#this image was technically made as a cover for a fic i may never post

[hiding-under-the-willow]

"And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Or. In other words. I want everything Abbot built to crumble. Starting with Johnny getting tf out of there.

[fountainpenguin]

I made a proper cover image for my favorite passion project 'fic! Here's a proper Tumblr post to go with it.

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Dog's Life - 3rd Life SMP Fan-Season

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Longfic - In progress - Updates Tuesdays

💚 More Pixels Imperfect series 'fics

💜 Worldbuilding posts + Art posts

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Synopsis: Dog's Life is a 3rd Life SMP fan-season (Drafted before Secret Life) that balances goofy Minecraft gameplay with server hub meta. Life Series shenanigans and interpersonal drama abound in this world of mob hybrids, anarchy players, soul crystals, fantasy politics, glitches, dragons, moral dilemmas, past trauma, and more.

This season's mechanic allows players to steal the traits of the mob they most recently killed. Every player is also assigned a quarry: a fellow player they're allowed to kill to boost themselves up a life. If you kill your quarry while on Green, you're bumped up to Purple life.

Of course, playing in a world of glitchy servers and experimental mods is just asking for trouble. It doesn't take long to realize something is very wrong with this game... And with anarchy players closing in around the "hidden" server hub of New Star Station, it looks like life off-server may not be peaceful much longer, either...

If this 'fic interests you, check it out on AO3!

Also, everyone gets their own character arc! Some of my favorites include:

- Sometimes you lose things you'll never get back and you're gonna have to deal. Sorry about your chronic glitches and/or your irreversible isekai situation; get well soon - Assuming the worst of others will only cause you heartbreak. Hey clock duo? Get some counseling - You can't be best friends with everyone, but everyone can be the best friend to someone. Including nonexistent museum curators or demon robots with a special interest in rustic houses - Setting boundaries is healthy and cool even if you're scared of offending your friends. Especially if they insist on you possessing someone's body - Captain status isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes you CAN get what you're sure you want... but at what cost? 💔

Enjoy! (First 1,000 words under the cut)

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impulseSV - Pre-Game

Grian: impulse Grian: what kind of candles do you want in your summoning circle Grian: the new life series impulseSV: lol impulseSV: ocean mist is good! impulseSV: and bamboo :)

💚  💛  ❤️

Impulse isn't breathing. You wouldn't either, if you were the one flying through the Void. Breathing here will fill your lungs with icy spikes. Yeah, he was technically coded as a demon, his mortal flesh warm with the taste of life, but breathing here still wouldn't be a good idea. It's smarter to free-fall in an exhale. Smarter to suck the empty air through your nostrils (if at all).

The Void smells like frost burn, gunpowder, and the gooey poison of cave spiders all mixed together and baked in a cake of death. It's a small improvement over the steamy sulfur of the Nether, but neither one is a cake you should be eating. While the Void isn't alive, sometimes Impulse hears it huffing at him. If you skim low enough, you can hear saliva crackle as it licks its lips and rumbles, hungry for its prey. It wants you. More than any lover every will, more than any ravager or vex or creeper, and it will crush your lungs if you so much as grant it breath. Impulse has died to it a dozen times, but this won't be one of those days.

It's a wall. It divides this world from other worlds. It will gobble you up and leave a petrified husk behind. Your unmoving body will float a few moments in empty space until the Void spits out your code again beside a bed. Falling out of this world, plunging into the depths of the Void, is one of the fastest deaths there is (right up there with a bad fall that snipes all ten of your hearts in one blow)… but it's the death that always takes the longest to regenerate from. You never hit the ground. There is no sudden snap. It just devours you. It's dangerous and beautiful and Impulse loves it for its mysteries. He wants to grip it in his hands. Run thick streams of it through his fingers. Immerse himself in danger and delight.

The Void will kill him if he spends much longer down here. Even if he holds his breath. And he can't fault it for that. When he's down to the last threads of durability on his elytra, he really shouldn't be skimming this low in the inky darkness. It's either been 15 minutes or an hour of waiting for Grian's call… Both are indistinguishable, the rocket count the only indication that time exists down here under the world at all.

Yet some kind of yearning in his code demands he play the waiting game here… Something raw, something primal, buried deep within his data core.

Question: Why?

Impulse blasts another rocket, arcing upwards. Years of practice keep him from bashing his head straight into the bedrock ceiling, but… Eee, that squeal he made when scraping close wasn't exactly the most manly thing he'd ever done. Skizz would get a giggle out of it and wax poetic about how much he loves those little shrieks, but Skizz isn't here right now. He's off in the mines hunting down a little extra coal. Though he didn't bump his head, Impulse rubs it anyway and gives the bedrock a little kick.

"Mean," he mutters to himself. He should probably stay up here. There's more oxygen near the bedrock. The cold doesn't bite as much. But he dips his elytra and ducks away from the ceiling anyway… mostly because he doesn't trust himself enough not to slip up and punch it with his fist. With ungloved hands, punching it is sure to result in damaged knuckles. His hunger haunches aren't full enough to offer natural regen after that.

Goosebumps blister across his skin. The yawning Void stays empty underneath him. And Impulse, so often steady in his faith… begins to falter. What's going on? He made a schedule. Has recording for the new Life Series already started without him? Maybe Grian told him the wrong date. Or…

Maybe, in spite of last week's chat messages about candles on the Hermitcraft server… Grian forgot that one of his players needs a special invitation to join a new world for the first time. As a demon, it's built inside his code. He needs a circle. His name chanted thrice…

No. Grian won't forget him.

Impulse swoops into the blackness and pulls up like a hummingbird. He juggles double rockets in his offhand. Okay. Okay. His breath slithers out in a silver cloud. Every inhale stabs his lungs. The Void is freezing- really freezing. Do people realize that? It's already eating away his skin like maggots and he hasn't even touched the worst of it. Or is he just crazy? Yeah! Maybe he's gone crazy from spending 15 minutes to an hour straight down here, doing nothing but fly in aimless circles, awaiting a portal that may never come…

The Void feels blacker here in the Overworld, somehow, than it does when you're in the End. It engulfs him in a cloak, and Impulse cannot breathe. The wings of his elytra strain at his shoulder muscles. Oh. He's too low. They're trying to pull away from him, like the pockets flapping from his cargo shorts. The wings are weaving in and out of his code. That's not unusual this close to the Void. The Void is weird like that. It wants to rip him into pieces. It wants to drag him closer. It wants to gobble him up.

Paf! goes half a heart of damage. Paf! Paf!

Ow. Impulse whips his mind back from its wanderings, throwing all his energy into his wing muscles. His elytra strain, but with the help of a rocket, he sails a little higher. His hearts stop flickering. He presses a hand against his chest. Okay… He can still feel six of them beating. He's okay.

Grian won't forget about him. He won't.

[Full 'fic on AO3]

[michaels-blackhat]

the sea beneath, the journey home

day 3/31 of my massive holiday project

for @isakvaltersnake, you didn’t get a RNM fic. This was supposed to be post-canon Gendrya... and it’s there... it’s just not the fluff I set out to write <3

Eventually the coast blurs until it is one with the sky and Arya turns from her family, her home, and focuses on the ship around her. The men are all experienced sailors, all with more experience than her for all that she is technically better traveled, and they know their business. She does not have to worry about directing, about actually captaining her ship.

She breathes in the salt air, a deep breath that feels more like purification than anything else. Out here she cannot smell the fire, the smoke, the burning and rotting flesh of King’s Landing and of the North. Here, surrounded by nothing but the great salt water sea, she can forget about the death and destruction. Here she can forget No One. She can forget the legacy of the Starks. She can forget about it all without forgetting herself. Here, at sea, she can learn how to be.

-

At night the gentle rock of the ship lures her to sleep. She sleeps in a hammock, same as the rest of her men. It swings her as the sea rocks a lullaby. On the wind she hears the great songs, the tales of love and battle the men sing as the dark calls them all to sleep. At night she lays and images a life where the stories were not real, where the frost only nipped and didn’t bring worse than death. She imagines a life like the one her father once promised her- a good husband, a household to run. She imagines a life where she could be content.

The ship gives a lurch and she remembers that life was never one she wanted.

She turns over and turns off her mind. Thinking has never helped her anyway.

-

Two weeks at sea and they do not expect to see anything beyond that. Arya stands at her desk with a map open in front of her. Her navigator stands at her side as they debate the best course. Neither know for sure, any travel to the west has been avoided and Arya did not consult with the remaining Ironborn before she left.

Arya did not consult with anyone beyond the shipwrights and the sailors on the docks. She had not consulted her family, just told them she was leaving.

She never told Gendry she was leaving at all.

“My lady,” her navigator addresses her, “we should reach land within two weeks, if the weather holds.”

She nods her agreement before she turns her attention to her quartermaster.

“And our supplies?”

“They will hold for months, as long as we find fresh water on land, my lady.”

She nods again.

“Then we stay the course,” she says as she rolls up the map. 

-

There is plenty on a ship to keep her mind occupied, but the night wrecks the careful control she has over herself. At night her mind wanders to the far corners of Westeros, to her brothers on opposite ends of the continent, to her sister ruling in the North, to the bastard blacksmith lord in the Stormlands.

Every night the men sing on the deck. They gather to tell stories and to sing songs. She leaves them to it, afraid to hear her own song, afraid they will ask about the Long Night and the Night King.

Sometimes they sing the new songs, but often they keep to the older ones, the ones they heard as they grew, the songs that gives comfort.

Arya lays in her hammock as their voices sing about a lady of the forest and the little lord who loved her.

She does not think of a similar story, a lady of the forest who was actually a Lady and the boy who loved her when she was covered in filth, when she was covered in silk.

-

“Land!”

The cheers of her crew quickly drowns out the cry from the crows-nest. Four weeks at sea is not that long, not for seasoned sailors or even for a woman who traveled the discovered world, but four weeks where it is uncertain that there is even land is a strain.

It is still far in the distance, but the breaks in the horizon can be seen even so far out to sea.

Arya smiles at the exuberance of her crew until she sees a speck in the distance, which grows closer the longer she looks. Her smile starts to fall as the distinct shape of a raven forms.

Her first mate gives her a look, but she gives him a reassuring smile. Only one type of creature could find them, no raven could be trained to fly to the unknown. This raven had her brother riding its back.

She lifts her hand and the raven flies to her. It lands with ease and stays still as she releases its paper burden. It flies away the moment the note is free.

-

At night she lights a single candle and sits on the deck of her ship. The light does not cast shadows, it is too small to do that, too weak. She imagines the flickers of fire against the carved direwolves, against the folds of the banners and the sails.

She imagines the heat of a forge as it warms her to her core.

She reads the words on the paper her brother sent, over and over as if it would give her more answers.

The lesser Lords of the Stormlands have asked me to intervene on their behalf, as their liege Lord refuses to marry. He said he will not find a wife to make into his lady, that he already has one.

I thought you might like to know.

The ship does not rock her to sleep that night. The faint glow of her flame does nothing to burn away memory.

-

The land is rocky in a way that reminds Arya too much of the jagged coast along King’s Landing. She takes one look at the shore and returns below deck.

She does not join the men when they weighed anchor and rowed to shore.

-

The hammock stays still beneath her as the sunlight creeps in from an open hatch. They are anchored down as close to shore as they dare. She keeps below dock, away from the sight of the coastline, away from the ghosts of memory.

A dark figure flies through the open hatch and lands on the ropes that tie your hammock to the wooden poles. The raven waits patiently as Arya unties the note, once again flying away the moment it is free of its burden.

Some memories you cannot hide from.

Arya takes the note note to the deck and throws it into the ocean.

She looks out into the horizon, ocean and air mixing until it’s nothing but uniform blue.

-

Her men find water and berries that the local wildlife can eat, berries that look close enough to ones she ate in Bravos that she is willing to risk it for something fresh.

She and her navigator decide to continue west, to follow the coastline and see where that may lead them.

They stay for a few days, long enough to replenish their water and to ensure the berries have no unsavory effects. They hunt for fresh meat and open another barrel of ale in celebration. It is a warm affair, the men jovial. Even Arya stays in good spirits, laughing with her men and joining in on their songs.

The evening winds down and the songs turn somber. They sing of lost loves and of family gone. They sing of war, but not the glory just the cold aftermath. Arya looks out from her place on the quarterdeck, the moon and the stars glow on the sea, the dark of the island shimmers as the moonlight hits the jagged rocks. Arya sees the ghosts dance on the shore. 

-

Arya never had the same dreams as her sister. She did not want to be a lady. She did not want to be a wife. She wanted to rule a castle, yes, but she did not want to do it in the name of someone else. She did not dream of dresses, of a maiden cloak around her shoulders.

She did dream of love, of family, of villagers to help and people to care for.

You would be my lady, he had said years before, before she even knew what she had asked him.

He had a castle now, villagers to help and a whole section of the country to care for.

None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me. He said that too, before he asked her to be his lady, different than that first time he said it.

“His lady wife,” she snorted as she crawled up the rigging, small enough and strong enough to do it quickly, to do it right.

The coastline changes as they sail past, from rocky to rolling hills and gently sloping beaches, and Arya stares blindly at it, caught up in memories and letter.

With an arm firmly around the ropes she pulls out the most recent letter from her meddling brother-king.

We dance with our ghosts in different ways, sometimes you need to confront your fears.

“Cryptic as always Bran,” she says into the wind, aware that he hears her a world away.

-

The hammock sways with the storm, a quick summer squall that they can see the end of already, blue skies in the distance waiting to carry them onto the next part of their journey. She listens to the sound of the men on deck, those who replaced the first shift. She is still soaked to her bones, exhausted more from a dreary mood than from trying to the ship storm-ready so quickly.

Ghosts still dance behind her eyes, the frozen dead, the burning dead, green eyes and blues eyes and brown eyes. She has shut those eyes forever. No one never minded. Arya does.

She looks up at the wooden planks, water-sealed and sturdy. This is her penance, in a way. She spent years getting back to her family and when she did she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t look them in the eyes and pretend she was ok, pretend that she did not see the dead everywhere. She could not look at any of them and say that she deserved peace.

-

The next raven had no note, just a small leaf made of gold tied from a string around its neck. She places it around her neck and ignores the tears in her eyes.

-

There is no coast to follow anymore, just more open sea. They continue west, after a stop for fresh water and more fresh meat to supplement their slowly dwindling dried rations before the land disappeared to their backs.

“What do you hope to find?”

Her first mate stands next to her, map open in front of them as their navigator adds more details. They will need a new sheet soon.

“Honestly?” Arya asks, eyes fixed on Westeros. “At first I would have said adventure.” She looks up at him, unable to look at the symbols on the map that meant home. “Now? I think I’m just looking for peace.”

“You won’t find that on the sea, my lady,” her first mate responds with a sad smile. “That’s not why any of us are here. I suspect that’s not the reason for you either, not really.”

She snorts out her answer. “I think maybe we spend a little too much time together, if you can say something like that.”

“We’re on a ship my lady,” he laughs, “we can do nothing but spend time together.” His smile goes sad again, after the brief laughter. “We all saw things, my lady, in King’s Landing. Things that will haunt us for the rest of our lives. For most of us, we spent our whole life at sea. This is our home, this is familiar. That’s not the case for you. You’re running my lady, none of us judge you for that.”

Arya closes her eyes against the truth.

“Has my brother been sending you ravens as well?”

“No my lady, as you said, we just spend that much time together.”

-

The golden leaf is warm against her skin when she goes to sleep. She never takes it off, just lets it lay against her chest day in, day out. She does not let herself think, or so she tries.

The ship sways beneath her, but it does nothing to lure her to sleep.

“Some things you cannot out run,” she says into the darkness, feeling foolish as the words leave her mouth. “I am running.”

The darkness says nothing in reply.

-

They reach land two days later. They see ships first, ships of  Yi Ti make fishing or loaded down with cargo. Her quartermaster smiles, happy to restore their depleted supplies. Her navigator smiles as well, smug that his prediction was true.

“What is west of Westeros?” He asks into the crowd.

“It’s just the east,” one of the crew members calls back.

Arya lets her eyes linger on the ships, on the port in the distance.

“What were you hoping to find?”

She startles, surprised that her first mate could sneak up on her. Surprised that she has reached a point where she can let her guard down at all.

“A reason to go home,” she replies, “to go home and know I deserve it.”

-

She cannot sleep, not with a feather mattress beneath her. Her crew would not let her sleep on the ship, not when there was comfortable accommodations worthy of their lady captain. Through the open window she hears the splash of the waves against the distant shore, the cries of the gulls. 

She sees the sun rise through her window, rising to greet her in the east and moving from her home in the west. The world is a sphere and her life is a cycle of death and destruction. The sun rises after the long night. Fields are razed and burned. They grow again.

