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nothorses · 3 years ago

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Interview With An Ex-Radfem

exradfem is an anonymous Tumblr user who identifies as transmasculine, and previously spent time in radical feminist communities. They have offered their insight into those communities using their own experiences and memories as a firsthand resource.

Background

I was raised in an incredibly fundamentalist religion, and so was predisposed to falling for cult rhetoric. Naturally, I was kicked out for being a lesbian. I was taken in by the queer community, particularly the trans community, and I got back on my feet- somehow. I had a large group of queer friends, and loved it. I fully went in on being the Best Trans Ally Possible, and constantly tried to be a part of activism and discourse.

Unfortunately, I was undersocialized, undereducated, and overenthusiastic. I didn't fully understand queer or gender theory. In my world, when my parents told me my sexuality was a choice and I wasn't born that way, they were absolutely being homophobic. I understood that no one should care if it's a choice or not, but it was still incredibly, vitally important to me that I was born that way.

On top of that, I already had an intense distrust of men bred by a lot of trauma. That distrust bred a lot of gender essentialism that I couldn't pull out of the gender binary. I felt like it was fundamentally true that men were the problem, and that women were inherently more trustworthy. And I really didn't know where nonbinary people fit in.

Then I got sucked down the ace exclusionist pipeline; the way the arguments were framed made sense to my really surface-level, liberal view of politics. This had me primed to exclude people –– to feel like only those that had been oppressed exactly like me were my community.

Then I realized I was attracted to my nonbinary friend. I immediately felt super guilty that I was seeing them as a woman. I started doing some googling (helped along by ace exclusionists on Tumblr) and found the lesfem community, which is basically radfem “lite”: lesbians who are "only same sex attracted". This made sense to me, and it made me feel so much less guilty for being attracted to my friend; it was packaged as "this is just our inherent, biological desire that is completely uncontrollable". It didn't challenge my status quo, it made me feel less guilty about being a lesbian, and it allowed me to have a "biological" reason for rejecting men.

I don't know how much dysphoria was playing into this, and it's something I will probably never know; all of this is just piecing together jumbled memories and trying to connect dots. I know at the time I couldn't connect to this trans narrative of "feeling like a woman". I couldn't understand what trans women were feeling. This briefly made me question whether I was nonbinary, but radfem ideas had already started seeping into my head and I'm sure I was using them to repress that dysphoria. That's all I can remember.

The lesfem community seeded gender critical ideas and larger radfem princples, including gender socialization, gender as completely meaningless, oppression as based on sex, and lesbian separatism. It made so much innate sense to me, and I didn't realize that was because I was conditioned by the far right from the moment of my birth. Of course women were just a biological class obligated to raise children: that is how I always saw myself, and I always wanted to escape it.

I tried to stay in the realms of TIRF (Trans-Inclusive Radical Feminist) and "gender critical" spaces, because I couldn't take the vitriol on so many TERF blogs. It took so long for me to get to the point where I began seeing open and unveiled transphobia, and I had already read so much and bought into so much of it that I thought that I could just ignore those parts.

In that sense, it was absolutely a pipeline for me. I thought I could find a "middle ground", where I could "center women" without being transphobic.

Slowly, I realized that the transphobia was just more and more disgustingly pervasive. Some of the trans men and butch women I looked up to left the groups, and it was mostly just a bunch of nasty people left. So I left.

After two years offline, I started to recognize I was never going to be a healthy person without dealing with my dysphoria, and I made my way back onto Tumblr over the pandemic. I have realized I'm trans, and so much of this makes so much more sense now. I now see how I was basically using gender essentialism to repress my identity and keep myself in the closet, how it was genuinely weaponized by TERFs to keep me there, and how the ace exclusionist movement primed me into accepting lesbian separatism- and, finally, radical feminism.

The Interview

You mentioned the lesfem community, gender criticals, and TIRFs, which I haven't heard about before- would you mind elaborating on what those are, and what kinds of beliefs they hold?

I think the lesfem community is recruitment for lesbians into the TERF community. Everything is very sanitized and "reasonable", and there's an effort not to say anything bad about trans women. The main focus was that lesbian = homosexual female, and you can't be attracted to gender, because you can't know someone's gender before knowing them; only their sex.

It seemed logical at the time, thinking about sex as something impermeable and gender as internal identity. The most talk about trans women I saw initially was just in reference to the cotton ceiling, how sexual orientation is a permanent and unchangeable reality. Otherwise, the focus was homophobia. This appealed to me, as I was really clinging to the "born this way" narrative.

This ended up being a gateway to two split camps - TIRFs and gender crits.

I definitely liked to read TIRF stuff, mostly because I didn't like the idea of radical feminism having to be transphobic. But TIRFs think that misogyny is all down to hatred of femininity, and they use that as a basis to be able to say trans women are "just as" oppressed.

Gender criticals really fought out against this, and pushed the idea that gender is fake, and misogyny is just sex-based oppression based on reproductive issues. They believe that the source of misogyny is the "male need to control the source of reproduction"- which is what finally made me think I had found the "source" of my confusion. That's why I ended up in gender critical circles instead of TIRF circles.

I'm glad, honestly, because the mask-off transphobia is what made me finally see the light. I wouldn't have seen that in TIRF communities.

I believed this in-between idea, that misogyny was "sex-based oppression" and that transphobia was also real and horrible, but only based on transition, and therefore a completely different thing. I felt that this was the "nuanced" position to take.

The lesfem community also used the fact that a lot of lesbians have partners who transition, still stay with their lesbian partners, and see themselves as lesbian- and that a lot of trans men still see themselves as lesbians. That idea is very taboo and talked down in liberal queer spaces, and I had some vague feelings about it that made me angry, too. I really appreciated the frank talk of what I felt were my own taboo experiences.

I think gender critical ideology also really exploited my own dysphoria. There was a lot of talk about how "almost all butches have dysphoria and just don't talk about it", and that made me feel so much less alone and was, genuinely, a big relief to me that I "didn't have to be trans".

Lesfeminism is essentially lesbian separatism dressed up as sex education. Lesfems believe that genitals exist in two separate categories, and that not being attracted to penises is what defines lesbians. This is used to tell cis lesbians, "dont feel bad as a lesbian if you're attracted to trans men", and that they shouldn’t feel "guilty" for not being attracted to trans women. They believe that lesbianism is not defined as being attracted to women, it is defined as not being attracted to men; which is a root idea in lesbian separatism as well.

Lesfems also believe that attraction to anything other than explicit genitals is a fetish: if you're attracted to flat chests, facial hair, low voices, etc., but don't care if that person has a penis or not, you're bisexual with a fetish for masculine attributes. Essentially, they believe the “-sexual” suffix refers to the “sex” that you are assigned at birth, rather than your attraction: “homosexual” refers to two people of the same sex, etc. This was part of their pushback to the ace community, too.

I think they exploited the issues of trans men and actively ignored trans women intentionally, as a way of avoiding the “TERF” label. Pronouns were respected, and they espoused a constant stream of "trans women are women, trans men are men (but biology still exists and dictates sexual orientation)" to maintain face.

They would only be openly transmisogynistic in more private, radfem-only spaces.

For a while, I didn’t think that TERFs were real. I had read and agreed with the ideology of these "reasonable" people who others labeled as TERFs, so I felt like maybe it really was a strawman that didn't exist. I think that really helped suck me in.

It sounds from what you said like radical feminism works as a kind of funnel system, with "lesfem" being one gateway leading in, and "TIRF" and "gender crit" being branches that lesfem specifically funnels into- with TERFs at the end of the funnel. Does that sound accurate?

I think that's a great description actually!

When I was growing up, I had to go to meetings to learn how to "best spread the word of god". It was brainwashing 101: start off by building a relationship, find a common ground. Do not tell them what you really believe. Use confusing language and cute innuendos to "draw them in". Prey on their emotions by having long exhausting sermons, using music and peer pressure to manipulate them into making a commitment to the church, then BAM- hit them with the weird shit.

Obviously I am paraphrasing, but this was framed as a necessary evil to not "freak out" the outsiders.

I started to see that same talk in gender critical circles: I remember seeing something to the effect of, "lesfem and gender crit spaces exist to cleanse you of the gender ideology so you can later understand the 'real' danger of it", which really freaked me out; I realized I was in a cult again.

I definitely think it's intentional. I think they got these ideas from evangelical Christianity, and they actively use it to spread it online and target young lesbians and transmascs. And I think gender critical butch spaces are there to draw in young transmascs who hate everything about femininity and womanhood, and lesfem spaces are there to spread the idea that trans women exist as a threat to lesbianism.

Do you know if they view TIRFs a similar way- as essentially prepping people for TERF indoctrination?

Yes and no.

I've seen lots of in-fighting about TIRFs; most TERFs see them as a detriment, worse than the "TRAs" themselves. I've also definitely seen it posed as "baby's first radfeminism". A lot of TIRFs are trans women, at least from what I've seen on Tumblr, and therefore are not accepted or liked by radfems. To be completely honest, I don't think they're liked by anyone. They just hate men.

TIRFs are almost another breed altogether; I don't know if they have ties to lesfems at all, but I do think they might've spearheaded the online ace exclusionist discourse. I think a lot of them also swallowed radfem ideology without knowing what it was, and parrot it without thinking too hard about how it contradicts with other ideas they have.

The difference is TIRFs exist. They're real people with a bizarre, contradictory ideology. The lesfem community, on the other hand, is a completely manufactured "community" of crypto-terfs designed specifically to indoctrinate people into TERF ideology.

Part of my interest in TIRFs here is that they seem to have a heavy hand in the way transmascs are treated by the trans community, and if you're right that they were a big part of ace exclusionism too they've had a huge impact on queer discourse as a whole for some time. It seems likely that Baeddels came out of that movement too.

Yes, there’s a lot of overlap. The more digging I did, the more I found that it's a smaller circle running the show than it seems. TIRFs really do a lot of legwork in peddling the ideology to outer queer community, who tend to see it as generic feminism.

TERFs joke a lot about how non-radfems will repost or reblog from TERFs, adding "op is a TERF”. They're very gleeful when people accept their ideology with the mask on. They think it means these people are close to fully learning the "truth", and they see it as further evidence they have the truth the world is hiding. I think it's important to speak out against radical feminism in general, because they’re right; their ideology does seep out into the queer community.

Do you think there's any "good" radical feminism?

No. It sees women as the ultimate victim, rather than seeing gender as a tool to oppress different people differently. Radical feminism will always see men as the problem, and it is always going to do harm to men of color, gay men, trans men, disabled men, etc.

Women aren't a coherent class, and radfems are very panicked about that fact; they think it's going to be the end of us all. But what's wrong with that? That's like freaking out that white isn't a coherent group. It reveals more about you.

It's kind of the root of all exclusionism, the more I think about it, isn't it? Just freaking out that some group isn't going to be exclusive anymore.

Radical feminists believe that women are inherently better than men.

For TIRFs, it's gender essentialism. For TERFs, its bio essentialism. Both systems are fundamentally broken, and will always hurt the groups most at risk. Centering women and misogyny above all else erases the root causes of bigotry and oppression, and it erases the intersections of race and class. The idea that women are always fundamentally less threatening is very white and privileged.

It also ignores how cis women benefit from gender norms just as cis men do, and how cis men suffer from gender roles as well. It’s a system of control where gender non-conformity is a punishable offense.

#transgender #transphobia #trans #transmisogyny #radical feminism #radfem #feminism #transandrophobia #terfs #tirfs #gender critical #nothorses #cult mention #long post

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years ago

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before tomorrow

Pairing: Javier Peña x (f) reader

Wordcount: 2.1k

Warnings: mentions of sex, strong language, a touch of angst

Summary: a classic fake dating undercover mission, with a healthy dose of miscommunication

“Hey, Peña, can we talk?” Your head popped into Javier’s office and an annoying … feeling spiked in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeah,” he gestured for you to come in, pushing some papers aside to give you relative attention. The door closed behind and you sunk into the chair across from him.

There was a comfortable smile on your face, these visits to his office becoming frequent over the past few weeks. He could see you thinking, knowing full well this was one of your first undercover missions, and he almost heard your words before you said them.

“About tomorrow,” you started, but there was something in your eyes he didn’t recognize.

He waited.

The weekend was something he figured you both were looking forward to. It was... an honest to goodness fun mission. Like the ones you’d see in movies. Intel, appearances, earpieces, and playing parts. Out of the heat, no takedowns or chances of innocent people getting hurt. More than that, it had felt like, these past few weeks, that neither of you would mind getting the chance to just hang out together, even for work. No watching eyes, no paperwork to get to, no opportunity for another one of the guys to shoot his shot with you.

At least, Javi had been looking forward to those things. He liked you. You were clever and pretty and you cared about people, genuinely.

“Can we make some rules?” Your tone wasn’t shy, but definitely a bit vulnerable. There was subtext there, and in your sharp eyes, but that was another thing he wasn’t quite sure of.

“Okay,” he said, slow, curious.

You chewed on your words again, Javier’s brown eyes not leaving yours for even a moment. The top button of his shirt was undone, and the humidity was making the ends of his hair curl just a touch.

There was no way you could promise you weren’t going to fall in love with him so you settled for something different.

“No pet names, no messing up my hair,” you held his gaze, trying to match his confidence. Months of banter and comradery should’ve prepared you for that much, at least. The corners of his eyes crinkled just a bit as you counted on your fingers. “And no kissing.”

“Alright, fair enough,” he said, a faint line between his eyebrows forming as he wondered what prompted this.

“Obviously, I’ll follow your lead, and…” you leaned towards him a little bit, a glint in your eye. “If I catch you looking at my butt I get your gun.” You almost cackled at the look on his face as you got up, waving before you left, not even waiting for his response.

Javier ran his hand over his jaw. What a set of rules. You following his lead, telling him not to look, not to kiss… it almost made him wonder what exactly you did want. If kissing was the only physical affection off the table, he could definitely work with that… He shook his head. If he didn’t know any better, that interaction almost made him more excited for the night to come.

It didn’t exactly happen like he had hoped.

He spent the morning preparing his bag – he had most of a weekend to pretend to be your lover at an elite conference – and overthinking your rules.

It was no secret that he was a ladies man. Even if he’d stopped talking about the women who once occupied his bed, the office gossip hadn’t. But the idea that you could potentially be bothered by that reputation left a bad taste in his mouth. This was his chance to show you he wasn’t that guy, at least not any more.

That personal mission promptly got in his way. When he picked you up, you were stunning. Sexy. He nearly choked, trying to compliment you, explain to you how gorgeous you were without sounding like goddamn creep.

The rest of the night was the same, Javier cursing himself for tripping over his words and feet. You could feel something was off, too. He was trying so hard to … make this seem like a date that he completely lost his cover.

You’d managed to get part of the Intel you need, thank goodness, but the narrowed eyes of the other guests followed the two of you around the room.

Lovers did not keep each other at arms length, with hovering, respectful hands. When they found themselves molding into each other’s sides, they did not jump apart, flinching, not fully meeting each others eyes. And then certainly did not avoid kissing when the lights were soft in the corner of the room, and the music and drinks were flowing.

No one present questioned you outright, and Javier’s heart protested when you got a message from headquarters and had to slip away.

Tonight, for him, was nice just being with you like this. He was enjoying the flush on your face, and the way your fingers felt, clinging to the fabric at the elbow of his suit. If it were a first date, it would have been perfect, the process of slowly becoming comfortable with each other, close to each other.

But it wasn’t a date at all.

It was a mission. And you were the rookie who had been flustered by your partner and almost cost them all the effort put into the invites, the placements, the whole weekend.

At least, that was what they told you.

It took you long moments to articulate your plan to do better, to reign the butterflies, and to rebuild your walls, but you did it. The nature of the conference and covers dictated you share a hotel room. As you went to find Javi – no, your partner – there, you focused on stripping yourself of the electric heat his hands had left on your skin.

Javier Peńa didn’t have eyes for you. He made eyes at most people, but it was just fun and games and he was good at his job. That was all that was behind those tender touches and adoring looks. He was good at his job, and you just needed to get it together.

But Javier's heart ached a little when you walked into the room. He was already set up on the couch and he almost jumped, standing to greet you.

“How’d that go?” he asked, before anything, the neutral look on your face feeling unfamiliar.

“It’s fine, it’s too late to pull me out anyway. I’ll get it together for tomorrow,” your professionalism was hard to maintain when his eyes were holding yours. They were deep and dark and even here, long hallways away from prying eyes, they seemed like they cared for you.

“And… forget those rules I made.” Now, your gaze was stuck on the floor. There was a small stain by the end table, the maids had tried to cover it with a rug.

Javi wasn’t sure what to make of that.

Still flying high from the feeling of you on his arm, his mind wandered to his previous thoughts about your rules. His mind was occupied for a moment, indulging the idea that maybe this was his chance.

Images of you – under him, gasping, fingernails curling into his skin – short circuited his brain.

“No rules, cariño?” Javier stepped into your space, eager at this off chance he could show you how much he liked you.

No pet names.

His touch started gentle, brushing a strand of hair back before combing it in with his fingers. Broad fingers slid through until he was palming the back of your head, by your neck.

No messing up my hair.

You were still as a statue, your eyes finding his like magnets and metal, and you could feel him draw close, his breath in yours.

The gentle bump of your noses was the a yank, back, back, back to your senses. Heart racing, you pulled away, a white hot feeling tearing through you. One hair closer and you would’ve been done for. This was Javier Peña. He had probably used those same touches to get countless girls and if they were anything, they were proof that you were not special.

“Tomorrow,” you all but spat at him. Turning, you shoved yourself towards the bedroom, hissing under your breath, “I cant believe you.”

Javier watched you go, dumbfounded. And then the realizations hit him one after another, sharp pain with a healthy onslaught of panic.

You thought he had been getting close to you for the job. You thought it was your fault, that you had to do better because this was professional.

He had misunderstood everything, tried to come on to you when you were giving him a chance to be respectful and he ruined it.

Cursing, he wished fruitlessly he could punch himself. Had he done anything, anything at all to make it clear to you he adored you? That if you’d kiss him, sleep with him, it would be a damn honor? That it had nothing to do with the mission?

Fuck.

He figured he had roughly ten seconds before you remembered to close the door and it would be all over.

Pushing into your room, he saw your expression and felt physical pain shoot through his chest.

Hot, angry tears were carving paths down your face, and they almost drove him to his knees. By the door, he tried to make himself look smaller, trying to tell you on face he hated himself for being so blind tonight.

Speak, words, now. His mind yelled.

“Querida, please, I'm sorry,” he was talking fast, desperate. He told you as quickly as he could how much of an idiot he was, how he didn’t mean to get you in hot water. You stared at him, wide eyes, tears drying as he tried to explained how much he liked you, how he was trying to do this thing right and screwed it up. How the last thing he wanted was for you to think you were just another opportunity hook up.

