Now the most confusing part in regards to the CCS/xxxHolic timeline is Watanuki’s existence himself. In Chapter 11 Watanuki and Yuuko go to see a fortune teller. During said interaction the fortune teller explicitly states: “Your parents have safely passed into the afterlife” after noting that they died in an accident. Now this could cause some issues, as we know not only that Watanuki’s parents are Sakura and Syaoran (from what I know it’s specifically their clone versions but again I haven’t read TRC so I could be wrong). This could point to two things, either A. This is just a lie or something that CLAMP retconned later, or B. Sakura and Syaoran are dead. Assuming that this isn’t just a retcon or a sort of lie (since Sakura and Syaoran clone’s weren’t actually dead at this point, I’m pretty sure in TRC they don’t even know about Tsubasa Li yet) we could explain this via Eriol. Eriol is confirmed to be the reincarnation of Clow Reed. As of such if we assume that there was another Sakura and Syaoran running around in this world (plz god no), then the accident which caused their death doesn’t actually mean that CCS happened way earlier. It just means that they might’ve reincarnated.

Random Exposition

I’m just going to be talking about technology and geography here

1. Firstly I had to go back and check and unfortunately the name of Watanuki’s school doesn’t match with the name of Sakura’s school (or rather her brother’s old school). Cross Private School has nothing to do with Tomoeda. Although that could actually further point to them existing in the same timeline, since if they lived in the same place it’d be weird if they never ran into one another.

2. Tomoeda is said to be close to Tokyo. In fact in the second season we see Sakura and the gang taking the train to Tokyo. Watanuki obviously lives in a city, or a very dense suburb, and in Chapter 5 he mentions that Ginza would take hours to walk to. Having lived in a very dense city myself once (Paris I miss you baby) I know that walking from one side of the other could theoretically take hours. Though I’m not sure how large Tokyo is and I have no real sense of distance, I’d guess that Watanuki lives either in some made up part of Tokyo, or in the suburbs directly connected to the city. As famous landmarks are never mentioned, it could be either or. He could even be from a neighboring city theoretically, although then it’d prolly take much longer to walk to Ginza.

3. Lastly I want to talk about technology. In Cardcaptor Sakura Clear Card we can clearly see that this is meant to take place in modern times, as Sakura has upgraded to an iphone, in keeping with the time. This definitely disproves CCS coming before xxxHolic, as nothing in xxxHolic suggests it takes place in the future. I also think that there’s no way xxxHolic comes before CCS for any real period of time, after all in Volume 1 there are many chapters dedicated to the woman who cannot stop using the internet. This too points to me that xxxHolic and CCS are running in conjunction to one another, or are at least only a few years off.

Conclusion

So this is all very crackpot and weird, but I do think it’s interesting to ponder. As that forum post said Clear Card definitely seems to be upping the scale of Cardcaptor Sakura, the magic is greater, the stakes seem higher, and characters such as Yuna D. Kaito point towards a storyline that seems more tonally in tandem with the greater CLAMP extended universe, as really ratcheted up by xxxHolic and TRC.

You could make the argument that CCS and xxxHolic are from different universes, though considering what I’ve written and read I don’t think you can argue that they’re utterly disconnected. Overall I’m still missing a huge piece of the puzzle, that being TRC as well as the rest of the Clear Card chapters. One day I’ll prolly remake this post, but until then I hope you enjoyed!

#going off the deep end #I am still confused #xxxholic #cardcaptor sakura #CLAMP #xxxholic spoilers #mine

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minteagalaxea · 4 years ago

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nebulochaotic | j.w.w

wonwoo and haseo

genre: fluff, some angst, tension

word count: 1.9k

inspiration: the “home run” music video, cable girls, the roaring twenties.

note: i haven’t posted a story in a while...and this is very crazy.

"operator seventeen, how can i help you?" the voice inquired, tone neutral and apathetic as she spoke through the phone.

"yes, could you connect me to choi seungcheol, number 808, please?" the other responded, the masculine timbre mimicking the expression from the operator.

"of course, one moment, please," came the natural response, and there came the click of a connecting wire, following by a few cranks of the dial, "hello, you have a call from 717, would you like to accept it?"

"yes, please," she heard the voice on the other end call, and she connected the two speakers, letting the conversation commence between the two men, surreptitiously scrawling down written notes until the discussion ended.

after a few moments, the woman plugged a new cable into the board, turning on the switch as she stated, "detective lee, i have some information for you."

"mr. jeon, a pleasure to meet you here," the man spoke casually, taking a seat across him on the elegant couch of the club.

"detective lee, what a coincidence," the other returned with the same perfunctory manner, though considerably terser than the former, "how can i satisfy you tonight?"

"you wouldn't happen to know any information about the diamond heist, would you, mr. jeon?" he inquired with his amiable, easygoing grin, with the underlying tones of animosity.

"i do not, detective lee, though i am surprised that you've heard of that—i had thought it was a private subject."

"then, you are privy to the details," the latter remarked triumphantly, "are you aware of its whereabouts, or anyone that would know?"

"even if i were privy to them, the majority of what i do know is from the grapevine, although i'm curious as to how you acquired this information."

"it's like you said, mr. jeon: i heard it through the grapevine," he answered briskly before his eyes wandered to see a woman, her hair curled hair and lips painted, peering at them before averting her eyes, "either way, have a nice evening."

"to you, as well," the man bid farewell, before rising to his feet to approach the young woman, extending a hand as he inquired, "care to dance with me, miss?"

the woman took his hand and looped her arms around his neck; they swayed in small harmony, the jazz-tango trumpets and double bass permeating the void caused by silence. he took note of the way that her eyes flickered towards the clock in the corner as the sultry tones began to fade; "did you have somewhere to be?" he inquired, receiving a small nod.

"i hope i'll be able to see you again," he speaks, earning a small nod from her as she loosened his grasp, shoes clicking on the floor as she left the building.

"operator seventeen, i was wondering about something," the voice on the other end reported, "your name."

"you're venturing into dangerous waters, sir," she retorted evenly, "although, there must be a reason as to why you're curious about it now, considering i've answered your calls ever since the beginning of my job."

"well, i thought since you'd be my operator unless drastic circumstances arise, i should get to know the lady that's handling my conversations."

a faux sigh escaped her lips before she lilted, "i suppose it would be fair, considering that the chances of us intentionally crossing paths is improbable—kwon haseo."

"thank you for telling me, miss kwon; now, could you please connect me to kim mingyu, number 416?" he requested.

"of course; one moment, please," haseo's tone reverted to her proper, business tone, pleasantries aside as she plugged in the other cable to the required number, cranking to ring. "hello, you have a call from 717; would you like to accept it, sir?"

"yes, please," the other voice remarked, and as she connected the line, she attempted to funnel their dialogue to its most important, though she found herself listening more anyway, fond of the man's baritone voice.

17 carat teemed with people, dancing to the big band jazz and drinking the bootleg alcohol to forget their sorrows and menial struggles of the day. wonwoo wove his way through the myriad of touchy hands and inebriated lips, landing his dark eyes on the girl from the night prior, swirling a glass of wine between the space of her fingers. her head leaned down, almost worn as he watched her exhale shakily; "is the alcohol not sufficient for you tonight, miss?" he questioned.

"just had long workday, sir, though i appreciate the concern, nonetheless," she reassured, tone sincere and laced with the exhaustion of her day, turning her head to peer at him with a nebulochaotic smile, "i danced with you last night, didn't i?"

noting the tilt in his head, the woman attempted to repeat her statement, sighing after repeating it innumerably, though she leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek, standing up and stepping out the bar sluggishly.

"so, let me get something straight—you have an infatuation for the switchboard operator you speak to daily, but you also have an infatuation with the woman you dance with whenever she is present here?" seungcheol inquired.

"that would summarize it," wonwoo affirmed, sighing, "both of them are charming in their ways, but i don't think it's the best idea to have a crush on a woman i've never seen and another i've never heard."

"you've never seen the switchboard operator, and you haven't heard the looker you've been giving heart-eyes to speak?" mingyu elaborated, eyes bulging widely, "wonwoo, i know you pay us and are our superior, but how exactly did you manage to find yourself enraptured with somebody knowing that that puts either woman in danger?"

"i know, mingyu, you don't need to remind me," the elder grumbled to himself, taking a sip of his scotch, "and i'm probably going to regret it if i drag her into this business."

"have you ever considered, wonwoo, that they might be the same person that you've just encountered at two vastly different points of the day?" soonyoung theorized.

"there's something offputting imagining her to be a lethargic, unamused operator with her smirking," wonwoo shook his head; his mind felt perplexed at the thought of combining the two people to create a single entity.

"soonyoung possibly is right," seungcheol affirmed, "yes, you find yourself enamored with her, but what if it isn't two different people—"

"what is our status report regarding the package, seungcheol?" he cut off sharply, "we don't have much time between acquisition and transfer."

releasing a sigh, the man responded, "minghao has the package, which he received from hansol, who will have it transferred and exchanged at the telephone company."

"what time is optimal?"

"9 am sharp, and not a second later," he reported firmly, "chan will take the package and have it safely transported."

"what about other bypassers—we can't afford to have witnesses derailing the entire operation, boss," mingyu indicated in the plan.

"well, we just don't have to be there by the time the authorities arrive," the leader remarked, smirking devilishly at the group of men, "but, anyway, enjoy the evening. after all, the night is still young."

as the group of men dispersed, another pair of steps made their way over to him, her hand extending to his shoulder, eyes glowing in concern. "i'm alright, just stressed from my workday, doll," wonwoo reassured.

a huff of sympathy blew past her lips, and she reached for his hand, rising to her feet as she tugged his body towards the dance floor, wrapping her arms around him as they sway to the big band jazz. eventually, he began to twirl her, his figure loosening with her movements, finding joy in her figure contorting and bending as he placed his hand against the small of her back.

wonwoo's period of relaxation ended abruptly, however, when the woman departed, though she leaned upwards to leave a kiss to his cheek. yet, he turned to have it land on his lips, coiling over her close before she departed, a wistful expression on his face as he spectated, a hand brushing his lips.

"haseo, please go home, doll," she heard the man on the line forebode, "i don't want you to get hurt."

"what do you mean by that?" haseo lilted, her tone slightly nervous, although she had to do her best to stifle the smirk on her lips.

"your workplace will be in danger in the next hour," he growled, "go home. if you value even a minute semblance of your life, then please evacuate the premises now, doll, for my sanity."

"i...okay," she acquiesced, "and, umm...stay safe, too, wonwoo, for my sanity," hanging up quickly before garnering suspicion from the man in question, her fingers rapidly rearranging her cable to connect to a different line.

"detective lee," haseo warned frantically, her fingernails tapping at her workstation, "i believe the exchange is occurring in an hour at the telephone company."

"how exactly did you find out this information?" the man inquired rapidly, "who told you."

"jeon wonwoo told me," she answered, "he told me to leave work to prevent inserting myself into the crossfires and becoming potential collateral."

"we'll be there promptly, but, haseo, he is aware how you acquired the information, right?"

a brief moment of silence permeated the two of them before the girl raised her voice to answer the question, "if he didn't before, then he finds out today."

his footsteps entered the building, and the others extended their guns as they circled the premises, seungcheol releasing a gunshot and eliciting screams from the men in the building.

throughout the commotion, wonwoo skirted his way through the droves of panicked people, before settling his eyes onto minghao and chan, who exchanged the parcel. before he could engage in further chaos, he felt a cock of the trigger directly by his ear—"jeon wonwoo, you're under arrest for robbery, money laundering, and for direct defiance of the volstead act."

"you have no proof of that, detective, and even if you did, they wouldn't be substantial enough to warrant a sentence."

"perhaps so, but i believe that all our evidence would be your word against your own in court, wouldn't it, haseo?" he teased, and wonwoo noted a figure in a black pantsuit, a coat over her arms as she spectated all the chaos.

feline-like eyes met large, doe-like ones, though both were unreadable as they stared at each other in the middle of their nebulochaotic surroundings.