Maybe, by the time she reaches west again, she will be like the crops after winter, budding and ready to grow.

-

Sometimes you need to relearn how to be.

Arya reads the note before they leave port and head west again. This time they have a plan, they have rations for weeks before they port again and restock, aware of their path now that they are back in the known.

Your family misses you.

The note is accompanied by another leaf, gold again but held together by a rope made from some type of grass. She never forgot the song, never really forgave Tom Sevenstrings for how often he sang the song to her and Gendry on their travels. It makes her smile now, to remember the good times mixed in with the rotten.

“Subtle,” she breathes out as she drapes the leaf around her neck. “Real subtle Bran.”

-

“Where are we headed my lady?”

Her first mate gave her a look over the map in her office. 

“Home, I think. Eventually.”

“And did you find what you hoped to find?”

She smiles, small but not sad. 

“Not yet,” she replies as she moves to roll up their incomplete map. “But by the time we make it back I think I will.”

[ranwing]

Kadam Fic: Learning To Fly (14/?)

Title: Learning to Fly Series: A New Direction (was Season Four Remix) Pairing(s), Characters(s): Kadam, Kurt Hummel, Adam Crawford, Burt Hummel, Rachel Berry, Santana Lopez, Carmen Tibideaux, Cassandra July, Artie Abrams, Tina Cohen-Chang, Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert, Dani, Adam’s Apples, Original Characters Rating: PG13 (rating may change) Genre(s): canon divergence. Parts: 14/?

Summary: As another school year starts at NYADA, Kurt seemed to have it all. The respect of his teachers, a group of wonderful friends and best of all, getting to live with the man that he’d come to love. So of course the universe would throw a few curve balls in his direction.

A/N - Three chapters posted today (chapters 13-15).

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter 13

One AO3

“Ten minutes to curtain!” A production assistant rushed through each of the dressing rooms, calling out the alert. “Ten minutes! Everyone get to the stage for Professor Carmody.”

Kurt had been getting into his costume when the call came, leaving him to hurry to the stage area still in his slippers and his shirt only half buttoned. Around him, the company huddled together as they waited for their director to address them while the audio techs double-checked the microphones that all the actors discretely wore. Most of the company were fully dressed for the opening numbers, their hair and makeup complete and he almost didn’t recognize his friends in the crowd. Jamie was dressed in a ragged prison uniform, a cap covering his head and makeup that looked like streaks of dirt and bruises staining his skin.

Rachel was nearly unrecognizable in her beggar costume. Her makeup was done to give her a gaunt appearance, with deep hollows carved under her cheekbones and shadows under her eyes. Her hair was tucked under a stained cap and a tatty shawl was draped over the shoulders of her threadbare dress. His eyes darted around the crowd, trying to pick out Analisa and Katya and his friends gave nods of recognition to him, and nervous smiles of support.

Around the actors, the tech teams gathered, and Kurt nodded greetings to his friends there. All the elements of the production had drawn together and all their efforts over the past few months was about to pay off. They were a united team, ready to put their best work out there for the waiting audience.

Professor Carmody arrived, for once looking neat and not displaying the stress that they were used to seeing from her. She had done everything in her power to make her grand vision come to life and bar managing the show from the wings, her task was nearly done.

With a smile, she motioned for everyone to gather as closely as nearly a hundred students were able to. “Okay everyone… I’m not going to make a big speech,” she assured her students. “I just wanted to thank you all for your hard work and dedication to our show. NYADA has never staged a production on this scale and this would never have been possible without all of you giving the kind of effort that you have.

“Tonight, this is about you. Actors, costumers, technical teams… all of you. I have never been so proud of a team or more confident that you will be successful tonight. The only instructions that I have now is to relax. You all know what you’re doing. Go out there and enjoy yourselves and show what you can do. Break a leg everyone!”

The group cheered, finally giving in to the excitement of their first official performance. People moved to hug their friends, wishing them well and those in the opening act hurried to take their marks before the curtain rose. Kurt rushed over to hug Rachel and his girls.

“Oh my God… I can’t believe it’s finally here,” Rachel gasped, her eyes wide and clutching at Kurt with a desperate strength. Kurt didn’t pull back, even though he’d probably have bruises on his arms.

“It’s going to be great,” he promised her, giving her a quick kiss to the top of her head so he wouldn’t damage her makeup. “I’m going to finish getting dressed so I can watch you all from the wings.”

At the announcement that the curtain was going up in five, Jamie took a deep breath. “Okay guys… this is it! Break a leg!”

In the orchestra box, Kurt saw the musicians making their final preps and he finally was struck by the fact that their moment had arrived. There was no more time for doubts.

“I’ll see you all on stage,” he promised, feeling the first trace of real anticipation hit him.

As he arrived at his dressing room, the first strains of the overture reached his ears. There was no more time to worry. There was just the performance to focus on. He reached for the tie that went with his costume and looped it about his neck, his mind focused on his final preparations.

* * *

In hindsight, Finn should have expected that the show would be spectacular, but he had little to really base his expectations on. His experiences with New Directions didn’t come close to anything like this, with their basic costumes and choreography. And he’d never had a lot of interest or knowledge about musical theater outside of watching Rachel perform solos that she felt showcased herself best.  There was the failed Rocky Horror show that he had a role in, and West Side Story but full productions didn’t seem to be a priority at McKinley. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that this was his first real experience with a full production.

He’d made sure to read a bit about what the musical entailed so he’d be able to follow the storyline and really appreciate what Kurt and Rachel had put so much effort into. Just judging from the opening number, he could reasonably argue that there wasn’t a professional show that could claim to have better actors, let alone sets and costumes.

Despite the fact that he had come specifically to see Kurt and Rachel, he found himself enjoying the beginning of the show and appreciating the other performers. He fully expected the show to be absolutely spectacular and he wasn’t disappointed. The cast was, to an individual, absolutely phenomenal. The young man playing the lead had a stunning voice and was a riveting presence on stage. Even with the knowledge that he was a university student, Finn could totally believe that he was a French convict. And the guy playing Javert was just fantastic, with the type of baritone voice that you didn’t see too often with the way he balanced the depth of his tone with a crispness that added an interesting dimension. They sounded incredible together and Finn thought that even if Kurt and Rachel weren’t performing, that this show was well worth seeing.

The opening songs focused on Jean Valjean as he was released from prison and left to wander the countryside to look for honest work. While the sets on stage gave a clear impression of farmland, the designers took it a step further by projecting an image of a field or orchard behind the actors that gave the scenes a sense of depth and expressed the passage of time.

He watched avidly as Valjean pleaded for a day’s work or a place to lay his head but was turned away because he carried a letter of parole and bore a prisoner’s brand. Wherever he went, he was turned away, never given a chance to work a day’s labor of find a place to rest his head at night. He grew increasingly desperate and angry and being turned away from every door when he was offered a night’s rest by a kind-hearted bishop.

He bit his lip anxiously during the theft that nearly sent Valjean back to prison, but the generosity of the bishop saved him and gave him a renewed perspective on life. He could viscerally feel Valjean’s shame at robbing the man who’d shown him such kindness and determination to make his life worthy of what he’d been given. His vow to honor the bishop’s generosity and faith in his humanity.

The music began to swell and Finn knew that this was where the story would truly begin. The stage lights fell softly on a group standing towards the back of the stage, huddled together as a light dusting of fake snow began to waft around them. Offstage fans began to blow, giving the clear impression of a harsh winter arriving to torment those least able to withstand the hardship.

He knew that Rachel was in this number and tried to pick her out from the crowd of men, women and children. He listened carefully for her particular voice and found it nearly impossible to do so. Rather than trying to make her voice stand out from the chorus, Rachel was blending seamlessly with the other singers. It was only as the group stepped forward, pleading with the audience that he was able to pick her out; dressed in rags and cradling a bundle in her arms that was made to look like she was holding a baby. Rather than the mugging that he remembered from her previous attempts at acting, the desperation in her expression appeared genuine.

He smiled, glad that she was doing so well. She’d had a lot of challenges the past few years and a lot of disappointments to get past, most of her own making. But he couldn’t help from being happy to see how far she’d come and the nearly limitless potential before her.

Finn couldn’t resist glancing at the stern woman sitting at his side, amused at the bored expression on her face. She was clearly here for one thing only and she wouldn’t be happy until Kurt was standing on that stage for her. He wondered if she knew what role Kurt was playing because if she was aware that she would be seeing him in more than an ensemble spot, she’d probably be leaping out of her skin.

Oh no… she was already tapping her foot impatiently. Finn tried to remember where Kurt’s character was supposed to show up, hoping that it would be soon. Otherwise he was in for an uncomfortable evening.

* * *

Kurt was grinning from ear to ear as he watched Rachel on stage with the rest of the ensemble. She looked and sounded fantastic and when her part in the number ended, was there to greet her when she hurried off the stage.

“Oh my God! You were great!” he insisted, giving her a hug.

“Thanks!” she gasped, accepting his embrace before reluctantly pulling away. “But I’ve got to run and get ready for the next number. You’ll be watching?”

Kurt nodded, letting her go. “Of course,” he assured her.

Rachel gave him a grateful smile before hurrying to the women’s quick-change area. The crowded room was a swarm of activity as actresses changed in and out of costumes as they got ready for different sets.

She quickly stripped out of her costume, handing them off to a costuming tech to be put away, leaving her basic underpinnings. Hurrying over to the makeup table, she pulled the pins from her hair to free it and teased it up to make it look frizzy and unkept. Picking up a lipstick in a vulgar shade of red, she colored her lips and then smeared it a bit with the back of her hand.

Looking thoroughly like she’d been ridden hard and put away wet, she checked her time and could hear the actress playing Fantine starting the “I Dreamed a Dream” number, leaving her just enough time to get into costume and find her mark. She got into the garishly patterned stockings and corset before adding a shabby red dress that put her cleavage and legs on full display. Fluffing up her hair one last time, she hurried back to the stage where Katya was waiting with the other actresses portraying the prostitutes.

Katya looked like she was several weeks since her last bath and gave her a grin that displayed the pair of blacked out teeth. Damn, Rachel thought. She could have done that too.

“Ready?” Katya asked, with an impish glint in her eyes.

Rachel nodded, tossing back her hair. “Let’s do this.”

It was difficult to find their marks on the darkened stage while the spotlight was on Fantine but Rachel found the crates where they prostitutes were to gather and hoisted herself to sit up on one of them, spreading her legs and bunching up her skirt to show off her bloomers and stockings. Katya leaned against one of the crates, thrusting out her chest and trying to look provocative.

As Fantine’s tragic song drew to a close, the audience applauded and the stage fell dark before a projection of a port scene at night was cast over the back of the stage. Three young men stumbled to the front dressed in sailor uniforms, laughing and jostling one another.

“I smell women, smell ‘em in the air,” he proclaimed lasciviously. “Think I’ll drop me anchor in that harbor over there.”

His friend laughed and nodded enthusiastically. “Lovely ladies, I’ll love you till I’m broke,” he promised, grabbing lewdly at his crotch to emphasizing what he was there for. “Seven months at sea and now I’m hungry for a poke.”

The third shoved himself between the other two, exclaiming excitedly, ���Even stokers need a little stoke!”

The stage lights came on to illuminate the set made up of shipping crates and mooring pillars where the prostitutes had gathered. Rachel smiled seductively, bending forward to show off her cleavage and entice one of the sailors.

“Lovely ladies, waiting for a bite,” the group of women sang, their voices ringing out harshly. They bent over enticingly, showing off their bodies and lifting their skirts to put their legs on display for the men that were gathering around them. “Waiting for the customers who only come at night. Lovely ladies, ready for the call. Standing up or lying down or any way at all. Bargain prices up against the wall!”

A spotlight fell on Fantine, who stood out in contrast to the prostitutes with her clean calico dress and decent looking shawl. An old woman approached her the prostitutes froze in place as they disputed the sale of Fantine’s precious necklace. Rachel listened to Fantine’s pleas for the crone to offer a more generous price before giving in out of desperation, keeping her mind focused on her own performance. Once the crone had gotten what she wanted, the music resumed, and the focus fell on the ensemble again.

“Lovely ladies, waiting in the dark,” they sang as men began to draw girls apart from the group. A tall man dressed far more finely than the women walked among them, pocketing money that they shoved into his hands and watching to make sure that the women were going off with customers. “Ready for a thick one or a quick one in the park.”

“Long time, short time,” one girl sang teasingly as a sailor pressed up behind her, his hands pressed against her bodice under her breasts to appear as if he was groping her. “Any time, my dear. Cost a little extra if you want to take all year.”

One sailor grabbed Rachel about the waist and lifted her off her seat. On cue, Rachel wrapped her legs about his waist as he spun her about, his hands under her ass to hold her up as he pressed her up against one of the pillars.

“Quick and cheap is underneath the pier!”

Again, the spotlight fell on Fantine as she was forced into another bargain, this time over her long auburn hair and she was unceremoniously dragged away to have it chopped off. When the spotlight fell back upon the prostitutes and their customers, Rachel’s sailor released her, making a show of nearly dropping her before adjusting his trousers suggestively.

One of the girls stumbled back to the crates, clutching her middle painfully. “God, I’m weary. Sick enough to drop. Belly burns like fire, will the bleeding ever stop?”

Their pimp stepped over as if to comfort her, gently stroking her cheek. “Cheer up, dearie. Show a happy face,” he urged. With sudden ferocity, he grabbed her hair and shook her harshly. “Plenty more like you here if you can’t keep up the pace.”

The young woman grabbed at his hand, trying to free herself. “Only joking,” she pleaded. “Dearie knows her place!” The pimp shoved her back to the others, waving her off to get back to work.

Fantine faltered back out onto the stage, her long hair gone and making her look childlike and incredibly vulnerable. She huddled away from the group, trying to make herself as unobtrusive as possible and avoid notice by the men on the docks. The pimp watched her with an appraising eye before demanding information from one of his girls.

“Give me the dirt,” he commanded, grabbing the arm of one of the prostitutes. “Who’s that bit over there?”

The girl tossed her hair back dismissively. “A bit of skirt. She’d the one sold her hair,” she explained.

Katya leaned over, hoping to appease their pimp. “She’s got a kid. Sends her all that she can,” she confided, earning a harsh shove for her efforts.

The pimp snorted dismissively. “I might have known. There is always some man,” he mused as he approached the terrified young woman. “Lovely lady, come along and join us! Lovely lady…”

Fantine drifted to where the other women were gathered, looking at them with an expression of shame and horror that this is what she had been reduced to. That she now found herself among women that she had looked down upon when she had other prospects and dreams. The whores watched her avidly, recognizing that another was about to join their sad sisterhood.

“Come one dearie, why all the fuss?” one of the women cooed at her, her tone betraying more than a little coarse edge while a second woman looked down her nose at the downtrodden woman.

“You’re no better than the rest of us,” she snapped, only to have the other women step in between her and their new sister.

“Life has dropped you at the bottom of the heap,” Rachel sang sadly, expressing sympathy that like the rest of them, Fantine would not resort to selling herself if she had any other options.

“Join your sisters,” the pimp urged, kneeling to reach under Fantine’s skirt and feeling at her legs like she was a mare to be sold at market. “Make money in your sleep.”

A man in a sailor costume approached, eyeing Fantine appraisingly and one of the girls roughly pulled her shawl away, stripping her of what little protection it offered.

“That’s right dearie, let him have the lot,” one of the girls urged while another gave Fantine a knowing nod of approval.

“That’s right dearie… show him what you’ve got.”

With her chin raised as proudly as she could manage, Fantine walked to her awaiting customer, determined to maintain what dignity she could. He grasped her hand and dragged her out of sight.

The prostitutes gathered together, pushing away their customers and stepping away from their watchful pimp, expressing what defiance they could over their sad lot in life. Rachel and Katya stood together and held hands as they looked out defiantly at the audience, demanding respect from those what would look down upon them while taking advantage of their situations.

“Old men, young men, take ‘em as they come!” they proclaimed with as much pride as they could muster, expressing their hate for the men that used them. “Harbor rates and alley cats and every kind of scum!

“Poor men, rich men, leaders of the land. See them with their trousers off they’re never quite as grand!” they sang, flinging up their hands and mocking the customers who watched and had no idea of how much they were hated.

“All it takes is money in your hand!” they shouted, reaching out with grasping hands and clenched fists.

The music softened as the group of women drifted apart, pasting smiles on their faces and they returned to their customers. “Lovely ladies, going for a song… Got a lot of callers, but they never stay for long…”

Following Fantine’s arrest, Rachel hurried back to her dressing room to start getting ready for the Master of the House number. So far things were going well, and she had a grand total of ten minutes to fix her makeup and change costumes again. Kurt hadn’t lied to her about how much work went into being in the ensemble and she found herself racing against the clock to make sure that she was done on time. The corset and rags went back on their hanger and a makeup wipe got the worst of the prostitute paint off her face. She quickly retouched her foundation and adjusted her makeup with a softer hand before she changed into her simple peasant dress and cap.