When he was done, he was almost breathing hard, forcing himself to wait for you to process before he risked shooting himself in the foot again.

Slowly, almost as if you were in a trance, you reached behind you and grabbed an overstuffed pillow off the bed. Javier was nervous you were going to hit him for a moment before you held it to your face and groaned.

“Of all the stupid, emotionally incompetent men in the whole world I just had to go and pick you,” your voice was muffled but the feeling the words gave Javier was clear as spring water. He was fine being stupid, knowing you ha picked him.

“Get out, we can figure this out tomorrow,” your face was visible again and then you threw the pillow at him and he retreated. A goofy smile was growing on his face. He had made a fool of himself, then apologized and confessed and still you picked him.

You picked him.

The idea of going back out into the field tomorrow became more than exciting. Javier felt like a damn teenager in love. He was still confused, but at the same time he wanted to go to sleep quickly, so he could skip to the part where you were near to him again.

There was a lot left to figure out, but he felt light now that you were no longer mad at him. Settling into the couch, he was already half dreaming of the next day, playing at your lover for real this time, and … and kissing you.

That thought made him slow down, and wake up again. Something felt off, and that feeling carried him back towards your room.

His knock was quiet, nervous you wouldn’t hear, and nervous you would.

When you opened the door, you looked soft and confused and he knew.

“Querida… our first kiss shouldn’t be undercover, it should be now,” he said, with determination. Before the night could end, he had to show you, prove to you that he was serious. “Before the mission starts again,” he added, and he watched the understanding fill your eyes.

“Do you mean that?” your voice was small, but equally determined.

And he nodded, swallowing.

He was offering to do this, for real: not for the game or the job or anything else, because none of those mattered here in your hotel room. It was hard for you, an hour before, to let him apologize. To let the wall that said he was in a category of men who would only hurt you. But you had, had deconstructed your self preservation and now…

The man in front of you was asking for permission to fall in love with you.

And when he kissed you, solid and gentle, you both knew you’d let him.

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

#javier peña x you #javier peña #Javier Peña x reader #narcos #maybe i don't know people

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kuiinncedes · 3 years ago

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relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. “Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

#i somehow added like 25 words in my final edit just now lol #idk if anyone really cares but suspend ur disbelief at kurt singing julie's songs XD #i definitely know it probably would not work with her songs as is #they have Very different voices i am aware but i'm also too lazy to do anything about it so . they can be adjusted #to fit his voice right lol i just have no idea how that works 🤪 i just play piano and even then not really 🥴#so just like imagineee lol #i love how in the last part i said what would be endgame in this fic but like #damn i don't have any idea what's happening past what happens in the actual jatp show and #even then idk what's gonna happen within those bc it's not exactly the same 😂#lol but those ships Will probably like #have hints or something if that makes any sense laksdhgdjfs anywayyyy #kurt and the phantoms #my ficsssss #glee fic #glee #idk how i tag things lmao i think that's good enough XD #DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA #oh my god it's finally happening skdghsdhdkghdhjfhgjfgh #i've been working on this since my family went on vacation at the end of june so like two months fuckdghjfdkl #anyway lol hope y'all likeeeee 🥺💖#omg we're at 79 pages of google doc total lol

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waywardimpalawriter · 4 years ago

Note

May I request a Dean x reader imagine where he finds out she's really ticklish. He chases her around the bunker and when he catches her he tortures her. xoxoxo

Revenge of the pinched

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Fluff and nothing but the fluff

Word count: 1,741

Summary: Dean gets his revenge when stumbling upon a little secret you’ve been keeping from him.

Notes: Kind of a squeal to “Pinched”

Dean Tag List: @akshi8278

“Though you said we were even? That there’d be no punishment for the crime,” taking a few more steps backwards, glancing over your shoulder twice to make sure no chairs or tables are in your path of retreat.

Fighting to keep the smirk from tugging at his lips whiskey flecked green eyes trained on you. “Oh sweetheart never said nothing about no punishment for all the pinching you gave me last month. Just haven’t had the time to think about what sort of punishment fits the crime.”

“But… but it was all in good fun Dean and we made up that night remember,” flirty smile lifting your lips in remembrance of the hours spend making up.

Tsking this time a full blown smirk graces those kissable lips, your own eyes widening at the look on his handsome face. “I remember baby girl, but that was pleasure not punishment.” Taking another few steps towards you noticing the table capturing you from behind as he cages you from the front. Arms pressing on either side to lean in his lips against your ear breath ghosting the shell. “I’m a merciful man sweetheart and promise not to torture you severally,” brushing one hand up your side.

Making you squirm away from his hand bitting your plush bottom lip to trap the sounds behind the closed seam. Knowing if you let the secret slip out there’ll be no end to the torment the eldest Winchester will inflict upon your person. However, Dean isn’t the world class hunter for nothing and he picks up on the slight movements of your body. Fingers whispering over your cotton covered side pressing just a fraction deeper. Garnering wiggles from your frame, trying to maneuver away from those nimble questing fingers.

“Don’t Dean,” forcing your teeth deeper to keep the squeak from escaping, trying to edge yourself from between his hard hot body and the table.

Brow tipping upward at the response, wicked gleam entering his eyes. “Don’t want sweetheart?” Intensionally brushing over your side interested in the way your body wiggles against his. Purely for the fact he’s not trying to make it sexual but teasing not knowing you’ve always been ticklish. Using his other hand to move alone your left side finding the truth he’s searching for in the squeak you let out. “Oh baby girl why didn’t you tell me your were ticklish?” Devilish smirk tipping his lips up. Both hands working against your squirming body, musical laughter bubbling up and warming Dean’s heart.

“We eat there please don’t defile that table by having sex on it,” deep annoyed voice coming from the left. Arms crossed over impressive muscular chest Sam rolls those expressive soft green eyes. “Y’all got rooms take it there.”

Mouthing a quick thank you for Sam to furrows his brows watching as you push Dean away and take off running through the bunker. Pausing to kiss Sam’s cheek then heading towards the rooms, “You’ve saved me from the tickle monster,” nodding over your shoulder at Dean.

Who’s still as a marble statue, though there’s a smile on his face that’s rarely seen. Genuine mirth dances through his eyes, crinkles at the corner youthful and carefree when he turns towards you and Sam. “This time he’s saved you baby girl,” straighten to full height intent clearing written. “You’ll not be so luck once I capture you.”

Bitting the inside of his cheek, “You two are a mess you know that?” Even as those words leave his lips, Sam steps in front of you blocking Dean’s path. As the eldest Winchester starts to eat up the distance between you. “That being said I can’t let you tickle our poor Y/N to death.” Looking over his shoulder, “I warned you, five second head start,” tossing you an amused smirk.

“Thanks bro,” peeking around Sam to childishly stick your tongue at Dean. Squeaking when he playfully lunging at you but the Great Wall of Sam blocks his path and gives the advantage to you. Taking off down the hallways and deeper into the bunker, laughter echoing off the walls.

Shaking his head, “Betrayal at the highest level Sammy how could you? I thought we were brothers?”

“We are but I like Y/N better,” stepping aside, deep full belly chuckle leaving his lips at the fake shocked look on Dean’s face.

Hand to heart, “You wound me little brother, wound me,” landing a good slug to Sam’s right shoulder before taking off after you. “I know where you sleep Sammy, expect payback.”

“So fucking predictable Dean,” shaking his shaggy brown hair, laughter tickling his belly at their antics. Given the last couple years of their lives a moment of happiness shared within the walls of their home brings a smile to Sam’s lips. Memories to be cherished and looked back upon when those inevitable dark times return to suck the life from all of them.

“You know it little brother,” finger pistols shooting towards Sam before disappearing around the corner. Silently stalking the halls listening for foot falls and giggles. When none meet his ears his smile falls for a moment replaced by serious concentration picking up on hard panting just a few doors down.

With the stealth born of decades fighting everything that goes bump in the night, Dean slinks down the hall trying not to give himself away. Cursing playfully when the top of your head peeks out to check and you dart out from the room. “There’s no place to hide sweetheart I will find out.”

“Never Winchester, I’ll never surrender to you. You’ll have to catch me first,” voice floating back towards him.

Transfixed for a moment while watching you move swiftly away, heart hammering for a different reason though for now he pushes those thoughts away. “Don’t be to cocky baby girl remember who you’re talking to.”

Rounding the next corner you pause, leaning out to lock eyes with the hunter of your dreams. “Don’t you get cocky Deano, remember I still managed to sneak up on you last month quite a few times.”

“That’s because I let you woman,” smirking for a moment till he sees your expression fall, then cursing himself for partly lying.

First couple of times you had surprised him with the pinches. Never expecting something so playful but then again he should’ve from your sweetness. In the field your badass taking down monsters beside himself and Sam. With the proficiency he’s rarely seen in older seasoned hunters. Alone surrounded by the family is a complete 360. Caring to the point you’ll lay your own life down for anyone of them. Feeding, mending wounds and making them all smile like now. Pesky thoughts make another appearance, his heart beating triple time with the revelation those rumination’s bring.

Seeing he’s paused eyes unfocused you take the chance to step back around the corner. “You lie Winchester, I know better than that. I snuck up on you at least half a dozen times.”

Voice breaking through as a smirk tips his plush lips upward, “You sure sweetheart?” Slow and careful, he takes steps towards you.

Your own feet taking a few backwards, “Positive Deano, the first two for starters.” Seeing the truth written in those much loved whiskey flecked green eyes. “Third one too,” the nod from him confirming your assumptions. You’re lost in thought for far too long and Dean’s made his way closer.

Fingers reaching out to nab the ends of your shirt, tugging you closer. Only to curse, a high pitched giggle leaving your lips as you take off down the hall. “Run while you can little rabbit I will catch you.” Deep chuckle adding to your giggles as he chases after you. Trapping you in a dead end with no where to escape, “Look what we have here.”

Hands up to fend off Dean’s attack, pleading look in your eyes, back flat against the wall behind you, “Now Dean baby you know the pinches were all in good fun right? Surely they didn’t hurt.”

“So is tickling you sweetheart,” stopping just in front of you hands on either side of your body. “And here I thought I knew everything about you.”

Swallowing harshly, “I kept it a secret,” voice catches at the first brushes of his teasing fingers against your side. Body jerking to the side to get away from those nimble questing fingers. “For this reason,” another giggle leaves at the attack from your right side.

Fingers flying over your body making you squirm trying to get away. Breath lodging in your throat accompanied by the giggle that’s trapped. Dodging one hand only to back into the other. Your own hands pushing him away but failing miserably. “Please,” gasping for air, laughter escaping as you wiggle against him.

“Please what sweetheart?” Pausing for a moment to let you gain breath before attaching your sides again. Wrapping one arm around your waist to haul you against him. Questing fingers finding the little patch at the small of your back that makes you arch into him. Dropping lower to brush over the backs of your knees deep chuckle pulled from his chest when your squirm away from him. “Ah I do believe I’ve found more spots on you baby girl.”

Breathless, “You’re a brute Dean Winchester.” Trying to keep the pout on your lips failing when he attacks your side making more laughter erupt from your chest.

“Ah but I’m your brute,” stopping for a moment Dean steps back letting you think he’s given up. But in actuality he’s planning. Setting the idea in motion by tossing you over his shoulder tickling the spot behind your knee and making you squeal. “Do you give up?”

Gripping his waist to keep from sliding down his backside, “Never.” Swallowing when he turns and starts the long strides towards his room. Quickly eating up the distance much to you chargin. “Put me down Winchester right now.” Demanding tone does nothing to slow his pace nor put you down. Neither does the sound smack you add to his ass.

“I always knew you liked my ass baby girl,” landing a smack of his own, fingers teasing along the new found tickle spot while striding into his room and dropping you in bed. “I put you down sweetheart,” teasing smile on his lips. Kicking the door closed with his booted foot. “Now I’m gonna see how many tickle spots you have.”

#dean winchester fic #request #fluffy fic #Dean Winchester x F!Reader #Supernatural fiction #my baby Dean Winchester

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years ago

Note

Chromeskull falling for the reader whose a Burlesque Dancer who wears a revealing Bride of Frankenstein costume that shows off childhood scars that have tattoos to look like stitches over them.

Chromeskull x Reader- Freakish Proposition

Authors Note: Writing again for my 6′7 tall husband....and also trying to get back into the writing game more.

Warning: None

Words: 2.1k

Jesse Cromeans was an extrovert by any means and the nature of his business got him into all type of places, especially exclusive clubs varying from classy snobby ones to stripper nightclubs to the more unusual ones, so no wonder that Halloween was to be spent into a night of fine alcohol and possibly some piggy hunting into these nightclubs.

Halloween meant that he could be more of Chromeskull and less Jesse Cromeans, wearing the chromed skull mask was giving him a boost of power and confidence, not like he really needed it, but for Jesse there was never enough, call him a greedy bastard, but that's how you get successful and respected into the world of the rich and nasty.

Humans were like animals in Jesse's opinion, even him, but here depends on what animal you are according to the food chain, and Jesse was definitely an apex predator and what does a predator do? Stalk piggies and tear them apart, limb by limb.

Nightclubs were the perfect environment for piggies, especially the exclusive ones because all piggies had to do to get a free ticket inside was flash some skin, push their chest out, and bat their eyelashes, looking for a fat walking wallet full of money to support their needs. They didn't care who it was as long as they were buying the piggy the last Gucci purse and gifted them a Porsche for their birthday.

It was the cruel reality of what relationships were like nowadays; there was no such thing as love, it was all business under the facade of sweet-talking and arms holding. Jesse didn't mind cruelty, it was one of his top characteristics, one that gained him his status in society; no wonder men wanted to be in his Oxford shoes and women to choke on his cock in an attempt to get a fancy dinner and a bottle of Moet.

He loved the dim-lit nightclubs, he was accustomed to the eerie vibe it gave, after all, the most interesting part of his life happened at night, and the fact that everyone's attention was pulled on the highlighted stage gave him the opportunity to observe more; more piggies to kill and from the audience sitting at the tables, close to the old geezers, he had plenty to choose from.

The show was about to start in 15 minutes, so he took his time, a waitress coming to deliver a bottle of Lagavulin, a whiskey glass, and a small bucket of ice. She poured Jesse the expensive liquor into the crystal glass, adding two cubs of ice, and he was more than amused when she tried to flash him a view of her cleavage; desperate piggy.

He could see from behind the mask how the other piggies observed; they were predators too in a way, but cheaper ones, their eyes always scanning what the men ordered because that showed how much money they had.

You don't just simply go to a man who orders one glass of cheap vodka over one who had a whole bottle of a 16-year-old fine whiskey.

Tattooed hands pulled the chromed mask off, and from the corner of his eyes, he could read the disgust on the piggies across the room as they took in his scarred face. He got used to such reactions, but flash a stack of money in their faces and the botoxed bimbos will be on their knees, worshipping his cock.

Jesse wondered how their lips would look cut off and showed up their loose cunts, while their eyes would be filled with tears, blood pouring out of each cut on their caked up skin, each cut deeper than the last.

He was pulled out of his sadistic daydream by a voice announcing that the show will start in 10 seconds and a chorus of applause followed as the red curtain drapes moved to each side, the slow jazz music started as did the girls on the stage started their dancing.

One girl, in particular, pulled on Jesse's attention, unlike the other females, her attire and make-up were different, declaring that she was the lead one, and his assumptions were approved as she started to sing, or better said, you started to sing, the slow beat of the music picking up speed as did the sensual moves.

Unlike the other dancers who wore white, your attire was as black as night, with lace details, a tight corset that made the bald man feel jealous. Most would say that your outfit was skimpy, but that's how the burlesque dancers were supposed to be dressed; sexy, sensual, and very appealing to the eye, and God how much you caught Mr. Cromeans brown eye.

Not only were you a vixen in black lace, but also very adorable, your smile and sparkling eyes showing that you were genuine having the time of your life. Jesse is a very observant man and couldn't ignore the tattoo sleeves down your arms; red and black roses are adorned by delicate barbed wire representing stitches.

If Jesse knew something very well, it was the ink on the skin and could identify scars under the intricate designs, and sure as hell, you were hiding quite a lot for such a delicate, little thing; well, everything was little compared to his intimidating height. It was very unusual to see scars nowadays on women; maybe you had a toxic and abusive relationship, maybe a destructive childhood?

He was getting curious and not even the depraved looks from the piggies around him got his attention, and that said something because he wasn't on to pass up the opportunity to slaughter some beef. He was more interested in the little ghoul on the stage; you finished your performance and bowed with a grin, waving around, the audience clapping and some wolf-whistling, the scarlet curtain falling down and hiding the stage.

Taking one sip of his whiskey, he saw you march up to the bar in a happy skip like you didn't have a care in the whole world. He snapped his fingers and motioned for the waitress to come to him which she happily did.

"What can I do for you, Sir?" she asked, batting her eyelashes, not at all impressing Jesse.

'Her. Tell her to come over here.' he typed on the phone then showed the waitress, who dropped her sugar-sweet attitude and rolled her eyes.

Note: Hang the waitress by her guts later.

You were ready to get a drink for yourself too after the performance, but someone tapped you on the shoulder. Turning around you saw it was Tina, who had a scowl on her face.

"That bald guy over there wants to talk with you." she told you, then just like that left. You furrowed your eyebrows and finally, your gaze landed on the said man, who motioned for you with a curled finger to come to him.

Curiosity took over you and you moved over to him.

"Yes? May I help you?" you asked and you noticed that he was typing on the phone, then an electronic voice startled you.

'Sit down. I could use some company.'

Well, that certainly took you by surprise; one that he wanted your company when he could get any waitress or glamorous trophy girl from this nightclub, and two...He was mute....That or either he was some weirdo who hated to talk.

You did as he wanted, taking a seat across from him, looking down at your hands, not knowing exactly what to discuss with him, not to mention he didn't even tell you his name, so you decided to start with that, introducing yourself.

'Jesse Cromeans, a pleasure to meet you, little ghoul.' you really needed to get used to that spooky electronic voice from his phone.

"Actually, I was supposed to be Frankensteins Bride, but it turned out to be more of a ghoul." you said with a nervous chuckle, which he returned with a smirk, one that seemed to suit him, despite the scars he had, he was...unique; not necessarily handsome or drop-dead beautiful, but he had that specific charisma that drew people in like an aphrodisiac.

'And where is your Frankenstein?' You had to stifle a laugh at his humorous question, so might as feel continue to entertain him.

"Probably in a coffin." you answered, making Jesse's smirk devilish so like you said something very appealing and familiar.

"Seriously, no. No undead husband or boyfriend." you said, licking your dry lips. You really needed a drink and like Jesse could read body language he called upon the waitress again, and you ordered your favorite.

'White Russian? I pictured you more of a Bloody Mary.'

Again, you smiled and laughed.

"Not a fan of tomato juice. If I had to choose a red drink, maybe cherry or strawberry." you responded.

