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jinx-jade · 2 years

Text

Love in every Lifetime

[MGI Team Mixer Event Alphabet Soup Drabble — Letter L] The event of a lifetime, they called it. When the sky lights on fire and frightens the sun into hiding behind the moon. People gathered from all over the village to spend the day in the decorative plaza. Standing tables were set up around the edges near the stalls where someone could buy food, fabrics, and other goods.

The natural circle formed from the furniture surrounding the plaza became the center stage for all who wanted to perform without wishing for compensation. From musical instruments that came from exotic locations to dances of unknown traditions and origin. The most breathtaking performance was from a woman who was dressed in royal purple silks without care for the possible consequences.

The woman danced around as if she was merely a flower petal in the wind, twisting and twirling as if the movements didn’t scrap her bare feet against the rough stone of the plaza flooring. She smiled and laughed, loose silks fluttering around her in a dance of their own. The decorative silver pieces of her outfit clinked together like bells with each movement, causing the townspeople to watch on in silent awe as if they had been put under a magic, hypnotic, trance.

When the flower petal’s dance came to an end the crowd cheered obnoxiously loud. The dancer smiled and waved as she left the center area, making to leave the plaza entirely. Her eyes sparkled like gemstones in the light, an enchanting blue that seemed unnatural and memorable.

“Do we know each other?” A man dressed in emerald and onyx fabrics questioned the dancer as she passed by. The slight glint of jewels caught her eye as she stopped to observe the man.

“I can’t say.” The dancer purred, head tilted slightly to the left as if to think it over.

The man hummed, narrowing his eyes at the beauty that stood before him.

“Would you like to know each other?” The man asked, stepping into her space while making sure to keep his hands to himself. Silently letting the dancer know that she can leave if she so chooses.

The woman took a step closer, lips just barely brushing over the man’s ear as she whispered.

“I think I’d like that.” Pulling away with a silent laugh of amusement, she walked past him, glancing back in the man’s direction to cue the stunned man in on the fact that he was supposed to follow her.

The man dressed in emerald and onyx chuckled as he followed the flower petal who drifted through the crowd of people with graceful ease. She would look back and laugh from time to time as the man did his best to catch her. Luck appeared to be on his side as he finally cornered her in the dead-end of an alleyway, pinning her lightly against the wall, once again giving her room to escape if she so pleased.

“You’re quite difficult to catch, little thief.” The man similarly purred into her ear as to what she had done before. Except for the fact that he allowed his lips to scrap against the outer rim of her ear, moving down her jaw with ghosted kisses, never truly touching his lips to her as warm breaths fanned out across the woman’s skin.

“But I’ll be taking this back now, Love” The man claimed, lips curled into the slightest hint of a smirk as an accent not native to this part of the world twisting the word ‘love’ into something more before stepping away with a pendant in hand. It was a black glistening stone that had yet to be carved into, dangling from a solid metal chain.

The woman huffed, rolling her eyes as she slumped back to lean more weight against the wall.

“Oh come on, Dear. I need that little stone. It’s not like you know what to do with it.” The woman informed him, an accent similar to the one he had used, yet different all the same, curling tightly around the word ‘dear’.

“True as that may be, Beloved. Ŧɨ𐤨𐤨ɨ has some ideas as to what her counterpart would want with this, and it isn’t anything good.” The man explained, tucking the stone and chain away.

“How does she know that?” The woman asked cheekily. “Ꝓɫɐꞡꞡ could want the stone for something completely harmless,” she suggested without much faith in the words she spoke.

A skin prickling breeze swirled around them unnaturally, soft red and green sparks flying through the air in patterns unknown to the average human being.

“Looks like it’s time for us to go.” The woman grinned, sprinting passed him with a shove, using enough force to knock the man off-balanced.

“See you next Ɱøøɳ, Babe.” The woman cheered as they both disappeared into thin air.

Damian woke up with a start. He glanced around his bedroom to where the ladybug kwami sat awake. Once Tikki noticed her chosen’s attention on her, she shook her head, indicating the loss of the stone to Plagg’s chosen. Damian let his head fall back down to the pillows with a groan, throwing his forearm over his eyes.