Grabbing a few sips of water, she rushed back to the stage and was pleased to have made it in plenty of time. She spotted Kurt waiting nearby, working with one of the audio techs to fit his microphone and making his final preparations because he would be going on stage shortly afterwards and waved to catch his eye.

“You’re doing great!” he mouthed to her, earning a happy smile in response. She was working harder than she could ever have imagined doing, but everything was going well. Never before would she have ever believed just how important the ensemble was for the show but now she saw that their contribution was just as important as any of the leads. When the students playing the Thénardiers stepped out in their raggedy finery, she got mentally settled into her newest role. There were quite a few friends in the group for this scene, including several of Kurt’s Apple friends.

The sets was quickly changed out, going from a deep forest for the “Castle On A Cloud” number to the interior of a less than reputable inn. This was one of the more elaborate sets, with tables and benches and all the various items that one might expect to see in a tavern room. Rachel hurried to the bench where she was supposed to be seated. Picking up the tankard waiting for her, she took a breath and waited for the curtain to lights to illuminate the scene. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Finn knew that his hands were going to be in serious pain by the time the show ended with the way he was clapping. He was surprised that Rachel had a role in pretty much every major scene since the start of the show and had been bouncing back and forth between multiple roles. She went from beggar to prostitute to now a slightly drunk townswoman singing the praises of a rather dishonest innkeeper who was boasting about how he was ripping off his guests at every turn.

The show had been everything he expected and he was enjoying it immensely, but he found himself eagerly awaiting Kurt’s presence on the stage. Casting glances over at his family, he saw Burt checking his watch, the only hint of boredom that he would display. There was no way that his stepfather wouldn’t turn out to support Kurt, even though sitting through what was basically an opera wasn’t something that he’d really learned to enjoy just yet. His mother was just smiling, enjoying the show, and Sue…

Finn was glad that he wasn’t the one standing on the stage, because she looked like she was getting ready to storm up there and throw Jean Valjean aside so that her favorite could have his chance on the stage. She had clearly given up on feigning politeness and was impatiently tapping her finger against her raised knee, her frown deepening with every passing moment that passed without seeing her Porcelain.

The song with the innkeeper and his wife was a riot and Finn found himself laughing out loud at their bickering and criminal antics. After Valjean waltzed off his newly adopted daughter in his arms, the stage went dark and the name of the next location, Saint Michele flashed on the backdrop along with a date that showed years were passing between the two scenes. The stage lights came on to illuminate an elaborate set of slums teaming with the lower classes that one might find in any large city. Beggars, thieves, street vendors and prostitutes gathered in the city streets. The music was decidedly more tense as they went about the actions of their daily lives. The air of crushing poverty and abject misery was unavoidable as the struggle to survive was evident to the audience.

“Look down, look down, and see the beggars at your feet,” the people cried out as they made their way as best they could. “Look down and show some mercy if you can. Look down and see the sweepings of the streets. Look down, look down, upon your fellow man!”

A young boy of about ten years old emerged from the crowd to take the center stage, dressed in tattered pants and shirt and a dirty cap topping his dark-haired head. He looked to the crowd with a cocky smile and gave a little bow.

“How do you do? My name's Gavroche,” he introduced, singing in a bright clear voice. He spread his arms wide to draw attention to the crowd clustered behind him. “These are my people, here’s my patch. Nothing to look at, nothing posh. Nothing that you’d call up to scratch.”

Several young children fell in behind him, playing pranks and making petty thefts of fruit from the vendor’s cart. They were like Gavorche, dressed in threadbare clothing but trying to make the best of things and turning the slums into their playground.

“This is my school, my high society,” Gavorche proclaimed with a proud flourish. “Here in the slums of Saint Michele. We live on crumbs of humble piety. Tough on the teeth, but what the hell!

“Think you're poor? Think you're free? Follow me, follow me!” he cried out. With a wave, he set off with the other children following in his wake, running through the crowd to disappear into one of the buildings and then seen darting across a rooftop so they could watch the goings on of the people from above.

The buildings of the set pulled apart to create a town square where throngs of people gathered and went about their daily lives, making their way as best they could.

“Look down, and show some mercy if you can,” the beggars cried out, seeking aid from those who were barely better off. “Look down, look down, upon your fellow man.”

A tall, skinny girl in a red dress stepped forward, her skirt lifted enticingly to display a long leg. She was quickly embraced by a male passerby, who pressed his hand over her breast as began to kiss her throat. Before she could take the money he was waving enticingly before her, she was suddenly pulled away from her customer and shoved from behind by a woman dressed as an ancient crone.

“What you think yer at?” the old woman demanded venomously. “Hanging round me pitch? If you're new around here, girl, you've got a lot to learn.”

The younger woman stood her ground, turning on the old beggar. “Listen you old bat! Crazy bloody witch! 'Least I give my customers some pleasure in return,” she retorted, turning to try to gain the attention of any available men.

“I know what you give!” the old woman screeched, grabbing at the prostitute and tearing at her skirts to show her pantalettes. “Give 'em all the pox! Spread around your poison till they end up in a box!”

The prostitute’s pimp saw the altercation and hurried offer to run off the old beggar. “Leave the poor old cow,” he ordered, motioning for his girl to move away. “Move it, Madeleine! She used to be no better till the clap got to her brain.”

The level of desperation in the crowd increased, as none of them saw any way out of their situation. Hope was in short supply and all that was facing them was deepening poverty and starvation. “When's it gonna end?” they pleaded, “When we gonna live? Something's gotta happen now or something's gonna give...

“It'll come, it'll come, it'll come, It'll come, it'll come, it'll come…”

Through the crowd, two figures pushed their way forward, dressed far more richly than any of the townsfolks around them. Finn sat up straight in his seat at seeing that one of them was Kurt, dressed in an elegant suit with a dark jacket and tie fixed tightly about his throat. He carried a set of books under his arm, looking over the crowd with a fierce stare of pity and anger. Another young man, dressed in a similar fashion stood at his side, though the expression on his face was decidedly less severe.

Beside him, Finn felt Sue sitting up, now focusing her full attention on the stage. Carole silently clapped her hands in anticipation and delight and he glanced over to see Burt smiling widely at his son’s presence.

Kurt’s mouth was drawn in a harsh frown as turned about, looking at the mass of desperate people. “Where the leaders of the land? Where are the swells who run this show?” he demanded fiercely, his voice ringing out in righteous anger.

The young man playing Marius reached out to grasp Kurt’s shoulder in fellowship. “Only one man, and that's Lamarque,” he answered. “Speaks for these people here below.”

The poor people of St. Michele saw the well-dressed students and clustered about them, reaching out in desperation. “See our children fed! Help us in our shame!” they pleaded. “Something for a crust of bread, in Holy Jesus' name…”

Marius looked at the crowd of beggars with a compassionate stare, handing out leaflets that he had brought with him. “Lamarque is ill and fading fast! Won't last the week out so they say,” he told his friend, which only increased the level of anger in Kurt’s expression.

He turned to the crowd and saw what could be a rising tide to wipe away the injustice that he fought against. “With all the anger in the land, how long before the judgement day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size?” he spat ferociously, slashing his hand as if imitating a blade.

“Before the barricades arise?”

Kurt’s voice rang out gloriously through the theater, and Finn felt chills running down his spine. He had never seen his brother like that, expressing so much fury. He couldn’t remember ever hearing Kurt sing with so much power, his voice expressing all of his character’s anger over the injustice that he was witness to every day. Enjolras was so unlike Kurt in nature, expressing so much rage and righteousness. With just a few powerfully performed lines, Kurt stood out like a force of nature.

Sue’s strong hand suddenly grasped his again so tightly that it hurt. He turned in surprise to see her eyes wide and riveted to the stage, fixed totally on Kurt. His brother hovered hovering in the background handing out pamphlets to the poor while Marius flirted with Cosette and the Thénardier gang looked to rob Valjean before being run off by the police. She looked absolutely transfixed and the smile on her face for once didn’t have the edge of cruelty that he was so used to seeing.

Finn had always known that Kurt was one of Sue’s favored few, something he never begrudged his brother because he knew that Sue’s favor could be a double-edged sword. But even with that knowledge, her response to seeing him on stage was unexpected. It was so pure and genuine, and Finn knew that there was only a tiny percentage of people in this world that might garner such a reaction from the fearsome woman. Her sister, most certainly, had been one. And Becky. To know that Kurt had earned that as well gratified Finn quite a bit. However hard Kurt’s life had been, unquestionably it was made marginally better by having Sue Sylvester in his corner.

* * *

Kurt hadn’t quite known how it would feel during their first official performance, but it was nothing like even their final dress rehearsal. He felt almost high. He wasn’t so much playing Enjolras but channeling his revolutionary fire. He rode on the tide of Enjolras’s emotions, taking control of his compatriots and urging them towards taking up the fight against the government troops. It took coercion and a bit of browbeating, but even moon-eyed Marius was no longer resisting.

“Red, a world about to dawn!” the entire group sand passionately and Marius stepped forward to grasp Kurt’s hand, making it clear that he would stand with his friend. “Black, the night that ends at last!”

They finished to a rousing cheer and Kurt began to bark out orders, darting across the stage and sending the men into a flurry of action. There was no question of who the leader and Kurt expressed an air of well-honed authority over the other members of their group. “Well, Courfeyrac, do we have all the guns?” he demanded, before turning to the others. “Feuilly, Combeferre, our time is running short.

“Grantaire, put the bottle down!” he snapped fiercely, causing the drunkard to wave off his command dismissively and take a long gulp. “Do we have the guns we need?”

“Give me brandy on my breath and I’ll breathe them all to death,” Grantaire boasted playfully, earning a playful shove from one of the others.

Courfeyrac rushed forward to report, “In St. Antoine they’re with us to a man!”

“In Notre Dame, they’re tearing up the stones!” Combeferre reported happily, grasping the hand of Courfeyrac joyously.

“Twenty rifles good as new!” Feuilly called out, holding up their red banner proudly.

Through all the activity, Kurt remained dangerously calm as if he were the eye of a hurricane that was about to sweep down over Paris. He almost didn’t hear Gavroche coming in and yelling, “Listen!”

Joly was checking their ammunition stores. “Twenty rounds for every man!” he reported.

“Listen to me!” Gavroche cried out, nearly ignored as the men continued their reports.

“Double that in Port St. Cloud!”

“Listen everybody!” Gavroche yelled.

Lesgles hurried in. “Seven guns in St. Martin!”

Gavroche grasped Kurt’s arm, forcing his attention. When Kurt finally looked down at him, the boy said with somber quietness, “General Lamarque is dead!”

The group fell silent, shocked at the news, however unexpected, that the champion of the poor was gone. One of the young men who’d been wearing a cap and took it off and the men bowed their heads in respect, giving a moment of silence for the man that had embodied all of their ideals. Kurt got a faraway look in his eyes as the gravity of what this really meant struck home.

“Lemarque is dead,” he breathed almost in disbelief. He paused, letting it sink in before driving what this would bring about struck home before allowing himself to smile. “Lemarque! His death is the hour of fate! The people’s man. His death is the sign we await!”

He gathered the group, the other men listing intently to his every word. Kurt’s expression became one of dangerous anticipation. Kurt strode over to a set of steps and climbed up so that all could see him as he rallied them to action.

“On his funeral day they will honor his name,” he commanded the group as they watched intently.  Even Grantaire, who stood back from the others watched carefully. “It’s a rallying cry that will reach every ear! In the death of Lemarque we will kindle the flame! They will see that the day of salvation is near!

“The time is near!” Kurt belted, his voice soaring with a strength that he was sure would be surprising to those who might have only noted his youthful appearance. He was a lion, uniting the Friends of the ABC and pushing them towards their mission with a fist raised in defiance. “Let us welcome it gladly with courage and cheer! Let us take the streets with no doubt in our hearts, but a jubilant shout! They will come, one and all! They will come when we call!”

The music drew to a dramatic close and the Friends of the ABC cheered and embraced on another now that the moment that they’d awaited appeared to finally have arrived. Kurt managed to keep from responding to the rousing applause of the audience, focused on keeping Enjolras’s pride and fervor fixed on his features. Knowing that his family was there watching him at that moment, seeing him standing on that magnificent stage and performing to the best of his ability meant more than he could ever express.

When the music began again, the members of the group began to chatter excitedly, but Kurt closed his eyes and lowered his hand, motioning for them the allowed a quiet intensity to take hold.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?” he began, letting the power in his voice reach throughout the theater. “It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!”

He pressed his hand over his heart, clutching his waistcoat and emphasizing the importance of this one moment in their lives. “When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

His fervor seemed to feed into the passion of the other players as they fell in behind him, excited that the moment they’d been awaiting had finally arrived. Combeferre rallied the group to Enjolras, his expression bright with excitement as their leader stepped down the stairs.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?” he demanded, placing his hand confidently on Kurt’s shoulder to prove that he was firmly with Enjolras. “Beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?”

Courfeyrac joined them, holding out a rifle to Kurt. “Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!”

Kurt grasped the rifle and raised it over his head to the cheers of his fellows and lead the group to march about the stage. Even Grantaire followed along, though he appeared to be more enjoying the show than believed in their cause. The set parted to reveal the transition from the interior of a disreputable café to the square where townsfolk began to fall in behind the young men as they marched through the streets. Men danced with young women, twirling them about joyously as an air of celebration took hold.

“Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?” the group sang, inspiring men and women to fall in behind them, joining in. “It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again!”

Kurt lead them along, raising the rifle in defiance, his face set in a proud smile. He was the clear leader, gathering evermore followers with every moment that passed.

“When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

Feuilly was standing on a balcony so he could look out over the crowd that had gathered, imploring them to join. “Will you give all you can give, so that our banner may advance?” he pleaded, his strong tenor voice ringing out. “Some will fall and some will live. Will you stand up and take your chance?

“The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!” He raised their red banner before dropping it down to be grabbed by one of the others.

One of the group had brought out the revolutionary banner on a pole and began to wave it as the group marched about the stage with Kurt in the lead, his voice lifted in rousing song as the revolutionary students followed in his way. The performance was so rousing that members of the audience began to sing along, inspired by the performance on the stage.

“Do you hear the people sing?, singing a song of angry men? It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again!” the group sang proudly, their banner flying and the air on the stage taking on a celebratory mood. “When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums, there is a life about to start when tomorrow comes!”

Kurt lead the group off stage, feeling the wild buzzing in his head from the powerful emotions and needed a moment to tamp down on the wild energy that he was picking up from the performance. Handing off the rifle to one of the prop techs, he took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to center himself. He had a few minutes while the Cosette and Marius duet was underway to get himself back under control and prepare for the next scene. He hurried to the quick-change area, knowing that he had only ten minutes before the his next cue.

* * *

Sue got up without a word to the Hummels when the houselights came on for intermission, needing to step outside for a moment and gather her thoughts for a bit. The past few hours had been astonishing for her.

She thought back to times long ago. When her Porcelain was so much younger, and she’d first taken him under her barbed wire wings. She appreciated his sharp wit and his cunning that reminded her of herself at times. He had always impressed her with his brash courage and determination to be himself no matter what anyone else said or did. He needed protection against the small-minded idiots who thought that just because he was gay that it gave them license to torment him every waking moment. Offering him a place on her squad was the best way she could protect him, because no one dared try anything with one of hers. It was when he tried to fly on his own that bad things had happened; things that she often couldn’t control.

Seeing him now, standing on that stage like he was born to be there caused something to bubble up in her that she wasn’t sure that she wanted to examine too closely. Maybe it was just indigestion.

“This is turning out to be some kind of night, isn’t it?” a voice said behind her.

Sue couldn’t help from smiling before turning about. “Burt, you should know better than to sneak up on me.”

The burly man just shrugged. “Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said blandly. “You kind of rushed out.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, letting a trace of sharpness enter her voice. She never was one for soft feelings or concern from others.

Burt didn’t press further, knowing Sue well enough not to. It wasn’t as if they were really friends, but they had an odd mutual respect and understanding. Not to mention a particular shared personal interest.

He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and looked about the theater lobby. “You know, it’s going to mean a lot of Kurt that you came tonight,” he informed her. “Me too.”

She couldn’t help from snorting in amusing. “That would be a first. People usually aren’t happy to see me,” she acknowledged. She wasn’t embarrassed about that. Her reputation was, without question, a well-earned one. And one that she was actually proud of.

Burt smiled and nodded. “Well, Kurt will be,” he assured her honestly. He looked about the lobby, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“You know, I never did thank you.”

She looked up in surprise. “Whatever for?”