#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen #svt #svt wonwoo #svt imagines #svt scenarios #jeon wonu #wonu #svt wonu

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darkheartstarlight · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4 - Looking Forward

After the events of last night, all Erika wanted was to avoid the embarrassment of being in the presence of a certain vampire. But at the moment, standing in front of a room, she had the feeling that her plan was already failing miserably because she was summoned to a meeting of the Light Guard.

- Do you really see the need for my presence? – She asked Huang Hua

- But of course! - replied the guard chief, while pushing the girl into the room - We are all here and one of the main subjects is you! - she finished gesturing for the young woman to sit next to Leiftan.

Looking around, she could see the presence of almost every member of the guard, with the exception of the Obsidian leader, but before she had time to ask that question, Feng Zifu took the floor and thanked again for the sacrifice on behalf of Eldarya. The girl couldn't help herself and looked at Leiftan, who reciprocated with a knowing look, this hero thing really didn't fit him either.

However, before she could dive into her inner world of thoughts about the sacrifice, the invitation made by Feng Zifu snapped her out: they wanted her to join the Light Guard. Heart-pounding and truly flattered, Erika thought it was best to refuse the invitation, explaining that her hiatus caused her to regress regarding her powers. And that for now, if possible, she would rather be part of one of the other three guards.

Feng Zifu, admired by such behavior, did not object, adding that knowing their place was a virtue and Huang Hua gave her the choice of being re-selected for a guard or joining her former one. In her head there was no doubt about what to do. There was no way she could stand being in the guard that was once headed by Ezarel without him being there and the same was goes for the guard of Valkyon. So, going back to her former guard, now being led by Chrome was the right choice. After all, Nevra wasn’t there anymore.

- If there is no opposition, I would like to rejoin the Shadow Guard - She said smiling to Chrome who replied by stretching his hand across the table and assuring her that their guard would always be her family.

After the weren’t any oppositions , Leiftan announced to everyone that he would not join any guard and that he would no longer like to be called to this type of meeting, that he needed to be alone and wouldn’t like to get involved in any matters, much to the disappointment of those present.

After discussing some topics, when Huang Hua was ending the meeting, the young woman gathered her courage and asked for the floor.

- I know that this is not a matter that concerns everyone here, but I would like to make a request to you - she said to fenghuang - I would like to meet with Ezarel. And I know you guys told me you don't know exactly where he is. But I believe that if Chrome doesn't mind, the task of locating him wouldn't be that difficult for the Shadow Guard. Don't get me wrong, but after everything I've lost since I got here, I just wanted Ezarel to know that I'm alive.

- I don’t oppose to lead this search chief- the werewolf answers directly to Huang - I would even be happy to be able to contribute to something so important for our heroine.

Before happiness could take over the girl, a dry voice cut the conversation.

- Do you really think it is easy to locate a former guard chief, who doesn’t want to be located?

- Nevra - Chrome started - I didn't say it was easy, I said I was willing to try. That I could put together a team to worked on that.

- And do you think it prudent to spend the guard resources to reunite two little lovers? - Replied the vampire.

There was a deadly silence in the room and before Huang could deliver her verdict, against all her senses, Erika turned to face Nevra, who remained with an unreadable impression.

- I'm sure he didn't mean to offend you, right Nevra? -Huang said in her calm voice - The least we can do to you is this, some kind of compensation for everything, but it’s also a proof of my esteem for you. I had talked to Ewelein about the periodic exams she needs to do on you and the only thing I ask is a month, both to see if everything is fine with you and to find him. Does this term work for you too Chrome?

- I will do it - Nevra, with the same icy voice and expression, interrupted before his pupil could answer – I will locate Ezarel, after all I dispatched his things and there is not to a better locator than me.

- So it is decided - Huang announced happily, ignoring the bad weather that had set in - You are all dismissed! Erika, go see Jamon in the afternoon because your sword is ready and afterwards I believe your leader has a mission for you.

Still impacted by what had happened, the young woman thanked fenghuang and went to her room, when, in the middle of the corridor, she felt a hand grab her arm.

- We need to talk...

I have nothing to say to you, Nevra - She said without looking back.

- But I have...

With a sigh she disengaged her arm from the vampire's hand, who was making no effort so he wouldn’t hurt her, and turned to face him. The coldness in his voice and gaze were something that bothered her deeply, for he was nothing like the man she once met.

- I'll make this as clear as possible, I don't want to talk to you right now, goodbye - She said turning toward the room, giving the vampire no chance to respond.

The rest of the day went as expected, after picking up her sword, beautiful and lethal by the way and spending some quality time with Jamon, the young woman went on a mission with Chrome, Mathieu and Koori, and ended up with a ticket to infirmary as usual. After having dinner with her companions, she decided that she couldn't stand still and that she would ask Leiftan to train her, so that she could defend herself with her powers and so that she wouldn’t be so useless like today.

Going towards the aengel's room, she had the misfortune to meet Nevra with whom she engaged again in an argument, until Leiftan arrived and the boys started arguing among themselves, exchanging acid words and veiled accusations.

- Enough! – She said putting herself between them - Please grow up both of you! I thought I could still count on you, but I was clearly mistaken!

Hot headed, the young woman stamped out without believing the day she had lived. Leiftan vehemently refused to train her, even though she explained that her life could be at risk, while Nevra was acting like an asshole to her with no apparent explanation. Absorbed in her thoughts, the girl only felt the fall when it was too late.

Sitting on the floor, with a hand being extended to help her up, she took it grateful and started to apologize to the person she ran into. When she raised her head to look, she felt all the blood drain from her face when she looked into those piercing blue eyes.

- L ... La ... Lance?

#eldarya #eldarya fanfic #eldarya new era #ezarel #nevra #valkyon #lance #eldarya erika #eldarya a new era #Eldarya Origins #beemoov #gardienne #Eldarya Archives #reimagine eldarya

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crewhonk · 5 years ago

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Only Happy Accidents (13)

AN: Second last chapter!!!! How insane is this! Sorry for the late upload, the queue ate the original post rip. Anyways!

Summary: Steve and clan deal with the consequences of YN’s high risk emergency surgery and the birth of Steve’s son, Charlie

Warnings: Surgery complications, mentions of blood, Steve is afraid, Bucky is afraid and he has a little meltdown

“Uneven Odds”— Sleeping at Last / “Everything Changes”— Sara Bareilles / “The Story”— Sara Ramirez

Only Happy Accidents

_________________________

July 5th, one day post birth

Steve sat by the bed, staring. It’s all he could do, honestly. Charlie was asleep in the cradle a foot away (he slept with his mouth as far open as it could go— just like Steve did), and sleep was so far away he couldn’t even think about it. So, he stared.

YN was alive, but the tubes and wires connected to her body and going down her throat made her seem farther away than ever. Her hands were warm, sure, but she wasn’t breathing on her own, so what was the point, really.

Helen had found him crying over Charlie, and she’d sat down in the chair opposite him and told him that YN’s heart had stopped beating for a while during surgery— something about blood loss, and the lack of oxygen going to her brain for that extended period of time put her ability to wake up or even breathe on her own a slim possibility. Cho had taken him and Charlie down to YN’s room, and the tubes and wires were honest to god worse than the screaming and blood, because at least when she was in that amount of pain, his wife was still alive. Sovereign.

Steve had immediately asked if he could do something, and after getting his blood tested, found out he wasn’t a match for a blood transfusion— hoping that the enhancements in his blood would help YN heal. Even in all his super-enhanced glory, and with the enhancement created under the best of intentions, Steve still couldn’t save the people he loved the most— no matter what century it was, he couldn’t stop things like this from happening. So, Steve had cried like a damn baby as he held YN’s limp hand, begging and praying and compromising with the universe for her to wake up.

Charlie was the only thing stopping him from doing something dangerous— the cooing happy baby, unaware of the grief around him was a reminder for Steve that good things still existed. To think that Steve could ever hate something like this— something so good that he’d created made him sick to his stomach. When Steve wasn’t cradling the baby or hovering over the bassinet, he was at YN’s head, pushing the hair away from her face and glaring at the tubes and kissing her cheeks and knuckles.

Apparently, Bucky Barnes had taken enough pity on him after walking in on him crying for the fifth hour in a row and had pulled Helen aside, asking if he, possibly could get tested.

He was a match.

So, that’s how Busy Barnes found himself standing next to his godson and best friend, watching as his own blood— that created and given to him by such evil people for such evil purposes as it saved the lives of the people he cared most about in this world.

His best friend.

His godson.

YN Rogers, who had brought so much fullness to everyone she touched— she reminded him so much of Rebecca it tore his heart in half some times.

And he waited with the Rogers family, holding Charlie when Steve was too distraught to hold him, and leaning into Natasha when he needed the support she gave him. She was taking it hard, too. Not being able to have children herself, and then watching a wonderful, peaceful pregnancy turn into something so traumatic had shaken her to her bones. Her bravery in this made Bucky admire her more than he ever had, and the ring in his pocket burned a hole through his skin down to his bones as more days passed.

As soon as Helen had injected the blood, her stats had increased gradually— not the dramatic, gasping romantic event he’d half been expecting, but as the hours went on, YN’s cheeks grew flushed with just a little more colour.

The room remained quiet into the following day. The sun rose slowly on the anxious family, and Steve squinted as the sunlight shone directly in his face. He’d fallen asleep with Charlie sprawled on his chest in the armchair next to YN’s head, and someone had thrown a clean blanket over them, keeping them warm as Charlie was kept in a comfortable snooze agains this fathers heart beat. Steve’s hand cradled the kids bum as he rubbed his back lightly and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes and listening to the constant heart rate beeping from the monitor beside him. She was still alive— that was nice. At some point, Bucky had put Charlie in the basinet so Steve could fall forward onto the bed and just rest his eyes for a few seconds.

“Steve—” A raspy, chalky, but all too familiar piped up from beside him, and his eyes flashed open as he jolted, almost forgetting the newborn in his arms before hugging him closer and staring at the woman in the bed.

She didn’t look as if she was awake. Her body hadn’t shifted, and her eyes were still shut peacefully, but the breathing tube was nowhere to be found so either YN was dead and her ghost had come to haunt him or—

“YN?” He whispered, leaning towards the bed and staring hard, begging the Gods again to just stop playing with him.

“You’re yelling, you know.” She whispered back, cracking her eye open at him.

“How long have you—“ Steve whimpered, standing and leaning over her, tracing his eyes over her features— she looked good.

“A few minutes. You looked like shit so I figured you could use the beauty sleep.” She teased and he let out a sound halfway through a cry and laugh before he ducked down and kissed her breathless. He knew she felt just as relieved to have her eyes open by the speed of the heart monitor— it beeped quicker than it had today, and the thought of her alive and well and responding had tears wetting his cheeks.

“YN, baby. I thought you were— I didn’t know what the hell I was going to do if you didn’t—“ He choked out, tears falling onto her cheeks, which he kissed off quickly.

“Hey, don’t think about that, okay, baby? I’m alive and— wait, where is my baby?” She cut herself off, suddenly remembering that she was in fact a mother now. Steve smiled and kissed her nose once more, trailing his fingertips over her cheek and lips as he stood up. She kissed his fingertips and he flushed, pulling them away regretfully before turning around to the cradle and scooping a sleeping Charlie into his arms and walking over to his wife. He moved slowly, watching the adoration fill YN’s tired face as Charlie got closer.

Steve placed him on her chest, and her hand, delicate and hesitant rested on his back as if her touch would shatter him. Charlie stirred only slightly, burrowing his face into YN’s chest and wrapping his tiny fists into the fabric of YN’s hospital gown.

“This is our son, Charlie.” Steve whispered, throat tight with emotion as YN let out a dry sob. She ran her fingertips over his coned head lightly, the soft downy hair caressing her fingers.