Although your answers seemed all casual and not even flirty, to Jesse they triggered the killer side, because when you're a very sleek serial killer like Chromeskull, you got a dark sense of humor.

'Performing again next weekend?'

"No. This was just a one-time thing, I'm not exactly a showgirl and if I'm gonna be honest the only reason I was so relaxed was because of the make-up that made me look like a monster girl." you answered, taking a sip of your drink.

'If not a showgirl, then what?'

Jesse was simply curious; if she wasn't a performer here then with what was she filling her time, what did she worked as?

"I am studying medicine, but it's not exactly the path I've wanted." you said with a sigh, your cheerful mood dropping.

'Interesting. The medicine you say? And why did you choose it if you don't like it?'

"No, no! I like...well, liked it, but let's say it's not cheap to stay for so many years in college and I don't wanna burden my parents with the taxes that are way out of their limit."

A good-hearted piggy? That was something new.

'How did you managed to get so far if you say the taxes are way over your budget?'

He was pretty much dissecting her, he wanted to know more; and it wouldn't really surprise him if she said that she did unorthodox things for money, most girls in college do.

"Well, when I finished high-school I went to military school and went for two years in Afganistan, but you know...not the perfect environment for a small girl like me so I came back to try something else. I chose medicine, I was really curious about it, and with the money from the military years, I managed to pay my taxes until now.

Military? That would explain the scars, you don't need to be a detective to put the pieces together.

'Now?'

"Now? I work three jobs; at a library, as a waitress for a kids' restaurant, and recently here, but I think I'm gonna pass....Skimpy clothes aren't my cup of tea." you said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, putting one between red-painted lips, only to be snatched away by Jesse.

You looked at him with a dumbfounded look.

'Talk. Smoking later.'

You sighed, not in the mood to make a scene over a cigarette, plus he seemed like the type who will have his way no matter what.

"What else do you want to know?"

'Amuse me.'

You snorted at that.

"What do you want me to juggle with knives?" you asked in a sassy tone.

Oh, piggy....That would definitely be entertaining.

'I have a proposition for you. If it's really your dream to be a surgeon and dissect people, I can help you get through with taxes.'

"I'm not a prostitute, jerk." you quickly said, probably it was a bit rude, and in other circumstances, Jesse would have bend over the said person and decapitate said piggy, but he was more amused and gave you a silent laugh.

'As much as tempting that sounds, no. I can help you pay the taxes; I can offer you a decent job that won't involve parading for old geezers...but if you want to spice things up I won't deny it.'

Was he really hitting on you?

"I didn't picture you for a philantroph." you responded, earning an arrogant smirk from Jesse, who lightened up the cigarette that he snatched from you, blowing a cloud of smoke in your direction.

'I can be many things, sugar....What do you say?'

Debating a little and looking down at your remaining drink in hand, you chose.

"I'm listening."

'Sweet. I knew you would see things my way.'

#chromeskull #laid to rest 2009 #chromeskull: laid to rest 2012 #Jesse Cromeans #chromeskull x reader #jesse cromeans x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies

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sxveme-2 · 4 years ago

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blueberry pancakes // bucky barnes

MASTERLIST

Description: A single mother. Juggling being a mom, a full time pediatrician, and a difficult ex who believed now would be the best time to finally be a father. A soldier ripped out of time. Ex-assassin turned superhero. Learning how to balance a new domestic life with handling demons of his past, while facing the trials of the future. a love story began over something as simple as chocolate chip pancakes with hidden blueberries.

Disclaimer: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

Status: Edited

Note: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Nine: The One with the Roof

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 3082

Sometimes, letting loose of all inhibitions can be a good thing. It could help release stress and create a new sense of relaxation. Or it could create chaos, and let secrets fall from loose lips. And typically, that's what intoxication did to most. And Lily Osborne was no different than others when it came down to it. The lock on her lips came loose whenever alcohol slides past them. But loose lips sink ships. Hence why, before entering the compound, Lily took a personal vow to not let a single drop go past her lips. She not only wanted to remember the night she partied with the Avengers, but she wanted to ensure that nothing would slip out. Not even her attraction to the Winter Soldier.

"Do we just let ourselves in or...?" Rose wondered after finally managing to get Lily out of the car and up to the porch of the large compound. Lily seriously wondered what they needed all of this space for. She understood the whole space for the training aspect but was this really what they needed? Seemed a bit excessive to her. But then again, she was raised in a modest eco-friendly home and lived in a small colonial-style home herself.

"I mean I assume we knock? But maybe superheroes do it differently?" Gen answered, biting on her lip before reaching between the two sisters and knocking on the silver door in front of them. No answer. She tried one more time, but all three collectively agreed that if they could hear the music from outside, there was no chance in hell that they could hear the knocks on the door, "I take it that we just go in."

Rose's manicured hand reached forward and twisted the doorknob, pushing open the door to be greeted by loud music and warm bodies moving around each other. Either dancing or pushing through to get somewhere else. Immediately, Lily's hands clammed up and her entire face burst into a bright shade of ruby red. Her chest heaved up and down at an expeditious rate as her heart rate picked up and air move in and out between her painted lips. She wasn't even in the thick of the party and already her nerves were starting to get the better of her. It didn't help that she was totally sure that this was all a practical joke to embarrass her in front of all of the Avengers and become a laughing stock of Earth’s mightiest heroes. But of course (obviously) this wasn't the case, and everything was being made up in her mind.

Sensing the unease in Lily's demeanour, Rose and Gen hooked their arms into hers and lead the shortest of the three into the compound. The smell of alcohol and a tinge of sweat hit their nostrils like a brick wall, a smell Gen and Rose enjoyed, by Lily found sickening. She wasn't much of a drinker because of the fact she lost control of what came in and out of her mouth, and typically only had a few glasses of wine with Gen or at dinner. But that was it. She never went to bars, never got wasted. Not only because it wasn't her thing, but because she was busy with a baby in her twenties. Something that most people her age wouldn't dream of until they, well, were her age. But Lily wouldn't change it for the world, she got a beautiful son out of it and couldn't be more thankful for that outcome. If it were with a different person and under different circumstances, she might have been more thankful, but, you can't control everything.

"Oh look there's Mr. Odinson- oh he's coming towards us." Gen beamed while attempting to hide the excitement that grew in her chest, "Oh would you look at him. The things I would do for that ma-"

"Ladies!" the God boomed, cutting Genevieve off from finishing her thirsty comment. His shoulders stood wide in front of the three girls, and Lily barely hit the top of his chest in height. He was truly a godly figure and Lily couldn't help but shrink her shoulders, becoming vulnerable. She couldn't help but grow nervous around someone like Thor, he was a literal God. All she was a god at was making an excellent pancake, "I'm so glad you three could make it. go and mingle, I shall steal lady Lily away from you two."

Before Lily could protest or tighten her grip on her best friend and sister’s arms, they slipped away and into the crowd together, sending a wink back to the nervous mother that now stood alone with the God of Thunder. Her breath hitched in her throat when the man previously mentioned entwined his arm with Lily's, leading her away from the entrance and towards the bar that was set up near the side. Thor was boasting about something, but Lily's ears drowned it out as the bass of the music thundered in her ears. People’s laughter and conversations created a nerve-wracking rhythm that danced through her mind. She felt the noises hammering away at her heart that thudded against her ribcage at a worrying pace.

"...Captain Rogers or Sam shall be here in a few to take you to see Sergeant Barnes." Were the last words Lily caught before Thor took off to go tell ancient Asgardian stories to the elder veterans that stood around a table. Again, he was gone too quickly for Lily to protest, leaving her alone at the bar, biting on her bottom lip like it was her last meal before death.

Her hazel eyes turned from the ground back up to scan the crowd that had congregated in the compound, either tipsy, drunk, or sober. Everyone seemed to be having a lovely time, except for Lily. Instead, she stood alone at the bar, picking at hangnails and scuffing her feet off the ground. At that moment, she believed this entire thing to be a mistake. Her heart hammered wildly inside of her and she wanted nothing more than to go home and snuggle in bed with Joey. And, if she had it her way, Hunter would be there too. But instead, she was stuck here at the avengers compound, awaiting Captain America or the Falcon. Life was crazy, sure, but Lily never expected she'd experience something as surreal as this. Let alone want to go home from it.

"You look down, Ms. Osborne," a somewhat familiar voice echoed from behind her. Turning her head, Lily came face to face with Sam Wilson, aka the Falcon. Seeing a face she knew created a sense of comfort inside of Lily, Even though she didn't really know him that well. But he had been so kind to her and to Hunter, Lily couldn't help but feel welcomed by him, by someone who was just a genuinely nice guy, "Why the long face? Not a fan of parties?" It was as if the man was able to read Lily's mind...because that's exactly why.

"That's an understatement. But I couldn't exactly decline an invitation from a God, now could I?" Lily smiled gently, leaning against the bar with her hands clasped in front of her, elbows placed on top of the glowing counter, "Plus, Rose and Gen would never let me say no. Hunter's at his dads so..."

Sam nodded along as she spoke, but Lily caught the slight excitement that flickered across his dark eyes when she mentioned her younger sister. A small smirk pulled at the corners of Lily's lips as she ordered herself ice water with lemon. This too seemed to catch Sam's interest and he leaned forward slightly while nodding down towards the clear liquid in the cup that Lily held. It was cold against her skin, and she was thankful for that because her hands felt as though they had been set on fire.

"Not a drinker?" Sam wondered, eyes glancing over the blonde’s shoulder as she sipped on the cool drink. Lily knew that she'd probably be questioned about the fact she wasn't drinking, and her answer would always be the same. She didn't want to embarrass herself. Especially not in front of this crowd of people.

"Don't really feel like making a fool of myself in front of the Avengers," Lily chuckled, flattening out her dress with her pale hand, "Happy birthday though. Quite the celebration."

The conversation between the two stayed light and airy. Nothing deep being spilled, and no mention of the elusive Bucky Barnes. Whom, might I add, was currently nowhere to be found. Despite Lily's not-so-sly glances around her gave away the fact she had been looking for him. She wouldn't admit it, but she was secretly hoping she'd be able to spend the night getting to know the quiet man. He just looked like he had so many stories to tell, such character hidden behind those gorgeous ice blue eyes. Anytime that Lily caught them, she had always felt fireworks being set off from behind her, as though she had found the one that made her heart whole.

"And here comes the man you've been looking for," Sam teased while nodding over Lily's shoulder. Perhaps a bit too quickly, the blonde turned her head around to spot those same eyes she had found herself thinking about just moments ago, "I see you got my text, terminator."

"How could I miss it, you sent me seven." Bucky's raspy voice called as he took his place beside Sam at the bar, turning his attention to the blonde that stood across from the two, "Oh, Lily. It's nice to see you. I assume that's why Thor was on my phone."

Speechless. No words formed in Lily's mind to return back to the conversation. All she could think about was how beautiful Bucky looked in his black dress pants and blue shirt that matched almost perfectly to Lily's. The top few buttons were left open, exposing a bit of hair growth peaking over, and sculpted collarbones laying beneath the man’s neck. With the way his chest flexed, Lily was sure that the rest of the buttons would give way and pop off one by one, exposing what Lily could only imagine. Olive skin, littered with beautiful scars across a chiselled core. Just the thought made Lily's mouth run dry, which resulted in her chugging back the water she held in her hand.

"Nice to see you too-" Lily finally responded, cutting herself off quickly. God, damn it. Her voice had cracked halfway through the sentence and a heavy blush returned onto Lily's face, her hands becoming slick with sweat once again. How did he do this to her? Was it the eyes? The soft yet deep tone of his voice? The way he seemed to relax around her and Sam? Whatever it was, it had a lasting effect on Lily. Even after she hadn't seen, nor spoken to him in three weeks. And yet here he stood in all of his glory at his close friend’s birthday party.

"Well, I'll leave you guys to it." Sam grinned, patting Bucky on the shoulder before leaning in to whisper something in the tall man’s ear. This resulted in Bucky swatting at the birthday boy as he took off into the crowd after thanking Lily for the birthday wishes. Thus, leaving Bucky and Lily alone at the bar together.

Both were quiet people. Bucky because of the mental trauma he had suffered for over seventy years, and Lily because it was simply in her DNA. She was born quiet, never having anything more to say than what was required. In university, Professors and peers tried and tried again to try and get her to contribute her opinion the same way she did on paper. Her mind was so far beyond her years, and the intelligence she had was unmatched, but she kept it to herself. She saw the world as it was, and by keeping quiet, she was trying to spare herself. She saw how cruel the world around her was, and just how awful people can be. Especially after the relentless teasing, she went through in high school as a nerd-type student. The whole high school archetype was stupid, but Lily fell where she did.

"I won't lie, Thor dropped hints all day that you were coming," Bucky commented while sipping his whiskey, taking a few steps towards the blonde, "Part of me didn't think you would. but uh..." his voice trailed off. Those mesmerizing eyes glanced across Lily's face as if trying to read her reaction. They dipped down farther to look at the radiating outfit that Rose had pulled together, appreciating the natural beauty that stood before him. He could barely speak. But alas, he continued, "I'm glad you did...Steve mentioned if no one else did, he was going to invite you."

So it wasn't just a joke. A weight seemed to release itself off of Lily's shoulders as the man spoke. They were going to invite her here one way or another. And he was actually glad she was here. Not embarrassed or annoyed. It was as if he actually enjoyed her company? But Lily had a hard time believing anyone enjoyed her company most of the time. She found herself to be dull and a bit on the boring and mundane side...but maybe for an ex-assassin, a bit of domesticity and simplicity was what Bucky needed. An escape from the world of avenging and world-saving. To become the man that he had dreamed of being in the ‘40s. Meeting a nice girl, settling down, and dying of old age, happy. But, neither Lily nor Bucky wanted to get too far ahead of themselves. This was only the second time they've really hung out.

But love and fate worked in mysterious ways.

"I'm not a party person, but Rose and Gen figured it'd be good for me to get out of the house while Hunter was at his dads," Lily responded, finger running around the rim of her water glass, deep eyes avoiding any contact with the man in front of her. Her heart thundered wildly inside of her rib cage, throat going dry as he continued to advance closer to her. Though she typically would, Lily didn't move. she never worried that he would try anything disrespectful. He was careful, calculated. He knew already that wasn't who she was, but yet, stuck around.

"Ypur son! He's cute. You two look alike," Bucky commented, biting down on his chapped lips. Lily felt his gaze on her and she couldn't stop herself from lifting her eyes to meet his. The stories they told, the horrors they've seen. He looked so forlorn and tired. Part of Lily wished she could steal him away and keep him away from the messiness of the world. The people that wanted to hurt him. Give him the simple life with blueberry pancakes on Sundays and walks with Joey. Movie nights with Hunter...dinner dates. But his voice snapped her out of her trance, "You said a few weeks ago you and Hunter’s father were split...mind me asking why?"

"What?" Lily called, furrowing her eyebrows and leaning forward. With the music blaring and people talking, the blonde was unable to make out what Bucky had said. Her eyes focused on his lips, but to no avail, she wasn't able to decipher what he was saying, "I can't hear you! Music is too loud!" Lily exclaimed, Exaggerating her mouth in hopes he'd be able to figure out what she was saying. Maybe years of being an infamous HYDRA agent taught him to read lips?

He nodded, signalling that he had understood. The brunette reached his hand out in front of him, offering his flesh hand to the mother in front of him. Lily panicked instantly. Her hands were all sweaty and shrivelled because of her nerves, and she knew it would be just too embarrassing to even think about putting her hand into his. If it were Bucky's metal arm? Well, maybe Lily would have considered it because of the lack of feeling (as far as she knew). But it would have probably left some sort of residue. But, she had to think on her feet. Something Lily was actually quite good at. Discreetly, the blonde slid her palms across her dress, riding the sweat from her skin, before sliding her right hand into his left.

Where he was leading her? Lily had no idea. He could be leading her to her doom for all she knew. Maybe whatever the secret nazi intelligence agency that corrupted him had put inside his mind was still there, and Lily triggered it. Or maybe he was some creep, like most guys Lily had met at parties and bars, well, the limited ones she had been to. That's where she met Scott. In a pretty similar scenario. Lily had been dropped at the bar by Gen while she went off to mingle and dance, and a handsome man approached. A light conversation had started and Lily was informed his name was Scott Harvey. Her later husband and baby daddy, then ex-husband. A little voice inside of Lily's mind told her it would be the same, that it's just the beginning of the same cycle. But a small piece of her heart believed that this was different. Meanwhile, she didn't even know what this was, to begin with. As far as she knew, they were barely even acquaintances. Lily had only met him a hand full of times and only knew what the textbooks told her.

So thinking this would be like Scott? And that she'd end up marrying Bucky? That was a preposterous thought. Once again, she had just met him. And sure, Lily had a history of getting her hopes up, but she tried to restrain herself this time. Remind herself that there may be nothing but friendship here.

But then again, what did she really know? She was a single mother being lead to the roof by an ex-HYDRA assassin that had the ability to kill her and make it look like an accident. Anything was possible when it came to the people around her. What Lily never expected though, was for Bucky Barnes to lead her to the roof of the Avengers compound where a few chairs sat around a fireplace(?), underneath the stars. He gestured for her to sit, and Lily complied without hesitation. Before she knew it, the fire was lit and he sat across from her, a comfortable sigh escaping his lips.

"Tell me everything about you, Lily Osborne."

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thecandywrites · 4 years ago

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Blood For Gold Part 8

Get ready for some plot, and intrigue and conflict of interest. Again, thanks to @kriskukko for lending me the amazing picture of a regency era orc and letting me run wild. Thanks to @punkhorse96 for all the amazing feedback and everyone else who likes and reblogs this story. I appreciate it. Also do you guys have any idea how hard it is to find AN AGED regency couple? Thankfully Bridgerton showed that an older woman could wear the fashions of her own youth and didn’t necessarily have to keep with the most up to date fashions. So that allowed me to go find this pic of a qeen, Glenc Close in her movie Dangerous Encounters back in the late 80′s. I have never seen it, but IT’S THE AESTETIC. taking it, using it and lo and behold, we have our Gregori and Yalin, Ramsey’s parents who have taken a shine to Audra. But will their light shine on her so warmly when they find out the truth and find they might have less to gain than they thought? And will their wills be stronger than the Morrigans? And what will the Morrigans do to keep the status quo when their own past comes back to haunt them? We shall see.