Burt pursed his lips thoughtfully, wanting to make sure that he chose just the right words. “For everything you did for Kurt when he was at McKinley,” he clarified. “With everything that he went through, I don’t know if he would have made it without you. You were one of the few people really willing to go to bat for him and we’ve never forgotten that.”

He approached her carefully, knowing that despite her tendency to overstep boundaries, she was sensitive to having her personal space invaded. She almost shivered when his hand gently touched her arm and looked into his face in astonishment.

Burt smiled gently. “Kurt is standing on that stage, in no small part, because of you. You may have gone about it in strange ways, but you encouraged him and supported him when not many others did. I just wanted you to know that. And to thank you for being there for my son.”

He stepped back, giving her space to compose herself. “I’d better get back inside,” he said with a huff. “The curtain will be going up soon.”

She nodded, inhaling deeply. “I’ll be in in just a minute,” she assured him.

Burt nodded in approval. “Good. Because Kurt’s going to be thrilled when he finds out that you were here on his opening night.”

Sue stood in the lobby, deep in thought as she tried to absorb what had just happened. She then gave herself a hard mental shake to get the cerebral cobwebs sorted out.

She barely made it back to her seat in time for the curtain to rise.

* * *

If anyone was to ask her afterwards what she most enjoyed about the show, Rachel knew what she would say. She couldn’t help from feeling thrilled to being on stage with Kurt and getting to watch him perform. Not that their characters would interact at all, but it felt good to be there with him along with Analisa, Katya and Jamie. Jamie would be playing one of the townsmen supporting the revolutionary students, while she and the girls played local women.

Despite the tension of the last battle, the atmosphere on the stage was one of quiet waiting for the next conflict and mourning over Eponine’s tragic death. As far as the students knew, Javert had met a just end at Valjean’s hands and they could take a moment of rest.

Seeing Kurt fully immersed in his character and portraying Enjolras so compellingly filled Rachel with joy and it was a pleasure… no, an honor to share the stage with him. She hoped that everyone sitting in that audience would realize that having the opportunity to watch him performing at this level was a real privilege.

For herself, she recognized what a gift it was to see it from such close range.

“Courfeyrac, you take the watch,” Kurt ordered with quiet gravity. “They won’t attack until it’s light.”

He looked around to the group. “Everyone stay awake. We must be ready for the fight. For our final fight. Let no one sleep tonight.”

Kurt’s voice took on a seriousness, as if realizing just what would be facing them at the dawn. “Marius… rest,” he commanded, placing a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder. Rachel could only marvel quietly at the gentle strength in Kurt’s voice and keep her mind on her own performance.

Feuilly was seated at a broken table that had been set up next to the barricade and looked about at his tired, anguished friends and raised his bottle, hoping to cheer their spirits. “Drink with me, to days gone by,” he proposed. “Sing with me, the songs we knew.”

“Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads,” Prouvaire toasted, snatching the bottle from Feuilly and raising it in tribute to the women who’d come out to support them.

“Here’s to witty girls who went to our beds,” Joly praised, catching a laughing Analisa and spinning her about before taking her in his arms.

“Here’s to them, and here’s to you,” the men sang gently, offering sad smiles to one another.

Grantaire staggered to his feet and raised his bottle mockingly to his friends. “Drink with me, to days gone by? Can it be you fear to die?” he demanded turning about to cast his accusing gaze on all of them. Some of the men took offense at Grantaire’s ridicule and Combeferre grasped him by the lapels of his jacket and shoved him away. The others shouted him down, angered at his pessimism.

Kurt shouldered his rifle and approached Grantaire, alarmed at the troubled man’s demeanor and tried to grasp his arm in support. Grantaire looked directly at him with sorrowful eyes. “Will the world remember you when you fall? Could it be your death means nothing at all? Is your life just one more lie?” he asked sadly, ignoring Kurt’s arms held open in an attempt to make peace with his friend.

Grantaire brushed him away and stormed past him, blaming Enjolras for landing them in this perilous situation and wanting nothing to do with him at the moment. One of them men hurried over to his side and pulled him into a comforting embrace.

Kurt watched Grantaire walk away from him and with sad resignation slowly climbed the barricade to take a position where he could both watch out for attack and keep an eye on his men. It was starting to become clear that the burdens of leadership were widening the rift between Enjolras and his friends.

The whole group on stage began to sing, with the women singing in counterpoint that added a lovely layer to the bittersweet melody. “Drink with me, to days gone by. To the life that used to be,” they sang.

Rachel smiled dreamily, and rested her head against the shoulder of one of the men who had his arm about her waist. “At the shrine of friendship never say die,” she sang along with the rest of women.

“Let the wine of friendship never run dry,” the men sang and some lead their chosen ladies off the stage for one last hurried tryst before the coming battle.

“Here’s to you… and here’s to me….”

Marius looked about the stage, finding no comfort with his friends as his thoughts were upon someone he thought lost to him. “Do I care if I should die?” he questioned sadly. “Now she goes across the sea…

“Life without Cosette means nothing at all. Will you weep, Cosette, should Marius fall? Will you weep, Cosette, for me?”

As the revolutionaries settled in to rest for the night, it gave Rachel a chance to just enjoy the performance of “Bring Him Home”. Unquestionably the actor playing Valjean was an exceptional talent and he sang the song beautifully, expressing all of the heartache and hope that the song demanded. But she couldn’t help from comparing his rendition to Kurt’s, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit that she would always consider her friend’s interpretation the gold standard. It didn’t matter that Kurt’s performance had led to a very painful downfall for her, because she’d very much deserved after the shameful way she had treated him. It was because Kurt was just that damn good.

She leaned against the body of the young man playing her lover and just savored the feeling of what they all were accomplishing.

* * *

Finn was leaning forward, watching intently as the stage lights softly glowed to give the impression of the coming dawn. Kurt was standing at the top of the barricade; Enjolras having stood watch all night and waiting for the people of Paris to rally behind them. The realization that no reinforcements were coming was striking Enjolras hard, evident by the bewildered and nearly lost expression on Kurt’s face.

He looked down at his followers from his spot on the barricade, the others looking to him for answers when he had none to give them. To see that behind the powerful revolutionary leader was a very young boy who’d gotten himself and his friends in way over their heads was a striking moment. “The people have not stirred,” he sang quietly, the realization that they were truly alone in this fight sinking in. “ We are abandoned by those who still live in fear. The people have not heard…”

Kurt inhaled deeply, visibly tamping down in the fear that Enjolras had to be feeling and trying to portray resolve and keep his people from panicking. “Yet we will not abandon those who cannot hear,” he assured his followers, trying to force a trace of confidence into his voice. “Let us not waste lives.

“Let all the women and fathers of children go from here,” he ordered, motioning for them to retreat.

The realization of what Enjolras’s orders entailed was not lost on his followers and the atmosphere about the barricade took on the feeling of a wake. Feuilly tried to instill a sense of hope in his fellows, smiling sadly as he raised his voice gently in song. “Drink with me to days gone by,” he urged. “Sing with me the songs we knew…”

The supporters that Enjolras was sending away realized that they were very likely leaving their friends and loved ones to face nearly certain death and there were hurried embraces and tears and kisses as they reluctantly withdrew from the fight. Their voices rang out softly as they unwillingly stepped away, lingering as long as they dared but finally leaving the fighters behind.

“At the shrine of friendship, raise your glass high,” they sang mournfully. “Let the wine of friendship never run dry. If I die… I die with you…”

No sooner that the noncombatants fled to safety that the fighting renewed. The revolutionaries hurried to their places on the barricade and fired desperately at the government troops. Kurt fired off several rounds before scrambling to the ground and getting reports of their status.

“How do we stand, Feuilly?” he demanded, his voice rising over the sounds of gunfire. “Make your report!”

The other young man appeared quite worried. “We’ve guns enough, but ammunition short,” he confirmed, causing Kurt to bow his head in despair when he realized just how dire their situation truly was.

Marius rushed up to Kurt. “Let me go into the streets,” he suggested urgently. “There are bodies all around. Ammunition to be had. Lots of bullets to be found!”

Kurt shook his head sternly, grasping Marius’s arm to keep him from climbing over the barricade. “I won’t let you go. It’s too much of a chance,” he insisted, not wanting to put his closest friend into more danger than they were already in. The other man would not be deterred, which told Finn just how dismal a position they found themselves in.

“The same is true for any man here!” Marius claimed firmly, refusing to let Enjolras place his life above any of the others.

“Let me go,” Valjean offered, willing to sacrifice himself to save his daughter’s love. “He’s no more than a boy. I am old. I have nothing to fear.”

The expression on Kurt’s face became pained at the realization that whoever he sent over the wall would likely meet their death and found it nearly impossible to choose. Send an older man who had proven himself to be a true ally or his dearest friend. But he reluctantly nodded and grasped Valjean’s hand. Before either man could do anything, it became apparent to the audience that the choice was to be taken out of Enjolras’s hands.

Gavroche scrambled to the top of the barricade and called out to the others, “You need someone quicker, and I volunteer!” he called out, ignoring the shouts of refusal from Kurt and the others before sliding over the wall.

Kurt rushed to the top of the barricade, trying to stop the boy but he was too late. The men shouted for Gavroche to come back, but the boy would not be deterred. From behind the wall, Finn could hear the boy singing as he sought to obtain the supplies that the revolutionaries so badly needed.

“So never kick a dog because he’s just a pup,” the boy warned, his voice echoing as the others watched helplessly. Shots fired and Finn could imagine the child ducking for cover while he tried to finish his mission. “We’ll fight like twenty armies and we won’t give up! So you’d better run for cover when the pup grows…”

A single shot rang out, causing Finn to flinch and the boy’s voice fell silent. Grantaire fell to his knees, covering his face in anguish. The men on the barricade bowed their heads in sorrow, giving the brave young boy a moment of silence in honor of his heroism. Valjean crossed himself, heartbroken that a child born into poverty never had the chance for anything better. Before they could properly mourn the child, a trumpet sounded to warn them to take up arms again.

“You on the barricade, listen to this!” a French military officer called out to the fighters from the other side of the wall. “The people of Paris sleep in their beds. You have no chance! No chance at all! Why throw your lives away?”

Kurt turned to his men, his face set in grim determination when he realized that their time had run out. “Let us die facing our foes,” he urged, drawing his followers close to him. “Make them bleed while we can.”

The men cheered, ready to take the fight to the government forces. “Make ‘em pay for every man!” Courfeyrac shouted in anger. Kurt nodded, his mouth drawing into a harsh snarl.

“Let others rise to take our place,” Kurt roared, clenching his fist in defiance. “Until the earth is free!”

The battle was chaotic, with men racing up the barricade and firing on the troops beyond them. Kurt stood at the top, firing his gun until he saw that Marius had fallen, wounded. Lights flashed to give the impression of gun and cannon fire and smoke drifted in the air. Dropping his weapon, Kurt jumped from the barricade and fell to his friend’s side, seeing that the wound was severe and Marius was apparently unconscious. Around him, bodies began to fall as more of his friends were struck down.

Hi face set in grim determination, Kurt clambered back up to the top of the barricade and grasped the pole for their flag. He pulled it free and waved it in defiance, to urge the men to fight on when his body suddenly jerked and Finn nearly cried out. Despite knowing the fate that awaited Kurt’s character, he was still taken by shock to see it actually happen. The flag fell Kurt’s his hand as his body slumped over. The lights flashed as the rest of the men met their fatal ends, the music reaching a crescendo as the fight drew to a close with the passionate students lying dead where they fell.

Finn felt himself gasp for breath, not liking the sight of his brother laying so still, even though he knew it was just pretend. Burt’s expression was one of shock, even though he’d know what would happen to Kurt’s character and his mother didn’t bother to hide her sniffling. He didn’t dare look at Sue or try to gage her reaction. If she caught him seeing her in an emotionally vulnerable state, there wouldn’t be a place he could hide.

That had been an amazing scene, because it had looked so much like a real battle, but he knew that applauding at that moment probably wasn’t the best thing to do at the moment. The scene was still ongoing, with Jean Valjean saving Marius and dragging him to safety. But he wanted to give Kurt’s and the other men playing the doomed fighters some kind of ovation. That was one of the most amazing, heartbreaking things he’d ever seen on a stage and it felt odd to just follow along with the story afterwards.

He was familiar with the musical, so the following scenes played out much the way he expected. The final confrontation between Valjean and Javert was incredibly compelling, the officer finally recognizing that the man that he’d pursued for so long was not the hardened criminal that he’d always believed and that he’d relentlessly haunted a man who hadn’t deserved it. Seeing the man’s generosity so many times, even having his own life spared and unable to accept that he’d been wrong for so long was impossible for him to stand and he threw himself into the river to die.

Good riddance, Finn thought to himself. No matter that he recognized his error, Javert was still an asshole. But he could admire the very neat effect in how the lights were used to give the illusion of the man falling from a great height to his death.

The next scene was the immediate aftermath of the battle as a group of women dressed in mourning clothes arrived at the site of the great battle, carrying small candles of remembrance. They found the remains of the barricade, with no trace of the young men that had fought there save for someone’s tricolored sash and the shredded red flag laying on the ground. One woman had a young girl at her side, letting the child hold the candle. He could see that one of them was Rachel, who looked incredibly sad as she and the others surveyed the wreckage around them and contemplated the sad loss of so many promising lives.

The music was soft and mournful as the women paid tribute to the young men that had died, placing down the candles respectfully on the ground. One of them looked about, her expression sorrowful as she tried to absorb the impact of what had happened there.

“Did you see them going off to fight?” she sang plaintively, kneeling down and crossing herself. “Children of the barricade who didn’t last the night.”

Another woman wiped at her eyes with the corner of her shawl as she placed her candle down on the floor. “Did you see them lying where they died?” she asked. “Someone used to cradle them, and kiss them when they cried.”

“Did you see them, lying side by side?” a pretty black girl sang, and Finn mentally identified her as one of Kurt’s friends from class.

“Who will wake them?” a young Asian woman sang sadly. “No one ever will.”

Rachel came to her side and placed a comforting arm about her. “No one ever told them that a summer day can kill,” she sang mournfully, her voice ringing out clearly like a bell.

Another woman shook her head sadly. “They were schoolboys. Never held a gun,” she reminded the others, bringing home the enormity of the tragedy and just how misguided their fight might have been. “Fighting for a new world that would rise up like the sun.

“Where’s that new world now the fighting’s done?”

One woman sighed, wrapping herself tightly in her dark shawl. “Nothing changes, nothing ever will,” she reminded the others sharply, her disappointment over the failed revolution evident. “Every year another brat, another mouth to fill.”

“Same old story, what’s the use of tears?” she demanded, grief warring with anger on her severe features. “What’s the use of praying of there’s nobody who hears.”

“Turning, turning, turning, turning through the years…” the group sang regretfully, those who had been kneeling rising to their feet and walking slowly in a wide circle that looked nearly like a dance as they trailed off the stage.

“Round and round the roundabout and back where you began… round and round and back where you began…”

As the women filed off the stage, Marius reappeared, dressed formally once again in a dark suit befitting his social status and leaning heavily on a wooden cane as he limped to the small memorial that the women had left behind. He looked exhausted, in pain and inconsolable as he faced the place where all of his friends had died. Finn could not imagine how it must feel, to be the last of them left alive and having to go on with his life.

Marius looked about, not attempting to hide the anguish on his face. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken,” he sang, his voice breaking slightly to express the deep sadness in the young man. “There’s a pain goes on and on… Empty chairs at empty tables. Now my friends are dead and gone.”

He looked up at the sign for the café where they had previously gathered, and Finn could see the tears running down his cheeks. “Here they talked of revolution,” he reminded the audience. “Here it was they lit the flame. Here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came.”

Finn found himself wiping at his own eyes, feeling the man’s sorrow nearly viscerally. He had some wonderful friends that he counted as brothers and the idea of losing them all in one moment struck him at his core. The idea of waking up and finding out that Sam and Puck and… he bit his lip. To imagine that Kurt was gone tore at him. Even imagining so many wonderful people having their futures cut short, and all their amazing potential lost was absolutely heartrending.

“From the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn,” Marius reminisced, reminding the audience of the idealism that his fellows had shared. That they had truly wanted to remake the world into a more fair, just place. “They could see a world reborn. And they rose with voices ringing! I can hear them now!

“The very words that they had sung became their last communion. On the lowly barricade, at dawn…”

Marius’s voice broke, his grief overwhelming him with the crushing realization that he truly was the last one.

Behind Marius, through the darkness Finn could see figures emerging and his breath caught in his throat. Kurt was the most easily recognizable, his white shirt and red vest making him stand out as the ghosts of the deceased stepped into view, but they were all there. Enjolras, Grantaire, Gavroche… They calmly surrounded Marius, standing quietly as Marius battled the burden of guilt over being the only one to survive.