“Charlie.” YN whispered, tears streaming down her face as she looked down at him. “He looks like you, Steve. And my dad, but there’s a lot of you in him.” She commented and he smiled, hand on her thigh as he stared at the scene in front of him. This— this is the only moment of his life he would ever want to remember. Somehow, despite how scared and angry he had been, everything— everything leading to this moment was worth it.

“I thought he looked like you. Wait until you see his eyes, baby.” Steve whispered, brushing the back of his knuckle across Charlie’s cheek.

YN looked up at him, eyes bright and shining and alive and she lips pulled into a tired smile. “Kiss me, Steve Rogers. Please, kiss me.”

And so he did. He sat on the bed next to her, and covered over his little, perfect family and kissed his perfect wife breathless.

“I love you, YN Rogers. I love you, I love you, I love you and thank you for surviving and coming back to me.” Steve whispered against her lips and she shuddered out a breath.

“Hey, you married me so you’re stuck with me for life, pal.” YN smiled, kissing him again rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone once she pulled away. He leaned into her touch, turning his face to litter her palm with kisses. The small family was interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

Steve loved Dr. Cho. He really truly did, and he had all the respect int he world for her, but could he just have an hour without seeing her wearing that stupid damn poker face. There was a polite greeting as she looked over YN’s charts, nodding and humming to herself before she clipped the board back on the bottom of the bed and looked at the Rogers.

“So, YN, we should likely discuss the surgery.” And with a small nod, Cho continued. Steve shifted to take YN’s hand as she wrapped her free arm around Charlie who made a tiny squeaking noise before smacking his lips and falling back to sleep.

“So, the surgery was extensive, and did not go without trouble. Your heart stopped for longer than any of us would have liked, and it is because of Mr. Barnes that you’ve recovered so well.” She started and YN looked at her confused.

“Pardon?”

“Mr. Barnes donated his blood— he was a match for donation, and the serum he had been enhanced with kickstarted your recovery. Without it it’s unlikely you would have woken up with full brain function if you woke up at all.” She said, grimly and YN looked up at Steve quickly, watching him purse his lips and nod.

“I tried, but we weren’t a match. I couldn’t save you, I’m sorry.” He whispered, coughing when his voice cracked. YN, shocked with the news clutched his hand harder and nodded, turning back to Cho.

“There’s something else, isn’t there.”

“Usually, the placenta carrying the child would be set up higher int he uterus and away from he cervix. However, your own was lower— closer to your cervix, and had adhered to the uterine wall too deeply for it to release properly. Usually, this complication would have been detected in scans, but it was such a microscopic abnormality that we missed it, and during your contractions, your placenta detached too quickly which caused the bleeding and damage.” She said, and YN fell back against the bed. She clutched Charlie closer to her as a comfort and the feeling of his little fists tightening reassured her slightly.

“So what happens now?” YN whispered, not wanting to look at Steve for fear of him looking disapointed in her.

“Well, there was so much damage to your uterus that the chances of you becoming pregnant again are low, and if you did the pregnancy would be incredibly high risk. If you’d decided to carry on with the pregnancy, you would likely have to have a cesarian, and depending on the placement of the placenta, the entire uterus would need to come out.” Cho said, trying her best to keep her poker face.

YN’s chin wobbled at the news and her eyes grew hot as she flicked them up to the room, glaring at the ceiling with everything she had in her. Why would this have happened? Was it because fo the snap? Was it just her body’s inability to deal with things like this?

Before he let YN fully pull away and retreat into herself, Steve squeezed her hand and called her name. On the third repetition of her name, she looked at Steve and the tears finally fell from he corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” She whimpered. “I know you wanted a big family but—“

“You stop that right now,” he demanded, voice strong despite the sinking feeling in his heart. “This is not your fault, okay? And I’d rather have a healthy, alive wife and a healthy, loved, spoiled little boy than anything else, okay?” He ducked his head, trying to catch her eyes again. Her beautiful eyes looked up at him again and he cooed, wiping her tears away with his fingers. “And if we decide we want another baby, we can adopt. Maybe we can even get a pet first— cause, you know. That’s something that couples usually do before they get married anyways.” He joked and YN snorted, wiping her eyes and nodding.

“Maybe a plant.”

“Maybe even a plant.” He confirmed and smiled, kissing her nose and playing his hand on Charlie’s little bum.

“I would also like to take you out on a date for once. No baby. Just me and you.” He offered and YN smiled, blushing lightly.

“Yeah, we kinda skipped out on that bit too, huh?” She smiled, and neither Steve nor YN noticed Cho leaving, noticing that her company was no longer wanted in this moment.

“Like a movie and dinner, and I take you home and kiss you on the doorstep.”

“We live together, Steve.”

“It’s the thought that counts.” He defended.

“I want flowers.” She said. “And chocolates. I wanna be wooed.”

Steve sat back and laughed, hand resting over his heart as he looked at her so fondly. “I married you and gave you a baby and you still need to be wooed?”

“No, but I like the way you get flustered when you try to flirt with me.” She wrinkled her nose at him and he rolled his eyes.

“I do not get flustered.”

“Okay, you big ol’ beefcake DILF. I’ll believe it when I see it.” YN teased, giggling when a blush crept up his neck at the nickname.

“I am not a DILF.” He hissed, smile on his lips.

“You’re my DILF.”

_______________

Charlie had latched onto YN’s nipple immediately, and soon enough, the soreness in her breasts diminished exponentially. She sighed and leaned back into the many pillows Steve had brought her once they found out she’d be in this room for the next week and under Cho’s careful eye. It was the first time YN had alone with her son, and frankly, she couldn’t wait to watch this little guy grow up into someone she could love relentlessly.

He had her eyes. It was simple and plain as the sun— her eyes lived on in Charlie, and seeing the exact mirror of herself in this creation which had lived in her stomach for nine months was nothing like she’d ever felt before. Holding this squirming, cooing little angel in her arms as he fed on her was the most satisfying thing she’d ever felt. She felt productive and accomplished, and peaceful as she ran her fingers over his body. Down his head and cheeks and over his back and bum, poking at his chubby little thighs and counting his toes and fingers over and over again.

She was scared she wouldn’t feel a maternal surge take over her body once she met Charlie— it was a common thing, apparently. She’d learned about it in the birthing classes she and Steve had gone to, as well as the couples therapy they’d gone to, but it was a weight off her chest to feel this much love for her little guy.

There was a knock at the door, and YN looked up to see Bucky walk in and upon seeing her breastfeeding averted his eyes.

“I can come back later if you—“

“Bucky come in.” YN smiled, feeling an incredible warmth of appreciation flood her body at the sight of this man. This man who had given her chances upon chances and who had walked her down the aisle and saved her life— she wouldn’t have anyone else as her sons godfather.

Bucky nodded, and placed the small bouquet of sunflowers he had brought her on the bedside table and sat in the armchair that Steve had made his home in. His eyes never left Charlie, smiling at him and how well he was feeding.

“God, he’s a strong little guy huh?” He hummed and YN nodded, looking down at him and sighing.

“I didn’t think he’d be so small, though. I thought he’d be way bigger considering how big my stomach was.” YN hummed, almost missing the swell of her stomach. She’d shrunk well, but her skin was loose and soft— something she’d have to train down once more with the provided trainers Cho recommended.

“You did have a huge bump.” He laughed and YN pretended to be offended. There was a period of silence before Bucky spoke again.

“Did Cho tell you?” He whispered, looking down at his hands and YN nodded.

“Thank you, Bucky. I know you weren’t the biggest fan of me in the beginning, but that was a very wonderful thing you did.” She responded, feeling regret at her words. No matter how much she praised Bucky and thanked him, he would never know just how damn grateful she was. “You’ve done so much for me these past few months, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

Bucky let a rush of air through his nose and he shook his head. “You take care of Charlie and Steve, and let them take care of you. That’s how you pay me back.” Bucky smiled a closed mouth smile and he went back to picking at his nails.

“What’s going on, Buck?” YN whispered, reaching towards him. He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak before shutting it again. “Buck, talk to me.”

“It’s just— I was enhanced with HYDRA’s serum. I was only allowed to save your with a serum hat killed so many people and caused so much pain and that’s not fair to you— you deserved so much more than—“

“James Buchanan Barnes you listen to me now and you listen closely.” She said, making her voice strong but remaining quiet as to not disrupt Charlie. “I don’t know how many people have told you this before, but I’m assuming you’ve heard it more than once. You are not the serum in your blood. You are not the things they made you do. You are the man in the stores Steve told me. You are the man who loves science, and space, and technology. You are a man who loves gun and knives and knows to treat them with respect. You are a man who is planning a proposal to the woman who he loves, and you are a man who carries the ring around waiting for the moment you feel she deserves. You are a man who watches. A man who looks out for the people in his life— for Steve, and Sam, and Natasha. You are the man who sacrifices himself for those he loves. That is the man I want to have as my child’s godfather because I believe that man is someone to look up to as a hero and an idol. James Barnes you are one of the most magnificent people I’ve ever had the true honour to meet.”

Bucky looked up, tears making his grey eyes shine, and he grabbed YN’s hand before pressing his head against it and letting out a sob. She let her hand glide through his hair, soothing him to the best of her ability as he cried into her mattress.

“You are worthy of the love you receive, James.” YN whispered and he nodded into the mattress, coughing out another sob before wiping his nose and eyes and looking at her with soft eyes.

“I’m sorry I ever doubted you.” He whispered. “Thank you.”

“You’re my family now, it’s my job to tell you how everyone else feels.”

Bucky wiped his face again and sat back, sighing out a choppy breath. It was a while before his head shot up and stared hard at YN.

“How did you know I was planning that?” He asked, brows furrowed.

“Steve’s really bad at keeping secrets. You’re better off doing it sooner than later before he lets it slip to Nat.” YN shrugged, smiling as Bucky’s eyes widened and he shot up front he chair, rushing out of the room to find where Natasha and Steve had gone to, fearing that his best friend really was as ditzy as his wife claimed he was.

________________

July 13th

“We could so make it all the way down this ramp with me on the back of this wheelchair.” Steve joked as he pushed YN through the halls of the compound in her wheelchair, and YN threw her head back and laughed, slightly startling the baby in her arms.

“Steven Grant we will do no such thing with your child in my arms, do you understand.” YN scolded through her laughs and she could almost feel Steve’s smile behind her. Charlie had grown strong, and his eyes were brighter than ever as he stared up at his parents and listened to their happy sounds. He was swaddled tightly in a thin blanket, and was dressed in the softest light yellow onesie YN had ever felt. YN’s favourite part of the outfit Steve had chosen today, however, was the black and white beanie with cartoon zebras dancing around the rim of it. God, she’d done well.

“Yes ma’am.” He chortled, and the sliding doors opened in front of them, making YN gasp a large breath of fresh air. In this moment, she made a vow that she would spend more time outside. This past week of indoor solitude was enough to make her insane. She was excited to go home, though— the familiarity of her own home and the welcoming scents of her and Steve was something that made her eager to leave the compound.

Steve walked up to the range rover and scooped Charlie into his arms, stealing YN of her breath. It was an image she would never get over— the man of her dreams carrying their child and making Charlie look like the smaller thing in the whole wide world. Steve lifted Charlie up to his face and peppered light kisses all over his chubby cheeks, eliciting shrieking giggles from the child. Steve was the one to make Charlie laugh the most, and it made YN slightly jealous. Mostly happy, but what the heck? She carried the kid for nine months, why wasn’t she the favourite parent.

“Remember to have it tight! But not too tight because—“ YN watched as Steve put Charlie into the car seat, and he looked back at her, glaring slightly in amusement.

“I know how to strap the kid in, Sweetheart.” He chided and YN pursed her lips, watching Steve’s every move. Steve tucked Charlie into the seat with a blanket and pulled the carseat hood over him, encouraging the kid to take a nap in the car.