Blood For Gold

Part 8

All the way to the Windsor Palace the Morrigans had nothing but “instruction” towards you and for Jane, all about minding your manners, acting in the utmost chaste conduct so that you would not bring shame or dishonor onto the family and to not leave each other’s side while they berated you for acting so “brazen” with the Dauphin for having eaten your dinner next to him as they accused you of practically shamelessly throwing yourself at him like a common whore by dancing with him for most of the evening, even though the Dauphin didn’t leave you with much of a choice. It was the Dauphin who practically dragged you to meet his family and the King and Queen, his uncle and aunt and their children and of course the host, which was Yalin’s sister, Infanta Evinelle DeuSavance and her husband the Infante Charles DeuSavance who was the king’s cousin and their children who were very nice and charming and welcoming as they all gave Ramsey a not so subtle nod of approval. And then at dinner, Ramsey dragged you to sit there between himself and his sister and Ramsey simply would not leave your side after Demsey dared to get you away for only a moment, Ramsey wouldn’t let that incident repeat with anyone, he capitalized on your time all night.

You didn’t even get to go to the restroom without his sister Charlotte and Jane following you like puppies with Lady Whitesale not being too far behind them, and you got the impression they were sent as eyes and ears for others and you barely got into a bathroom stall to get some privacy to breathe and even loosened your corset so that you could breathe easier because after two years, you had almost forgotten what it felt like to be the center of attention in a room full of people, you garnered more attention that even Calla and Bennie because of who you were with all night and the weight of their scrutinizing gaze was particularly heavy and now you were anxious just to get to Windsor just for the chance to breathe in the privacy of your room.

Ramsey’s behavior seemed to appear as instant infatuation or for the romantically inclined- ‘love at first sight’. But the feeling was far from mutual, you were simply not attracted to him, at least not physically, also there was a real sense of desperation in his manners. He was the one throwing himself at you and trying to make himself out to be the best possible prospect for you. Which you found odd, perhaps a little worrying and off-putting because you just couldn’t understand why he was so dead set on you. He was himself perhaps a decade out of his prime and just shy of twice your age, not that it made too much of a difference to you because Edward had been over three times your age, almost four actually, when you wed him. Moura women were brought up to think nothing of major age gaps between moura brides and their husbands outside of Dorierra and especially within the culture of the stables. In fact it wasn’t unusual for mouras as young and pretty and accomplished as yourself to go through the stables at least three to four times, gaining more and more value with each remarriage because each marriage was “experience”. There were some moura women who were on their seventh and eighth marriage but the obsession of “virgin brides” also had it’s universal appeal.

But after your disastrous marriage to Edward, you shuddered at the thought of going through the process again. That and Edward had known that you were hesitant to enter into that cycle even before you married him, that’s why he “bought you outright” so that you didn’t have to go back into that cycle, that once you survived him, you would be a free woman, free to do whatever you wanted to do, it was why he insisted that you drink pregnancy warding teas, and made sure to track your own cycle to make sure you would not concieve his child and be tethered to the Morrigans any more than you already were and made sure to afford you a comfortable living so that after his death, you’d have a good life, he had spent his whole life in service to his crown, country and king and business and at the end of his life, he was looking to set something free, instead of caging it forever, it was one of the biggest things you found to love about him. But sadly, he was one of the few people who really cared about what you personally wanted for yourself because he had genuinely cared for you and you felt, loved you, to a degree, at least in the beginning. But his own senility and madness soon erased it not long after.

With Ramsey though, he projected so much onto you. Because he had gotten not just the report that Edward had gotten, which each bride in the stables got a report, tailored to fit potential prospects, like cherry picking things on a resume but he had also gotten the master resume which had everything on it.

Moura brides usually had a very vast array of qualities and talents that were universal and the moura schools had some of the best teachers and professors in the world and as a child and up to a certain age, all moura children got the same top notch education that rivaled most scholars. However after the age of 12 or 13, schooling changed dramatically for the sexes. All men were pushed into either a service trade, commerce, engineering and technology or science or medicine, so that they all had a “useful” job within the country and of course military training but they were all pushed to serve in one way or another so that they could go into the many industries within the country, making goods and providing services and only the exceptionally musically talented men got to be “entertainers” which was an important service to the Dorierrian public.

Women on the other hand, since the moura stable’s exports was solely brides for foreign dignitaries, they were taught government and more importantly, how to govern everything from a household to a country should they need to be a queen some day, they were taught all the major languages, especially the common tongue and economics, business, because all government was business, but also the art of war, including self defense so that in the case of attack, they could defend themselves and their future families, but especially psychological warfare, intrigue, manipulation for future political court life, in addition to the usual music, musical instruments of all kinds, singing, dancing, composing, arts of all kinds, including acting, ceramics, drawing, painting, sewing, embroidery, fashion, culinary arts as well as some medicine and of course- what was taught across all sexes was childcare because even after the plague, moura mothers still had a successful birth rate of 99%, with very little to no birth defects in the babes, no matter the mix of species and fathers especially were brought up to be an equal parent in the household so that in addition to their jobs, they could still come home and care for their own households and families, especially since moura mothers always seemed to have a newborn at their breast or one or even two or three in the womb at a time and both partners were brought up to be completely devoted to their families and any hint of any kind of abuse was swiftly dealt with and never tolerated and the focus was on having a happy family life. So if couples were unhappy with each other, divorce was easily attained and granted. And even with that measure in place, most moura partners, when there was a love match, ended up being married for life. It was not uncommon for women to go off through the stables once, then come back in widowhood and settle down with a moura mate and stay in the country after that.

However there was an exception. For men and women who preferred sexual relations with the same sex as themselves, they could be entered into a smaller “private” school but it was for “concubines, consorts and courtisans”, otherwise known as 3C’s. that had all the training moura brides had but it allowed men to have the same higher educations women enjoyed if it meant that it prepared them for life as a king’s courtisan and concubine on their private privy council and it was usually only through 3C’s, that moura men were ever allowed to leave Dorierra under any circumstances other than war, which considering all the political alliances Dorierra had with every other nation in the world, was very, very seldom, but that didn’t mean Dorierra was lax, the moura brides were often Dorierra’s eyes and ears on the rest of the world and reported back to them accordingly. Even in the case of revolution where some royals and aristocracy could lose their heads, it was the morua brides and their children at least, who were always allowed to return to Dorierra unharmed and could be rescued in dire situations by either dragons, pegasus’ griffins, since Dorierrians bred all three.

So because of all of this education, which was better than most universities, a moura bride’s “resume” was very impressive and thus- cherry picked to suit the individual suitor based on the suitor’s culture. However all mouras had a master resume that accompanied their pedigree’s and lineage, which listed everything they had learned and had become proficient and excelled in. But even the master resume did not show what the individual moura really enjoyed and had a passion for.

And with Ramsey, you could tell he simply went off your own master resume. Just because you knew something or even excelled at something, didn’t mean you really enjoyed it. For instance, on your master- you were taught how to be a queen, navigate court, and rule it, but that didn’t mean you had the ambition to be a queen and you did not feel it was your destiny to be one either. Presiding over Mirador was more than enough to satisfy you in that respect. You had no desire for much more than that. But Ramsey seemed intent that you should have a more active political role and couldn’t wait to see how you would advise him to gain even more power and clout in the House of Lords as well as garnering the love and admiration of the common man so that he could have more political reach than he already had, the very prospect nearly sent you running, in fact it was that, that had sent you to try to gain some solace in the bathroom in the first place because you just felt he was dragging you into this and because of “polite society” rules for decorum, you couldn’t counter, you couldn’t really speak your mind to him. All you could do was simply hum and acknowledge what he was saying to you and agree with what you could, but that was all.

However to hear that Demsey, despite being a duke, was rarely ever in politics, in fact he seemed to spend all of his time and efforts into his family business, which to you was a very noble and honorable pursuit, had you even more drawn to him and make him even more desirable as a prospect to you.

By the time you got to Windsor, you were so relieved even to see Ramsey come get you from the carriage if it meant you could get away from the Morrigans as Ramsey had you on one arm and Jane on the other which the Morrigans were happy to see before the Dauphine and the Senior Dauphin came over to have a word with them.

“Well we must assure you that we will take the best of care of Jane while she’s here. And you must forgive our son, he’s been taken with the Sultana since her wedding to your late father Count Morrigan and then when he saw her when we went to the Savoy only a couple of weeks ago he has become quite obsessed ever since, in fact we were enjoying such a wonderful dinner there from our balcony at the Savoy where we seemed to look over your family in the main dining floor, however it was a shock and quite sad to see her eat so little that night.” Yalin noted with a frown to her husband.

“Oh she’s a moura, they have the appetites of birds, she rarely has any appetite since she lost Edward.” Agnes readily answered but the look Yalin gave her said that she didn’t believe that and made Agnes’ forced polite smile falter slightly because mouras were renowned for their healthy appetites and high metabolisms despite their petite frames but excellent body conditions, having a healthy ratio between strength, stamina but still retain some softness in their hips and bellies and for women, especially their breasts because that’s what the body needed to ensure healthy offspring and a moura’s mother’s milk was some of the most nutritious of all the species.

“Well we will certainly see to it she eats properly while she’s here, can’t have her growing malnourished can we? Because malnourishment leads to weak offspring and we can’t have that at all.” Yalin insisted to Gregori.

“Quite right my dear.” Gregori readily agreed.

“Oh, oh yes of course, we will also encourage her to eat well for the sake of her future.” Agnes reassured her, catching the Dauphine’s drift.

“What I found odd is that when Ramsey looked into the Sultana just after seeing her at the Savoy a couple of weeks ago and asked the stables themselves for her master resume, the report that he got back after Edward’s death when they re-evaluated her was most disturbing, for a nescia - or princess, to be downgraded to a shakan, such a demotion had never happened before except in cases of extreme circumstances, such as revolution and anarchy, is there any reason you can give for such an extreme change?” Gregori asked them pointedly as the Morrigans looked at each other, trying not to betray how worried they were at such an intrusive question.

“Well you see the Sultana is actually very, very delicate and mentally very weak, she took the decline of Edwards health so hard, and suffered so greatly from that loss that the stables gave her that, we surely didn’t have anything to do with it, in fact, we have done everything in our power to help her, including- moving her to Mirador and even increased the living that Edward afforded her so that she can live in the utmost of comfort, she even got to take her pick of servants from Broadcove that she grew fond of.” Richard tried to excuse as Gregori also gave him a look that he didn’t believe that either as Richard felt himself wither by Gregori’s intense gaze.

“Well then we will have to be careful with her as well. Ramsey has quite made up his mind about her which is a relief to all of us. And of course as long as there is no interference, especially on your end, it can go smoothly, and of course there might be a promotion of rank if it goes well, I’m thinking a Marquise at least, if not Duchy.” Gregori offered and the Morrigans practically had their jaws on the floor of their carriage and were drooling a river at the prospect as they gave each other a giddy look.

“Oh of course, of course, we will be giving every encouragement we can.” Agnes eagerly reassured them, because it was not uncommon for that to happen and it was just the opportunity they were looking for, because while they were disappointed that such a thing would be coming from you instead of Jane, they wouldn’t turn their nose up at such a prospect. Finally having a moura in the family would be paying off and worth it if it meant they could be Duke and Duchess and Jane of course could be eligible to be courted by all kinds of prospects and make the Dauphin Ramsey look like a lowly lord or knight, and a promotion such as that would push them onto the international Europa marriage market and could amasse even more power and money but from a much larger scale on an even larger stage.

“Well if that is the case, then it’s a very curious thing, why did Duke Voyambi insist to Ramsey that his whole family saw and heard you dictate a list to the Sultana about suitors to avoid. In fact when Ramsey pressed the Sultana for such a list, she was able to produce this very one, where Ramsey’s name is at the very top of the list of suitors to avoid. I understand that both of you dictated this list for Jane to write down. And then when we made other inquires of those who happened to be around you at not just the Savoy but all over London at various shops that you snubbed half the court. Of course if such a thing were to be handed over to the King and Queen I’m wondering how they would react?” Gregori asked his beloved wife as Yalin smirked at seeing the Morrigan’s pale and nearly shit bricks right there in the driveway as Gregori pulled the list from his own breast pocket and looked it over and pointed to where his son’s name was written down with a deep scowl before looking expectantly up at them to answer for it.

“Or heaven forbid Lady Bagum in the papers, surely if she got a whiff of this matter, she’d whip it up into quite the scandal, and if she ever got ahold of the list and if that ever got printed in the papers, I’m afraid what the repercussions of that would be, I would hate to see half of the court, and by that point, half of parliament, snub you publicly for such a thing.” Yalin added as Agnes and Richard looked worriedly to each other while they flushed with shame as Agnes and Richard both scrambled to find an excuse as they both instantly regretted everything they had said all evening and wishing they could take it all back and knew that the next time they got to speak with you, they would have to apologize and take it back and humble themselves before you, which was an act they loathed but it would save their skin. To gain a duchy in the future, they would make peace with being humble now.

“Well you see we did that because every suitor the Sultana does not go after is a suitor we can have for our sweet Jane, we were not trying to snub half the court, we were simply trying to keep the best of the best for our own dear sweet Jane, that is all, but who are we to stand in the way of love? If your Ramsey has set his heart on the Sultana, then so be it, please disregard that list and please tell the Sultana to disregard all instruction from us to withhold herself from the Dauphin, who are we to stand in the way of destiny? Please won’t you beg her on our behalf to forgive us for being so short sighted and so ignorant? Really we should have seen the Dauphin’s actions for what they were tonight, we were under the impression it was the Sultana who was pursuing the Dauphin too strongly and we didn’t want her embarrassing herself for others thinking she was too eager but we see now that was simply not the case and we will by no means stand in the way of the Dauphin and we will offer every encouragement possible to the Sultana.” Agnes quickly explained which those seemed to be the magic words that turned Gregori’s scowl into a pleased smile.

“Excellent, with your complete cooperation and no further interference, such a thing as this list and your simple misunderstanding could easily be forgotten, be dismissed as rumor and such evidence would surely find its way into a remote, abandoned trunk somewhere in a garbage heap or be ash in a fireplace, we wouldn’t want such damning evidence fall into the wrong hands would we?” Gregori offered as he put the list back into his breast pocket of his vest under his coat as Agnes and Richard knew that as long as you agreed to Ramsey’s proposals, it would be ok and forgiven.

“Oh, of course, we would never dream to presume to be anything but compliant.” Richard offered as Agnes nervously laughed as she nodded emphatically with her husband.

“Then you won’t be opposed to us looking into the Sultana’s welfare while at Broadcove, then will you? Because it is Ramsey’s dearest wish that she gain halmana status, which is for English- that of a dowager, like the queen dowager, or dowager empress, which surpasses even my own status of nescia and he can’t marry a moura with a status less than sayida actually. Also there is the very curious and honestly alarming and downright shameful fact that the Sultana’s correspondence with the stables and her friends within them has gone by the wayside and even their correspondence to her has gone awry, practically vanished into thin air and there has been a complete disconnect from the Sultana to her homeland.” Yalin began.

“According to Ramsey and the Czarina’s brothers that, even the stable masters have not heard anything from her since she wrote that she arrived safely to Broadcove immediately after the wedding, but absolutely nothing else ever since, even now at Mirador, her correspondence is going missing both too and from the stables and her friends within them, I wonder what kind of sum could be offered for every single piece of correspondence to be produced from wherever they might be at, we have investigators that are going through the Royal Mail Service as we speak, immediately dispatched the moment it was made known, in fact when it was made aware by the Czarina’s brothers and The Princesses brothers, they almost immediately pulled them both out of the ball and demanded to go home because such atrocities would never be tolerated and are demanding that such a thing be a crime punishable either in prison or public whippings and demotions which the royal family had no choice but to agree to.” Richard continued where his wife left off as Agnes and Richard gave each other a worried glance.

“And that’s because they had to pay a hundred and fifty thousand pounds just to get the new mouras out here, which was a non refundable fee, and one that the guilty party, when they are found, could be made to pay as well should that happen and the King and Queen immediately ordered for the matter to be investigated by the best detectives in the country along with Scotland Yard who at the very mention of bribes will immediately arrest and brought to the tower and will be investigating everyone who could possibly be involved, how many letters would you think a person can write in the span of two years?” Yalin wondered aloud and smiled wider when Agnes and Richard both faltered guiltily as they both seemed to fluctuate between pale and impossibly red.

“Of course if any of it has been ordered to be burned by either you or anyone in your household, even if that order were to be carried out within the Royal Mail Service, the royal family will have no choice but to hold you personally responsible and I believe that a sum of at least a hundred pounds up to possibly a thousand pounds, per letter, per every little piece of correspondence will be demanded from you since you are the Lord of the estate and it is you who is solely responsible for all things that happen within the estate. Especially since you are so rich, I’m inclined for the higher price, since you surely can afford it.” Gregori insisted to Richard whose eyes were about to pop out of his head and his own buttons on his waistcoat were about to pop off from the heaviness of his instant laboured breathing at such a prospect.

“But surely you can’t imagine that we would have anything to do with her correspondence going missing. We would never dream of doing such a thing or implicating the Royal Mail Service. Such a thing is madness and to hold us responsible for other’s mistakes.” Agnes pleaded, trying not to betray her own guilt.

“But this matter still involves the Royal Mail Service, which answers to their majesties and that they take immense pride in and is the mark of civilization in fact it was a charge of uncivilization that the Royal Mail Service was so profoundly broken that such a thing has occurred, such an oversight of one or two to go missing is understandable considering the volume, but for every single one to go missing, surely nothing but malicious intent is to blame and their royal highnesses are taking it as an affront and a personal attack and insult that a system that the monarchy put in place would fail it’s most valuable of subjects because they view that every moura in their society is a precious treasure and they immediately made that sentiment known to the Sultana and the other moura guests when they asked the Sultana about it directly and got confirmation directly from her.” Yalin countered firmly.

“Also in talking with the Sultana just this evening, she was completely unaware that there were moura social clubs in England, much less London, and had no idea of their existence, of course the belief that if you alienate one from others that you weaken the individual is completely false, if anything, it galvanizes the individual and can have very long lasting and far reaching negative effects because it’s the socialization that makes mouras more pleasant to be around and work with, but to deprive one of socialization is abject cruelty and will be something that their majesties are also looking into as well as the stables and such accommodations will make their ways into all future contracts instead of being implied because the honor of every Englishman is now called into question that we can’t even uphold our own rule of law and contracts which the Royal Family was affronted that such a thing has obviously been failed by you, which is why they are so intent on holding you personally responsible. So really, I can’t imagine the cost the royal family will demand for each piece of correspondence.” Gregori firmly insisted and his tone was almost snarling and had the Morrigan’s quaking in fear because he was after all, the brother to the King and had the commanding presence of his station as Yalin simply beamed proudly at her husband.

“H..how would you know such a thing of how many pieces of correspondence?” Richard paled as Gregori and Yalin simply smiled smugly.