Tikki let out a sigh of her own as she flew down to her chosen’s side.

“Now what?” Damian huffed, looking up at the pocket-sized goddess.

“Now we hope that the consequences don’t come back to harm us,” Tikki said with a shrug.

“Does she even know how absurdly long it took me to attain that rock?” Creations chosen growled, causing Tikki to chuckle.

“Oh, I’m sure she knows, Nymph. After all, she is as much your other half as Ꝓɫɐꞡꞡ is mine.” The ladybug kwami informed him, laughing at the expression he made in response.

“I don’t know why you act as if you hate her. You two always seem quiet-... smitten- whenever your souls meet in the past.” Tikki claimed, her chosen rolling his eyes in response.

“I don’t hate her.” Damian began, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for Alfred’s usual wake-up call. He didn’t have anything to do today anyway.

“Oh- I know that.” The goddess giggled. “I said you act like you hate her. At least, you do wherever she's not nearby."

Damian scowled at the being that embodied all of creation.

“Get her to stop stealing my shit and I would love to have her as an ally instead of an enemy.” He snarked, causing Tikki to soften her teasing tone and posture.

“I’m sure she would love to have you as an ally too,” Tikki stated, letting the silence that followed hang in the air around them until there was a knock heard on the bedroom door. He sat up, letting his legs fall off the edge of the bed as the pocket-sized goddess flew off to hide.

Damian stood up and walked over to the door, opening it to greet his pseudo grandfather.

“Alfred.” Damian greeted with a nod of his head

“Good morning Master Damian, breakfast will be ready in ten minutes.” The old English butler informed him.

“Thank you, Alfred. I shall be down shortly.” Alfred gave a nod of his head before walking off down the hall to presumably wake up his other siblings.

__________

The sun set the room on fire as its light bleed out into the night. Looking around, it was an office of some sort, armor and blades shelved neatly in their cases, freshly polished and sharpened.

He stood up, wandering away from the desk his past self had fallen asleep at. He followed the natural pull of his other half through the halls and into what appeared to be a kitchen.

“What became of that oh so precious rock that you just had to have?” Damian asked as he appeared behind Plagg’s chosen, snaking his arms around her waist loosely.

“Why do you want to know, Darling?” The woman asked in place of an answer, leaning the majority of her weight back against his chest, trusting her other half to keep her balanced.

Damian took that as permission to hold her, tightening his arms around his other half protectively, and placed a gentle, closed-mouth kiss on the base of her neck.

“Sometimes.” Damian murmured against her skin, “I think you were put on this earth to give me a headache.”

“Only sometimes?” The woman asked, tilting her head back against his shoulder, allowing brilliant blue eyes to meet glowing green with amusement.

Damian only hummed in response, placing another kiss on her neck, this time at her pulse point, then her jaw, and finally her forehead. His other half practically melted into his touch.

"You're a dangerous little minx, My Dear," Damian whispered into her ear.

She giggled in response, pulling away slightly. Damian naturally relaxes his tight hold to allow her freedom. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away completely, only turning around to lean their foreheads together. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck.

"So is this what it's like?" She asked with a teasing smirk. Her unnaturally blue, sapphire eyes, that Damian was sure he could spot anywhere, looking up to meet his own unnaturally green emerald ones.

"What it's like?" Damian repeated with a raised brow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Being your wife." The woman laughed, pulling away completely to show him the ring that adorned her finger. "It appears we were married this lifetime. And from what she remembers, you proposed originally with a paper ring." She teased.

Damian examined the ring, bringing her hand up to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

"It appears so. At least he got you a real ring after that mess of a proposal." He huffed, running through the memories of this past life, lowering their hands back down to their side. “Do I have to remind you we’re not actually married?” he asked in amusement, earning a roll of her eyes.

__________

His back slammed against a wall, heat from the explosion rising closer and closer. A harsh cough escaped as the taste of iron became thicker. His other half stared down at him in horror.