“Oh my friends… my friends,” Marius wept pleadingly. “Forgive me!”

One by one, the ghosts bent to pick up the memorial candles.

“That I live and you are gone,” Marius lamented. “There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There’s a pain goes on and on.

“Oh my friends… my friends,” Marius cried out while the ghosts raised the candles high before swiftly blowing them out. “Don’t ask me what your sacrifice was for.”

The ghosts began to slip back into the darkness, fading out of view. Kurt had been the first to appear and the last to follow them, lingering with his closest friend for another half beat before slipping away.

As if sensing that he was alone again, Marius bowed his head in sorrow. “Empty chairs at empty tables. Where my friends will sing no more…”

Finn heard his mother’s sniffles and he reached out to take her hand. Burt was wiping at his eyes and even Sue was biting her lower lip to keep her emotions in check. It had been a powerful performance and the applause from the audience was well deserved.

He took a deep breath and readied himself for what he knew would be an amazing finale.

* * *

Kurt was grateful to have a few moments to rest before the finale and enjoy watching the rest of the show from the wings. His friends in the ensemble had hurried to make a quick change to ballgowns and suits for the wedding scene and were currently changing costumes for the final time. He found Rachel and the others emerging from the quick-change area and couldn’t help from pulling them into a group hug.

“We’re almost there,” he promised. They were only moments away from the final song and the dye would be cast. They had done their best and given the performances of their lives. Hopefully it would be well received because they’d worked so hard for so long.

From their place behind a screen that would shield them from the audience, they could watch Sean giving Jean Valjean the kind of glorious send off that the character deserved. Valjean was ready to face death, having secured Cosette’s future happiness with Marius and rose to join the ghosts of Fantine and Eponine.

“Take my hand, and lead me to salvation,” they sang gently while Cosette wept over her father’s death. Marius tried to comfort her while mourning the man who had saved his live. “Take my love, for love is everlasting.”

Valjean was looking upwards as a warm spotlight encased them in an ethereal glow. The lines of worry on his face seemed to fade as he faced his reward for a life well-lived. Kurt had to admit that the effect was quite engaging and would look remarkable from the audience.

On the stage, Cosette and Marius began to read the letter than Valjean had given her, holding one another close while Fantine and Eponine lead Valjean to his heavenly reward. “And remember, the truth that once was spoken. To love another person is to see the face of God...”

Kurt felt Rachel reaching over to squeeze his hand as the backlights came up behind them, giving them a ghostly appearance to the audience.

“Do you hear the people sing,” all of them began, their voices soft as if drifting on a breeze. “Lost in the valley of the night. It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light.

“For the wretched of the earth, there is a flame that never dies. Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise.”

The screen raised so that the audience could fully see the figures of the entire cast, all the characters that had died and the ensemble players that had filled the stage. The street children, the bishop who’d been so kind to Jean Valjean, all the Friends of the ABC… even Javert joined them, having found some small redemption. Kurt stepped out proudly, flanked by his friends and castmates.

“They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord,” they sang, the sheer number of voices creating a layered wall of sound that, from Kurt’s perspective, sounded absolutely gorgeous. He looked out from the stage, seeing the audience beyond the lights and knew that the performers were giving them what they had come for.

“They will walk behind the plough share. They will put away the sword. The chain will be broken, and all men will have their reward!”

The cast step up to fall in line with Valjean, Eponine and Fantine, the three of them joining in with the full cast. Cosette and Marius joined in the singing and the entire cast launched into full voice.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?” Kurt sang out, trying to keep in character and not let the joyous smile that was threatening to escape touch his features. “Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?”

He puffed out his chest proudly and squared his shoulders, placing a comradely hand on Grantaire’s shoulder. “Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums. It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!”

The cast stepped to the front of the stage, filling it with their numbers and filling the theater with the glorious chorus of their voices. Now there were no stars or leads. There was just a group of people who had lived and endured and left their own mark on the world. Behind them, the lights glowed warm in tones of gold and red, giving the impression of a rising sun.

“Will you join in our crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me? Somewhere beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see? Do you hear the people sing? Say, do you hear the distant drums? It is the future that they bring when tomorrow comes!”

He felt dampness on his cheeks and realized that he was crying. But that didn’t stop him from giving everything he had for the final notes. The entire cast threw their full beings into the last words, wanting to leave an indelible impression on those who had come to see them.

“Ohhhh….. ohhhh…. Tomorrow… comes!”

When the last note finally faded, Kurt almost didn’t hear the audience through the buzzing in his ears. He felt oddly detached, as if watching what was happening from some distant position and not standing on that stage. He saw the audience getting to their feet and applauding and cheering and it took him a moment to really grasp just what he and the others had accomplished that night. When his head cleared, the roar of applause was positively thunderous.

They had rehearsed the curtain call so that it would run smoothly. The group stepped back so that everyone would have their chance to take a bow and bask in the audience’s regard. Members of the ensemble were first, going forward in groups of ten and were surprisingly orderly for such a large group while the other members of the cast applauded their peers and gave them the respect that they deserved.

He watched as Rachel went out with other women of the ensemble, including Analisa, Katya and Mei, bowing and taking in the standing ovation. The expression on the girls’ faces was absolutely radiant and Rachel especially looked thrilled. He clapped for them, unable to resist giving a hoot of support for his friends.

The men in the ensemble went next, and Kurt cheered for Jamie and Tommy and Mitchel. All of the child actors then stepped forward, with special acknowledgement made for the ones who’d played Gavroche and the younger versions of and Eponine that night. He was so happy for them to have this kind of opportunity so early in their acting careers. He hoped that they remembered this night and that it would inspire them going forward for years to come.

It then became time for the named characters to take their bows and Kurt felt himself all but quivering as he waited for his turn. When the Friends of the ABC stepped forward, he was at the center of the line and couldn’t help from smiling when the applause from the audience seemed to grow louder. Each of them was given a chance to bow as individuals and as the leader of the group, Kurt was last. When it was his turn, the others stepped back and left Kurt to stand at the center of that large stage by himself, feeling the full weight of the audience’s regards and they cheered and clapped for him. His throat tight from holding in his emotions, he bowed again, one hand over his heart before stepping back to join the others.

Once the cast was done, a smiling Professor Carmody stepped out onto the stage and was applauded by both the audience and the cast for her tremendous accomplishment. She joined her students for one last bow as a group before the curtain came down, shielding them from the audience’s view. Behind the heavy velvet, Kurt could hear the muffled applause that only died down when the house lights came on.

Professor Carmody turned to her cast with a tired but satisfied smile on her face. “I’m not going to waste your time with congratulations, because you know how well you did,” she advised. She wiped at her eyes, brushing away joyous tears. “Go get yourselves cleaned up, because there’s a hell of a party waiting for all of you.

“Make sure that all of your costumes and props are accounted for,” she instructed firmly. “Don’t make the tech teams’ job harder than it needs to be. Be ready in an hour for the buses to take us to the gala. Miss them and you’re on your own getting there.” With another smile, she left her cast to get themselves sorted out.

With an exhausted sigh of relief the whole group fell into excited chatter as they turned to congratulate one another. Kurt felt many pats on his back and words of praise and he returned them whole heartedly. He found his friends, giving Jamie a tight hug of friendship as they congratulated on another. He ruffled Tommy’s hair, hugged Analisa and Katya and Mei… his eyes darted about for Rachel, seeing her talking with some of the other girls from the ensemble.

Watching her being part of a group, treating other performers as peers rather than supporters made Kurt’s heart swell. For all that he believed that Rachel had truly changed, there was still a faint question mark hanging over her. It was one thing for her not to set herself in direct competition with him, but how she would behave with people who truly would be competition for her… other actresses who had their own aspirations and goals was the real challenge. He knew that she had set this up as a challenge for herself; a test to see if she could really handle being in a supporting role with grace and give the show everything she could. That she succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations made him thrilled on her behalf.

He hurried to her side and pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close and pressing his face against her hair. She clutched at him tightly, her face against his shoulder and trembling slightly from the overflow of emotions. Kurt’s own emotions were cascading wildly through his brain and he felt that he might just fall apart without Rachel’s presence to ground him. They just held one another, trying to find a small eye of calm in a sea of activity around them.

Neither of the said a word, because there was nothing that needed to be said between them. They would praise one another’s performances later on, when they had a chance to mentally regroup. For now, all Kurt wanted to do was savor her presence and ponder how grateful he was to have shared this incredible experience with her.

They didn’t want to let go of one another, not with the heady emotions still bubbling up within them. But as the other members of the cast began to disperse and the tech teams moved to close things down for the night, they knew that they couldn’t hold onto that moment forever. But letting go of one another didn’t change things. They parted with the full knowledge of what they’d accomplished.

“We’d better start getting ready,” Rachel sighed, loosening her hold on her best friend and dabbing at her tearing eyes. “I don’t know about you, but there is no way I’m going to be late for this party. Not with that amazing dress you picked out for me.”

He couldn’t help from chuckling tiredly, bending to kiss her forehead. “I’ll see you in a little bit. Go make yourself gorgeous,” he urged with a smile.

He retreated to his dressing room where his castmates were busy cleaning up and getting ready for the party. When Kurt entered the cramped room, the other young men looked up and welcomed him with a rousing cheer.

“Hey, nice for you to join us fearless leader,” Ryan teased, having already stripped down to his shorts.

“Jezz, Ryan… put some fucking clothes on,” Eddie, who played Grantaire complained, throwing a dirty hand towel at the other man.

Jack grinned broadly. “Kurt, that was some job you did,” he praised. “It was really fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Kurt said thankfully, stripping off his shirt. “Everyone was amazing. You all did such a great job… it gave me something to measure up to.”

He would have loved a shower but there was no time for that. A spot wash with a damp cloth to get the sweat off his skin would have to suffice. He got all the stage paint off his face, taking special care to cleanse his skin and moisturize to keep his complexion from looking too ruddy. There wasn’t a whole lot that he could do with the mess that was his hair except bush it out and use some spray to try to hold it into place so that he didn’t look like a dust mop.

He checked the time on his phone and saw that Adam was probably only midway through the second act for his show. Knowing that they wouldn’t be able to talk until much later in the evening, he sent a quick text.

Just got off stage a few minutes ago. Think that things went pretty well. Will call you later tonight. Love you.

He hit “send” with a sigh. No use moping about what he couldn’t do anything about. There was a message from his brother that the show was great and they would see him at the party. That definitely improved his mood considerably.

“Hey Kurt, you’d better hurry up,” Ryan urged as he dressed. “Don’t want to miss the bus.”

Kurt smiled and nodded. “Give me five,” he requested, getting up from his table. While he wished that he could see Adam and be able to celebrate with him, there was no use dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. Adam would want him to enjoy himself and not fixate on his partner’s absence. He had a lot of people to celebrate with and this promised to be a wonderful evening. Adam would be the first person to urge him to go out, peacock a little and enjoy himself even if he couldn’t be there.

By the time the actors and crew loaded up onto the buses, Kurt’s mood had decidedly lightened. He was dressed in a fabulous suit and off to celebrate their successful performance. He was surrounded by friends and castmates and it was hard to feel badly about the one blemish on what had been an amazing evening. He deserved the chance to look back on what he’d just accomplished with pride and Adam would be the last person in the world to begrudge him that chance.

There would be many things to celebrate together when Adam returned home. This would be one more thing they could add to the list.

A/N  -   I was very fortunate to find video of a chapter that matched nearly exactly how I envisioned this production - staging, costuming and performances. If you want a clearer look at how I saw NYADA's production to play out, it's worth watching. The production was done in Madrid and entirely in Spanish and is very well worth watching.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=les+miserables+madrid

[megers67]

Saisei Academy Verse: Saitou Hibiki

I’m re-making this post since it’s not showing up in the tags. I suspect it’s because I linked my fic which is bullshit, but I want others interested in this little OC grouping to find it so I de-linked it. If you want to find it, I’ve linked my AO3 to my blog or you can just ask me!

I'm finding it increasing difficult to refer to this as an AU version of Hibiki since, while I came up with it second, it's the only verse I've actually written about so far. But now that @miracide has created the wonderful school, Saisei Academy, I've decided that this version of Hibiki would end up there. My story, Ascent, is an origin story for her. So uh... I guess this will inevitably contain spoilers. Take that as you will.

For that reason and for length, I will put her bio under the Keep Reading. Also, I based the formatting after one of the bios she made for one of her own OCs, though I added my own sections.

Hibiki Saitou

Age: 16

Status: 2nd Year Student, General Studies

Basic personality: Deeply cares for others and tends to put them ahead of herself to a fault, quiet, usually only speaks when she has something to say, good listener but bad at communicating her own needs, tends to mother people, over-prepared, anxious and paranoid, only truly comfortable when doing something she knows she’s good at (her preferred school subjects, first aid, cooking) so she is most likely to speak up during these times (providing answers in the school subjects, assertive during first aid, opening up while cooking) though it’s not a guarantee

Basic appearance: On the shorter side of average, thin (due to recent months), long dusty-pink hair that she usually keeps up in a tight bun, dark eyes, covered in scars including prominent one at the corner of her mouth and a crooked nose from when an injury there failed to heal properly, she hides her scars as much as she can (basic foundation on her face, tights/stockings, and sleeves when she’s allowed to, even when it’s hot) because she doesn’t want people to ask her about them

Likes: English language media (especially music), cooking, biology, first aid

Dislikes: Being touched, passive aggression, things being put on higher shelves out of her reach

Favorite food: Hot chocolate

Best school subjects: Biology, English (nearly fluent since her father was)

Worst school subjects: PE, arts

Random fact: She tends to sing while she does chores when she thinks nobody is around (her skill is only average). She gets super embarrassed by it if someone catches her doing it. But because she keeps forgetting that she lives with other people, this happens relatively often.

----------

Quirk: Injury exchange

- With skin-to-skin contact, she can exchange any active physical damage between herself and the person she is touching.

- Injuries transfer between analogous body parts so a broken left arm causes a break in the same place in the same way on the other person’s left arm. If one gets an injury in a place that is otherwise uninjured, the state of non-injury is given in the exchange. So if Person A has a broken left arm and Hibiki is uninjured there, she takes the broken arm while it is healed in Person A.

- By default, it switches all injuries across the entire body, but with concentration, she can focus it to a specific area. This means she can theoretically heal others while stockpiling a dangerous amount of injuries onto herself.

- The quirk activates automatically and she has to specifically cancel it, so she is dangerous to touch while unconscious (since generally injuries are what cause one to become unconscious).

- Her most common use of her quirk is where she can sense any and all injuries of the other person, but deactivates her quirk before the exchange is made. This allows her to accurately access someone injured without advanced scanning equipment or putting herself in harm's way.

- Still-present causes of injuries are not affected, only the active damage to the body. A stabbing would need to have the knife removed first. Otherwise it will completely heal around the knife in the victim and leave a disconnected knife-shaped flesh in her own wound in the exchange as that could not be exchanged. Similarly, damage from an illness or a poison can be exchanged, but the original victim would simply acquire that damage again. The only advantage of proceeding with the exchange despite this is it gives the chance to “restart the clock” once that may buy time.

----------

Background:

Unlike many students at Saisei Academy, she came into the program with excellent quirk control. She mainly attends the school for psychological support and reform due to her criminal activity. Since she has an otherwise clean record and her crimes were nonviolent in nature, she avoided jail time. This, plus her good academic record and other extenuating circumstances, saw her admission to Saisei Academy. However, as she IS a criminal, she is liable to have more restrictions than the average student (I just don’t know what restrictions Miracide would have for this kind of situation).

Her home life has not been great. Hibiki's mother died shortly after her quirk manifested because a villain attack left the toddler gravely injured. When her mother naturally came to her aid, the injuries transferred to her and help didn't come until it was too late. Hibiki's father, in his grief, always blamed her for her mother's death, often taking his frustration out on her and using Hibiki's quirk to indirectly aid in his hero work.

He was a local pro-hero named Noci whose quirk allowed him to store any pain he's sustained in the past 24 hours and give it to someone else. This allowed him to incapacitate villains without causing actual damage to them. The potential for his quirk to be used for torture made him a controversial hero so he never became incredibly popular outside of his home town. For his hero work, he would often allow himself to become injured so he could store the pain, but later force Hibiki to take on the actual injuries herself so that he wasn't incapable of actual fighting. She'd attempted to go to the authorities about this, but his connections with local law enforcement prevented the case from being pursued seriously. This long-term abuse and the refusal of its acknowledgment made Hibiki incredibly skeptical and disillusioned towards the hero system and law enforcement as a whole.

Hibiki was left to her own devices for much of the day, but was not allowed to interact much with her peers outside of school. She took on many of the domestic responsibilities of her house at a young age as a result. She disliked most of them, but became very efficient in doing them, a skill she carries to this day. Hibiki does like cooking, however.