“The Royal Family asked the Sultana directly to estimate how many pieces of correspondence, she estimated it in the thousands. So since it is the possibility of someone burning them, there are some magic practicing persons who can still be found, in fact they were sent for tonight during the ball and should be here in the next day or two and since the correspondances still at one point existed to begin with, they can be conjured up still. Such a thing is very costly but viable, and of course such a means can be used to pinpoint exactly who is responsible and of course if that is the case, the price for each one will double, even triple in value and be taken out of your income and out of your nobility since again, it is you who is responsible for all things at Broadcove and all your other estates and especially since it was your own servants that followed the Sultana to her new residence, they are now highly suspect as are you. And in such a case, may the gods themselves have mercy on your pocketbooks, much less your souls. And of course whoever else was involved in such a crime, is still viable to be denounced in court, all of their property go to the victim which in this case is the Sultana, and then they could be flogged, drawn and quartered in the public square, because the crime was committed against not just the Royal Mail Service but also against their majesties and a royal moura who after tonight, is closely associated with the royal family who just upon looking at her this evening have welcomed her into their fold and have gotten the nod of approval and the Queen herself said how “perfectly precious and exquisite she was, a sign of impeccable breeding”.” Gregori recited proudly.

“Oh yes, to get that kind praise from her, there are now two diamonds this season and one of them is halfway to being securely in Ramsey’s hands, really no safer place could be found in all of the court. And Ramsey is extremely protective of what is his.” Yalin practically cooed.

“Which Ramsey is looking to bolster up the protections for mouras in general, so that any abuse whatsoever will never be tolerated no matter the soil they stand on and no matter the status of the moura in question and of course we will also have to investigate all of your relation, for any evidence and any dishonesty will also have the same outcome. As we speak, Scotland Yard are on their way to your estate at Broadcove and to all of your other houses along with a special team of investigators who have come in from Dorierra just for the occasion. And any interference on your part will have some very serious, grave consequences.” Gregori warned.

“But of course, if you and your family are innocent, then you have nothing to worry about, just keep on encouraging the Sultana towards our Ramsey.” Yalin encouraged sweetly.

“Of course, of course.” Richard and Agnes shakily agreed.

“Goodnight then, safe travels, also if either you or any of your family try to flee the country, you will be hunted and brought back and imprisoned in the Tower of London and absolute guilt will be assumed and a public trial will immediately ensue and all details will be printed in every newspaper from here to Dorierra.” Gregori offered lowly as he stuck his head into the window to be eye to eye with Richard before he pulled his head out and patted the carriage and told the driver to drive the Morrigan’s home as Agnes nearly fainted.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to start screaming at each other?” Yalin murmured as she and her husband waived them off and watched as the carriage drove away from their home.

“Oh they’ll probably wait until after they leave the gate.” Gregori mused with a chuckle.

“Have I told you that nothing is sexier to me than watching you flex your own power My Love?” Yalin cooed to Gregori.

“You can show me.” Gregori purred into his wife’s ear before he started kissing down from her ear down her neck which got her to giggle and gave her gooseflesh.

“Oh Gregori.” Yalin sighed dreamily as she pulled him into the palace.

“And?” Ramsey asked as you and Jane stood in the foyer with everyone else as you introduced Jane to all of your friends from the stables after Bennie and Calla had introduced their own brothers to Jane and the Voyambi’s as you were sure all of the Voyambi sisters were staring in awed wonder at Calla’s and Bennie’s brothers because they had never seen more handsome men in all their lives as even Kiera was hard pressed to find a single fault in them and staring at one had her ignoring every grudge she had accumalated against mouras.

“Well they didn’t sing like canaries, but we sure did dangle the carrot and practically walked themselves into a box to get it. And they will not be an obstacle anymore.” Gregori beamed happily.

“But we will still be pursuing it right?” Ramsey asked.

“Oh absolutely, they’re incredibly guilty and if Scotland Yard is on it, they won’t return without results, it’s probable cause at this point, and the fact that they made the Sultana sign a nondisclosure is proof that something very serious and most likely, very dangeorus to the Morrigan family name and honor transpired and I know the Morrigans will do anything to keep it buried and concealed, including continuing to pay the Sultana’s living after her marraige to you of course, and that dowry will set this family up nicely, give us a good chance to build for a glorious future, and with your verile seed in her young and ready womb, you’ll be father to a future King or Queen, because with the Sultana’s bloodline, that will keep us well out of too much inbreeding within the family. And give the DeuSavance’s a run for their money and give them some competition to put their heirs on that throne.” Gregori reassured his son with a firm clasp on the shoulder as Ramsey nodded nervously.

“It’s certain that the game is afoot and I’m wondering how many delightfully juicy scandalous things we’ll uncover and it would be a shame if any or all of it made it into the papers after it’s settled, everyone does love a good scandal after all, we will need some good gossip after all this business.” Yalin giggled as Gregori chuckled.

“For now, I think it best we keep the Sultana here for as long as we are keeping the Czarina and the Princess and of course we should keep the young Countess Morrigan here as well, since the Sultana insists on her innocence. We can’t go upsetting the Sultana now can we?” Yalin suggested to Gregori.

“I agree. It’s going to be a full house.” Gregori cooed before they decided to address the group.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for accepting our invitations, Sultana, you especially are more than welcome to stay here at Windsor for as long as the Princess and the Czarina are here as well, we know it’s been a very long time since you were with your friends and we want you to enjoy their company as much as you can.” Yalin announced as beamed a happy smile.

“Thank you, your excellencies!” You readily called back as Calla and Bennie were both on either side of you, all three of you hugging each other tightly.

“Also, we understand that the differences between Dorierra culture and English culture are stark and can be jarring, which is why for the six weeks the Dorierrans are here, the first two weeks will be spent in the Dorierra ways the following two weeks we will slowly shift from Dorierra manners to proper English manners and the last two weeks will be spent in English manners so that should any or all of the moura brides choose to stay, you will know what’s expected of you, also for our English guests, I petition you to keep an open mind and not take any offense in the difference in manners and culture but be respectful, and of course what happens here at Windsor stays at Windsor.” Gregori announced as all the Dorierrans beamed happily and excited smiles at each other.

“With that being said, it is quite late and we all should get some sleep. However if we may have a private word with Sultana Audravienne,” Yalin urged before the housekeepers came and took the group to their rooms that had been prepared for them as you bravely walked up to them.

“We just had a private word with Richard and Agnes Morrigan and they beg your forgiveness for advising you against the Dauphin and misunderstanding his actions and attributing them to you. They also agreed to no longer be a hindrance or an obstacle for you.” Gregori relayed which made you frown.

“May I ask what induced them to change their opinion?” You asked as you looked from Gregori to Yalin.

“Once they were made aware of Ramsey’s intentions towards you.” Yalin answered.

“I see, well, then their apology is accepted. Thank you so much for letting me know.” You thanked them before you curtsied again respectfully and returned to the group.

“What was that all about?” Jane asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” You promised her as you were shown your own room as you stole away in it and breathed in relief when you were finally alone as you happily stripped out of your clothes and slipped into your night gown and collapsed on the comfortable bed and barely got under the covers before you heard something click open which made your eyes snap open before you pulled a shall around you. If it was Ramsey you were going to lose your patience and beat him off with a candelabra. You couldn’t take another minute of him tonight.

“Who’s there?” You demanded because you sensed you weren’t alone anymore.

“It’s just us, Ramsey told us of the secret passages in this place, we wanted to talk to you without other eyes and ears listening and watching.” Calla informed you in marinai as she and Bennie came out from a secret door in the wall in the corner.

“Well come on in, the water is nice.” You laughed in relief before Calla and Bennie both climbed into the bed with you, leaving a candle by the secret door but otherwise left the other on the night stand as you hugged each other tightly.

“It’s so good to see you again.” Calla sniffled into your shoulder as you held her the tightest while Bennie hugged your back as three of you cuddled together in the bed.

“It’s good to see you too, and it’s great to see the boys too, I never knew how precious my time with my siblings was while I was at home, now, seeing them, makes me wish I could see my own brothers. I would give anything to see them again, even Axal.” You confessed as Calla finally withdrew from you as you all laid on your backs, admiring the mural on the ceiling.

“Why is a country so obsessed with propriety, show nothing but nudes on their ceilings?” Bennie asked.

“Psh, I don’t know, I’ve been here two years and English culture makes just as much sense to me as it probably does to either of you, which isn’t a whole lot.” You admitted as you burned with wanting to tell them more but you promised Ramsey that you wouldn’t. But at the same time, you couldn’t scare them off with horror stories just as they are getting here and getting to know these people, part of you still held out hope that your experience was a Morrigan thing, not an English thing.

“I broke into the stable master’s office.” Calla suddenly blurted out which made you and Bennie snicker a laugh.

“Why would you do such a thing?” You asked her.

“To read the report as to why you were demoted to a shakan. I almost didn’t answer the call to come here but once we found out it was to London and that you would be present, I couldn’t say no, not hearing from you, most of us have assumed the worst and with all correspondence to you going missing, because your parent’s health has declined dramatically since your demotion, when they demanded to know why they got different answers each time they asked, one was “it was in your contract not to return” another was “she has no wish to return” one even claimed that you requested that demotion so that you couldn’t return, which was clearly a lie, no one knows what to think.” Calla confessed as you guiltily bit your tongue.

“So what happened?” Calla pressed and you knew you would have to chose your words very, very carefully.

“While it is true that it was in my contract with Edward that he bought me outright and that when I survived him, I was free to do as I pleased, he afforded me a living of 15 thousand pounds a year, which is a very comfortable sum of money a year and more than enough to live on and I’ve managed to save a good portion of it, I’m able to live in comfort and peace with a whole house of my own. And if I were to go back to the stables, the cycle would just begin anew and I have no heart or stomach for it. I’m content with where I’m at and what I have. Besides, Edward stated in his will that when and if I choose to remarry, it will be love and I have every intention of honoring his wishes because they are my own.” You calmly answered.

“So why did the contract with Richard state that he would pay you thirty thousand a year?” Calla asked with a deep frown.

“Because of what transpired between him and I while I was married to Edward. If you read it then you know I can’t talk about it because it’s a non-disclosure. I’m surprised you came if you read it.” You returned.

“Ok, but just because you signed it and can’t talk about it, Calla, spill the beans, all the beans, I need to know now.” Bennie insisted as she sat up in bed and stared determinedly at Calla.

“Edward went mad shortly after Audra’s marriage to him. I consulted the new medical books after I read it, he had dementia, which is becoming common among the older ones and with dementia, comes aggression and violence, Audra suffered greatly at Edward’s hands. But Richard forbade Audra from telling anyone for fear of “tarnishing” the family honor.” Calla answered.

“And that’s why Richard doubled my yearly living, to buy my silence.” You sighed tiredly.

“But the Morrigans are rich, they could have hired doctors and nurses and caretakers to take care of Edward in that state.” Bennie argued.

“At first Edward did, but the more mad he became and the worse he got, the more the nurses demanded to care for him and instead of paying it, Richard dismissed them and viewed me as his already bought and paid for nurse and companion. But his decline was out of my depth. And all Richard did was imprison us both into Broadcove, I couldn’t reach out to anyone, even my messengerari wouldn’t work or reach out to anyone. He had some kind of disruptor in the house. But thankfully I was able to get some insurance against him, so that if he ever decides to stop paying for my silence, I can have a measure of revenge, so you see, never again will I ever be anyone’s pawn or play thing. And never again will I ever tolerate abuse of any kind. If I am to remarry it will be for love, no madness, no abuse, no control over me, no secrets, no intrigue, no disloyalty or unfaithfulness, I am a free woman, I do not answer to anyone and I have freedom. And I can’t go back to my old life, I refuse. I would rather be a free shakan than a caged nescia, no matter how big or gilded the cage may be. Even as one as nice as this palace. All I want is someone to love me for me, even as broken and jaded as I am, who won’t look at me and see wealth, or my dowry or even look at me and desire me for the sole reason that I am a moura, but will see just me, and be content with that.” You insisted sleepily as all three of you got comfortable cuddled together.

“Then I hope you get what you wish for.” Calla insisted sleepily too before all three of you drifted off to sleep.

Meanwhile Demsey stared up at his own ceiling and huffed indignantly because he knew he was already beaten. How could his own estate of Whydahh had no hope of competing with the palace of Windsor. It had a hard enough time competing with Mirador and that was only because it had been built in just the last ten years and had all new, modern convenciences. His own London townhouse of Graveston didn’t really compare to Mirador at all. The Dauphin had...well everything, he was royalty for crying out loud and outranked him. What did he have that the Dauphin didn’t? What could he possibly offer a woman of taste and refinement and accomplishment such as yourself that the Dauphin couldn’t offer twice or three times over? Other than his own love, care and devotion? But call him a hopeless romantic, he wanted to try to woo you anyway. He had watched you all night and you didn’t give one genuine smile to the Dauphin all evening. You were polite but still so subdued. According to Amara when she too had followed you into the bathroom, you couldn’t even go to the bathroom in peace. And Lady Whitesale was so rude to Amara and all of his sisters. Before she had purposefully tried to befriend them as “sisters” but now that that seemingly was no longer a possibility, she immediately showed her own true colors to them and had turned all the other orc women in the court against them and had them shunned once they took up company with the jewel orc mouras. But what really sold him on you was how gracious you were in your own perceived defeat. You were still so kind and treated everyone in his family so wonderfully and respectfully and engaged with all of them while they were waiting in the foyer, especially his younger siblings. And even though Kiera had been begrudged against you, you were still kind to considerate to her. You were above reproach and you proved with your words and actions what an excellent woman you were and what he would give if he knew it wouldn’t start a scandal or call into question your own honor of just going to room and confessing all of his feelings to you this moment.

But as tempting as that sounded. That would surely insult your honor and compromise you, plus it would be unkind. He knew just by looking at you, that you were beyond exhausted. And having battled Ramsey’s affections all night and dodging the Morrigans meanness, it would be too much to try to battle his own advancements if you didn’t return them. You looked like you were ready to bolt out of the Morrigan’s carraige and you had sadly looked so relieved to even see Ramsey rescue you from their company, he wondered if you would have looked at him with equal relief if he had been the one to get to you first, but sadly he had been helping his Ma’ma out of her carriage.

But at the ball, just as you were leaving his side for the brief moment he was able to steal you away for, the way you held his hand, even for as brief of a moment as it was that evening, that simple touch had conveyed so much that words never could, but even now, he couldn’t put words to it’s meaning as he traced the outline your hand had been on his own hand, he almost didn’t want to wash his hands for fear it would wash your magical touch off, while it was true that the gold plague had ridden mouras of their magic, he could almost sense that at least a little bit still lived in you, it had sent the most delightful electric shocks through his whole being and had his soul craving more contact, just another touch, another glance, another anything. But Ramsey blocked him, all night. But despite Ramsey’s best efforts, the few looks you shared, especially over dinner, he was sure he saw longing and affection and dare he hope desire in your eyes when you looked at him. It had him feeling like you were the only woman at that ball that existed, let alone that mattered.

That being said he was keen to see you behave the way you were raised to and wondered what kind of differences there was between Dorierran customs and English ones. His brothers had talked about the Dorierran national sport, something that involved flaming swords. If he got to see you weilding a flaming sword, the Dauphin be damned, he was going to probably fall head over heels in love with you and probably propose to you as soon as he could. because at least in orcish culture, weapons were sacred and a shieldmaiden weilding a sword or a battle ax was seen as the epitome of sexy. Of course just thinking about it had his shaft rock hard, again, great, something else to satisfy again before he could get some sleep.

#Blood For Gold #Blood For Gold Part 8 #Oh yeah #now we are getting into intentions and interests and how those are gonna clash #mwahahaha #Regency orcs #regency era orc period drama #orc fantasy love story.#orc love story.#moura

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fatesdeepdive · 3 years ago

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Entry 33: Dawn Breaks

No Supports or castle stuff today. It’s time to end things.

Birthright Chapter 27: King Garon

Corrin enters the throne room to fight Garon, who stands up from his throne wielding a massive axe. Garon compliments us for making it so far. When Corrin mentions the deaths of Xander and Elise, Garon calls Xander a pawn, showing no remorse. You know, I like Xander as a villian, but goddamn did he get the short end of the stick in terms of parents to die fighting for.

Corrin attacks Garon, doing no damage. Azura begins singing and Garon grabs her by the throat. What are you doing, stepdad? Garon orders Corrin to stand down, using Azura as a hostage.

Ryoma attempts to negotiate an end to the war and Garon asks Ryoma to hand over all of Hoshido. And also kill himself. Then Garon attacks Ryoma with a fireball. I don’t think Garon’s good at negotiations.

Ranjito, Ryoma’s sword, begins glowing for some reason. Like Fujin Yumi before, it upgrades Yato, this time into a cool curved sword with a white glow. Wielding the new Blazing Yato, which is really OP, Corrin manages to hurt Garon.

This chapter sees us charging through the throne room, taking on an army of tough enemies who my high leveled units cut through like butter. Wait a minute, didn’t we fight Iago in the throne room? Does Garon have two throne rooms? Yeah, that tracks.

Garon has powerful stats, as well as skills that stop criticals and reduce the stats of units who attack him. But also Corrin and Ryoma are really strong and killed him easily.

Then Garon gets back up and trunks into an ugly dragon that demolishes Corrin and shatters Yato. Ryoma and Takumi run in to protect Corrin and also get taken out. Garon attempts to breath fire on the princes and Corrin jumps in front of them, T-Posing to block the attack. Corrin falls over, presumably dead.

Birthright Endgame: Dawn Breaks

The final chapter of Birthright, which has a name that is far too close to that of the fourth Twilight book for my liking, begins with Corrin floating in a black void. She wakes up back at the start of the game, in her bedroom, with Flora and Lilith standing over her, telling her to wake up. Either we’re in hell, or the entire game was a flashforward.

Corrin doesn’t remember anything and acts like everything is fine. Xander and Elise walk in and tell Corrin to wake up. Corrin says she’s happy, as long as everyone is with her. Then she remembers everything bad that happened to her. Xander tells her she can either remain in the afterlife, or go back and fight. Corrin hears echoes of Ryoma and Azura being attacked by Garon and Corrin decides to keep fighting.

All of the units we brought into the final battle shout cheers of encouragement; all of them are nice, but kinda generic, with two exceptions. Yukimura begs for Mikoto to lead Corrin back to the world of the living, which is really nice. And Azama says that Corrin isn’t destined to die for another 72 years and 19 days, which implies he knows exactly when each of my units will die. Which explains a lot.

Overall, this scene is great. It’s blatantly reused from Awakening with less narrative connection, but it’s still good.

Corrin says goodbye to her fallen friends, with scene shifting between the Frost Village, Training Grounds, and Dueling Grounds. Also, now that I think about it, where the fuck is Gunter? Did he have something more important going on? I know that Conquest and Revelations reveal he’s still alive, but I’m pretty sure he’s dead in this story path. Dick.

Corrin awakens, wielding a repaired Blazing Yato. Somehow. The repaired version of Yato, despite having the same stats, can now block Dragon Garon’s attacks. Neat.

We aren’t given an opportunity to head back to Fort Kenshi between chapters, but that’s fine. This battle has us charging through the ruins of the throne room to take out Garon. Again.