“Don’t.” Damian choked out when she dropped her blood-soaked sword into the rubble and took a step toward him.

Her hand shook as she brought them up to cover her mouth. A slight glance down at the blood covering her fingertips causes her to freeze.

“I’m sorry- I’m so so sorry.” She sobbed out, shoulders shaking as her hands fell to her side, staring without seeing.

Damian stared back, coughing up more blood as his injuries worsened as the clock kept ticking.

“I loved you in this lifetime.” He told her, head falling back against the wall, vision blurring from the blood loss and head trauma, but this past life’s memory showed that even at war they were destined to love one another.

“So did I- she-... she loved him so much, Angel. She’s going to-... She’s going to die as soon as she knows you have passed on.” His other half choked out between hiccups as tears continued to fall.

“There’s nothing we can do-” Damian claimed, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I know- and I’m so sorry- I… 𐤨ⱳɐɱɨ’s above- I’m so sorry…” She continued, falling to her knees as they gave out from under her. “She- I… I should have trusted you.”

“Yeah- probably…” Damian chuckled, coughing harshly as a consequence.

“I won’t make that mistake in the next life.” She promised, staring him in the eyes with a determined fire as the world faded to black. A broken sob fell upon his ears in place of a final goodbye.

__________

This time when Damian came to, he was in a bedroom with Plagg’s chosen pinned beneath him dressed in red and gold silks. A blush painted her face in soft shades of red. Her hands that had previously been threaded through his hair came to rest on the base of his neck.

“...I- uhm… Hi?” She greeted, as her current soul came to in her past self's body.

“Hello.” Damian calmly greeted in return, removing his hands from her wrists but keeping her caged against the bed as he moved onto his forearms.

“Uh-... Just- I..” His other half stuttered.

Damian hummed in response, allowing more of his weight to lean against her, dropping his head into the crook of her neck. An action that calmed them both in general, and that he hoped would calm her now.

“It’s all right, Treasure. Breath. I got you.” He murmured against her skin.

The only acknowledgment he received was the expansion of her rib cage as she took in a large shaky breath. The racing heart beneath him slowed just enough for him to no longer need to actively worry. However, needing to worry, and worrying over someone, in general, are two separate things, so Damian continued to worry anyway.

“Better?” He asked, pressing his lips to her pulse point.

“Eh- yeah. Sorry…” She answered, heart still pounding, but at a more steady beat than before.

Damian pushed himself back up to get off of her but was stopped when her arms tightened around his neck.

“Stay.” She commanded in the gentlest of whispers, and who was he to disobey his other half?

“Of course.” Damian agreed without hesitation, letting his weight continue to ground her, similar to the effects of a weighted blanket with added warmth.

This was far from the first time that their soul tethers had brought them back to their past life during an intimate scene. Though, luckily, the strings of fate that pulled them along their timeline as if they were simply puppets for it to play with, had yet to bring them back during the act itself. Only the scenes leading up to and after seemed to be accessible to the current souls of creation and destruction when they fall through time, and the two couldn’t be happier about the small grace that fate allowed them.

“These pasts don’t usually bother you to this extent anymore, Love.” His worry hangs clear as day in the air between them.

“It wasn’t-... I just-...”

“Breath, Doll. Take your time.” Damian encouraged, settling back against her neck as if that was his rightful place, curled up with his other half, nuzzling against her warm skin.

“...you died” She pointed out weakly in a whisper of air that was just harsh enough to ring throughout the room as she tightened her hold around his neck. Almost as if she believed he would disappear into thin air.

“The-... fuck! It’s just- The last time I saw you- you died- and it was my fault- I caused it- and I can’t-...” She choked on the fresh round of tears that began to fall, over a topic, an event that happened decades ago to their souls, but weeks ago to the current chosen halves of creation and destruction.

“Breath, Baby. I got you. I’m right here. We’re okay. We’re okay.” He cooed, littering kisses along her neck and jawline.

“But I-...”