Her only true friend in school was Tanaka Rin. Rin was one of the only students who didn't treat Hibiki any differently despite her scars and frankly was the only reason Hibiki has any real social skills at all. The two girls became even closer when an accident permanently blinded Rin and Hibiki helped her devise a way for Rin to use her temperature quirk as a form of thermal imaging.

The two however were separated when Rin chose to pursue a career as a pro-hero and succeeded in getting into the hero program at the famed UA. Hibiki applied to a more normal high school on the area in order to be near her and in the process ran away from home. However, she became too embarrassed to let Rin see her as she was since she had nothing to her name after becoming a runaway. This put her in a very dark place.

A fateful encounter with a young criminal who nearly died since he didn't want to be arrested had he gone to a hospital led her to create The Bunker. The Bunker was an off-the-grid medical facility housed in an abandoned bunker that had been built when quirks first began to emerge, but had long since been forgotten. The 6-bed facility allowed her to help those who, like her, had been ignored but still needed help. With the help of a disgraced nurse who had been fired from the local hospital for taking pain killers while on the job, she ran the facility for 6 months before a raid brought it to its end.

While the raid meant Hibiki now had a criminal record (though the charges were less than you'd expect due to the care she took to remain as close to technically legal as possible), it also finally exposed her father's abuse to the world. He went on the run before he could be arrested and remains at large. As she now doesn’t technically have parents or legal guardians, she is a ward of the state until further notice.

----------

The main goals for Hibiki's reform are to:

- Regain trust in authority. While she doesn't necessarily act out, she does a worrying amount of hopeless/mindless compliance.

- Learn it is okay to put her own health first. She went through much of her life thinking it's her place in life to sacrifice herself for the betterment of others and that prioritizing herself was selfish.

- Figure out what she wants to do with her life. Due to the above, Hibiki has resigned herself to believing she will die young and as such has difficulty thinking in the long-term. She's never thought much about her future because she never thought she had one.

[imagine-loki]

Books are better than people

TITLE: Books are better than people CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 1 AUTHOR: dance-in-moonlight     ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine taking Loki to the biggest library in the world, The Tianjin Binhai Library in China. As soon as you walk in, he’s like a kid in a candy store as he doesn’t know where to start with 1.2 million books surrounding him… RATING: T NOTES/WARNINGS: I plan on adding fluff and at some point perhaps a little bit smut, but not yet. There’s a mention of fear of planes and height, but no detailed experience with that. Furthermore it’s my first Tumblr fic and I will post it on my blog too, so I’d be happy about feedback!

Addition: You are Tony’s personal assistant and therefore stick around the Avengers most of the time. You opened the calendar on your phone and checked today’s tasks. Two were on the list: picking up Mister Stark’s suit from the tailor and cancelling tomorrow’s meeting. Both already had a little tick since you had fulfilled them. Right before the flight you had picked up the suit, and while waiting for the private jet to be ready for boarding you had fulfilled the other task.   With a sigh you shut off your phone and leaned back in your seat. Your eyes drifted towards the oval window on your left, allowing you to see mountains of clouds outside. From time to time the clouds would separate a little and  offer a fantastic view of the world below. There were forests, fields, mountains, cities and now and then a bit water.  With a little twist of your stomach you turned away from the window. You were not afraid of heights, but planes had always been scary to you. Once again you wondered why you had agreed on joining the Avengers on their trip to China. 

“Miss Y/L/N, you look a little pale. Are you alright?”, a calm voice asked close to you, causing you to look up. Steve who sat on the other side of the aisle looked at you attentively. Him and Bruce were the only ones on the team who treated you with that measure of respect and politeness, the others mostly saw you as an intern. At least that was the idea you got after Clint repeatedly sending you to get coffee and everyone else asking you to do little chores. Tony constantly had to remind them that you were his assistant, not theirs.  “Oh, thank you Mr. Rogers. It‘s…nothing”, you replied ashamed of your stupid fear.  “It’s because Tony assigned you as his Babysitter, right?”, he replied with a sympathetic gaze. You chuckled lightly. Everybody seemed to be so afraid of Loki or dislike him. Sure, he had caused a lot of trouble, but to your mind he was just moody. On the other hand you had never been there when he’d snapped, and nobody wanted to describe the god’s dark side to you as if they thought you were too fragile to know.  “I believe I can handle that”, you replied with a little smile. “Thor brought devices which will assure he stays calm.” Steve shook his head and leaned over the aisle to talk more quietly to you.  “He is a psychopath, Ms Y/L/N, don’t underestimate that. You don’t have to do that.”  “That’s very kind of you, but don’t worry. Mr. Stark promised it would be a task I can handle, and I trust him. Besides, somebody has to keep an eye on Loki while you are doing your job, right?” The blond man sighed realising you wouldn’t give in, so he leaned back again.  “Fine, but I will ask Tony to keep his phone close.” Again you chuckled, amused by him being so protective of everyone on the team including you, even though you technically  didn’t belong to the team.  “Thank you, Mr. Rogers,  but it’s really not necessary. “  You saw him take a deep breath before he relaxed again. Since the conversation was over and no one else seemed talkative at the moment you decided to avoid anxiety attacks caused by your fear of planes by napping for the remaining flight.

“Y/N, get up! Or do you want to spend three days in the yet?”, Tony Stark’s voice woke you up. You stretched and yawned while sitting up and looking around. Apparently you had fallen asleep since you could see an airport and the Avengers standing outside through the window. Tony stood beside you with an impatient but amused expression, arms crossed before his chest.  “I need you for our man baby, remember? ” You shook your head to escape the last bit of sleepiness and got up, straightened your white bluse and pulled your black jeans up a little.  “I am awfully sorry, and of course I remember. I made a detailed plan, if you want I can e-mai-” “Not necessary, just don’t let him burn up the city”, Mr. Stark interrupted and shoved you down the aisle and out of the plane. You held onto your handbag and stumbled down the stairs, probably looking like a dork. “Gosh Tony, you’ll break her legs”, Clint’s voice mentioned nearby. You looked up and saw the remaining team members standing close, most of them looking at you. Your boss seemed to find Clint’s argument valid since he took his hand of your back and stopped pushing you. “I would never! My apologies, Y/N.” You nodded it off and walked over to Steve, the one that was closest to a friend to you. Besides your charming boss of course. He watched you approaching and smiled politely once you stopped next to him. You noticed him trying to figure out your feelings through your neutral expression, causing you to smile as well. “I am fine, I promise.” He nodded quietly even though he did not seem very convinced.  “Good, we will have to leave you alone soon. Tony has-” “I have made sure the hotel sends staff to pick up our luggage, thanks Rogers”, Tony explained behind your back. You felt his hands on your arms as he turned you around and examined your expression. “You can handle that?” “Mister Stark, I told you a million times that I’ll be fine”, you said with an annoyed little sigh. How dangerous could Loki be? He wasn’t possessed by Thanos or anyone this time. “Great, because we have to leave. Thor will give you everything, I gotta do something.” His expression changed into a frown when he tried to remember what he had to do. “Ms Potts asked you to call her after our arrival”, you said helpfully. Your boss snapped his finger and nodded while taking his mobile phone out. “See, that’s why I hired you. Guys, let’s roll.” He turned around and the others followed slowly. You shook your head, Mr Stark could be so forgetful sometimes…remembering your main task you turned around and shyly approached the Aesir. “Hello Mr Odinson, Mr Laufeyson”, you greeted with two little nods into their direction. Loki glared at you with ice cold green eyes. His mouth was covered by a futuristic-looking metal gag which upset you since you thought it violated human rights. “Can we take that off? It would be creepy to have him silently stare at me.” You sounded tough, but inside you were nervous and a tiny bit scared. Both men were huge and muscular, even though Loki was a lot slimmer than his adoptive brother he was still looking strong. Thor had watched you with a curious expression, as if he was guessing whether you’d make it through the day in one piece. “Ms Y/L/N…I thought you were Stark’s chambermaid. But you seem to be doing different things”, he said in a booming voice, but with the face of a curious Golden Retriever. That image couldn’t even be destroyed by his missing eye.  “I am his personal assistant”, you explained politely, even though you had told him at least five times in the past months. “Now, if you don’t mind”, you added and pointed at the raven haired man. Thor followed your gesture and nodded, then removed the gag. Loki immediately shifted his jaw and inhaled theatrically. His brother meanwhile turned back to you and handed you a little remote, barely the size of your palm. “That is all you will need, trust me.” “Um…okay, thank you. I really hope I won’t need it.“ The huge blond man patted your shoulder before he passed you, following his team members and leaving you alone with Loki. “We haven’t been introduced I think”, you said to break the icy silence. “I am-” “Y/N”, Loki interrupted monotonously. The deep, cold voice sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes which had been focused on the city’s skyline wandered to you, examined you from head to toe. “This will be interesting. Shall we?”

[paulinedorchester]

So, guess what?

Mills, Jon. Within the Island Fortress: The Uniforms, Insignia & Ephemera of the Home Front in Britain 1939-1945. No. 4: The Mechanised Transport Corps (MTC). Orpington, Kent: Wardens Publishing, 2008.

I am extremely grateful to Roger Miles of Home Front Collection for putting a copy of this up for sale at a much more reasonable price than previous examples that I’ve seen and helping me through a technical glitch during the ordering process and to Ronald Thomas of the U.S. Postal Service’s Henry W. McGee Post Office for solving a last-minute delivery snafu. (Heartfelt thanks also to @peonymoss, for humoring me through my discovery of some Tumblr technical stuff that I’ve used in this post.)

This 36-page, A4-sized book is probably the closest thing we’ll ever have to an official history of the MTC. Mills has done a vast amount of research, including examining this and more than a dozen relevant files in the National Archives. He even mentions Resy Peake, OBE, the MTC’s second Corps Commandant - who died 14 years before this book was published - in his acknowledgments! Mills structures his description of MTC paraphernalia around a capsule history of the MYC itself, with the result that there is a tremendous amount to be learned about both subjects from reading this book. Some of what I’ve picked up here, though, has sent me into a bit of a tizzy. Here’s a sampling:

Lesson learned: as important as old newspapers are for historical research, they don’t always get the facts right. For one thing, a widely syndicated item from 1942 stated that the given name of Mrs. G.M. Cook, OBE, was Gertrude Muriel, while Mills gives her first name as Grace. Armed with Mills’ statement that Mrs. Cook was "second in command of the [Women’s] Legion in France during the First War [sic]” (about which, more momentarily), I was able to confirm that he is indeed correct:

I hereby acknowledge having made bad assumptions or drawn incorrect inclusions about many, even most, of the MTC uniforms, badges, etc., whose images I’ve posted here. Clearly, I need to repost them all with corrected information. (<sarcasm>Aren’t you all just thrilled?</sarcasm>)

My imaginary account of the MTC’s early history in When Thou Goest Forth to War, cooked up almost three years ago with little information in hand, is so far from historical fact that I’m now experiencing a very strong urge to rewrite that story, along with Sam’s Christmas reminiscence in Someone You Know and possibly parts of other stories as well. Here’s a sampling:

Mills explains that the MTC emerged from the Women’s Legion, whose founder, the Marchioness of Londonderry, relaunched it in 1934, to train potential officers for any such future force [of women volunteers] and to provide trained, experienced drivers for government service from its MT [mechanical transport] section. This new force was given limited recognition by the War Office. ... Mrs Grace Cook ... now set up and commanded the Legion’s MT Division in London. In September 1938 the Legion was dealt a blow by the creation of the Auxiliary Territorial Service (ATS) ... When Lady Londonderry asked if the Legion might have a role in this new War Office scheme, she was told that none existed and that she should encourage  younger members to join the ATS. Lady Londonderry wrote to Mrs Cook: ‘If we stay in the Legion there is no certainly of our ever being deployed, but you are perfectly at liberty to run an independent organisation under another name.’ Thus the MTC - originally the Mechanised Transport Training Corps - was born in February 1939.

On top of this, we learn from Mills that the MTTC was active only in and around London when the war broke out, and apparently personnel were sent to France many weeks or even months before companies were set up elsewhere in Britain. “By the end of May 1940,” Mills writes, “membership of the Corps exceeded 700 with several units established outside London.” That leaves us wondering how long before May any of those units came into existence. (May 1940, of course, is when Foyle’s War canon begins. The earliest announcement of regional recruitment that I’ve found comes from mid-July 1940, in Birmingham.) In any event, the implication seems to be that Sam would have had to go to London for MTC training, and would then have served there for some months before moving to Hastings.  

But wait, there’s more! I’ve been unable to find a linkable image of the 1930s Women’s Legion service dress uniform, but Mills includes a photo of a Legion unit on parade in 1938, and it clearly shows that their uniform - Khaki officer’s tunic, matching skirt, leather belt, and peaked cap with what I’ve been calling a “pie crust” crown - was essentially identical to that of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry and was adopted more or less wholesale by the ATS (which substituted a fabric belt for the leather one) and, of course, the MTC - which likewise introduced a variation, at least for most personnel: Those who transferred to the MTTC from the Legion continued to wear the Legion’s style of cap (recognisable by the gathered material above the headband) and simply exchanged their cap badge for that of the MTTC. By early 1940 a unique new MTTC cap modelled on a ski cap and available from the London sports outfitters Lillywhites had been introduced for new members. Since Sam wears the Women’s Legion cap (much more flattering, IMHO), the implication is that she spent some time in the Legion prior to joining the MTC. This isn’t impossible: an item in the Hastings and St Leonards Observer for September 10th, 1938, notes that the Women’s Legion Mechanical Transport Section was recruiting women between 18 and 40. I’ve posited that Sam was born in 1919, so that would work. But that, too, requires a rewrite of my fic. (Seriously, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.)

Mills also tells us about the MTC’s financial crisis in the wake of the fall of France (they had to abandon a great deal of equipment during the retreat), which is something that I hadn’t come across before. He reproduces the cover of a fundraising brochure from that period; it carries a list of members of the MTC’s council, and it’s a tad dispiriting to learn that most of them were men.

He also goes at least part-way towards clearing up the mystery of why it often appears that not all MTC uniforms were the same color: beginning in 1942 large numbers of MTC personnel were seconded to American troops (who couldn’t cope with driving in the blackout, apparently), where they earned far higher pay than they could get doing anything else. Many of them splurged on new uniforms in US Army regulation olive-drab. While Mills acknowledges that many MTC members could easily afford such an indulgence, he also includes a fascinating newspaper clipping from June 1939 that I haven’s seen elsewhere, showing recruitment and preliminary training of two MTC companies in Streatham, London - not a neighborhood likely to produce many debutantes!

There are a few frustrating omissions. We read not a word here about the MTC’s crisis of August 1943. It would be nice to know more about certain peculiarities laid down in the MTC’s rules: why one’s superiors were to be addressed as Madam rather than Ma’am, for example, or why married MTC personnel were allowed to wear either wedding or engagement rings, but not both. And Mills never mentions the one-piece, apparently lighter-weight version of the uniform that we see here. (It also shows up in that 1938 Women’s Legion photo that I mentioned.) Nevertheless, this is a terrific book for anyone interested in this subject, and if you find a copy for sale I’d encourage you to go for it. (As I write this it appears that Home Front Collection has another copy for sale ... )

[msawesomeworld]

Royalty not loyalty Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry that it is technically an hour late, but i had no wifi all day. Hope you enjoy anyway. I am working constantly on this fic actually wanting chapters so that i am able to finish it.

Read the other chapters here.

“There’s no chance for us. It’s all decided for us.” 

- Queen.

Stella’s P.O.V.

We kept on partying and stayed together as a group all night, we might as well. When we felt like it we went back into the limo with some bottles and drove off to the beach. I was pretty drunk, along with everyone else, it had been a bit of a night. The boys had done some lines but nothing major. Louis sat beside me and kept feeding me the bottle I was drinking. He tried way too hard. We somehow ended up thinking truth or dare was a good idea. Because we were 14 or something.

“Stella, truth or dare bitch?” Skylar said with a smile and I chuckled taking a drink.

“Truth.” I said and her smirk faded.

“Come on that is not fair, that is the second time in a row. You can’t chicken out any more.” She said smirking again and I rolled my eyes sighing.

“Fine, dare me if you dare.” I said chuckling, I took a sip and she smirked widely.

“Okay, I dare you to make out with whoever you think is hottest in this limo, besides me of course.” She said chuckling.

I sat back and looked at them wondering who I would like to make out with. Of course I would love to make out with both Robert and Louis whose faces seemed to be meant for that. Wait what? Oh right, I get horny when I am drunk. I smirked and handed the bottle to Skylar who cheered.