Steve shut the back door and turned to his wife, smiling down at her. Before she could move to stand herself, he curled his arms around her and scooping his arms around her as he lifted her bridal style. She squealed and cliched at him, making him laugh. He continued to hold her with one arm as he opened the passenger side door and placed her on the seat, cupping her face in his large hands and kissing her softly.

“How about we go home, huh?” He whispered against her lips and smiled and nodded, kissing him again slowly and tasting him. God, YN would never get over how damn lucky she got with him.

“I would very much love that. Can we stop at McDonalds though? I need to do something that Cho doesn’t approve of for once.”

______________

Later that same night, YN came out of the master bathroom wrapped in a towel to find the hottest thing she’d ever seen before.

Steve was sitting against the headboard shirtless, his slow even breaths telling her that he was asleep. His long eyelashes dusted over his cheeks, and his mouth was wide open, head lolling to the side. His wide shoulders were bare and the dark smattering of brown chest hair made YN’s mouth water. However, the hottest thing about this whole situation was the fact that Charlie was curled up on his chest, mouth open the same way and eyelashes mimicking his fathers. His ear was pressed flat against the left side of Steve’s chest, and had probably been lulled to sleep by the steady beat of Steve’s heart.

“Fuck.” YN cursed, dashing over to the best of her ability to grab her phone, taking several pictures for reasons. She threw her phone back on the bed and pulled on some underwear and a pad as well as one of Steve’s hoodies— the first time she’d actually managed to fit into one in months. It wasn’t long before she walked over to her boys, sitting next to Steve and using the long hair he’d grown from his eyes.

He hummed, furrowing his brows and closing him mouth, licking his lips and rolling his head to face YN. He opened his eyes slowly, and blinked in the light from the bedside table.

“Hey, beautiful.” She murmured and his cheeks darkened slightly.

“You stealin’ my lines now, Sugar?” He whispered, hands wrapping around Charlies body and hugging him tighter to his chest.

“They’re good lines.” She replied, wiggling her fingers around Charlie and scooping him to her chest. She stood slowly and bounced her way over to the cradle only two feet from Steve’s side of the bed. She lay him in gently and jumped slightly when Steve hands circled around her waist, hugging her to him as he rested his chin on her shoulder. The two stared down at this creation and swayed.

“What the hell do we do now?” He snorted and YN giggled, making him kiss her neck and cheek in pure happiness.

“I have no fucking idea.” She shook her head and reached up behind her, curling her hand into his hair and scratching his scalp almost making him purr in delight.

“How about we figure it out together, huh?” He replied and YN turned in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck and standing on her tip toes to kiss his chin. He squeezed her upper ribs, careful of her incisions before guiding her to the bed and sitting her on it, cupping her face in his hands before bending over and capturing her lips in his in a heated kiss.

“We got time, don’t we.” YN mumbled against his mouth as she backed up on the bed, making room for him to crawl on her and cage her between his arms.

“We have so much time, baby. So much damn time to figure out anything we wanted.”

“You’re not tired of me yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Shithead.”

“Your favourite shithead.”

“Maybe so.”

_____________-

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl/ geeksareunique / jennmurawski13 / clutteredmind-emptythoughts / venezuelaanklemayonnaise / manuosorioh / stupendousshepherdloverpony

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #steve rogers series #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dad!steve rogers

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elliemarchetti · 4 years ago

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Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (Part 4)

I wanted not to publish this part until I had reached at least a dozen notes on the third, but I’m a clown and I wanted to share this so bad, so, here we are. Hope someone is still interested, hope someone could enjoy something so silly in this trying times.

Tag list: @lilyharvord

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Masterlist

Words: 2456

The day passed practically as the previous one: Miss Samos and Lady Haven spent a few hours with Wren, whose health continued, albeit slowly, to improve, and in the evening Mare joined the others in the living room. The table game, however, hadn’t been organized and the General was writing to his grandmother while Miss Samos, sitting next to him, controlled the progress of the letter, of a considerable length, and continually diverted his attention with messages for the recipient and congratulations for her friend’s handwriting and the regularity of the lines which, together with the complete disinterest with which they were received, formed a curious dialogue, in perfect coincidence with the opinion she had of both.

“You write at an extraordinary speed.”

"I'm sorry to admit you're wrong, in fact, I write rather slowly."

"How many letters do you have the opportunity to write in the course of a year?" she asked, though she didn't seem particularly interested in the answer. "Many will be about business. I guess you’ll find them hateful. I certainly would."

"Your guesses are becoming less and less correct day by day, my dear Evangeline," he replied, sardonically, and although she didn't seem particularly pleased with the answer, she asked him to tell her grandmother that she wished to see her again as soon as possible, which she must have already done, given his reaction. A brief period of time passed, in which all three were silent, when she started again , this time asking him if she should fix his pen, but the General replied he was fine and that it was anyway a job he always did by himself. The more time passed, the more Mare could understand that young man, whose pride was gradually diminishing, revealing he was actually unable to converse or stay in a company, a sign he must’ve had a cold and rigorous childhood, without friends or confidants, full of mentors and teachers, books and lessons.

"You always write her letters so long and beautiful?” she asked, and just then her brother walked in, accompanied by Lady Haven, which annoyed Mare a little, since she still hoped he and Wren could soon begin an official courtship.

"They are generally long, but as for always being beautiful, it’s not my job to judge,” replied the General who, although he had registered the newcomers, didn’t lift his head from the sheet.

"For me, it’s a certainty: a person capable of writing a long letter can't easily misspell," interjected Lady Haven, who had quickly rushed to snoop in turn. Mare didn’t agree with her, anyone could write long letters, even with a not particularly large vocabulary and a bad grammar, yet she said nothing, determined not to draw further attention to herself and too interested in the conversation, which had shifted to the General's use of extremely refined terms, evidently also in the letters addressed to his friends, something in sharp contrast with the writing style of Mr. Samos, which his sister defined as a set of sloppy scribbles.

"My ideas flow so quickly that I don't have the time to express them, hence sometimes my correspondents can't understand practically anything."

"It means that you let your heart write and not your mind," Mare commented, "and this does you credit, because you show yourself vulnerable to the people you love, something in stark contrast to your character with the rest of your acquaintances."

Mr. Samos seemed surprised by the compliment, while the General didn’t seem to like it, but Mare wasn’t in the mood to endure his malevolent comments, which always showed an ill-concealed wickedness and a stubborn decision to contradict her, so, before he could reply, she asked him if he didn't care about the influence of friendship and affection.

"The respect for the writer often leads me to overlook possible errors of little importance, but I would do better, perhaps, to wait for Mr. Samos to write something for my eyes before judging."

"It wouldn’t be advisable, before pursuing this topic, to agree with a little more precision on the degree of importance to be attached to this letter, as well as on the degree of intimacy existing between the parties?" the General asked, and before Mare could reply, it was the person directly interested who interrupted the discussion, which almost resembled a quarrel, with a joke, bringing his friend to end his task , while the three young ladies devoted themselves to analyzing the music sheets placed on the grand piano that dominated the right side of the room. Lady Haven sang with her friend, and while the two were busy, Mare couldn’t help but notice how the General's gaze stopped very often on her. She certainly couldn't suppose to be the object of the admiration of such a great man and that he looked at her because he disliked her would be even stranger. Eventually, she could only imagine that he turned his attention to her because there was nothing more out of place and reprehensible, according to his ideas of correctness, in any other person present. The hypothesis didn’t bother her: she liked him too little to hold on to his approval. After playing some Italian songs, Miss Samos started something more lively, and soon after General Calore, approaching Mare, asked her if she didn’t feel the strong desire to take the opportunity to dance. She smiled, but didn't answer. He repeated the question, a little surprised from what could be interpreted as a shy reaction. The truth was that she had heard him the first time, but had found herself undecided on what to answer, as she was sure that her interlocutor hoped for her assent, so he could denigrate her good taste, but for her it was always pleasant to upset these kinds of plans and deprive people of their premeditated contempt, so she replied negatively, with the sole purpose of offending him just as she had been offended by his comment when he called her not beautiful enough to tempt him. He, however, was incredibly gallant and found himself thinking that if it weren't for her humble origins, he would’ve found himself in serious danger because that young woman had bewitched him like no one before. Though she seemed too busy at first to notice, Miss Samos saw everything, and her strong impatience for Wren's recovery was somewhat reinforced by a desire to get rid of Mare, which risked to seriously jeopardize her plan. In this regard, she tried to instil in Cal a dislike for her own guest, talking to him about the alleged marriage and offering him a glimpse of the happiness that would follow such a union.

"I hope," she said, as they were walking in the grove next day, "that you’ll give your mother-in-law some advice, when this desirable event takes place, about the advantages of holding her tongue, and that you can limit the younger girl’s desire to run after officers, not to mention the delicate subject of your lady’s presumption and impertinence.”

"Do you have anything else to propose for my domestic happiness?" he asked, but before Evangeline could answer they ran into Lady Haven and Mare herself, coming from another path.

“I didn’t know you were going to take a walk,” she noted, a little embarrassed for fear of having been heard.

"You treated us horribly," Lady Haven replied, glaring at her, "running away without telling us you were going out."

Then, taking the General's free arm, she left Mare to walk alone. The path had room only for three and when the young man realized the rudeness he immediately proposed to move to the avenue, but Mare, who had no intention of staying with them, replied laughingly, before walking away with a brief farewell, that they formed a charming group and that a fourth person would ruined the picturesque appearance. From the window, Wren, who had felt strong enough to get up, saw everything and decided that she would come downstairs for a couple of hours that night. Making sure she was well protected from the cold, Mare accompanied her into the living room, where she was greeted by her two friends with many manifestations of joy; she had never found them more pleasant as in the hour that passed before the gentlemen’s appearance, and the demonstration that their remarkable ability to converse weren’t limited only to describing precisely the receptions they had attended but it was also extended to reporting anecdotes with a sense of humour and laughing at their acquaintances made her feel invigorated nearly as much as Ptolemus’ attentions who, on his arrival, spent the first half hour poking the fire and made sure she sat on the side of the fireplace farthest from the door. When he finally sat down next to her, he barely spoke to the others, which Mare noted with great pleasure. Once they had tea, Lucas Samos reminded his cousin of the game table, but in vain: Lady Haven had learned, in a completely confidential way, that the General hated cards and the few times he had played it had been only to not offend them, so suddenly everyone had lost interest in it, and seemed much more determined to devote themselves to reading, although Miss Samos's attention was much more concerned with checking the progress of the one she wished to make her husband soon than to read her own book; she never stopped asking him questions or peeking the pages, but she couldn't draw him into the conversation as he just answered her questions and kept on reading. Finally, completely exhausted from her attempts to amuse herself with her own tome, which she had chosen only because it was the second volume of his, she gave a loud yawn and said: "How pleasant it is to spend an evening in this way! I feel like saying that basically there is no entertainment like reading! How quickly one gets tired of anything other than a book! When I have my own home, I would feel really miserable not to have an excellent library. "

No one replied, then she yawned again, put aside what, in her words, should’ve been her new favourite pastime, and glanced around the room for some amusement when, hearing that her brother was talking to Miss Skonos about a dance, she immediately turned to him, reminding him that for some of those present a dance would be nothing but torture. It was evident that the dig was thrown at the General, but he let his friend answer for him and raised his head only when Mare joined Miss Samos, by invitation, to stretch her legs. The platinum-haired young woman invited him too but he refused, noting that he could only imagine two reasons for that choice to walk back and forth in the room, both of which his participation would interfere. Miss Samos was dying to know what he meant, and as Mare was of no help to her, she insisted on her childhood friend, who replied that the first reason was that the two women had suddenly become intimate and had private affairs to discuss, and the second was to be admired, which he would’ve been able to do much better while sitting.

"I've never heard something so disgusting!” exclaimed Miss Samos. “How will we punish him for such a speech?”