At the start of the battle, Azura begins singing her magic song, weakening Garon. LITWAA leads into the final battle theme, which is great. I don’t praise this game’s music enough; all of it is good and this battle theme in particular is amazing. As Garon begins to weaken, he begs for Anankos to give him strength. I wonder if that’ll end up being important.

Garon hits hard enough to one-shot most of our units and has fantastic defensive stats. Unlike the last round, he doesn’t wield an axe, meaning we can’t take him out by abusing the weapon triangle. This battle would genuinely be very hard...on hard mode. On normal I can just bum rush him and end the battle in two turns. Fittingly, Corrin ended up with the final blow.

Garon transforms back into a human and tells us he should have killed us as a child. As he dies, he says that perhaps this is what he wanted all along, the sweet release of death. He mumbles about how he lost his mind and became something, then dissolves into bubbles. Corrin wonders about what Garon’s deal was. Unfortunately, we need to buy some DLC to find out.

Azura faints, having pushed herself too far to stop Garon. Azura says that she can die in peace, knowing that everyone else will be safe. As Azura fades away, she asks Corrin to smile for her, one last time.

I know I compare this game negatively to Awakening a lot, which it definitely deserves, but I’d like to praise it for using its anime cutscenes in the final chapters, something Awakening didn’t. It really helps the dramatic moments hit hard.

Ryoma is crowned king of Hoshido, promising to bring the world into a new age of peace. Ryoma upholds his promise and helps rebuild Nohr with Hoshido’s resources. Everyone cries tears of joy.

Corrin meets with Leo and Camilla, who mourn the deaths of their siblings, and finds out that Leo is now king. Afterwards, she heads to the lake where she met Azura. Azura’s ghost tells Corrin to look into the lake, to find something hidden deep, before disappearing. The final cutscene shows the Hoshidan royals, happy together, meeting at a statue of Mikoto.

The credits roll, giving epilogues for all of our units and showing their battles/kills. I’ll be going through all the epilogues in bulk at the end of Revelations, but I would like to note my top units: Kaze, Silas, Mozu, Ryoma, and surprisingly, Azama. Who had close to 2000 battles because I sent him and Azura alone into a battle to build Support and unlock a Paralogue and just let enemies beat the shit out of him for a while.

As well as my least used units: Selkie, Caeldori, and Rhajat. Which isn’t surprising, considering I used them so rarely that I haven’t even mentioned recruiting them yet. My worst non Paralogue unit was Yukimura, followed by Shura and Izana. My least used actual units were...Sakura and Jakob. Sigh.

Saizo. The unit with the least real battles was Saizo. That’s what I was getting at. Followed by Kaden and Takumi. That’s not to say any of them were bad, Takumi in particular is insanely overpowered; I just didn’t need to feed him kills to keep him useful.

After the credits, the game gave me the option to select a few units to keep and recruit in later playthroughs. I only chose one, my max strength, eight movement Blacksmith: Kenshi. We’ll be seeing him again, eventually.

Closing Thoughts

Replaying Birthright has given me a new appreciation for Fire Emblem Fates. It’s a very flawed game, but to be honest, I had a great time. I’ve focussed on the writing, primarily, but the gameplay in Fates is fantastic. It’s a solid Fire Emblem game and I like Fire Emblem. Hell, things like personal skills, the rebuilt weapon triangle, and fixing pair-up make it a fantastic Fire Emblem game. My only complaint is that it’s a bit easy at times. Part of this stems from me playing Normal/Casual for this blog; I started a Hard/Classic playthrough in my spare time and it fixes most of the issues. The maps, although not as phenomenal as Conquest, are still varied and creative.

And then we have the writing, which is very hit or miss. I’ve explained my problems with this game before (black and white morality, incest, half of the Supports are forgettable), but to be honest, I do enjoy a lot of Birthright’s writing. It’s rarely anything special, but it gets the job done and occasionally has these fantastic moments of drama.

Birthright is a solid game that deserves a spot in the Fire Emblem series. If you haven’t played Fates before, I would recommend playing it.

Now comes Conquest, which has even better gameplay and also...even worse writing. Yay. But first, I’m going to be going through some of the DLC and Paralogues for Birthright.

#fire emblem #fe fates #fe 14 #fire emblem birthright #hoshido #ryoma fe #corrin fe #azura fe #garon fe

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tricksters-captain · 5 years ago

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FP Jones/Andrew’s Family/Riverdale imagines - Oh Dear Part 31

A/N: It’s been a while but as we come to the final chapters of this series I’d just like to say thank you to all those who have supported me throughout this series.

MASTERLIST LINK (HERE)

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

This chapter: Based on season 2 episode 19 - With the Black Hoods return, there’s a buzz in the air, a buzz of fear, a tension that looms between everyone.

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

Word count: 3,448

Warnings: underage drinking, strong language

Recap of the series:

You are Archie’s older sister and with the pressure of college looming and the trouble of having to be the perfect daughter for Fred after your Mom left, you fall into the world of FP Jones. Crushing on him since forever you never dreamt that the older man would also harbour feelings now that you are older. Leaving behind your perfect world of straight A’s and cheerleading you have focused on trying to help FP overcome his alcoholism and bring his son back to him. This leads to a romance blossoming and you joining the Serpents to be closer to the older man and the Southside. But a relationship like yours doesn’t come without complications and hardships especially in a town like Riverdale with murder, prison time, gang rivalry, civil war, statues losing their heads and Penny Peabody. Things seem to get worse everyday and that’s when the black hood appears; targeting ‘sinners’ and what’s worse than a young girl being ‘corrupted’ by an older man, sex, bikes and becoming a gang member.

Being the older sister also meant having to watch out for Archie. With Hiram Lodge returning to town, Archie is dragged into the family business as he dates Hiram’s favourite daughter. Getting involved with Archie’s affairs meant Hiram also trying to use you against your will. Blackmail and threats from the man manipulate you to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. After occupying indecent photos of you and FP together and with the information that you’re a Serpent, Hiram felt no guilt using that against you to go against your own family,

However, when your father runs for mayor against the Lodge’s, Hiram uses one of his many minions to out the fact you’re a Serpent to your dad live on television. The light of this knowledge and the discovery of your Serpent jacket leads to high tensions not only between you and Fred but Fred and FP as well.

You decide to leave your childhood home and move in with FP and Jughead but something has seemed off over the past week or so and when the school musical rolls around, you understand why.

FP still has feelings for Alice Cooper and his conflicted emotions between the two of you leads to heartbreak as you observe him watch Alice and Hal together at the musical’s opening night.

Nevertheless, there are bigger problems to face as the supposedly dead Blackhood has returned, leaving a dead body and a bloody message on the set of ‘Carrie the Musical’ leaving you scared for not only yourself but FP and your father who the Blackhood failed to kill the first time round...

Now: S2 E19

Everything seemed to pass in a blur after the opening night of the musical. Midge’s funeral rolled around quickly and it didn’t shock you to the amount of people who attended. She was a popular girl and the way she died was horrific.

You stood beside Jughead and FP as the funeral commenced. You were trying to avoid eye contact with your father, it was the first time you had seen Fred since you moved out, since the night of the musical.

You laid down the rose you held in your hand on top of her casket as Cheryl stood with her Vixen and sang for Midge.

You desperately wanted to reach out and hold FP’s hand but you knew you couldn’t with so many people around but with the murder fresh in everyone’s minds you almost forgot that you were upset with FP.

As the funeral came to an end, you rushed after your brother and his friends. You wrapped your arm around his waist and ducked under his arm as you walked. You were worried about Archie, he used to be so obsessed with the Black Hood that you feared the obsession would now return. You just hoped it didn't end with him being buried alive again.

“Have you spoken to Dad?” Arch asked you quietly.

“No.” You admitted, looking down at your feet for a second to avoid Archie’s disappointed reaction.

You felt Archie stand still and you rose your head to see the Sheriff approach Mrs. Klump.

You could almost hear the remark inside Veronica’s head that this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Mrs. Klump?” Sheriff Keller sped up to catch Midge’s mother who walked arm-in-arm with Cheryl Blossom. “I just wanted you to know that the Sheriff Department is working around––”

Keller was shortly cut off by Mrs. Klump’s palm connecting with his cheek. You had to refrain from gasping at the assault.

“You were supposed to be protecting our children.” Mrs. Klump hissed, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”

You watched Mrs Klump walk off but Cheryl stay behind, you couldn’t quite hear what she was saying but you didn’t doubt it was anything less than a threat or a rich insult.

“I better get going.” You pulled away from Archie as Kevin ran up to his father to see if he was okay.

“Please speak to Dad. He’s worried about you.” Archie frowned as you started backing away.

“I’m sorry, Arch.” You sighed as you dug your hands in your pocket. You drove FP here since you thought it was too dangerous to ride his bikes in weather this bad so you knew he’d be waiting for you. Jughead refused the ride since he wanted to go to Pop’s with Betty and your brother after the funeral.

“(Y/N)!” You heard your fathers voice behind you as you were making your way towards your car.

You slowed as you heard him running to catch you up.

“Dad.” You turned to face him but it took everything in your power not to run away.

“Look, (Y/n), I want you back in the house.” He started,

“Dad, can’t we talk about this another time?” You tried pushing your way out of this conversation but Fred refused to give up.

“No, I want to talk about it now.” You noticed Fred’s eyes flicker past your head to wear FP was stood. “I don’t like you living on the Southside with everything that’s going on at the moment.”

You didn’t respond. You just waited to hear what else he wanted to say.

“With what happened with Midge, I just want to know you’re safe. I can’t have both you and Archie out the house all the time, at least with Archie I see him get home in the evenings––”

“I am safe.” You interrupted him. “I’m with Jughead and FP at Sunnyside. I have the Serpents and we protect our own. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Safety in numbers?” Fred scoffed, “Look how many people were at Pop’s the morning I was shot. Look how many people were at the high school when Midge was murdered and nailed to a wall.”

“I’m not coming home.” You stood your ground as Fred grew more irritated with you. “You can’t accept who I am. I can’t live in a house where I’m looked at with disgust.”

“I can’t accept who you are? (Y/n), the Serpents are everything they’re made out to be. You’re falling into a life of crime and danger. You have everything at your finger tips, a good college, a secure future and you’re throwing it away for a leather jacket and some so-called-friends?” Fred seemed to have snapped.

You shook your head and stuck your tongue into your cheek.

“I’ll see you later, Dad.” You retorted, shaking your head as your turned on your heels.

“Everything alright?” FP asked as you pulled out your car keys.

“Just peachy.” You grumbled, unlocking your car for the man to climb in.

You didn’t speak to FP the whole ride back to Sunnyside. You just listened to music and the sound of your windscreen wipers when the snow landed on your car. He knew you needed space.

You switched off your car engine as you pulled into the driveway but you didn’t exit the car just yet.

“You coming in?” FP asked, his brow furrowed as you didn’t move.

“I think I might go for a drive. Clear my head.” You told him, not looking towards him as you spoke.

“Alright.” FP pressed his lips into a thin line. “Don’t be too late.” He placed his hand on your thigh but you refused to react.

FP took the hint and left the car, heading into his trailer.

You sighed and leant your head forward onto your steering wheel. Why did things have to get so much more complicated?

You found yourself outside your childhood house after leaving Sunnyside. You wanted to talk to Archie. You were genuinely worried for your dad but it wasn't the right time for you to be back in the house. No matter how much you clashed heads at the moment, you knew he was the one in most danger. After all, he was the first one who came to mind when you asked yourself who escape the Black Hood.

You spotted the deputy outside your house staring at you and so you left. You headed to the White Wyrm for a while. You didn’t know where else to go, you didn’t want to be at the trailer alone with FP right now. You couldn’t believe that was something you could of ever thought but things weren’t right and with the Black Hood’s return it was best to keep your distance.

You didn't return to Sunnyside until late and fortunately Juggy was home which meant no alone time with FP.

The next day you had to return to school. You spent the whole day inside your own head, your thoughts getting the best of you.

“Veronica, have you seen Archie today?” You raced after the younger girl as she made her way to the cafeteria.

“No, I was going to ask you the same thing. He hasn’t been responding to my texts.” She looked equally worried as you felt.

“Weird. I’ll head home after school, I finish early due to free periods anyway and see if he’s there.” You had a bad feeling about this but then again he could be working for Hiram and not wanting to tell Ronnie. Hiram was also going behind people’s backs so you wouldn't be surprised if Archie was picking up the bad habit.

You rushed home after school and knocked on the door.

“Is Archie home?” You asked as soon as your dad opened the door.

“No, he hasn’t come back yet. He left this morning for school. Why?” He seemed slightly surprised that uni were on his doorstep but the question about Archie made him suspicious.

“No reason. I just wanted to talk to him, he’s probably at Veronica’s. Don’t worry. Bye.” You tried to end the conversation quickly so you could get back to the car.

You rang Archie but it went straight to voicemail.

“Archie, where are you? I’m worried. Call me.” You left a message before hanging up and texting Veronica that he wasn’t at home.

You didn’t receive a response from Veronica until an hour later whilst you were working to say Archie’s called her and it’s fine but you couldn’t help but feel like she was hiding something. You tried calling Archie again but he didn’t pick up.

“Come on, Archie.” You muttered as you rang him again.

“(Y/n)?” Pop called your name from out front and your tucked your phone away.

“Sorry, Pop’s.” You apologised for making him wait as you picked up the empty. plates and glasses from around the tables in the diner.

Another hour and a half went by and the lack of response from Archie was driving you up the wall.

“Pop, is it okay if I leave early today? I’m really not feeling well.” You made up some excuse to leave your shift unfinished and go investigate where the hell your baby brother has gotten to.

Pop reluctantly gave in as you did work more shifts than you were contracted to anyway and it was more than clear something was bothering you.

You headed to the trailer park so you could grab your phone charger and change out of your work uniform since you had spilt half a milkshake on your skirt when you heard your phone go off earlier but it was only from Toni asking if you’d be around the Wyrm later.

When you got to Sunnyside, you noticed a car in your usual parking space. You pulled up behind in and that’s when you noticed FP’s door was open.

You felt your heart drop down into your stomach as you slowly approached the steps to the trailer.

Inside, you could see FP.

FP and Alice Cooper.

FP has his arms wrapped tightly around Alice as she cried into his arms. It reminded you of all the times you’d been in her place.

You took a step backwards, your whole body felt as heavy as stone. A stick on the earth beneath your feet gave away your presence as FP looked over to you through the door.

His stare seemed to send a shock wave through you and sent you flying towards your car with tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. You backed out of your spot and left Sunnyside in the dust.

You tried calling Archie again.

“Pick up... Pick up.. Pick up! Fuck!” You grew more annoyed with every ring and eventually threw your phone into your passenger seat. A car horn startled you as you started to drive onto the wrong side of the road, your eyes shot up to the car in front of you and you swerved off the road onto the grass, missing a tree by an inch.

Your car let out an ugly sound as steam gushed out of the hood. You let the tears fall from your eyes as you rolled your head back against your seat, your knuckles turning white form the grip you had on the steering wheel.

FP pulled Alice into his arms as she broke down in front of him. He was shocked to say the least with all the information that fluttered out of Alice’s mouth.

There was a sharp snap at the door and FP’s eyes met yours.

He saw the hurt flush your face before you ran off.

He knew he couldn’t chase after you, not with Alice in the state she was in. You’d have to wait. As much as he didn’t want to leave you upset, he had more pressing matters to deal with.

Alice pulled away, slightly calmer now and explained more about Chic. He was tied up in Alice’s basement at that current moment and flashbacks about Jason Blossom and the drug dealer from before tortured him. He wasn’t going to let Jughead be dragged into this. Not the way he was with Jason Blossom.

FP scooped up his phone and jacket as Alice waited for him to get ready to return to her house, he took a second to look at his phone but no messages from you appeared.

“Come on.” FP placed his hand on Alice’s back and ushered her out the door. He couldn’t let you affect him right now but he knew he’d hurt you and it hurt him. After everything you’d done for him, the past week or so had been torturous as he fought with himself and his feelings.

You had managed to stop crying when you finally decided to call a tow truck. Your phone was almost dead, you still hadn’t heard from Veronica or Archie.

It was dark now. You managed to get out of the car, taking a half empty bottle of whiskey with you which you had forgot about as it sat on your back seat.

You tugged your Serpents jacket tightly around you as you sat on the hood of your car which had fortunately stopped steaming a while ago.

You’d almost finished the bottle by the time you saw headlights approach you.

“Need a ride?” It was Sweet Pea.

You shook your head.

“Tow truck should be here any second now.” You raised your wrist your to nose to wipe it with your sleeve.

“You alright?” Sweet Pea could see your smudged mascara from a mile off even in the dark.

“Peachy.” You lied. Sweet Pea sent you a look of sympathy just as the tow trucks headlights made an appearance.

“Sure you don’t want that ride? I’m heading back to Sunnyside anyway.” Sweet Pea stuck around as the tow truck hooked your car up to take it to the garage.

“I don’t want to go back to FP’s.” You openly admitted.

“Then don’t. There’s spare trailers at Sunnyside, you know. But you can’t just stay here.” Sweet Pea offered you his spare helmet and after a short pause you decided to take it.

He drove you back to the trailer park and you noticed FP’s trailer had no lights on. No one was home. Perfect timing.

You unlocked the door and grabbed your bag, throwing in your clothes and belongings.

You heard the trailer door behind you open as you rushed around the trailer.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Jughead was the first one to enter, he looked at you with a look of confusion as you piled your things together.

“I’m leaving.” You admitted. “Tonight.”

“Hey, woah, woah...” FP entered behind Jug and tried taking hold of the bag in your hand. “Let’s talk about this.”

“You’re going home?” Jughead asked, referring to the Andrews residence.

“There’s an empty trailer on the other side of the trailer park. I work enough to afford rent, I’ll be out of your boys way.” You tugged the bag away from FP, trying your hardest not to look him in the face afraid you’ll start tearing up again.

“This late at night? Just stay until the morning. We can help you tomorrow.” FP tried his best to get you to stay.

“No. I’m leaving tonight.” You refused to change your mind, flinging your hair up into a pony tail to get it out of your face.

“Well, let us help you now.” Jughead moved to get some bedding from the cupboard and faced you with a sincere look upon his face.

“It’s fine, Jug.” You tried to take the bedding from him but he stepped backwards and headed towards the door.

You figured it was easier to not resist the help from Jughead as he helped you take your stuff to the trailer across the park.

“Where’s your car?” Jughead asked as you lugged the stuff over on foot.

“Engine problems.” You said, not lying entirely but not telling the whole truth.

“Look, (Y/N), I don’t know what’s happened for you to suddenly want your own space but you can talk about it, you know?” Jughead almost made you smile with how much he was trying.

“There’s just a lot going on right now, Jug.” That’s all he was going to get from you that night and he took the hint.