I leaned in over Louis who was smirking wider than a chesire cat thinking he had won. I put my hand on his face and I leaned slowly in feeling his hot breath on my face. I padded it once and leaned beside him and kissed Victoria, the boys and Skylar whooped beside me and I leaned out and chuckled I grabbed my bottle and shrugged at Skylar.

“You never said it had to be one of the boys.” And she just laughed at me.

We arrived at the beach and ran out of the car fooling around with each other. Drunk was an understatement. High on life but low on balance I sat down in the sand not caring if it ruined my dress. The others apparently had the idea that skinny dipping was a great idea. I took sip of the bottle and handed it to the person I could feel sitting down beside me.

“So tell me princess, how does it feel to let lose a little?” Louis said I chuckled and took the bottle from him.

“I’m not skinny dipping yet am I?” I said and he chuckled.

“And why are you depriving the world and more importantly me of that wonderful image?” He said and I laughed taking a sip of the bottle.

“I like my dignity and it is fun not pleasing you.” I said and he grabbed the bottle from my hand holding it still looking me in the eyes.

“Fuck your dignity. Let lose for once, what have you got to lose?” He said and I chuckled pulling the bottle back towards me.

“Said dignity, face, and I’m pretty sure my parents would disown me if they found out.” I said and the smile faded from his face.

“Do you always do what your parents tell you to do?” He asked looking at me seriously. I shook my head but sighed.

“Not when I can get away with not doing so, but they do have some power. And I don’t know about you, but I would rather cry at the back of a limo than laugh in the front seat of a Zuzuki alto or some shit.” I said and he smirked again.

“Cheers to that.” He said finally taking the bottle and taking a few sips from it.

I got up from the sand and left him there while he was distracted shortly. He yelled my name and I turned around.

“What are you doing princess?” He asked and I chuckled turning around.

“Coursing some havoc of course.” And with those words I stripped out of my dress and ran in my underwear into the water joining the others.

He was right, it was fun letting lose and I should do it more often. But I knew I could not and I would go back to reality soon. Back to being pretty little miss perfect. So I decided not for his sake but for my own to go skinny dipping. Enjoy the freedom while it lasts. I should really stop listening to Louis, he is gonna get me in trouble, and I just might let him.

After being crowned we had the full weekend at a cabin in the woods where we would bond so that we could concentrate whenever there was a meeting. Of course we had to sleep in pairs because everyone, especially including my parents, expected us to end up with one of the other royals. I did not feel that way about Rian, but would probably be forced to marry him in a couple of years. Plus we were good friends, so I did not mind having to share a room with him.

I got up feeling major hungover, but after drinking bottles of champagne, I should not be surprised. I walked downstairs where there were pancakes and what else the people had prepared for us. Skylar was sitting with sunglasses on and Victoria looked surprisingly good. I ate the fruit bowl and yogurt in front of me, while all I wanted was a big mac, I had a figure to keep. The guys joined us and we kept talking to a minimal till we all had had some coffee and an aspirin. Louis sat beside me smirking at me. I was too tired to care how he magically looked good hungover. When I was done eating I made eye contact with Skylar who nodded and got up from her seat and I followed suit. Victoria did the same, even though, like I said, she looked gorgeous.

“We are gonna go, look presentable. Boys, be ready in an hour, then it is time for our first task.” Skylar said and I smirked and walked away.

Skylar had her stylist flown in and they got to work on us while we had some girl talk.

“So what is our first task gonna be? I hope it involves me making out with Robert.” Skylar said and Victoria and me’s mouths opened at her statement.

“Do you do anything that do not involve sex Skye?” Victoria asked smiling a little at her, Skylar just shrugged.

“I work in fashion, sex is something that I think about a lot, it sell you know?” She said and I chuckled.

“You should not laugh Stella, I have seen you making googly eyes at both Rian and Louis.” She said and I looked at her offended and hit her arm.

“No way, besides Rian and I am just friends, the only way that will happen is if my parents force me to.” I said and she looked at me disgusted.

“The fact that your parents interfere with your sex life, ew.” She said and I rolled my eyes and shrugged, that was just how the game was, if they fit okay together and would be good for business that was how it would go.

Being forced to marry someone, and while I would love to follow my childhood dream of marrying out of love, that was just unrealistic. Especially if it was someone who was beneath me. I would be disowned, and like I said to Louis last night: I would much rather cry in the back of a limo than smile in the front seat of a Zuzuki. I was raised that way, I am certain that I could take care of myself, but I do not know how to behave in the real world. I enjoyed luxury, but I enjoyed the simpler things as well. The small moments I have spent with my father was amazing. He was actually a simple man, who was just lucky to make a billion before he was 20 and getting into the sculls and meeting my mother. She has always been like this, rich family, nothing and no one came before the family image. So my father had me alone on some occasions and showed me the simpler things in life. Like the little joint in queens where he grew up, they have the best sandwiches. He thought me to enjoy the small things. My mother obviously disapproves, but he always managed to cover it up as something she deemed appropriate.

Victoria pulled me out of my train of thought and cleared her throat and shrugged.

“Be that as it may, that does not exclude Louis.” She said, and Skylar smirked and shrugged as well.

“If you dont tap that, I just might.” She said and I hit her arm chuckling.

“I don’t think Im his type. And I hear he is trouble. I don’t really feel like getting into trouble.” I said shrugging.

I turned around when I heard someone from the other end of the room, and saw Louis standing in the doorway smirking at me arms crossed. The other girls yelled at him to get out.

“The guys and I was just wondering how far you girls were.” He said and I raised my eyebrows looked at him.

“And they send you to check on us?” I said and he smirking and shrugged and walked towards me.

“I volunteered.” He said smirking I rolled my eyes at him.

“We will be done in 30 min tops. I need my hair the other girls need their make up and I have already picked out their clothes so should go smoothly.” Skylar said smiling up at him.

“Wait what? We are perfectly capable of dressing ourselves.” Victoria protested. But Skylar just shrugged and rolled her eyes at her.

“Of course you are, but when you are with someone who works in fashion. Why not use it?” Skylar said smirking.

I just chuckled at their whole ordeal, while Louis walked over to me and annoyingly enough the hair stylist let him get to me. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“Trying not to get into trouble. Sounds like an awful way to live.” He said only loud enough for me to hear. He smirked and then walked out of the room.

A/N: that is it for this time, if you can not wait till i post more feel free to read my other fics they should be just as cool, find them here.

[seven-oomen]

I JUST SAW THE NEW PREVIEW AND I AM SCREAMING!!!!!!!  I’m so ridiculously excited to read the full scene!  It’s entirely possible some of the noises I made were not entirely in the normal human register.  There was probably some blushing and flailing (read: there was definitely some blushing and flailing.)  Peter being all shy and trying to cover it with sass.  Chris being so confused about just what the implication of the offer was.  Noah being amused at both of them but also not even fully letting Peter ask before bursting out with an emphatic yes.  My precious awkward turtles, I love all of them so!

And if you would like my perspective as an American who would have been just a few years behind the boys in school, I will say that it’s highly likely they would have known about some methods of contraception and such, even if their parents weren’t the type to bring it up.  In that sort of post-emergence of the AIDS crisis time period, safe sex became a thing that was hammered into you in health classes, after-school specials, etc, unless you lived in the much more rural, conservative areas (so I guess with Chris it would depend partially on where all he lived growing up?)  Now their ability to (legally) access anything like condoms, etc, would have been much more iffy (though the idea of John, Talia, or Deuc offering to get some for Peter is hysterical to imagine.)  How much they would have cared about/been stopped by this lack of access is really a matter of character interpretation, though :D

I’m so down for attempted family prank shenanigans.  (Also, side note, the best way to find Linden’s Insta is actually through links from his Twitter.  He had to do one of the variation things, like Hoechlin, because someone was already using his name for one.  His vibe is pretty much a combo of aging surfer dude and MASSIVE dad energy.)  Actually speaking of family shenanigans, may I put forth the idea of game nights?  Can you imagine them sitting around playing Apples to Apples or Monopoly (and how many fights between Stiles and Jackson this might cause)?  Or even better, when the younger kids are off at a sleepover, or at least busy in another room, the older kids and the parents sitting around playing Cards Against Humanity?  Seeing who can manage to make the group break through card chosen or the reading of said card (and boy are there some doozies to choose from)?  I feel like the best at maintaining a complete deadpan presentation or reaction would be Noah, Jordan, Erica, and Lydia.

I had to look up some of those music ideas (and boy are my YouTube algorithms probably confused right now), but yes, I love all of those.  Especially Peter’s, because it reminds me of a headcanon/scene I thought of for a fic I will never actually write because I am a coward where Noah wanders into the kitchen one morning to find Peter making breakfast and full-on rocking out to Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” in nothing but an ancient BH Sheriff’s Dept t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.  With Chris I just keep going back to the ball thing because one of the few Nickelback songs I know is “Something in Your Mouth”. XD  So, I have a fun story for “Never Gonna Give You Up”!  When two of my friends got married, they had a friend of the groom’s be the officiant.  Rgiht before he got to the part with the vows and having them repeat after him, it only took me like one or two lines into his lead in speech to go “…wait a minute this sounds familiar…”, at which point he began having them recite the lyrics to that song as their wedding vows.  Pretty sure everyone was cracking up (I mean, the ceremony took place in the middle of a zombie walk with all of us in full costume.  no one was expecting anything normal, but still.  that was hilarious.)  But oh god, can you imagine if any of the kids ever figured out Chris liked that song?  The sheer amount of rick-rolling that would occur boggles the mind.  The things Jackson could try to talk Danny into using his tech skills to do.  It might be one of the things Stiles and Jackson could bond over.  For Noah, maybe he heard them while he had some kid pulled over one day and was like “well that’s stupidly catchy” (because it is), or maybe Stiles had some of their albums at one point, and he kept hearing them and realized he rather liked it, so snuck in and burned himself a copy at some point?  I also considered suggesting ABBA, because that also seems like one of those out of left field choices.  And omg, yes, on the Caramelldansen.  I feel like they’d play it up even more once they notice how horrified their older kids were, because they’re assholes like that.  (Related if you want it to be note: Did you know YouTube has a 10 hour loop of the Swedish version?)

The funniest thing to me with the kids eating the dog cookies is how often it happens and how rarely it gets noticed.  And they always pick the nastiest ones, too.  If they’re gonna do it, they should wait until Christmas, that’s when we get the ones that are basically like the blandest sugar-style cookies ever (I will neither conform nor deny having taken a plate of those to a party once, because I, too, am sometimes an asshole)  And yeah, I don’t get the cat water thing either, particularly since the tap water in our area is actually really good quality.  Some other entertaining stories I forgot last time:

1) Our corporate office told us we had to start carrying snakes, so now we have a ball python named Julius Squeezer.

2) Speaking of eating weird things, we once had a group of college kids come in on a scavenger hunt and one of them bought and ate a feeder fish to check an item off their list.

3) A guy who worked in one of the other businesses apparently lost a bet of some kind and had to come up to our front doors after hours, dressed as a cat, and rub all over them and generally act like a cat wanting back in the house.  We know this because the whole thing was caught on one of the security cameras, and it ended up getting shown at the company holiday party, and one of our cashiers was like “Hey I recognize him.”

4) We have a cardboard stand-up of Rachel Ray (a celebrity chef) that we have to have out because we just started carrying her pet food, and this thing is the stuff of nightmares.  It is technically life-size in that it is about as tall as I am, but the proportions aren’t quite right.  All the employees are weirded out by it.  Every time you walk past it, you can feel it’s soulless gaze following you, mocking you with it’s dead eyes and rictus grin.  Recently it got damaged, and my boss had to temporarily move it until it could be repaired.  Unfortunately (and perhaps coincidentally) the spot he chose was directly across from the employee entrance, so that was the first thing they’d see entering the building.  I witnessed some great reactions that day.  I wish I’d gotten to see the ones from when he took my suggestion back when we first received it to slide it behind one of our propped open warehouse doors so that the face was right where the little window in the door is.  Apparently one of my coworkers jumped a solid two feet when someone pointed it out to him.  I was probably more proud of myself for suggesting it than I should have been, but oh well.

Glad you were spared having to attempt public transport.  I can’t imagine how nerve-wracking that would be right now.  Hope your day has somewhat improved (I know other people who work tech support, I understand there’s only so far up that part of it can go), at least!

That makes me so happy!

No seriously, my workday was absolute shite and I come out of work and I see this wonderful message and my god my friend. You made me smile today. I smiled for the first time today when I read this.

I’m so excited to read your response to this chapter, I’m just so excited and that’s what’s keeping me going. Because I really feel like crying and giving up for a bit. But this, this means so much to me. Thank you <3

I’m definitely going to need people to have a little bit of suspension of disbelief I guess. I mean, yeah, teenagers can do very stupid things and technically only Chris & Peter did the stupid thing, but I might need a little bit of suspension of disbelief. Now that I read how well-known birth control was in the US during that time. I know it was a big thing in The Netherlands (where I’m from) but I wasn’t sure about the US.

I like to think werewolves would be pretty open about these things and Talia and John were definitely like; wrap it up. Deuc definitely bought Peter a whole box of condoms after they found out Chris and Noah were knocked up. ‘Just to be helpful’. 

Talia definitely talked to Chris and Noah about birth control more and educated Chris on sex and what’s going to happen now that he’s pregnant. I might actually include that in the story somewhere or in the prequel. I like to imagine that due to moving so much he never really got much education on everything and when he did he was probably tired from hunting and couldn’t focus much on school.

DUDE

I wanted to put Cards against Humanity in the story but the game doesn’t come out until May 2011, the story takes place in January XD

But yeah, game nights are definitely a thing, especially CAH, Monopoly, Life, Clue (Cluedo in Europe), Trivia Pursuit (Stiles, Lydia, and Noah rock that one), I actually don’t know Apples to Apples but it looks like fun and definitely something they might play!

During Monopoly, they have the general rule that no-one can flip the board and Allison is the bank. (she’s the fairest and most level headed during Monopoly.) Although that role is passed to Kira when she starts playing.

Noah wanders into the kitchen one morning to find Peter making breakfast and full-on rocking out to Wham’s “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” in nothing but an ancient BH Sheriff’s Dept t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs.

This is one image where I’m like, yeah, this is going into the story because it is awesome! I need it more than life itself. 

Also, I can see the three of them swapping clothes quite often too. Like Chris wears Noah’s BH Sheriff’s dept jacket or cap and Peter’s Stanford Hoodie, Peter wears Noah’s worn BH Sheriff’s dept t-shirt and Chris’s worn Metalica/Green Day sleeping shirts, Noah tends to wear Peter’s leather jackets and Chris’s sunglasses. (Because Chris’s shirts are a little too tight for him and his pants too short. He does occasionally steal those loose sleeping shorts from Chris)

Occasionally he’ll take Chris’s weird pens (from Argent Arms or places like BK that Chris collects) with him on patrol. His favorite Pen to steal is a pink feathery one while on late DUI patrols where he can write tickets with them. 

And dude the rickroll at the wedding is brilliant! I should have done that at my friend’s wedding.. damn.

But yeah Jackson would enlist Danny into helping them. Stiles still pitches Derek shirtless to use as leverage against Danny. (Which to me is extra funny because Derek is actually their cousin.) Derek is okay with it because he gets to extract revenge on Uncle Peter for that time where Uncle Peter gave him the talk by just throwing condoms at him.

At some point there’s just a rickroll VS Carameldanssen battle, it needs to happen XD

All of these stories are wonderful, honestly, they really made me smile and if I wasn’t this tired I would’ve shared some from my vet tech days too. Those days were wild man. But I do want you to know, I’ve read all of them and tell Rachel Ray she’s awesome and Julius Squeezer he’s a ball and I love him <3

[5typesoftrash]

Pray in the Dark

Author: quicksilvermalec Artist: nathyfaith Rating: T (for swearing) Pairings: Sastiel, Destiel Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence Brief Tags: Soulmates, Angst, Unrequited, Suicide Summary: Sam is desperately, hopelessly, miserably in love with an angel. His problem? The angel is in love with his brother, and he doesn't have it in him to make any attempt to break up their relationship.

Sam never even learns that his angel is his soulmate.

[longer tags, link to art post, and fic under the cut]

Extended Tags: Angst, Unrequited Love, Possibly Unrequited Love, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Sad Ending, Sad Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Drunk Sam Winchester, Wedding, Heavy Angst, Suicide, Murder, Hurt No Comfort, Blood, Blood and Violence, Death, Season/Series 09, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain (Supernatural), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sad Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Divorce, this story is pretty dark, i think y'all might cry js :/, enjoy... ?

Here’s the art and you can read this story on AO3 as well! Enjoy <3

******

Some people have mundane things. “Did you get the mail?” “How was work today?” “Where are my keys?” That’s painful because people just simply don’t know when it’ll come. Every time the simplest, most everyday things happen, their blood goes cold.