"Nothing easier, if only you feel like it," Mare said, perplexed by the fact that her interlocutor had taken her by the arm, as if they were great friends. "We are always able to torment and punish each other. Tease him, laugh at him. As intimate as you are, you sure know how to."

"On my honour, I don't know. I assure you that intimacy still hasn’t taught me to tease such a quiet temperament without losing in the attempt, and as for laughing, we shouldn’t expose ourselves for laughing for no reason. I suppose he can congratulate himself.”

"Miss Samos gives me more credit than how much is due. The wisest and best of men, or better, the wisest and best of his deeds, can be made ridiculous by a person whose main purpose in life is to joke."

"Sure," Mare replied, "there are people like that, but I hope I'm not one of them. I hope I never ridicule what is wise and good. Extravagance and nonsense, tantrums and absurdities amuse me, I admit, and I laugh at it every time I can. But these things, I suppose, are just the ones from which you are immune."

"Maybe this isn’t possible for anyone, but in life I’ve always tried to avoid those weaknesses which often expose even a remarkable intelligence to ridicule," he replied, and it soon became apparent that a conversation of that rank would only take place between the two of them, though it also attracted Lucas and Elane’s attention.

"Even vanity and pride, then."

"Yes, vanity is undoubtedly a weakness. But pride... where there is real superiority of intellect, pride will always be under careful control."

Mare had to hid a smile, and Evangeline, who hadn’t understood what had just happened, asked her what the outcome of her study was.

"I am perfectly convinced that General Calore doesn’t have flaws. He himself admits it without a doubt."

"I've never demanded such a thing," he corrected her. "I have several flaws, but they don’t concern, I hope, the intellect, even if I certainly cannot vouch for my character, which I believe is very little accommodating, certainly too little in the eyes of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as much as I should, nor the offenses done to me. My feelings don't shift at each attempt to move them, my character could perhaps be called touchy and my respect once lost is lost forever."

"This is a real flaw!" Mare exclaimed. "A relentless grudge is a stain in a character, but as a flaw it’s chosen well, so I can't really laugh at it. In mine opinion, you’re safe."

"In every temperament there is, I believe, a tendency to some particular sin, a natural imperfection that not even the better education can defeat,” he went on, "and if in my case it may seem that I hate everyone, which isn’t true, in yours it certainly is obstinacy in misunderstand them."

Mare would’ve liked to continue that conversation, but Miss Samos, tired of hre inability to take part in it, proposed to make some music and after a brief moment of reflection, Cal decided that it wasn’t a bad idea: he was beginning to clearly feel the danger of giving Miss Barrow too much attention.

#pride and prejudice au #p&p #red queen au #marecal #ptolewren #mare barrow #cal calore #ptolemus samos #wren skonos #evangeline samos #elane haven #lucas samos #anabel lerolan

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usemeasabadexample · 5 years ago

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Bechloe Fic: The Kraken Has Been Unleashed

Summary: Chloe has a way with her. That’s for sure. And, as uncomfortable as it might make her to think about it in this very moment, Beca’s starting to wonder just what that really means.

Set at the beginning of Pitch Perfect 2. Kind of canon, kind of...not canon. Mostly fluff and fun and maybe some very mild angst at best. Nothing too stressful. We’ve been through enough of that!

Read on AO3

Chapter 10

Beca's alarm wakes her up way too early the next morning.

Usually, she'd snooze the clock ten times, roll out of bed and barely have time to brush her teeth before running to class. This morning is different though. It's the first day of her internship and she wants to be prepared. Wants to look professional. And she's pretty sure professional doesn't include a messy bun with sweatpants and one of Chloe's Barden t-shirts.

So she gets up early. Showers and puts on something nice before grabbing a bowl of cereal.

“You look hot this morning DJ. What's up?” Stacie ambles into the kitchen and gestures to Beca's outfit while opening up the refrigerator.

Beca looks up from her breakfast. “Hey Stace.” She swallows the bite she just shoved into her mouth. “Nothing. Just...won't have time to change before the party later.” The stool screeches across the floor as she stands and drops her bowl into the sink. “See you tonight.” She grabs her things and rushes out before Stacie can ask anymore questions. Stacie can sniff out a lie from a mile away so the last thing she needs to do is play a game of 20 questions with the house genius.

“Can’t wait!” Stacie calls out as Beca hustles out of the door to get to her first class on time, excited for what the day holds.

-----

Jesse’s car is rounding the corner as Beca walks away from her last class so she picks up speed. She doesn’t trust him. He has a knack for embarrassing her in public places. Not maliciously. Just...dorky.

“Hey superstar!” Jesse shouts out of the car window as he screeches to a halt. He leans over the center console to sling the passenger door open for Beca. “Damn! Work it Bec!”

Beca practically sprints the rest of the way to the car. “Oh my god.” She jumps in and slams the door, frantically trying to roll up the window. “Please shut up.”

Jesse laughs. “Is that any way to talk to your chauffeur for the day?”

“Keep it up and it’ll only get worse.” Beca side eyes him and adjusts the radio.

Jesse always plays late fifties pop songs and while Beca appreciates all types of music, she can't sit there and listen to it for extended periods. Although it does give her ideas for new mixes. Chloe always loves it when she mashes up old school songs with new stuff. Her thoughts stay trained on her best friend and she wonders what Chloe is up to. Between the rush of getting ready and trying not to freak out, there just wasn't time to see her this morning.

That's her excuse anyway.

If she's being honest, avoidance tactics may have been at work. She feels like absolute shit for keeping the internship from the redhead but she doesn't know how to broach the subject. Under normal circumstances, she knows she would be excited to tell Chloe. But there's a lot at stake for the Bellas right now and she doesn't want to add anything else to the older woman's plate. She wants Chloe to know that she's there and she's present and she's going to fight for them because letting Chloe down would be the worst feeling in the world.

Jesse's small talk forces her to dismiss the thought. They talk about classes and auditions and their last hood night party the Trebles are hosting later tonight and before she knows it, they’re pulling up to the Residual Heat Recording Studio.

Her nerves bubble up again.

She's excited and hopeful but she still has the weight of guilt lingering in the back of her mind. Jesse reassures her that everything will be okay. He reminds her that she's worked hard for this opportunity and she deserves this shot.

She gives him a quick kiss before running away while he continues to holler out more embarrassing comments. He's definitely a nerd but he knows her well. His goofy antics have calmed her down considerably and she takes a moment to appreciate his charm before charging ahead.

-----

The afternoon is a blur.

She fucks up her name tag picture, makes a shit ton of coffee and hands out a lot of snacks. She's nobody important here but that's not the point. There's a lot to be learned. A lot to be gained. This is her shot. It's her first step into the world of music production and she's looking forward to paying her dues.

In a bizarre series of events, her boss unexpectedly storms into the office and announces they'll be producing a new Christmas album for Snoop Dogg. The Snoop Dogg. It's crazy but she stifles her excitement. She doesn't want to be labeled as some psycho newbie on her first day but relaxing isn't easy. Between draining her brain for a quick idea on how to make Snoop's new album original and the exchanges happening between this Dax kid and her boss, she’s struggling to control her reactions. Her facial expressions always give her away and the one she's wearing right now screams absolute confusion because Dax is now high-kneeing around the room and this is all really fucking weird.

Thankfully, her phone buzzes and it gives her a reason to look away from the train wreck happening in front of her. She has four messages, none of which she noticed earlier. They’re from Jesse, Amy, and Chloe respectively.

She opens Jesse's message first. It's some idiotic, cheesy 'hope everything is going well’ message and she replies by calling him a dork. It seems like her go-to word when referring to him.

She hesitates before opening Amy's messages because she never knows what the blonde is going to say. It's almost always inappropriate and usually impossible to understand, but she opens it anyway.

Shorty! Where is our toothbrush?!

Yep.

What the fuck does Amy mean by our toothbrush? Beca refuses to believe the obvious. That Amy is implying (more like directly stating) that they use the same toothbrush. That just cannot be right. And even if it is, why would it be missing?

She makes a mental note to buy a new one immediately.

Maybe two.

The second message is almost just as cringeworthy.

Your acawife was asking where you were! You're gonna be in the dingo house tonight!

The urge to roll her eyes is too strong to avoid so she rolls them around before deciding she will not be messaging Amy back. She clicks Chloe's message instead. It's the most recent one.

Trip to Copenhagen is all booked! AHH! :-P

Beca chuckles to herself. She can hear Chloe's voice singing the message in her head. It's cute but it also makes her feel bad because they haven't even discussed the issue of Worlds and Beca promised she would be there for Chloe. Yet, here she is. At an internship that she still hasn't told Chloe about while the redhead sits at home and plans alone all afternoon. She knows she's going to have to address all of this at some point but how? This isn't really her area of expertise.

Another message comes through.

It's Chloe again.

You okay? Haven't heard from you today! :-(

Ouch.

Beca wonders why she acts like such a dick sometimes. There doesn’t seem to be any logical excuse. Especially when it comes to Chloe. She's the last person on Earth Beca wants to disappoint but it seems like it's destined to happen.

She takes a deep breath and types out a reply.

Sorry Chlo! Busy day. I'll see you at the Trebles’ later!

It's vague and lame but she can't tell the truth and she doesn’t want to outright lie to Chloe so she hits send and shoves her phone back into her pocket as her boss storms back into the room. She straightens in her seat and tries to blend in for the rest of the day.

-----

Beca exits the studio, overwhelmed and stressed, and throws her bag into the back seat of a cab before jumping in and giving the driver directions to the Bellas’ house.

She leans back and takes a deep breath that vibrates her through her lips on the way out. She knew this business would be cut-throat but wow . Today proved how messed up the music industry really is. The people are self-serving and the pace is incredibly fast and it feels like the multi-tasking skills needed to get through each minute are nearly impossible to master.

She’ll get through it though. She has to. This is her shot to get out there and start making a name for herself. This is her dream.

Plus, she’s glad to have the first day out of the way. It can only get easier from here.

Hopefully.

Possibly.

Who knows.

She shakes it off and pulls her phone out of her pocket. She hasn’t had a chance to check it since she messaged Chloe back earlier. Sure enough, there are a few new messages from her best friend. Chloe has no qualms about sending Beca multiple texts in a row. Even when Beca doesn’t answer right away, Chloe will continue babbling without worrying about whether or not she's being annoying.

If it were anyone else, Beca would probably send a string of expletives and permanently block their number. But, like everything else, Chloe is the exception. She smiles and opens their text thread.

Okay! Can't wait! XO

I hope they have the green punch!

Please bust out the cell phone dance move! I love it!!! ;-)

So, a Legacy showed up to our door tonight to audition and we accepted! She's totes amazing and you're going to love her!

I don't think we are breaking the rules bc she came to us! Loophole! :-D

BTW, Legacy means that her mom was a Bella. Her mom is THE Katherine Junk! Omg!

Beca chuckles at the enthusiasm in the messages and pictures Chloe grinning excitedly as she wrote them. A wave of anticipation hits her and she’s overwhelmed with the sudden need to get home as quickly as possible. She tells herself that she’s just anxious to get home after a long day but she knows that's a lie. Before reading those texts, she was tired. Even considered not showing up to the party but there’s a new energy flowing through her and she wills the cab driver to hurry the fuck up already.

When she finally makes it home, she throws her bag down, uses the bathroom, and races through the bushes to the Trebles’ house.

-----

Beca approaches the party, surprised at how out of control things seem already. It's still pretty early but the acapella crowd clearly came to party tonight. She wonders what type of trouble the Bellas are getting into and smiles thinking about all of their past Hood Nights. They've had some wild ones and she's sure this last one will be no different. Especially if Chloe has anything to do with it.

Chloe has a way of making Hood Nights, and most parties in general, more fun than they probably should be. Some of them, in particular, stand out for reasons that Beca isn’t prepared to think about right now. Mainly because they involve Chloe getting way too handsy.

But she already said she’s not thinking about that and scans the crowd for red hair instead.