“Right, I’ll come round with some cereal tomorrow, I doubt you had the time to food shop with this impromptu move.” Jughead said lightheartedly,

“Goodnight Jug.” You walked him to the front door and closed it as he returned to his own home.

It wasn’t long after he left that you had a knock on the door.

“Jug, whatever it is, I don’t need it tonight––” You opened the door to see it wasn't Jughead at all.

“Do you really think it’s a smart move to be living alone right now?” FP had a face of fury as he stood on the outside of your trailer.

“Goodnight FP.” You went to close the door on him only for his hand to stop you as he forced his way into your trailer, closing the door behind him.

“Don’t shut me out, girl.” FP warned you.

“Shut you out? That’s rich.” You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest.

“In case you forgot, there’s a murderer on the loose. Killing victims he believes have sinned.” FP ignored your remark,

“Actually it's kind of hard to forget that when that same murderer tried to kill my own father.” You snapped back.

“(Y/n), what are you doing?” FP sighed, gesturing to the trailer around you.

“Giving you space. Giving me space. Every time I look at you, I see you with Alice Cooper or looking at Alice Cooper or at Alice Cooper’s house! All I have done is be there and I don’t want to be there anymore if Alice is there too.” You thought you sounded ridiculous. Like a school girl crushing on her teacher who she couldn’t have.

“Alice? Alice?! Alice came to me earlier because she told me that she kept our kid back from high school and that our kid had died! She blames herself for it. How can I just turn her away when she’s told me that?!” FP argued.

“I’m not just talking about earlier!” You exasperate. “It’s constant.” You almost laughed with the pain filling your chest. “I can’t compete. I’m over here following you around like a little puppy dog, thinking you share the same feelings for me but Alice! Alice will always have her claws stuck into you. Meanwhile, I’m just a stupid girl who got her hopes up too high...” You weren’t aware of the tears now leaving your eyes but FP felt a pang in his gut at the sight of you like this.

“You think I would be risking everything if I didn’t have feelings for you?! Risking losing my son again? Risking my future in this town?” FP couldn’t believe what he was hearing from you. Of course he had feelings for you!

“Exactly! I’m a risk! I’m a problem! Something we have to hide. With Alice, you wouldn’t be risking anything.”

“God, girl...!” FP threw his hands up in frustration and tried to refrain from hitting the side of the trailer. “Alice is married! Her daughter is dating my son! Yes, we have a history, yes I care about her but I care about you! Hell, I care about you a lot more than I care about most people.” FP didn’t hold back, he didn’t want to lose you but you just seemed to be blocking out everything he was saying.

“Please just go.” You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. “Please.”

“(Y/n)––” FP started,

“FP. Please.” You opened your glassy eyes as you pleaded.

FP ran his hand over his head as he turned to leave, all he wanted to do was make things right again.

You waited until the trailer door closed completely before you sank down the wall and burrowed your face against your knees; tears freely flowing.

Your phone, which was on charge in the kitchen suddenly buzzed with your ringtone, you got up and picked up the phone.

“Archie?” You asked, relieved that his caller ID finally came up.

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

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

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

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

(PART 32)

TAG LIST (TAGS ARE CLOSED)

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rose-wine-selfships · 4 years ago

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Kanji: 栗主帝納阿美礼

Romaji: Kurisutiina Abira

Also known as: Counselor-san (Atsushi)

The ADAs Sweetheart (general)

The Golden Siren (BEAST Novel)

Personal information

Birthday: August 9 (Leo)

Age: 21 (first appearance)

25 (currently)

Gender: Demi-female

Height: 157 cm

Weight: 73 kg

Blood Type: AB

Likes: Drawing, music, cooking, belly dancing, helping others

Dislikes: Insects, her past, lying, her loved ones fighting,

Professional Information

Status: Alive

Ability: Corazón de Oro/Heart of Gold

Occupation: Counselor

House worker (formerly)

Affiliation: Armed Detective Agency

The Guild (formerly)

Appearances

Manga Debut: Chapter 5

Anime Debut: Episode 2

Appearance:

Christina has fair skin, long curly dark brown hair, and a short height with a voluptuous build. She wears dark red half moon glasses to cover her freckles upon her nose as well as her eyes. She wears a minimal amount of makeup given she has a fair portion of natural beauty, so she feels no need to hide her best features. She wears pink eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner, and a dark pink lipstick. Her outfit mainly consists of a beige sweater with an pink undershirt, short white gloves, and purple knee length skirt. She wears a pink scarf, ruby stud earrings, a pink headband with a flower on top, and light pink kitten heels with bows and puffy lace on the back.

When she partially uses her ability, her arms transfigure to shiny gold limbs sharpened into two long spiky blades. In full transformation, she has a golden android appearance, dark golden eyes, a cold metal body, and molten lava-like hair that’s extremely hot to the touch.

Personality:

Kind, cheerful, and one of the most sociable people in the Armed Detective Agency, Christina is happy to welcome people from different backgrounds and adventure with it. Though she is affable and sweet, she can at times, be a little overdramatic and sensitive over things that shouldn’t really matter. She can also be aggressive and stubborn when people push her patience beyond her limit. However, her heart is always in the right place. Born with a literal heart of gold, it always helps her give her best advice and charity to people who need it the most. Hence why she is nicknamed,”The ADA’s Sweetheart”.

She also has self doubt, anxiety, and has a tendency to be too blunt at times. When people do call her out on it, Christina always does her best to try and improve her flaws. She’s very open to constructive criticism and requires it for her job. She is very expressive and open with her emotions, however, she is extremely private when it comes to her past. She will refuse to open up because she is so ashamed of it. Despite her warm personality, she can become easily shy in certain situations.

She gets easily flustered and awkward when forced to lie, gets genuinely complimented, or has a crush on someone. Also, as much as she loves people, she will get mildly claustrophobic around dense crowds and gets panic attacks in the middle of it. Her anxiety is usually triggered from heated arguments, small enclosed spaces, or extreme trauma. She loves anything related to the arts, cooking, music, and cats.

Ability: Corazón de Oro/ Heart of Gold

Christina’s ability allows her shapeshift into various precious metals, mainly gold, making various armor and weapon constructs out of her own body. Her full metal body can also absorb and reflect weaponized blows and conduct electricity under extreme weather conditions, such as violent thunderstorms.

Weapon Constructs- Christina has the ability to change and create her limbs (arms and legs) into tools, objects, weapons, armor, and barriers of varying permanence. She can create any item she imagines and have it put to use immediately.

Currency generation- The ability to generate monetary currency of any kind. She can create any form of currency into existence, ranging from coins, metals, jewels, and notes from any country in the world. This easily makes her the richest ability user in the world, but it comes with a terrible price. It must come out of her body by cutting her veins open. For example, if Christina is to make a few bronze coins, she must make a small (uncomfortable) cut in her palm to generate those coins. If she is to generate a large sum of money, she must bleed it out profusely to make the amount before fainting of blood loss. Making her ability an almost,”Blood money” creation.

Gold Mimicry-She can transform her physical body entirely out of gold. Her full form is highly identical to her original form, aside from being naturally made out of gold; which it still contains her vital organs and can be somewhat vulnerable to attack. Her gold form is malleable, ductile, resistant to corrosion and most other chemical reactions.

Fire hair-Christina has the power to have hair with flaming/volcanic properties. She can control whether she wants her hair to move or not. It’s extremely hot to the touch (and can also be a useful place to roast marshmallows).

Electric Conductivity- She has the ability to conduct electricity. Her ability can conduct electricity through her body, created or not, making her completely immune to electric attacks, no matter the voltage. Christina can also discharge electricity through conductive media (metal, water, etc.).

Weaknesses: Wind and water.

While Christina can resist most forms of corrosion, her form can be extremely susceptible to these elements if left for too long. Her insides will rust and get metal poisoning if she’s left untreated for long periods of time.

Full golden form: Original image can be found here

She is the reason why Fitzgerald rose to power in The Guild. After finding out what Christina’s ability could do, he manipulated her into staying in the organization for years when she was at an extremely low point in her teenage years. Kidnapped against her will and having little contact with her family provided the perfect opportunity to drain her almost of her life essence in his pursuit of wealth. She escaped The Guild at age 19, and laid low for a while before applying for the Armed Detective Agency and worked there for 2 years.

Trivia:

She believes her greatest weakness is giving in to what people think of her and not really speaking up for her wants and needs.

Christina is a Chicana, and is of Mexican-American descent.

She was diagnosed as neurodivergent from an early age, having both Atypical Autism and Attention Deficit Disorder as a little girl.

When she is anxious she will play with her hands or toy with a nearby object to stim. It is a method people with autism use to calm themselves down.

In her early years Christina actually skipped a school grade because of her great intelligence and hard work ethic.

According to her, she is an incredible researcher, and absolutely loves looking up information for hours if she’s interested in the subject enough. In less than an hour, she can recite every single facet of a topic without hesitation.

Her motto is,”Whatever you go through, I’ll stand by you”.

Her ideal type is a shy and kind person.

Her favorite spot in Yokohama is the pier overlook. She loves to come there to relax and look at the sunset.

She enjoys tapping in to her inner feminine and sensual side by belly dancing.

She mainly spends her free time visiting Café Uzumaki and singing opera on open mic nights. Christina claims she is very proud of her strong soprano voice.

She is an avid fan of cats big and small. But her favorite cat is a tiger, and is quite fond of the Toyger cat breed because it looks like a mini tiger to her.

She is NOT a morning person, and will become almost “zombie-like” until she gets her coffee order ahead of time.

Thank you for looking at this!~🌹🍷✨

#pinkprophetposts #rose posts #bungou stray dogs #bsd #freehand drawing #traditional art #atsutina #christina avila #bsd s/i #self insert x canon #updated profile #faux manga profile #its canon in my opinion #👍#corazon de oro #heart of gold #ability #my art

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years ago

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Anonymous asked: Like many from across the pond in the USA I have been astonished at the amazing story of Captain Tom Moore who at the age of 99 years old walked back and forth across his garden to raise a fantastic amount of money for your national health service (NHS) and into the hearts of your nation. It’s the kind of eccentricity we love about the British. The British media referred to him as Captain Tom Moore so as a former army veteran yourself I wanted to know do you get to use your officer rank after you retire from the British Army? Did you keep your rank after you did your time?

For those who don’t know who Captain Tom Moore is let me briefly recap. On 6 April 2020, at the age of 99, Captain Tom Moore - an army veteran of the Second World War - began to walk around his garden in aid of NHS Charities Together during the COVID-19 pandemic, with the goal of raising £1,000 by his 100th birthday. By 26 April he had raised over £29 million. He quickly became a popular household name in the United Kingdom generating much interest in his life story, and earned a number of accolades. After the his amazing feat, he featured in a cover version of the song “You’ll Never Walk Alone” with proceeds going to the same charity. The song topped the UK music charts and made him the oldest person to ever achieve a UK number one. At present there are plans to celebrate his 100th birthday with the honour of a RAF flypast and a postmark. There is also public pressure for the Queen to knight him - a worthy honour indeed.

I would use many superlatives to describe what Captain Tom Moore’s did - heroic, marvellous, and bloody brilliant comes to mind - but one thing I would never call what he did is eccentric. There is nothing eccentric in his outstanding example. Rather I think it typifies the British character to a tee. I think the way the British people have responded to Captain Tom Moore’s heroic example is partly indicative of how the British still like to see themselves in a time of acute crisis. His example rightly inspires many and reminds us of who we are too. Forgive me but my intent is not to sound too jingoistic because I’m also broadly impressed with how the French have responded to this crisis (since I live in Paris) with being good and helpful neighbours and showing grace and easy humour; indeed every night at 8pm sharp we residents all over France faithfully clap from our open windows and balconies in support of front line workers. The French, like the wonderful singing Italians and the other Europeans, have their own strength of character to get through this awful pandemic.

Perhaps it may sound corny to some but to me it gives me faith that even as Britain has gone through a bitter fight over Brexit and our uncertain place in the world I know that when disaster strikes us all with our backs are against the wall we come together. We don’t panic. We just get on with it with little fuss. Keep calm and carry on is more than a meme. If you don’t believe me Captain Tom Moore’s example is one of many people from all walks of life doing what they can to raise money for charity. There are so many people who have taken the creative initiative to do what they can to raise money for the work of our amazing front line workers (doctors and nurses and support staff). Some are doing online challenges - push ups or squats for charity. I know of many veterans who have responded to the call to come back and support the NHS. My eldest brother, a veteran, has been a volunteering with Team Rubicon UK, a military veteran charity, who are now helping to co-ordinate other veteran volunteers to use their skills to support hospitals in the logistics of delivery of medical and food supplies. There are so many mini-Captain Tom Moore’s out there. It’s heart warming.

And so to your question.

Do British military veterans keep their rank after they leave or retire? It’s complicated. There’s no legal reason why they can’t, but the more junior the officer rank, the more gauche and pretentious doing so it is perceived as.

In the old days - according to my grandfather who was a very senior officer in the army - customs were dictated by social class. A commissioned officer such as Lieutenant was considered to be a Gentleman and therefore allowed to use two titles: either ‘Mister’ or ‘Lieutenant’. The rank of Gentleman is considered to be socially superior and so Subalterns (2nd and 1st Lieutenants) were generally referred to as Mr Smith, rather than Lt Smith, even when they are still serving. Once they left the Army these junior officers would drop their socially inferior rank and go with being addressed as ‘Mister’. If an officer became a Captain then he was considered equal in rank to an Esquire and so a Captain was never addressed as ‘Mister’. But using the title Captain after leaving the army was also seen as gauche and so many didn’t - unless others showed them that due deference rather than they insisting upon it.

When we get to the more senior ranks the customs change. Senior field officers like a Major or Colonel were allowed to use their rank after they retired. You quite often found a Maj (Ret’d) Smith, for example, working for a military charity or writing angry letters to the Daily Telegraph or the Times or even more popularly turning up in a Agatha Christie drawing room murder mystery.

When an officer becomes a General officer - from Brigadier (one star general) onwards to Field Marshal - they retain their rank in retirement from the army because they really have earned it.

So all this old school but I think the the rule of thumb used today is that anyone using their rank below the rank of Major is considered bad form.

These days almost no ex-officer retires from the world of work. No one really gives up work and becomes a pensioner, pottering about in the garden or playing golf. Many of course move into a second career, where it simply is not the custom to be addressed by your rank in your new civilian place of work. I suppose an exception might be the private security and defence industry where rank is a signifier of experience and professional competence.

I know I have never used my officer rank in my civilian life as I don’t think it’s socially appropriate nor advantageous to do so in my line of work (no one would frankly care). Of course it comes up in social settings or when I’m entertaining corporate clients but I swat it aside as quickly as it’s raised by downplaying it. I feel genuine embarrassment because even if they are ignorant of this military etiquette faux pas, I am not - and that bothers my conscience.

In the village my parents live there is a retired brigadier and retired general and everyone, including myself, have gone out of our way to address them as such out of respect.

In the building I live here in Paris one of my French neighbours who lives below me is a retired highly decorated army general. I always address him as ‘mon Général’ out of deference.

He has crusty aristocratic manners and can come across as a fussy old fart. He’s a widower and a proud old soldier seasoned in the bloodiest of wars. He’s not easy to warm to but the effort is worthwhile.

I volunteered to get him his food shopping during this pandemic and at first he was too proud to ask but I persisted. And he’s very particular about his food and so I have to trek to particular boutique shops to satisfy his gourmand palate.

He scowled in polite disapproval when I told him I was in the army and saw action as he’s old school and doesn’t believe women should serve on the front line. But gradually I have been winning him over. I sometimes cook for him or he cooks for me and we chat about military history and politics and we play chess regularly (whilst respecting social distance). We have big disagreements about certain battles or military campaigns for instance but he respects that I can hold my ground….until he pulls rank on me when he’s clearly backed into a corner (!) but again out of deference I let him have the last say as I bow down to ‘mon Général’.

It’s interesting to note that Princess Anne’s former husband Captain Mark Phillips was often derided for choosing to use his military rank in civilian life. But I’ve been told by Donkey Walloper** officer friends that cavalry etiquette is unique to their horsemen heritage and so it was common for Cavalry officers to keep their rank into retirement.

Now to get back to Captain Tom Moore. He has never served in the Cavalry regiments because as I understand it he served with the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment and later with the Royal Armoured Corps. So I suspect the newspaper media were ignorant of the existing etiquette and basically mainstreamed his veteran status and labelled him as Captain Tom Moore. No harm no foul as they say. Because in my book after his walking heroics he can call himself whatever he likes. Truth be told I hope he does get knighted because he is deserving of it.

Thanks for your question.

**Donkey Wallopers is the nickname of cavalry regiments.

#ask #question #army rank #title #rank #british army #army #cavalry #personal

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brindaneer · 4 years ago

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Inspiration and positivity are what the entire human race is in dire need of during these uncertain times. The present blog acquires additional importance for us because the film it deals with is possibly one of the most motivational motion pictures produced by the Hindi movie industry in the past few years. Penned by the inimitable Javed Akhtar, and directed by Farhan Akhtar, Lakshya showcased the progression of Karan Shergil from an aimless, albeit good-hearted soul drifting through life into a dutiful officer of the Indian Army. Karan's path of self-discovery was not merely an entertaining watch; it was also about the vital role that initiative and determination could play in our lives. Thrown in the midst of a world pandemic after a hundred years, most of us have lost these amazing qualities up to some degree at least, which is probably why pondering over this film in particular seems to be a productive job at the moment. Ironically, a film that several people have drawn inspiration from over the years (people had actually joined the Army after watching Lakshya) had been declared a 'box-office flop' during the time of its release. In that aspect, Lakshya resembles classics like Kaagaz ke Phool, Mera Naam Joker, Pakeezah, Jane Bhi Do Yaaron, and Andaaz Apna Apna, all of which failed to take the box-office by storm, but went on to obtain cult status among viewers later. Astounding? Definitely. Great films sometimes fail financially without rime or reason and unfortunately, the same fate befell Lakshya.

At its core, Lakshya was Karan's story and not a war film. The war and Indian Army provided a perfect setting for Karan to find his true calling. Nevertheless, intricacies of the Kargil war along with the destruction, desolation and pain that accompanied it, and which are also inevitably associated with all international armed conflicts in general, were far from being neglected in the story. A great writer is able to strike a balance between various dimensions of a plot without compromising on his actual intention, and who better than the legendary Javed Akhtar to achieve that? He was complimented by his talented son, the captain of this ship, who ably steered the film into a direction his father had envisaged while writing the script. Karan's metamorphosis from a lazy, casual college-going boy, perpetually confused about what he really wanted to do with life into a mature and responsible man was laced with humour and drama in equal measure, a strategy Farhan had previously employed while depicting Akash's journey in the epic 'Dil Chahta Hai'. Yet, the real genius lay in how different these two journeys actually were. Nobody could accuse Farhan of repeating what he had already done in his debut directorial venture.