“But nothing, Treasure. Have you been worrying about this since it happened last month?” Damian questioned worriedly, her silence holding all the answers he needed.

“We can’t do anything about the past, My dear. These lives have already been lived. The outcome is already set in stone.” He explained, hoping the information would reach her more logical side, but with the multiple lifetimes of emotions they had built up, it was unlikely to work.

He let out a sigh. “ I know I can’t protect you from everything, like how I can’t stop your mind from spiraling, Love, but I wish you’d let me protect you from the things I can control- like how I can help explain and break your thoughts down for you so they aren’t as overwhelming.”

“I know…some of it doesn’t even bother me at all anymore!” She sniffled, the room falling quiet aside from the soft hiccups.

“Like when you pushed one of my supposed best friends off a roof?” He asked after a few minutes with an amused smirk against her skin, hoping to lighten the mood.

“Wha- I- Ugh! You just can’t let that go can you!” She whined.

Damian pushed himself up so he could have a better view of her facial expression, hovering above his other half on his forearms.

“Nope.” He claimed, popping the ‘p’ with his playful smirk on full display. “What was it you said?”

She groaned, “Noo- stop-” dropping her arms from around his neck to cover her face in embarrassment.

“Ah- yes. And I quote- ‘I maybe kinda sorta pushed your best friend off the roof’ end quote.” He teased, balancing on one arm so he could use the other to grab both of her wrists, repinning them to the bed and out of her face.

“Ah. Ah. Ah. I want to be able to see you, Beloved.”

She looked up to him before quickly averting her eyes as a blush adorned her face once more.

“Sorry.” She murmured under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“For?” Damian asked with a raised brow.

“Pushing that asshole off a roof.” She huffed, looking back at him in a blatantly obvious challenge, that he was going to completely ignore, seeing as he was trying to cheer his other half up, not make her even more upset.

“Eh- I never liked him anyway,” Damian claimed with an awkward not quite shrug. The position he was in did not really give his shoulders enough range of motion for a proper shrug.

“Because you were jealous?” She teased, raising a brow of her own.

“I was not jealous, I was being absolutely reasonable.” He claimed with a slight growl.

“Uh-huh- sure.” She laughed.

Damian leaned down, placing a kiss on the side of her head before rolling them over to let her lay on top of him.

“Rest, Doll.” He instructed, holding her tightly as his eyes closed with a few slow blinks.

“Night, Dove.” She yawned out, nuzzling against his chest with a content sigh.

__________

He was back with the league. In the medical wing more specifically. There was no way one of his past lives was a member of the league of assassins, and yet, here he was.

“Oh good. You’re awake.” His other half greeted in a dead tone that seemed so wrong coming from her.

“The Demon head and the Demon head’s daughter called for your presence as soon as you were awake.” She explained, moving around some herbs in a cabinet, not paying him much attention as she kept up the charade for any prying eyes and ears.

“I shall take my leave,” Damian claimed, getting off the medical cot and making his way to meet with the man and woman that would later become his grandfather and mother.

“You managed to survive. Look at that.” His mother hummed, walking circles around him.

He did nothing but stand before them, head tilted down at the floor to show respect to the demon family, personally knowing the consequences if he didn’t.

“It appears your little pet project was more successful than anticipated. Well done.” His grandfather praised, much to Damian’s shock.

“Hmm. I could still do better.” His mother argued.

“Of course, you can.” Ra’s al Ghul chuckled. “You are of my bloodline.”

His mother nodded and began walking out of the room with a sharp order to follow, and so he did. He was led straight back to the room he had woken up in. His other half was still busy working around the room. A click on his mother’s tongue brought his other half to a standstill, facing his mother automatically, dropping her eyes to the ground in front of her.

“This one is yours now.” Talia al Ghul informed her, shoving Damian to his other half, who caught him by the wrist. “I'm interested to see what you make of him, little healer.” His mother informed her, leaving the room without another word.

“That was… strange.” She claimed once they were sure of the fact that they were alone and not being watched in any way shape or form.

“That-... was my mother.” He revealed after a few moments of debating it in his mind.