Oddly enough, she can’t quickly spot her best friend but she spies Jesse sitting up on the deck. And because the night has her feeling light and giddy, she creeps up behind him and grabs him by the shoulders before giving him a quick peck on the lips.

His drink almost slips out of his hands and Beca mutters a quick “oh shit” before dropping down next to him. She takes a deep breath, ready to de-stress after such a crazy day, but Jesse starts asking about the internship and about Chloe and damnit.

“Oh, she’s just..she’s like, locked into the World’s right now and I’m looking for the right time. It’s-- I’ll tell her.” Beca tries to shrug it off like it’s no big deal but it dampens her mood and she excuses herself to grab a drink at the tiki hut. Why did Jesse have to bring up Chloe and the internship in the same sentence? Beca already feels like the absolute worst person in the world and the thought of Chloe having to ask Jesse for her whereabouts just makes it even worse.

This sucks.

Beca takes a huge gulp of whatever concoction is being served tonight and notes that it’s not the green punch that Chloe was hoping for but she can't dwell on it because she notices there’s a really tall girl just standing there staring at her. The girl's arms are stretched out towards Beca and she has no idea what’s about to happen.

“Hi!”

“Hi…” Beca responds hesitantly, still completely unsure.

The taller woman rambles something about being sisters and then it clicks for Beca. She realizes this is the girl- correction- the Legacy, that’s been added to their team.

“Oh yeah! Hi. Chloe texted me that we added a Legacy. I...didn't even know that was a thing.” She lifts her shoulders and gestures with her hands as she speaks. It feels odd.

The girl giggles and keeps staring at Beca so Beca just chuckles uncomfortably and takes another sip.

Then another.

And they're both just sort of standing there awkwardly.

Beca gives a tense smile and widens her eyes, which finally seems to break the other girl’s manic look.

She slaps her hands to her forehead way too hard. “Ouch! Oh my god. I’m sorry! I'm Emily. By the way. Sorry. I forgot that you didn’t know my name yet and I think the others have already started calling me Legacy so it’s totally okay if you want to call me that too I just figured you should know my real name because I totally-”

Beca reaches out and briefly touches Emily’s arm to stop her rambling. “Emily.” She pulls her hand away. “Nice to meet you.”

Emily beams and Beca really wants to get as far away from this interaction as possible.

“We can get to know each other better later. Right now…” Beca uses her head to gesture across the yard where she can see a few of the Bellas bouncing up and down. “Let’s go catch up with everyone else.”

“Oh!” Emily nods rapidly and Beca thinks she looks like a battery operated bobble-head. “Yeah, definitely! Let’s go!”

Beca nods once before taking a shot and refilling her cup as Emily follows her into the crowd.

-----

“Beca!” Amy is the first person she encounters.

Of course.

She is immediately picked up and twirled around by the blonde. “Where have you been? Oh my god! Have you gotten taller? No! That’s not possible!”

“Amy!” Beca kicks her legs and starts to protest the manhandling but she sees a flash of red hair as she’s being spun around and the words die on her lips.

She starts laughing because jesus christ. It’s been a long day and it feels like she’s been waiting to see that red hair for way too long now. She presses on Amy’s shoulders and frantically wrestles herself out of the tight grip, almost toppling them both over in the process. Amy strings together a few choice expletives and she can hear Stacie muttering something inappropriate but it doesn't stop her.

She bounces right up to her best friend with a smile so wide she thinks her head might explode. “Chlo!”

Chloe’s head whips around and when her eyes land on Beca, her face actually does explode into a display of pure joy. She reaches out and grabs Beca, hooking her arm firmly around the shorter woman’s shoulders to drag her in close.

Chloe's laugh echoes in Beca’s ear and Beca can’t stop her smile from growing impossibly wider as she wraps her arms around the redhead’s waist as best as she can and squeezes back. The scent of fresh laundry and liquor invades her senses and it’s all a little overwhelming but it feels good and she can't help but sink further into it. She lets her body sway back and forth with Chloe's as she breathes her in. Exhilaration and borderline manic happiness taking over in the moment.

“Beca!” Chloe pulls back but keeps her arm firmly around Beca’s shoulder. “Where did you come from!? Where have you been!?” Chloe’s mouth is wide open and the way her eyes are bubbling with excitement reminds Beca of a shaken soda bottle. The look is scary powerful and Beca can’t find it in herself to formulate a response so she just laughs like crazy and brings her cup up from around Chloe's waist to clink it to redhead’s before taking another sip.

Chloe’s eyes stay trained on her as she downs the drink and it makes Beca feel like a shot of Red Bull has been directly injected into her veins. It travels through her entire body with lightning speed and everything inside of her buzzes to life. She crushes the cup in her hand as she continues to drink, eventually cracking it. Remnants of the liquid leak down her arm but she keeps chugging. The atmosphere and the energy of the party has her head spinning and she just wants to let loose. Have fun.

She’s buying time too. Chloe’s presence is taking her to another level of excitement and she doesn’t know how to quite contain it at the moment. It feels like the cup is the only thing anchoring her to sanity at the moment.

“Beca!” Chloe swats the crushed cup straight out of Beca’s hand, the last few drops splashing out when it hits the ground and Beca’s eyes widen but she doesn’t move. Her arm stays frozen in the air, invisible cup still in hand. Mouth still open.

And Chloe smiles.

It’s that mischievous, self-satisfied smile. The same one she used after their shower duet so many years ago.

Beca won't forget that look. It makes her shiver but she smiles back, hand coming back down to squeeze Chloe around the middle again. "You're going to get into trouble tonight." Beca tuts, pretending to be put-off, "I can feel it."

Chloe nods enthusiastically, apparently thrilled by the notion, and moves both hands to Beca's shoulders. It brings the two of them face-to-face and she leans in to speak directly into Beca’s ear. "And you are already in trouble for getting here so late."

Beca’s chest tightens as Chloe pulls back to lock eyes but she keeps herself together. "Is that right?"

"Mhmm." Chloe is still nodding, all breezy happiness and cool confidence.

"Well," Beca shrugs, doing her best to appear nonchalant, "what are you gonna do about it?"

Chloe drapes her arms further around Beca’s shoulders, big blinking eyes boring into Beca, “I’m going to dance with you."

Beca’s hands involuntarily squeeze the redhead tighter, fingers eventually pressing into Chloe hard enough that she’s afraid she might leave a mark. She panics momentarily, not wanting to hurt her best friend, but then Chloe’s laugh cuts through the party noise and the redhead is dragging her through a crowd of people back towards familiar faces that instantly start shouting when they see the duo approaching.

“Beca!”

“Chloe!”

“Bloe!”

“What’s up bitches?!”

“Where were you guys!?”

Beca dodges Amy’s swinging arms as Chloe continues to pull her into the circle of Bellas but all of her ducking and dodging distracts her right into Stacie’s waiting hands.

“DJ!” Stacie shouts, squishing Beca’s cheeks and before Beca can react, Stacie starts moving in with puckered lips. There’s nothing Beca can do because one of her hands is still wrapped up in Chloe’s and the other is no match for Stacie’s strength so she braces for the onslaught coming her way, eyes shut and lips sucked in.

But it never comes.

Instead of sloppy Stacie kisses, Beca feels herself being pulled out of the taller woman’s grasp. She sees a flash of red and green and her favorite smile and she lets herself collide with the person reining her in. Hands squish her cheeks again but this time, she doesn’t even consider trying to fight them off. Instead, she wraps her arms around Chloe and returns the smile, letting everything around her disappear because Chloe leans in and peppers her face with kisses that match the beat of the song and the thump of her heart.

It makes Beca feel giddy.

Goofy.

Like she’s already had too much to drink but she knows that can’t be.

And really, in the moment, Beca honestly doesn't care what the reason is.

What the feeling is.

All she knows is that Chloe is here and everything feels perfect so she grabs on tighter and pulls Chloe in closer. Squeezing and laughing like a crazy person.

"You're insane! You know that, right?!" She's borderline shouting to be heard over the music.

Chloe pulls back just long enough to look directly at Beca. Eyes dancing and hands squeezing Beca's shoulders tightly. She mutters a quick, "mhmm" and leans in again, bright blue eyes crossing briefly as they come nose-to-nose.

It makes Beca chuckle.

"I know." Chloe mumbles the words and kisses the tip of Beca's nose.

Beca takes a deep breath and lets the tingling feeling take over as the beat drops and she falls into step with Chloe.

#bechloe #bechloe fanfic #bechloe fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfiction #pitch perfect fanfic #becha mitchell #chloe beale

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vicunaburger · 5 years ago

Text

Admittedly, I’m Hard to See

Fandom: Beetlejuice the Musical Chapters: 6/? Pairing: Beetlejuice x OC (Holidae) The Players: Beetlejuice, Lydia Deetz, Holidae Bell Word Count: 1,597 Warnings: M for Language

Notes: It’s really hard to convey chaotic imagery in text, but hopefully it worked out. 8|

...ps this is dedicated to @mr-geuse because reasonsssss 💜💜💜

Holidae took her time coming down the stairs, running over every response to every possible combination of questions Lydia could ask of her. There were dozens of scenarios which ended with angry Lydia and two that ended with Holidae quitting while she was ahead and retreating back to her room for the foreseeable future. One outcome involved her diving under the kitchen table and just… living there.

The least plausible, she had to admit, but that didn’t stop her from considering it among the list of alternatives.

“Oh! What? A ghost lives here too? How crazy!” Holidae mumbled to herself, stopping halfway down the stairs. “No no. Sounds fake.”

She carefully maneuvered back up a couple of steps before trying again, “What do you mean ghosts are real and there happens to be one living with us?”

“Wow, you suck at lying.” Beetlejuice appeared on the banister, sliding down in tandem with her.

“Wow, you suck in general.” Holidae snapped, moving her hand off the railing before he rolled over it. “Can’t be inconspicuous if you’re just there. Go away.”

She took a breath, continuing all the way to the bottom of the staircase. Beej followed her like a shadow, generally being a pest and causing her to stumble into the kitchen with a well-timed boot to the back of her knees. Lydia stood up from the table, concerned about her friend’s shaky entrance. She watched as Holidae righted herself, noticing BJ giggling up a storm behind her.

“Holli! Are you okay?” She scowled in the ghost’s direction, trying to subtly gesture for him to get lost. “I don’t want you to break your neck in the house. The insurance rates would skyrocket.”

Holidae stuck her tongue out impishly, desperately trying to disguise the fact she knew why Lydia had such a sour expression.

“All good, Lyddy. Must have been these pants… not hemmed yet. Wobbly floorboard maybe? Something I could take you to court over?” she shuffled over to the table, sitting in one of the empty chairs.

Beetlejuice sat down between the two women, apparating a black and white swirled teacup, and slurped from it loudly. His eyes bounced from one girl to the other like a tennis match; each of them trying to hide their acknowledgement of him from the other. It was really a matter of who would crack first, and since he was a betting man, he would be put all of his money on Holidae.

“So, did you get some sleep? You weren’t up this morning,” Lydia kicked Beetlejuice under the table, earning a wheeze from the pained demon.

Holidae nodded, “Yeah, a little bit. Strangest thing though…”

Both Lydia and her ghostly pal trained their gazes on her, but Lydia spoke first, “Oh? What’s that? Did the monster in your closet come say hello?”

“Nuh-uh. But I kept hearing the weirdest noises, you know? More than the normal creaky old house stereotypes. That happen often?” Holidae stared right back at Lydia, her tone taking sharp dive into serious.

Lydia gave a quick glance to BJ, who in turn shrugged in the universal “not me” gesture, “Well, they told us the house was haunted when we moved in, so maybe that’s the reason? Or you were hallucinating again. You really need sleep…”

A muscle twitched underneath Holidae’s eye, “Haunted, huh? By… what… some dead guy?”