Some people have things like “did you do the homework?” “My mom said it was okay.” “This is my least favorite class.” That hurts worse for their parents, because they know it’ll come early and they can’t protect them, and while it’s one thing to love and to lose, it hurts worse to never know at all.

Still others have words like “can I get your phone number?” “What’s your name, hon?” “That’s 14.46 at the next window.” And it’s quite possibly the cruelest thing of all to know that you’ll meet them once and never know them at all.

But Sam has spent his entire life tortured by the words He’s the only one who understands.

He wishes he knew what they were about. He wishes he knew who his soulmate was or why they say those words but he’s heard them a fair number of times in his life, always with someone he’d spoken to again later.

This is the story of how Sam came to realize who his soulmate was, and subsequently lose them.

~~

It starts when an angel falls into bed with his brother. Well… another angel. Dean’s already had sex with at least two.

Sam finds them just minutes post-coitus, spread out on the couch naked and barely covered with the blanket over their waists. He walks into the den and his heart breaks, so he covers it with disgust and mild disdain and thinly veiled support.

“Jesus,” he mutters, just walking past them into the kitchen. “At least the next time you do this, don’t do it on the couch. This is a communal space and I still live here, okay guys?”

Dean looks relieved and relaxed, and grins at him. “Yeah,” he replies. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam forces a soft smile at them. “Anytime. But seriously, get some clothes on.” He glances in the pantry before scoffing and fishing around in Dean’s discarded jeans for the keys to the Impala. “I’m getting fast food drive thru. Text me what you want from Arby’s.”

Dean scoffs but doesn’t argue. “Alright, see you later.”

Sam smiles and watches him relax against Castiel. It’s amazing and makes him happy to see Dean so comfortable and himself with someone. Sam’s never seen him this exposed and vulnerable. If Cas is what it takes, Sam will swallow his feelings for his brother’s sake.

Dean closes his eyes and curls closer, resting on Cas’s chest. Sam stands in the doorway, just watching them, for a long moment before he opens the door and disappears to get them dinner.

By the time he gets back, they’re decent and they’ve cleaned themselves up. He can almost forget the very vivid mental images he has of what they may or may not have done to each other.

~~

Sam supposes the next part is when Cas comes to him with an interesting proposition.

“I would like to marry your brother,” he says bluntly. Sam stares at him.

“Uh…” he says. “Okay. Cool. You’re telling me this because why?”

Cas bites his lip. “I understand it is customary for one to ask their intended’s family for their permission and or approval before proposing.”

Sam snorts. “Not anymore. That was about forty to fifty years ago, at least. And usually that’s a man proposing to a woman, and he’d normally ask her father. Dean’s not a woman, he’s a male-identifying person, and you’re not a man, you’re a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent shaped vaguely like a man, and I’m not Dean’s father, I’m his younger brother, so really none of that applies here.”

Cas purses his lips in the way that some people do when they’re trying very, very hard to keep from laughing. “Very well, Sam. Would you mind helping me pick out a ring, at least?”

Yes, Sam wants to say. Yes, I would mind so very incredibly much, because the very thought of you being with Dean tears me into pieces in a way that I never thought I could feel. Because somehow, despite being tortured and raped in the Cage for thousands of years, I have never felt such intense pain as I have in the months since you and Dean inadvertently revealed your relationship to me. I would mind, Castiel, because I’m in love with you, too. Dean isn’t the only Winchester to fall for our angel.

But he can’t say any of those things. Because he’s a good and faithful little brother, not to mention he can’t corrupt a literal angel that way, not as an upstanding Christian, and he refuses to destroy their relationship when he loves them both so incredibly much.

So he doesn’t say those things, and instead he forces a smile and says “yeah, I could do that.”

Castiel lights up like the sun peeking out from behind a cloud, and Sam knows he made the right decision.

~~

They go ring shopping together that weekend. In honesty, it makes Sam feel a little pathetic. He’s out and about with his best friend whom he’s secretly madly in love with helping him buy a ring to propose to someone else. It makes him feel sick. He’s miserable.

But if having Dean Winchester as his one active parental figure during the most formative years of his life taught him anything, it’s how to play through pain, repress your emotions, and convince everyone around you – including yourself – that you’re totally fine at all times.

So Sam does.

His faked enthusiasm must be pretty believable because Cas buys it, and so does the cashier. They pick out two options – platinum and white gold – and they’re looking at them both side by side. “The white gold is more easily damageable, but it’s lighter,” she explains to them. “The platinum is heavier and more expensive, but also more durable.”

Sam glances at Cas. “Well, money is a nonissue for us, so honestly? I think you should go with the platinum.”

Cas smiles. “I would be inclined to agree. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam nods. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs softly. The cashier smiles at them.

“I don’t see a lot of couples ring shopping together,” she tells them as she rings up their purchase. “It’s actually really sweet that you’re choosing your rings together.”

Cas shakes his head. “No, Sam and I are not a couple. I am  hoping to end up marrying his brother.”

Her face instantly pales. “Oh,” she manages. “It’s just… you seem so… Are you sure you’re not soulmates?”

Sam purses his lips. “Cas doesn’t have one, and… how can anyone be sure? No one really knows if they’ve met their soulmate until they die or walk out of your life forever.”

She nods. “Of course. Silly of me to ask. Here are the rings, anyway, and, uh… well, I hope your brother says yes.”

Cas takes them from her graciously. “Thank you,” he manages. “I hope his brother says yes as well.”

~~

Dean says yes.

~~

More accurately, he screams it like a girl being proposed to on a fancy dinner date in some clichéd heterosexual romantic comedy or chick flick. Sam can hear him from the other end of the Bunker.

It would be cute. If Sam’s heart wasn’t currently lying on the floor smashed into a million pieces by a sledgehammer.

~~

And then comes the part that really ties the bow on all the beautifully horrifically miserable events of the past several months. Dean and Cas ask Sam to officiate their wedding.

And Sam… Sam is an idiot, and a guilty one at that. So Sam agrees.

He gets ordained online, Dean picks up the marriage license from the county clerk’s office, and they’re legally married in the library of the Bunker.

Sam is only a little ashamed to admit he cries himself to sleep that night.

But Cas and Dean are happy. He keeps reminding himself of that. Cas and Dean are together, and happy, and that’s all he’s ever wanted for his friends, no matter what his personal feelings might be. No matter if those personal feelings are partially feeling his entire being torn in half every time he sees them together and partially wishing he could tear his brother in half every time he sees them together. It doesn’t matter. He has to remember that.

It doesn’t matter. It will never matter. He will be miserable happy on his own and Dean and Cas will be happy together.

The world spins on. Sam’s heart remains broken.

~~

The turning point, the thing that simultaneously fixes everything and makes it a thousand times more painful, comes on Dean and Cas’s first wedding anniversary.

Sam makes them a video, because he doesn’t know what else to do for them, and then he disappears to let them have loud sex while he gets drunk alone.

Cas finds him around two in the morning, which Sam supposes is technically no longer their wedding anniversary, but he doesn’t really care because he’s drunk and tired and he’s been awake for twenty-seven hours and he wants to die. But Castiel is here, his angel, the angel he’s been in love with practically since that first far-too-long handshake. And he’s happy, because he’s always happy with Cas, but he’s depressed, too. Because Cas belongs to someone else. Cas always has and always will belong to Sam’s brother, and never to him.

Dean doesn’t have a soulmate. Sam’s happy that he found someone else without a soulmate who makes him happy. Sam’s happy that Cas managed to somehow be at peace with himself, to love someone so deeply and truly that Sam’s measly, weak, moronic human brain could never comprehend. And he knows it’s selfish to wish that he were the one being loved like that.

He’s torn apart. He can’t fix this.

And that is how Castiel finds him, laying on the floor, drunk out of his mind and depressed enough to put a bullet in his mouth if he had the energy to lift his gun.

Cas sits down on the floor next to him. “Are you alright, Sam?” he asks quietly. Sam shakes his head.

“What part of this… gives you the okay that I’m idea.” He frowns. “Idea that I’m okay. Yeah. That.”

Cas purses his lips. “Well, at least you’re being honest, I suppose. What are you feeling right now, Sam?”

Sam laughs bitterly. “Nothing,” he confesses. “I feel… nothing. I’m broken and… and cruel… and mean. I suck. You should- you should hate me, Cas. I’m the worst.”

Cas shakes his head. “No, Sam, I will never hate you. You are my best friend.”

“I don’t wanna be your best friend!” Sam shouts, slurring wildly. “I don’t wanna.” He sounds a little like a petulant child, but he doesn’t particularly have an issue with that. It’s just his alcohol-blurred brain anyway.

Cas gently pries the bottle from his hands and sets it on the floor, far out of his reach. “What’s wrong, Sam?” he asks.

“Why did you marry Dean?” Sam wonders aloud. “What- why?”

Cas sighs. “Well… I married your brother because he’s hotheaded and passionate and he cares a lot about people even if he doesn’t show it. I married him because I’ve seen his soul and it’s one of the most beautiful things in the world. I married him because he needed someone to be close to him, to help him heal from everything that’s happened and he needed someone besides you because the two of you… you escalate each other. I married him because I was in love with him, Sam.”

Sam sighs and stands up. “I’mna go to bed,” he mumbles.

“I’ll help you,” Cas offers, holding him steady and leading him toward his bedroom. Sam leans subconsciously into the comforting touch and the warm promise of more, drawing them from Cas as long as he could until Cas inevitably leaves him again.

It’s just that… Sam knows he will never be enough. He’ll never be enough for Cas – Cas who wants Dean, who wants his green eyes and his bowlegs and his symmetrical face and his gender-conforming male normality. Cas who wants Dean in all his fucked-up, dysfunctional glory, who wants to heal him, because Sam can’t do it because – he’ll never be enough for Dean, either – Dean, who is ruined in so many ways, who was abused and maltreated, who hated himself all his life. Dean who believes he is broken in so many ways that cannot be fixed, Dean who resists Sam’s every attempt to help him because all Sam has ever wanted was for Dean to feel okay, even just for a little while, because Dean never takes anything for himself and that’s why Sam has to sacrifice the angel to him, because Cas is the one thing Dean will accept for his own wellbeing and Cas can help him in all the ways Sam will never be good enough to. Sam can’t help him.

Sam will never be good enough, and he’s long since made his peace with that.

But as Cas deposits him in his bed, walks away from it, Sam calls out his name, makes him pause in the doorway and turn. “Yes?” he asks patiently, always so patient, so good, putting up with Sam and all his bullshit on his anniversary when he should be with Dean, should be celebrating how happy he is with the man that isn’t Sam. Sam hates himself for this, hates himself for everything. The guilt is overwhelming.

“It’s because he understands you, isn’t it?” he asks. It’s a miracle he can get through that full sentence.

Cas nods sadly. “Dean is…” he trails off, staring at the wall. “He’s the only one who understands.”

He closes the door behind him, and Sam is far too drunk and far too close to sleep to figure out why those words seem so goddamn familiar.

~~

Sam wakes up screaming.

~~

Sam wakes up with one of only two people in this world still living that he really loves standing over him, a blade pressed to his throat. Sam screams and looks up at him and pleads for mercy, and Dean’s cold, emotionless eyes don’t soften in the slightest.

“Dean,” Sam sobs. “Please. It’s me, I’m your brother, I love you. Please…”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He just lifts the First Blade above his head and plunges it deep into Sam’s chest.

The light dies in Sam’s eyes, and the second it goes out, Dean is himself again.

Just a second too late.

~~

Dean will never forgive himself, Cas knows. When he returns to the Bunker from his pie run he finds Dean vomiting into the toilet, and he drops everything to be at Dean’s side. “Dean,” he whispers urgently. “Dean, are you alright? What happened, are you sick?”

Dean wipes his mouth on his sleeve and looks at Cas through empty eyes laced with horror. “I killed him,” he whispers. “He’s dead, Cas, I killed him. This thing, the Mark… I didn’t even know what I was doing. It was like I just woke up, and I was in his room, and he was dead.”

It takes Cas another couple seconds to figure out what he’s talking about. His heart drops into his stomach. “Sam?” he croaks. His voice is low and horrified.

“I lost control,” Dean whispers, and then he lets out a choked, miserable sob, a horrible sound from deep in his chest that breaks Cas’s heart. He never wants to hear it again.

Cas pulls him into his chest, holds him close, and doesn’t try to say anything. He knows there is nothing in all the world that anyone can say that will make this better. Nothing will ever fix what Dean has lost, and a death by the First Blade… that’s irreversible. They’ll never get him back.

They go back to him, to find him, and they peel off his shirt to clean him up, to put him in a new one. But Cas’s heart sinks lower, from the pit of his stomach into the floor, because in a delicate scrawl across Sam’s left bicep, where he always used to wear his armband, are the words He’s the only one who understands. But they’re not black like most people’s words. They’re blue.

They’ve already been said.

Blue like my eyes, Cas thinks, and he thinks back to the night before, the last words he’d said to this friend, and he wonders if Sam loved him that way. Why wouldn’t he tell me? he thinks, but even as he thinks it he knows the answer.

He will never be the same again. He and Dean will never be the same.

He closes his eyes, extends his wings to fly into the city, to fly anywhere else, and a set of Enochian words float across his vision.

His heart must be in the center of the Earth now.

He pulls one large, invisible, dark wing in front of himself and sees them, seared into his feathers.

It’s because he understands you, isn’t it?

“I thought I didn’t have one,” Cas breathes. “I always thought I didn’t have a Gracemate.”

He does.

He does, and it’s the brother of the man he married. He does, and he pushed him away again and again, repressed his feelings for him because he swore to be monogamous to Dean and he’s not an angel who breaks his promises. He does have a Gracemate, and he promised himself to the wrong person, gave his heart to them, committed himself fully to Dean when Sam was right there.

If he could have had them both…

But there’s no use in thinking that way now, not when Sam is gone and there is nothing Castiel can do to change that. He doubts it will stop him from thinking it, though, because knowing too late is one of the cruelest things in the world.

~~

They give Sam a hunter’s funeral. They burn him behind the Bunker, in the woods near where he used to love to jog. Cas remembers his favorite places.

They don’t take any cases for a while. Instead, they go across the country on an unofficial Goodbye, Sam Winchester tour. They visit his favorite diners, play his favorite songs, find his favorite spots in nature in all fifty states. They finish back in Kansas, they go back to Lawrence, and they see the house. Cas can’t bring himself to touch Dean at all, and Dean doesn’t ask.

Cas waits a full week after they return to the Bunker.

“Dean,” he says quietly. “Dean, we need to talk.”

Dean sits down at the table. “Alright,” he says softly. “What about?”

“About Sam,” Cas replies. “About… us.”

“What about us?” Dean asks, his guards instantly up. Cas takes a shaky and completely unnecessary deep breath.

“I can’t stay married to you,” he replies softly.

Dean’s face visibly pales and Cas thinks idly that Dean is wearing the same expression he himself wore just over a year ago when Dean told him he couldn’t continue to live in the Bunker.

“What?” Dean asks weakly. “I’ve lost so much and now you’re going to take my marriage?”

“Just listen to me, Dean,” Cas implores. “The words on your brother’s arm, did you see them?”

Dean swallows and nods. “‘He’s the only one who understands’?” he recalls. Cas casts his eyes down to the floor.

“Those were the last words I said when I left Sam’s room that night. Before—” you killed him “—he died. And now… I have the words Sam said to me right before that tattooed on my wings in Enochian. Dean, your brother and I were soulmates. And I don’t feel right continuing in this relationship with you. I feel as though I am dishonoring his memory.”

“Did you love him?” Dean asks abruptly.

Cas glances at him and slowly nods.

“Then why were you with me? You shoulda been with him.”

“Because… because I loved you too. And I never thought Sam would love me. I never thought I had a Gracemate, either, until Sam died. I thought you and I were more compatible, as two beings without mates.”

“But you would have made Sam happy. I didn’t have to fall in love with you,” Dean snarls, sounding angry. “I wasn’t fated to. But Sam was. Instead of letting us be happy you just strung us both along.”

“I didn’t know!” Cas insists.

“I don’t care,” Dean growls. “Get out of my sight.”

~~

Within three months, they’re divorced.

Dean never apologizes for the things that he said to Cas that night. Not even in the note on his bedside table the night Cas finds him hanging from the ceiling in his room, a rope around his neck.

And then Cas is alone again, to wander this strange, cruel world without his two closest friends to guide him.

This is how it was intended, he knows. He was never meant to fall for two human men. The fact that he did just proves that he cannot be trusted with his own destiny.

But if this is how he was created, why does it feel so unjust?

If he was meant to live this way, why is he so lonely?

He wonders. Will he ever feel happy again?

Will he ever feel anything again?