His other half turned to face him.

“You’re an Al Ghul?” She questioned with furrowed brows.

“Is that an issue?” He asked in response.

“No- no- It’s just that- the only Al Ghul my age is the one that the old order of guardians betrothed me to.” She laughed, walking back over to the cabinets of herbs.

Damian blinked at her in surprise.

“We really are destined to be with one another in every lifetime.” He murmured, following her.

“So what did you do to get this far onto my mother’s good side?” Damian asked, grabbing the herb jars that she pointed at.

“I’m not on her good side as far as I’m aware.” His other half answered, gathering the jars into smaller sub-groups.

“Please- My mother must adore you.” He claimed, and at her disbelieving look began to explain. “One, you’re a healer. Two, you’re female and therefore, are not seen as a threat to my grandfather’s throne. Three, mother gave you one of her ‘pet' projects.” He gestured to himself for the last reason.

“Huh-...Well- good to know I apparently made a good impression on your family already, Honey.” She chuckled and began measuring the herbs.

__________

“All of you need to behave.” His father informed them as the limo pulled up to the gala venue.

A chorus of begrudging agreements came from each chaotic family member as the vehicle came to a stop. They stepped out, walking down the carpet of flashing camera lights in amusement as the reporters tried to place who was who through their masks, after all, what was a masquerade without a few concealed identity shenanigans?

The gala itself was a boring affair. That is until Damian caught sight of a woman standing before him with unnaturally blue, sapphire eyes.

“Have we met before?” She questioned, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“I can’t say for certain, but I would like to know you,” Damian says in response, offering out a hand.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She greeted as he took her hand in his, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Damian Al Ghul Wayne.” He introduces himself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Darling.” His other half, Marinette, purred out in amusement.

“Trust me, Doll, the pleasure is all mine.”

#marinette x damian #mgimixer

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boogiewrites · 4 years

Text

No. 9: The Body Ch. 7

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Eve and Diego get closer, leading to the inevitable confession of attraction. Eve’s powers grow to make some new very interesting connections.

Warnings/Tags: Flirting. Dancing. Training. Sexual Content. Masturbation.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Their lives had become a new normal the past few months. Training had become a welcome escape and focus for them both. Eve had slowly been getting stronger in physicality and her powers. She and Diego were also undoubtedly getting closer as well.

It wasn’t just physical closeness, although there was plenty of that. Like the time she got a weird hip cramp from doing too many kicks and he had to put her on the floor and stretch her leg up and lean in. If she hadn’t been in pain she would’ve noticed the hip to hip placement and how the sounds she was making could be interpreted wholly differently.

Eve was very busy, work picking back up and her trying to manage it all. She found time to still be with Diego on occasion.

He’d wanted to introduce her to what he did. He called them patrols, and she called them looking for trouble. He’d help thwart muggers and she’d heal him up. She’d offer to help heal at the homeless camps and he’d be her bodyguard. They were finding they had a lot of similarities. That need to prove that they were good and make themselves useful. Despite the drastically different childhoods they’d had, they still seemed to get out with the same sort of hang-ups. It made for a deeper connection as anytime they tried to defend their decisions, the other would simply nod and say, “No, I get it.” And mean it.

This connection not only afforded them someone to share their seriousness with, their passions and motivations, it also allowed for more room in their lives to let their guards down with the built trust. It allowed them both time to do something they rarely did with others, be silly.

She’d made him give into using her playlists since she was the one paying, she stressed. He’d not teased her too much about her music. But what he didn’t know is she had multiple ones for when she was alone. Eve loved to make a list, and playlists were no exception. Her workouts at home on her days off consisted of her dancing. Nothing fancy, just freestyling like she was back in her club days and music video choreography like she was a teen again. She still knew every move to Oops I did it again and that was a secret she’d take to her grave.

So in the transition between takedowns, when The Weeknd comes on with his synthy beat for Blinding Lights, Diego is confused like a puppy as the single tone plays for a moment before realizing it’s something he’s heard on the radio before.