Beetlejuice transported himself to sit on the kitchen counter, a bowl of popcorn appearing in his hands. At this point, he really didn’t care how mad Lydia would be with him once the truth came out. He was more interested in how mad Holidae was going to be if Lydia kept dodging the questions. Of course, he would never let any actual harm befall his bestest best friend in the whole wide world, but that didn’t mean he had to intervene now.

“Ha, a dead guy.” Lydia’s voice cracked, unable to stop the lies rolling off her tongue so fluidly, “That’s funny, right? I mean… could you imagine this place being haunted by ghosts? What would you even think about that, Holli?”

“Right. This house. The house I’m living in now. Let’s talk about this house being haunted by a ghost, shall we?” Holidae’s fist hit the table with force, “How crazy would it be if my best friend didn’t bother to tell me if there was a dead man haunting the house I was going to be living in for an extended period of time!?”

The silence hung thick in the air between the two of them, until Lydia finally pointed directly at the ghost munching on popcorn in the corner, “You mean that dead guy, don’t you?”

Holidae pushed herself away from the table, marching over and grabbing Beetlejuice by his tie, dragging him back over to the table. “Yes, Lyddy, this one. The one I had no prior knowledge about. The one I summoned by accident because you neglected to tell me not to summon demon ghost things in the house.”

“Beetlejuice! What did you do?” Lydia was up out of her chair now, momentarily distracted by the rage directed at the ghost. “What did I tell you over and over about this? Didn’t you listen to me?”

“Hey hey, easy on the name, babes.” He was trying to pry his tie from out of Holidae’s iron grip. “I always listen to seventy-five percent of what you say. Holiday Road here was the one that said my name; you know I couldn’t tell her to do it. If anything, I’m the victim here! She forced me to appear and break your rules. You should stay mad at her and not me and- let go of my tie before I eat your hand.”

Beetlejuice opened his mouth wide, snapping at Holidae’s hand with his sharp teeth. She gave a yelp as she let him go, attempting to shove him backwards in a defensive motion. He had some height on her, as well as weight, so her attempt was short-lived. He grabbed both of her wrists, holding them away from his face as she attempted to scratch at him like an angry cat. The smaller woman was spurred on by his laughing, letting out a string of curses which included the phrase “dollar store poltergeist”.

Lydia tried to get their attention, calling out their names to no avail. Beej didn’t seem too angry by Holidae’s attack, but she knew at any moment he could change his mood on a dime and really cause some damage. Although it killed her inside to waste such a precious resource, she grabbed the container of lukewarm coffee, climbed on top of the table, and poured the liquid over top of both of their heads.

The effect was immediate: both Holidae and Beej stopped their squabbling, turning their heads toward Lydia in – disturbing – unison.

“Children, the kitchen is not a gymnasium. Now you,” She pointed at Holidae first, “Sit.”

Having all the fight thoroughly soaked out of her, Holidae quietly sat back down at the table, folding her hands in her lap.

“And you.” Lydia addressed Beetlejuice, who had been casually trying to make his way out of the room. “Sit.”

Beetlejuice vanished, reappearing across the table from Holidae, folding his arms over his chest like a petulant child.

Lydia hopped off the table, but didn’t sit down with them, choosing to stand to try and be intimidating, “I knew this would happen, but I didn’t think you two would actually get into a brawl this early. Serves me right for trying a calm, logical approach with a dead sociopath and an easily agitated ball of nerve endings.”

Wisely, neither of them chose to interrupt.

“Yes, I should have discussed the situation with you before you agreed to move in with us, Holli. I’m really sorry, but you can kinda see why I wouldn’t be forthcoming about the whole ghost thing. So… Holli: ghosts are real, there’s one living in the house with us, and his name is Beetlejuice. Beej, this is Holidae Bell, and she will be living here as well. There. Now are we all good?”

“…I just have one question.” Beetlejuice leaned forward, barely hiding his snickering. “You’re last name is Bell? As in jingle bell? Your folks named you Holidae Bell? Do they hate you? They have to hate you, right? No one names their kid something that blatant.”

He burst out in laughter, clutching his sides and doubling over in the chair. Holidae gave Lydia a look, to which Lydia leaned over and whispered something into her ear.

With a Cheshire cat grin, Holidae leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “Laugh it up, Lawrence.”

Beetlejuice’s hair alternated through various hues before settling on a mix of magenta and yellow, “H-hey…”

“Maybe I should call you Lawrencio? Lawrencier? Larry?” She continued, glancing at Lydia with a smirk.

“Ohh, maybe Laird?” Lydia added, rubbing her chin thoughtfully.

“No, wait! Lars is a nickname, I think. Might have to look it up, but I’m pretty sure it counts.” Holidae nodded.

Beetlejuice got up from the table, his hair now a bright red, “That’s it! I don’t have to take this from two little breather girls. I’m a goddamn demon. You all want to sit here and have sleepovers and talk about me behind my back, fine. I know when I’m not wanted. Don’t you dare come running up to me on the Other Side when you snuff it like ‘oh hey Beej, my friend, help me out’ because… because you are no longer my bestest best friend or my pal. You’re just my best friend and a casual acquaintance.”

With a puff of red smoke, he vanished, leaving the two women awestruck in his wake.

“…I’m guessing that’s not a good thing?” Holidae turned to Lydia sheepishly.

“…no, no it’s not.” Lydia sighed.

#beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #writing time #beetlejuice x oc #beetlejuice x self insert

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growingingreenwood · 5 years ago

Note

So basically the reason I’m feeling so alone is because I’m nonbinary and I’m out to my friends and they’re really supportive and that’s really nice but I’m not out to my parents because they’re transphobic and lately I’ve just been really dysphoric and every time I hear them use my dead name or incorrect pronouns it just feels like a bullet in my side and I want so badly to be out to them so that I can get a binder and wear clothes that are comfortable for me and use my real name -🏳️‍🌈 (1/2)

another thing that’s bothering me is I’m out to my parents as a lesbian and I have lesbian pride stuff but what if nonbinary lesbian isn’t valid and I have to reinvent my identity? And I’m not out to my best friend because he’s super sheltered and only just recently started to learn that lgbtq+ isn’t bad and I know he’ll support me but I’m worried about losing his parents’ support because they’re like my second set of parents and I love them and I don’t want to have them disown me -🏳️‍🌈 (2/2So this is an add on to my 2 part (now three part) ask. I think my dad might actually be the only one of my parents that’s transphobic. I’m worried that I’m going to tear their marriage apart by being who I am (3/2) -🏳️‍🌈

--I tried to put in a read more link. Didnt work--

Hello my love, I want to firstly apologize for the late response to these questions. I was wary of trying to answer them on my own without any personal experience with this particular situation, because I know how important this situation is important to you. I had reached out to a friend with personal experience but have not heard back about their contribution. So I will answer with the info I have gathered in my psyc classes/ research I've done the past few days/ and helping friends through similar situations.

I am obviously, by no means an expert, and anybody is welcome to add their KIND, RESPECTFUL, SUPPORTIVE, and HELPFUL advice or stories as well.

I’ll start with your best friend:

When I came out as Asexual (I’m acutally Demi-sexual but I didn’t know that yet) to my best friend at the time, I started by sort of… expressing that I felt my current identity wasn’t fitting quite right for me. It felt like something was off with the way I was trying to live my life and be me, I just didn’t know what it was yet. I explained my feelings to her the best I could without applying labels (I was SOOOO stressed because she has a super high sexdrive and works at an adult toy store and all that so yeah)

So I explained to her that I just didn’t understand what books/songs/ and movies were referring to when they talked about this “sexual attraction you literally cannot resist) because the concept is literally absurd to me. She asked about all of my favriote celebreities and if I would have sex with them or not, and I told her that the thought for real disgusted me. I explained that I had literally never once at any random human and even thought about kissing them, or having them in my space in any romantic way at all.

A few days later I cam back to her and told her about some research that I had done, and that I had found something that I thought might fit me better. I brought a little quote somebody had written online about how they felt as an Asexual to help those who were questioning themselves help to figure it out. And I pointed out all the places we felt the same. I told her how much better it made me feel to have this label, this one that finally fit because it stopped the thoughts that there was something wrong with me.

Your best freinds is new to the community, so maybe start by telling him about a really beautiful story about an individual who discovered their Non-binaryr identity and how wonderfully it touched their lives. How it helped to heal their lives. Explain in a greater detail what it means to be Non-binary. Give him a chance to adjust to the idea of the identity, while you continue to talk about it positively.

Then when you do come out to him, just remember how much he loves you. It might be helpful to ask him at the start of the conversation to not interrupt you or ask questions until you’re done talking or explaining the situation. Another tactic that I often use for really difficult news, is to write it all in a letter and go sit in another room while they read it. This way, you have the freedom to write and rewrite the letter however many times that you want until it sounds how you want it to. In this discussion, you could ask him not to tell his paretns until you are ready for more people to know. Remind him that you’re telling him this because he is your best friend, and you need his support and love now more than ever. Perhapes ask him to do some research on his own before he really decides anything.

For your parents:

Coming out to your parents is…… literally so scary. And there is really never a food time in which to do it. Having to live while keeping this secret from them can be so hard, I understand that so much. But your safety is also the #1 priority right now.

If it is not safe for you to do so, now might be the time unless you can set up arrangements to stay somewhere else for an extended period of time. You are a beautiful person, and the world needs you here, safe, and full of love still. So please, be careful.

To start, perhaps ask them to use a nickname instead? Perhaps say that friends at school gave it to you or something, and it makes you really happy to hear it. Or that you’ve recently met somebody with the same name as you that you STRONGLY dislike and don’t want to ‘share’ the name with them. Is there any way to start to slowly transition your clothing?

For example: If your usual style right now is something like yoga pants maybe swap that for a pair of jeans that aren't super form fitting. Instead of getting a binder right away, invest in some really high quality sports bras. It isn’t the exact same effect, but it might help in the meantime and is much safer than using things like tensor bandages.

If they question this change in dress, perhapes tell them that this is the new style at your school. Or a new trend started by your favorite celebrity. Tell them you’re bored of your old look and wanted something new for a change. Perhaps if you make the changes ‘slowly’ per say it won’t be as jarring to them.

If you still decide this is a good and appropriate time for you to come out to your parents, it might be a good idea to have the discussion with your mother first. If you think that only your dad is homophobic/transphobic. That way it will be less likely that you will be interrupted during your heartfelt explanations, and your mom should (theoretically) be more open to the idea. It might help you figure out the best ways to tell your dad, but also you’ll have an ‘ally’ of sorts when it happens too.

More care should be taken into your information and resources, I think, when you tell them. Such as printing out a sheet of websites to help parents to ‘cope’ with their child telling them of their new non-binrary identity. If you want, you can even find the one you connect with most and print it, give that to them on paper with links listed after it.

Statistics might be nice, like having how many non-binaryr or genderfluid people live in the same city/ state / country as you so that it does not seem so uncommon for them.

Here is a sample sentence to get things started for you:

“Even though you may see me as a woman, on the inside, I am not a woman and I am not a man. I’ve been using the word ‘genderqueer’ or ‘non-binary’ to describe my gender, which means that I don’t identify with either. If you placed me on a spectrum, with ‘masculine’ being at one end and ‘feminine’ being at the other, I’m somewhere in-between. Identifying as genderqueer has made me feel so much better because being seen as a woman or a male made me feel so distressed and unhappy. Like I was forced into a box at birth that nobody would let me out of it”

Analogies might also be helpful, as it can help frame this new information to them into a more familiar manner. Like this: “Imagine if someone just assumed that you liked ketchup on your hotdogs without even asking you. For your entire life, they refused to put anything on your hotdogs but ketchup – even though you know, deep down, you like relish.

Finally, you decide to come out and say that you like relish. But every time you ask for relish, people say to you, “If you don’t like ketchup, you must like mustard. There are only two options.There are obviously more than two ways to eat a hotdog, just like there are more than two ways to express and explore gender, but society seems fixated on hotdogs with ketchup or mustard – and nothing else.