Moments such as Karan listing his engagements of the day to Romi's (Preity Zinta) father upon being asked about his future plans in life and then literally hijacking that man's opinion on the importance of giving the best, no matter what the job was, to pacify his own father were examples of the witty humour we were talking about earlier. Of course, the actors took these scenes to a different level altogether. Hrithik’s delivery of ‘Main ye sochta hoon Dad’ after Karan had just rattled the ‘achcha ghaas kaatnewala’ lecture, and Boman Irani’s (Karan’s strict father) poker faced ‘Thik sochte ho’ in return have never failed to elicit roars of laughter from viewers till date. This wit pervaded most of the film’s first half as Karan continued his antics- the expression of his eternal confusion through the iconic ‘Main Aisa Kyun Hoon’ (apart from displaying Hrithik’s insane dancing skills through the choreography of the one and only Prabhu Deva, this sequence also aptly conveyed Karan’s inherent dilemmas), his decision of joining the Army only because another friend had promised he would come too, his disappointment upon being dumped by that friend, his ‘unconventional’ marriage proposal to Romi and his characteristic callousness as well as indolence even during his stint at the IMA were hilarious to say the least. Hrithik’s comic timing was pitch perfect in every scene, and perfectly suited for the nuanced, elegant genre of comedy that the script had aimed at.

Just when we thought Lakshya was a hoot, Farhan introduced the dramatic element in it; and he did so with such subtlety and ease that the ensuing sequence of events seemed to be the only natural course for the film to take. The scene where Karan fell into the pool by sheer unmindfulness during one of his drills and got punished by his commanding officer was somehow able to generate a strange mixture of sympathy as well as laughter amongst the audience and proved to be one of the watershed moments in Karan’s story. Hrithik’s masterful portrayal of humiliation as Karan knelt in front of his fellow cadets engendered such palpable discomfort within us the first time that re-watching it remains difficult even now.

The Karan that emerged on the other side of this event was somewhat different. Staying true to his fickle-minded nature, he jumped the wall of IMA and fled home. Nevertheless, regret could clearly be observed on his countenance as he sat with his parents, head bowed in shame, forced to accept defeat in front of his father- a man, who had always underestimated him. The grievance in his eyes upon over-hearing Mr. Shergill's unfavourable opinion of him hinted not only towards Karan's underlying strong ego, but also revealed his latent desire to prove himself. The hurt ego, along with his heart, was eventually completely shattered when the one person who had genuinely believed in him refused to be a part of his life anymore. Romi, played by Preity Zinta with her usual vivacity and boldness, broke up with Karan at the same place where she had once agreed to marry him because he had failed to live up to even her expectations. For Karan, someone who had probably harboured feelings of inferiority ever since childhood because of incessant comparisons with his brother, this became the ultimate betrayal. As viewers, it was our interpretation that he never really understood Romi’s point of view; he only attributed one primary meaning to her actions- her belief in his worthlessness. Looking at this entire sequence from a neutral perspective, one might say that both Karan and Romi deserved some empathy from each other. Karan’s lack of conviction in everything he did naturally upset Romi to a point where she could not imagine spending the rest of her life with him. Can we really blame her? As far as Karan was concerned, he had to bear rejection from someone, who, he had hoped, would never judge him like his dad. Before this, he had been able to bear the brunt of his father's expectations because of the security that his relationship with Romi provided him. However, when she pushed him away, he truly hit bare ground, with no one to break the fall. The scene that followed the break-up will possibly remain one of the best pieces of emotional acting in Hrithik’s career forever. As easy as it might seem, crying your heart out on screen can actually be very difficult in practice. Hrithik obviously nailed the sobs, but more importantly, he conveyed his character’s rancour towards Romi most effectively through the unspoken hurt in his eyes, thereby suitably justifying the transition Karan would undergo next.

With no comfort zone left for him to turn to, Karan did what his parents, especially his father, and Romi had always wanted him to do. He grew up. He could have sulked like a petulant child and continued to live a directionless life like he had done previously. Instead, he chose to prove himself to Romi and made that his life’s goal. Ironically, Romi had disapproved when he insisted on joining the army earlier because she felt he was doing it to rebel against his father. But this was a different Karan. He was not rebelling anymore. He was trying to show Romi that he could be much more than what everyone thought about him. Sub-consciously, it was not just she who was the reason for this transformation; rather, it was both his dad and her.

Karan’s second stint at the IMA provided viewers with some of the finest moments in the film. His dedication towards learning and training, initial isolation and finally, amalgamation into the student community were fascinatingly depicted through the brilliant title song ‘Haan yahi rasta hai tera, tune ab jana hai, Haan yahi sapna hai tera, tune pehchana hai, tujhe ab ye dikhana hai......Roke tujhko aandhiyaan, ya zameen aur aasmaan, payega jo lakshya hai tera....Lakshya ko har haal mein paana hai’. Now, let us take a brief moment to acknowledge the terrific music by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy which truly set the mood for the film. This song in particular struck a chord with us because of the simplicity and eloquence with which it expressed the inherent message of the story. The picturization was top-notch with several nuances throughout. Few moments stand out even now such as Karan passionately screaming ‘Dhawa’ during his drill, something he had been completely casual about earlier, Hrithik’s unflinching eye-contact with the CO who had previously punished him indicating that Karan was a changed man now, and Karan’s increasing camaraderie with his batch mates.

The song was followed by two important sequences, superb for the understated nature in which they expressed first Karan’s unspoken resentment towards his father, and then, his blatant grievance against Romi. In the first, Karan’s mother informed him that his dad had wanted to attend his graduation ceremony but could not ultimately, and in the second, Karan himself called Romi to inform her that he was finally a lieutenant of the Indian Army. At this point of time, talking about Hrithik’s acting probably seems redundant. So, we apologize for the redundancy (What? Did you think we would stop talking about it? 😱😱). Karan’s casual brushing away of his mother’s statement about Mr. Shergill conveyed volumes about how he had ceased to expect anything from his father; it also revealed the disappointment he felt, courtesy of Hrithik’s amazingly layered performance. Similarly, his delivery of ‘Saare faisle tum nahin kar sakti Romi’ was spot-on. It was optimally hurtful, just like it was supposed to be.

As his job brought Karan to Kargil, Ladakh, and he met his commanding officer, Colonel Damle, played to usual perfection by the enigmatic Mr. Bachchan who managed to captivate the audience completely during the few brief moments he had in the film, as well as other colleagues, the lines between proving himself to the two important people of his life and finding his true ‘Lakshya’ began to blur. By his own confession, he had never thought about the significance of being an ‘Indian’ until his senior colleague Jalal Akbar (a brilliantly natural Sushant Singh) took him to the border (pretty prophetic that Hrithik himself went on to play a different Jalal Akbar later in his career, right?). In all honesty, a considerable section of the audience probably felt the same too. The stunning Trans-Himalayan locales shot so artistically definitely added to this feeling, although any border area is usually capable of engendering such thoughts. The landscape of Ladakh has a strange haunting quality about it, and that played a substantial role not only in making the film a visual treat but also metaphorically with respect to Karan’s journey.

As he truly began to love his job, Karan realized that he was finally ready to let go of his ego as far as Romi was concerned. Unfortunately, Romi, after a lot of thought, and pining for Karan, had decided to move on with life, much to Karan’s shock and dismay. The scene where he stood outside the venue of her engagement and watched her laughing with her fiance was one of a kind for the lack of melodrama that usually accompanies such sequences. Its speciality lay in the director’s nuanced handling of emotions and the actor’s terrific portrayal of subtle poignancy.

Run down and broken by the trials of his life, Karan returned home to his parents, only to receive news that his leave had been cancelled, and that he was urgently required to return to base. The moment where he bid goodbye to his parents was the first time when his father openly expressed love and concern for him, although not exactly in those words. The visible tension on Mr. Shergil’s face as he lost his cool and asked Karan to tell the complete truth was a testimony to his worry for his son who was about to go to a border area amidst serious disturbances. The part where Karan hugged his mother and left with just an uncomfortable glance towards his dad was another of those amazing subtle moments which characterized Farhan’s direction for this film. Hrithik’s discomfort and Boman Irani’s disappointment were both heart-rending to watch and as a viewer, one really wanted to reach out and give both of them hugs. A special thanks to Farhan and whoever was in charge of casting for signing Boman Irani in this role. Hrithik and his scenes were like mini acting classes that aspiring actors could take tips from.

Sometimes, it is difficult to get on with life, more so after losing one’s love forever like Karan had, but military training had instilled a sense of duty and discipline in him that was impossible to ignore. Of course, he had already begun to find a deeper meaning in his life through his job, especially after spending time with his superiors and colleagues. And, so he marched on. Had Romi seen his sense of responsibility even during a time when his personal life was in turmoil, she would have been proud. However, the realization that this was his true calling was probably yet to come to Karan. It did, in phases as he learnt about the war situation from Colonel Damle, and then embarked upon it.

If two people are destined to meet, even the universe conspires to bring them together. The same thing happened with Karan and Romi as they crossed paths unexpectedly in Kargil, of all places. The scene where they saw each other amidst a convoy of army vehicles is absolute poetry. Kudos to Preity for being so natural with her expressions always; she was brilliant in every scene, and especially here as Romi’s eyes changed from pure surprise on finding Karan there to a subtle melancholy and probably hope ( ?) at the thought of their future interactions. Hrithik, as usual, was spot-on with Karan’s ‘seeing a ghost’ expression as he moved past her, without getting an opportunity to satisfy his curiosity regarding her presence there.

Their next exchanges were laced with intense angst, but not of the typical Bollywood kind, rather much more controlled and nuanced. The part where Karan, after knowing about the demise of his good friend Abir (from the IMA) found his other pal Saket (Abir’s closest friend) venting out at Romi requires special mention because of the seamless manner in which it shifted from a discourse on the necessity and morality of war to a fantastic interaction between the lead couple, their first face-to-face conversation since the break up. It was formal, yet intimate; mundane, yet special; filled with hope for more on Romi’s part, and discomfort as well as suppressed anger on Karan’s. This scene was followed by his a little mean ‘pata nahin’ when Romi asked him if he had decided whether they should meet or not, and his angsty ‘congratulations’ for her engagement. Of course, the poor guy had no idea that she had broken it off after finding out that her fiance who was apparently a highly motivated successful individual was also a narrow-minded chauvinist. The irony of life! Once again, kudos to the genius of Farhan Akhtar. Without even mentioning it, he managed to point out the difference between Karan and Rajeev, and it was clearer than ever why Romi loved Karan. Remember ‘Maine aj tak tum mein koi choti baat nahin dekhi’ ? However, Romi obviously did not explain the truth to Karan. It was truly frustrating at times to see these two souls so much in love with each other, and yet unable to let go of their stubornness. Nonetheless, the frustration could be borne because of the brilliant intensity of their scenes and the wonderful chemistry these two shared. Truly, we do not talk enough about Hrithik and Preity’s amazing on screen bonding. We really should!

Karan eventually found out about Romi’s broken engagement from a letter his best friemd Ashu had sent him a while back. Hrithik’s expression of shock portrayed the extent to which the news had unsettled Karan. Incidentally, just when love had given him a second chance, Karan encountered death more closely than ever. After an initial victory during the first battle (the one in which he had saved the life of a senior officer, and killed opponents for the first time; also possibly the one where he began to realize that serving his country had started becoming his passion), Karan and his battalion were massively defeated in the second and several lives were lost, including his close colleague, Captain Akbar’s. The scene where Akbar succumbed to his injuries in front of his best friend, Dr. Sudhir (played by the late Abir Goswami, may he rest in peace too) who tried desperately to resuscitate him while motivating the gasping man with remarks such as ‘aam khane jana hai na’ can make people cry anytime without manipulating their emotions or forcefully tugging at their heartstrings. In fact, this was true for every battle sequence in Lakshya, which made it one of the best war movies Bollywood had ever made. Notably, the script treated every character with sufficient respect including even the ones who had screen times of just a few minutes. Everyone had a well-crafted story arc, however small it might be but integral to the movie. Most importantly, not for one second did we feel that Karan had taken up the screen space of others.

The best example for this was provided by the great late Om Puri ji, who played the role of Subedar Pritam Singh. Of course, if you have the privilege of casting an actor of his calibre, your can rest assured of the outcome. Acting is at its best when it does not feel like enactment, and not many actors are more natural than Om Puri ji! Appearing on screen for not more than four to five scenes, he delivered some of the most profound dialogues in the film. He explained to Karan how a soldier knew better than anyone about the destructiveness of war; yet he had no other option but to be a part of it. When Karan asked why wars took place, he pointed out that human greed had drawn boundaries upon the earth’s surface and if it were in their hands, men would partition the moon too. How true it rings, especially now. People are actually talking about ‘making life interplanetary’. If it ever happens, countries are going to fight about demarcating territories there.

Moving on! Excuse the length of this blog please! A film like Lakshya has so many subtle intricacies that it becomes impossible to leave out scenes. But don’t be impatient please. We have almost reached the end of our ‘Lakshya’. A few sequences still deserve mention. First, the iconic ‘Tum kehti thi na Romi meri zindagi mein koi lakshya nahin hai?’ The defeat accompanied by the loss of close friends and colleagues had augmented Karan’s determination to win but our hero had also finally discovered his passion, his true calling. In moments when such epiphanies occur, is there anything else left to do other than crying? Probably not. That was exactly what Karan did. As usual, Hrithik’s performance elevated the quality of this scene, like so many others. The part where Karan pledged to Colonel Damle that either he would execute the mission successfully, or he would not come back alive was again equally impactful because of both Hrithik and Mr. Bachchan. The way Colonel Damle looked at his officer after this momentous declaration conveyed the immense pride, gratitude and grief he felt at that moment. Truly, Mr. Bachchan needs no dialogues to express emotions. His eyes do it all. And the same is true for Hrithik too.

Now, its time for our favourite scene in the movie. You guys must be thinking that we agree on everything. Well, we do agree a lot, but disagreements occur too. However, there was no disagreement on this one. We think its a lot of other people’s favourite too. You are right! We are talking about the scene in which Karan called his dad. This was on the night before the final mission- a mission that was near suicidal. Upon seeing his colleague Vishal take off his engagement ring and put it in an envelope, Karan finally acknowledged what he was running away from; something that he had buried deep down in his sub-conscious- his conflicted emotions towards his father. The knowledge that he might no longer be alive for a resolution made Karan pick up the phone and dial his number. Here is an anecdote in this context. When Boman Irani started shooting for his part in this sequence, Hrithik’s lines were being read by an AD, and Mr. Irani could not get his shot right because he was not able to get the proper feel. Acting is a lot about reacting, and the non-impactful delivery by the AD hampered Mr. Irani’s shot. Finally, the person in charge of the sound came to his rescue and Hrithik’s dialogues were played in audio (Hrithik’s part had already been shot by then) to which Boman Irani reacted. And what an outcome. This is the true mark of a great actor; he not only excels himself but helps others soar too. And what an honour to have helped an ace actor like Boman Irani! The performances by both in this scene were superlative and manage to leave us with lumps in our throats even today.

In his first ever heart-to-heart with his dad, Karan confessed that he had always disappointed his father and told him that he was aware of it. In return, his dad who initially had thought Karan had called his mom, finally told him how proud he was of him. A salute and heartfelt gratitude to all the parents out there who send their children to serve in the security forces so that civilians can live in peace. The smile on his son’s face was proof that he could die happy. The tears in both their eyes expressed the craving they had towards each other; the dejection that Karan had always felt upon being ‘ignored’ by his father was replaced by the understanding that his father had always loved him; the pain on Mr. Shergill’s face portrayed his disappointment for waiting so long to convey his love to Karan- so long that there was a chance he might never see him again.

Having poured his heart out to his dad, Karan finally set out to achieve his Lakshya of recapturing Point 5179 and hoisting the Indian flag on it, but not before a much needed conversation with Romi. What an amazing bond these two shared. Karan did not need to tell her explicitly that he knew about her broken engagement; she did not have to tell him that she still loved him. They just knew. Her ‘to phir main zindagi bhar intezaar karungi’ was far more intense than a conventional ‘I love you’. The beauty of this scene lay in the complete lack of melodrama which one usually associates with Bollywood scenes of this kind. No over the top background score, no hysterics, not even a hug! And the fact that they wanted to hug, but could not (because Karan’s seniors were waiting) made this moment even more poignant. Hrithik and Preity were the epitomes of subtlety here. The frustration of not even being able to touch each other before Karan left for a life threatening assignment was so tangible that even the audience imbibed it. Seriously, why did not Hrithik and Preity work more? They were so attuned to even each other’s silences!

The final mission proved the truth of Romi’s words. ‘Jis din usne decide kar liya ki use kya karna hai, aap dekhna wo kahan se kahan pohochta hai’. Indeed, Karan reached the peak of success, literally and metaphorically. The mountain-climbing scene deserves a special mention here. It was so perfectly done that the only comparison that comes to mind is the famous rock-climbing sequence in ‘The Guns of Navarone’ by the iconic Gregory Peck. And in all fairness, Captain Mallory only climbed a cliff; Captain Shergill had to climb a peak of the Trans Himalayas! Jokes aside, both scenes shall forever remain goosebump- inducing. Karan, obviously hoisted the Indian flag, and just in time. Boy, did he make Colonel Damle proud or what?!

Thanks to our friend Mita for this wonderful VM .

There is a saying that everything works out in the end, and if it does not, it is not the end. It indeed did happen that way for Karan. He found his goal, and achieved it too. As he walked out of that elevator, and hugged his dad finally, we surely did feel contented. And who said Mr. Shergill did not know his son? Well, he might have taken time, but now he understood him better than most. When Karan’s mother asked if they could go home, he objected. Go home? What NO! Karan had to go and fulfill his other 'Lakhshya’, right?

How wonderfully thoughtful of Romi to stand at a distance from Karan’s parents, wanting to give them the private space that they needed! Actually, kudos to the director for his sensitivity; such subtlety is not something that we frequently see in Bollywood. So thank God for ‘Lakshya’. Just like Karan’s story ended on a positive note as the camera focussed on him and Romi, holding hands, finally embracing each other, ready to step in to a new chapter of their lives, we also end this blog with a bit of optimism.. Let us all hope and pray that ‘Hum Jeetenge Ye Baazi’ (modifying Javed Akhtar’s line a bit) on behalf of every Indian, and every person in the world dealing with this pandemic.

P.S. This blog is dedicated to all the front-line workers (doctors, nurses, other medical personnel, medical suppliers, delivery executives, grocery storekeepers, and all other emergency personnel) who put their lives in danger everyday so that we may survive. Please know that you are always in our prayers. Also, let us all hope that no one remains shy of masks and vaccines anymore. Those are the most effective ways of countering this virus. Stay safe everyone!

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