Similarly, society seems to think there are only two valid options when it comes to gender – man or woman – when there are actually lots of other ways to embody gender, and even ways of having no gender at all.”

A good strategy for serious conversation is to use a lot of “I felt” or “I feel” statements. That way, you are still expressing yourself and your feelings while also not making them feel like you are attacking them directly or anything. For example, a good sentence might be to say: “

I feel afraid that if you knew who I really was, that I would lose you,” or “I have been feeling very alone lately, and I’m hopeful that now I won’t be.”

Lastly, I would suggest being prepared to tell everybody but especially your parents exactly what you need from them in this situation. You may be familiar with all of this terminology and stuff but they arn’t. This is alien territory to them, help them help you by making the things you require them to do or change as clears as possible. Maybe write down a list.

Stop using my dead name. (Maybe work together on a good nickname with them to use instead? When my friend transitioned from FTM, when he legally changed his name he went with “Emmet” instead of “August” like he wanted, so that his mother could still call him “Em” which had been his nickname since childhood, as he was born with the name ‘Emily.” This might help your parents feel like they still have ‘their’ child still.\

I need to change the way that I am dressing, because it makes me feel very uncomfortable and self consciousness.

And whatever else you might need form them.

My beautiful little bean, if you come out to your parents and one of them wants to support you, and one of them doesn't and it ends up breaking them up, I’m certain that they had differences fundamental enough that its probably for the best. And if they didn’t have fundamental differences, they do now.

One of them took the fundamental concept of parenthood seriously and one didn't: The concept of loving and supporting your child for as long as you’re around on the earth to do so.

I don’t really think the difference could possibly be more fundamental.

Sometimes, it takes people a while to get used to the idea. If they react negatively now, they might still change their minds the more they think it over / see how much it means to you. Some people (like my own mom) H A T E change. Hate it. And their first response is always to go on the defensive without thinking. I think you all will have to remind yourselves and eschither to have patients with this.

Remember: Your worth as a human can never change, no matter how much it may feel like it can. You are starting your journey to find the home and the body that you were made to find, its scary, so so so scary. So take your time, enjoy your path. Take deep breaths. Others will ALWAYS love you for the divine creation that you are. The worlds is always ready for you to meet the next ones to love you.

I hope this has helped a little bit at least. I love you. 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

#not tolkien #haleigh speaks #advice with haleigh #love you 🥰🥰🥰🥰#feel better 💛💛💛💛#non binary #coming out #coming out tips #feel free to leave them!!!!!!!#genderqueer #love and support #lbgtqcommunity #lbgtq #lbgtq pride

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creativity-is-rebellion · 4 years ago

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Some Things are Not Dialectic

So much has happened to me since I last wrote on this blog. To sum it up in a nutshell: I changed therapists (something I have been meaning to do for a while now), I was hospitalised yet again for just a little over a week this time, voluntarily, for recurrent suicidal thoughts, where I was tentatively diagnosed (yet again) with BPD, and the new therapist I started seeing after coming out of the hospital diagnosed me with Asperger’s. I also started a DBT program, which I am now six weeks into. Previous therapists, if you have read any of my other posts, have diagnosed me with Bipolar I, but after only two sessions with the psychiatrist at the hospital, and in the wake of him talking, at length, with my husband about my history, I was informed that I probably have Bipolar II and BPD. My regular psychiatrist disagrees with this and stated that it is probably complex trauma (or C-PTSD) and Bipolar I. I am inclined to trust the diagnosis of the latter more, as I have been seeing her for two years now. And now I also have an Asperger’s diagnosis from my new psychologist. What a mess. After all these upheavals, I feel emotionally at sea.

I also decided to swap medications at the hospital (the Seroquel was not helping my insomnia and was making me gain a bit of weight) and finally gave Lithium, the supposed “gold standard” of Bipolar medication, a chance. And it made me terribly ill. I was so nauseous all the time that after 4 weeks of struggling along, I had to give it up. I even broke out in a rash, but no professionals, not even my GP, wanted to listen to my misgivings, so I just informed them all that I was coming off it. My psychiatrist respected my decision, but wants to put me on something else. I am reluctant, because I have tried all sorts of medication for extended periods of time, and there are always negative side-effects, or they don’t do what is intended. I was told in the hospital by the psychiatrist that Lithium would be ideal for someone like me who has ambitions, wants a career, and doesn’t want to sleep for 20 hours a day, so when I experienced intolerance, I felt so disappointed. I even spent some time blaming myself. I have found my overall experience with taking medications really draining and time-consuming. I feel as if I am trying, and even doing everything I should, but it’s just not paying off. One method that I have tried in the past on my hospital visit before this one was ECT, and I did find that somewhat effective, but the results were not long-lasting enough. And, after reading about the experiences of those who get regular sessions of ECT, I worry about the possible effects it would have on my long-term memory if I was to go down that route. If there were any negative side-effects within this vein, it would be incompatible with the way in which I want to live my life, including my career goals.

While I was in the hospital, I was referred to a centre that specialised in Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT). I have read about DBT previously, and wanted to try it out when I received a previous diagnosis of Borderline “tendencies” in Norway, however, as I lived in a small town, there were no DBT groups available nearby, and so my therapist gave me a booklet to read up on it on my own. I had also previously stumbled upon the therapist that founded DBT (Marsha Linehan) when I was studying my Bachelor of Psychology. She later admitted that she actually had been diagnosed with BPD herself, and so DBT was a hodge-podge of different therapies and western and eastern practices that had worked for her. I thought the refterral would take longer to process than it did, but it was processed more-or-less straight away after I came out of hospital. I attended the three commitment meetings and was successfully offered a place, and, after all that I had heard and read, was excited to begin. But six weeks in, I feel let down.

Let me preface what I am about to say by stating that I think there is a lot of good methods to help tackle negative feelings that DBT offers, but a lot of the skills surrounding self-care are competencies I already possess (and so nothing new). There are also some aspects of DBT that are just not really relevant to me specifically, but that’s alright. If I look at it as more tools I can fill my emotional toolbox with, not everything is going to fit. I enjoy and aim for self-improvement, and this is what attracted me to DBT in the first place. On the other hand, I am an analytical person who enjoys testing concepts and seeing if there are any potential flaws in what I am learning, and the method of delivery of the current program I am in doesn’t seem to leave room or space for that. I am finding aspects of DBT condescending, basic, and invalidating. I don’t feel that my prior knowledge or skills are being acknowledged as strengths I am bringing to the table that I can build upon. It is almost as I, along with the rest of the group, am being treated as if I am clueless, and that the therapists and coaches involved in the DBT group sessions are the autocratic, absolute experts on everything we should be doing and what we are doing “wrong,” something that I feel is quite harsh given that most who suffer from BPD also have C-PTSD, or, conversely, that those with C-PTSD can often be misdiagnosed with BPD. After researching some more, I have found that I am not alone in these misgivings.

I decided to share some of my criticisms just this morning with my individual coach. We met at a cafe near where I live, after I dropped the kids off at school. Towards the end of the session, she asked me directly if I ever felt she had invalidated me in our individual sessions. I decided to be honest and tell her that I had felt that. I have only just started acknowledging past trauma, some of which occurred years ago, to both myself and my therapists. It’s mostly because I feel that it is time to do so, because the thoughts and feelings were coming up more and more regularly, intrusively and involuntarily, to the point where I feel like I can’t ignore them anymore. Three weeks ago, I disclosed to my coach in an individual session about the trauma and sexual abuse I had experienced via school bullying. I told her that she had laughed briefly after I had told her about a boy who had pinched my bottom in front of the whole grade on a dare when I was was 13, and said I didn’t blame her, maybe she laughed out of surprise, but when I also told her that she had, in the same conversation, told me not to worry about “stupid school” (her exact words), she denied having said that to me at all, and got quite defensive.

She even said that perhaps I had just “experienced it that way,” and just refused to acknowledge that she had said that at all. I felt so gaslighted,so triggered (my mother tried to gaslight me all the time) and am now unsure whether I will continue with DBT. I left really shaken up, which was tough as I had had a really rough week and had actually woken up in a good mood, and had to then work really hard to turn my thoughts back around again. Upon reflection, I think the coaches are badly trained and unprofessional. This might be what is making the delivery sub-par. Maybe it’s just yet another case of “you get what you pay for.” Now, the question is, do I continue, and just try to focus on implementing the skills, instead of worrying about my obvious personality clash with the therapists and coaches involved? Sigh.

Now, to address the Asperger’s diagnosis: I actually feel it is a good fit. She got in an expert who took me through the diagnostic criteria before giving me the diagnosis, and, for the first time in a long time, I felt validated. I have been doing a lot of reading since receiving my diagnosis, and have found a number of interesting facts about females with Asperger’s, such as they are more likely to be overlooked for diagnosis compared to that of boys, as they do not present with the same symptoms, and are often misdiagnosed with (interestingly) Bipolar, BPD, or even OCD, because it was (until recently) considered a diagnosis exclusively reserved for boys. They are overlooked because they tend to be great social mimics (as females generally are more socialised than men), which masks the symptoms and difficulties females with ASD face. I believe that one of the reasons for my life-long fascination with human behaviour (to the point that I decided to study it), is due to my desire to fit in, when I have always felt different. I have, as my husband has also observed, a number of special interests that I enjoy talking about at length in social settings, and often fail to pick up on the social cues of boredom in the individuals I am talking to. But, that’s alright. It is part of the diagnosis. I am working on it. I might not ever get there, but that is alright too. In my research on the subject, I found a delightful blog from Tania Marshall, as well as her book, entitled “I am Aspien Woman,” which discusses the unique struggles of females with Asperger’s. The blurb to the book states: “Have you ever wondered about a friend, a partner, a mother, sister or daughter? Wondered why she says she feels 'different'? Out of step with her peers, she may struggle keeping friends and a job, yet she has multiple degrees. Bright from early on, she may have singleminded focus, sprinkles of anxiety, sensory and social issues, be gifted in art, writing, science, research or singing. Maybe she is a woman on the Autism spectrum, with a unique constellation of super-abilities, strengths and challenges?” I relate to all of this. I was a precocious reader with an eidetic memory from an early age. I have multiple degrees, and am creative, but struggle in social situations. It’s who I am, and I accept it. When I told my GP, who also closely follows my mental health progress, that my current psychologist has diagnosed me with Asperger’s, she dismissively stated that “everybody is different - we are all on the spectrum” - to which I have to say - what a load of crap. There is different, and there is different. I have always been a person that marches to the beat of her own drum, sometimes to my detriment. But it’s just how I am.

So, what if I don’t have BPD, or Bipolar, but rather “just” Asperger’s? I am high-functioning, so I can understand that it took a long time to identify it, but, on the other hand, it feels as if going through all of the struggles I have been through could have been prevented if only I had had a therapist that was skilled enough to really listen to me, to pick up the signs, and to validate me. I am hoping I have that now with my current psychologist, and am looking forward to working together with her toward a brighter future where I can accept myself and also work on my issues in a safe space.

After years of not sharing my thoughts or being as assertive as I want to be, I have found that recently I have been coming out of my shell in this respect, and those around me aren’t liking it. Apart from the example above, on the day I was leaving the hospital, there were a series of delays concerning my release, that, when they all added up, frustrated me so much, I had to say something. I sometimes think that those in the so-called “caring” professions abuse their power. Whether it’s bad training, an authoritative personality, or other traits that are, in my opinion, not suited to these professions that are the cause, it is a dilemma which is vital to address. Of course, #notalltherapists. But, in my long-standing experience with mental health services, and as a psychology graduate myself, it is enough to cause concern. Too often, patients are discounted because of what’s wrong with them, dismissed because the health professional believes themselves to know better, or put into the “too hard” basket for so-called “difficult” behaviour. But what needs to be acknowledged is that the person that is standing in front of them is there because they are seeking help, and should be looked at as an individual, and not necessarily by the box the therapist wants to fit them into. More duty of care, more empathy, and more acknowledgement, is needed.

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