“I like the 80’s vibes but I’ve never fought to anything this… dancey.”

“Yeah, this...isn’t the right playlist. This must be my dance workout one. I’ll change it.” she says wiping her face off with her shirt and walking over.

“You have a dance workout? Like that.. zumba stuff?”

“No.” she shakes her head and laughs. “On my days off I do cardio to music just... dancing around. Y’know a solid beat to do reps to.”

“Show me.” he says with a big teasing grin.

“Ugh.” She makes a disappointed face.

“You’re never shy, c’mon.” he motions to the center of the mat to give her the floor.

“Put a girl on the spot.” she mumbles and starts a basic hip moving beat. “This one’s got a lot of The Weeknd on it.” she grins almost bashfully. She stretches to the beat, squats, and simple body weight reps. “See? You just do some reps and then dance when you want to.”

He comes in line with her and starts copying her. “So you start with the Carlton dance?”

“Shut up!” she laughs and claps her hands at him. “It is NOT the Carlton dance you asshole.” she laughs and gets back into her one-two-step sway to the beat that isn’t enough to wear you out but enough to keep your heart rate up.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it is.” he says with a boyish persistent nod.

“You want me to really dance? Like I do at home? I’ll fuckin’...twerk all over this gym, Diego.” she says it like a threat and he gives her a full chested laugh. “You want a choreographed routine?” she busts a move from an old routine from her stage days when she was younger.

“Yeah! What you got?”

“Fine, next song…” she waits for the song to shift. Earned It begins to play and she rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a…” she snorts. “Not what I meant. Not really a workout song.”

“Then why is it on the playlist?”

“Because it IS a routine but not…” she twitches her nose.

“I am intrigued. Understandably.” he crosses his arms feeling the upper hand.

“You’re a dick, you know that?” she sighs and goes and grabs a fold-up chair from the edge of the room. “If I do this, you have to dance for ME. Fairs fair.”

“Oga for oga.” he nods

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s Swedish.” he grunts out with a showy shake of his head.

“I was dancer. So this is… a routine we would do…”

“You don’t fight like a dancer moves, no offense.”

“Not the same kind of dancer…” she grins before it comes apparent just what sort of dancer she meant. “Never done this for free. Consider yourself lucky.” she laughs as she flips her hair over in her high pony and continues spinning and straddling the chair.

“I do. I am very lucky.” he grins and thumbs his lip. Giving her a cocky nod and up and down.

“I’m only doing this on the basis of double dog dare rules.”

“And I respect that.” he continues his big grin and nod as he judged her playfully without a word.

“That’s all you get for free.” she rises out of an almost split on the floor. “Fuck. Need to work on my splits.” she gives a good stretch after moving the chair. “Your turn. Better make this Magic Mike worthy.” she demands with a pointed finger to the floor.

“Maybe not Magic Mike…” he shrugs as another song plays in, I Feel It Coming playing through. “This new?”

“New-ish.” she answers. He casually keeps his eyes away from hers as his hands move confidently to her body and yank her close, a formal stance as he finds the beat with a bobbing head. “Follow my lead.” he connects his eyes and takes her in a waltz light stride across the floor.

“What is this? Am I suddenly a duchess being courted in the 1700s?” she teases and he throws her out to spin her.

“No, because she’d know how to do this.” he taunts before dipping her.

“I’m sorry I’m not that fancy!” she laughs with messy hair as he pulls her back up quickly.

“Oh, you think it’s fancy?”

“Yeah because it is. This is 4 different kinds of forks at dinner fancy.” she mocks. “I gave you grade A… okay grade B exotic dancer vibes and you give me Mr. Darcy who will faint if he sees my ankles.”

“Fine.” he rolls his eyes and pulls her back to his chest. Hands hard on her hips make her blush immediately, a quick beat hip sway catches her off guard. “Better?”

“Yes. Give me modern. Give me it’s early 2000’s and you’re shaking it like you don't wanna go home broke that night.” she demands playfully and they share a laugh, feeling the nostalgia for a moment and falling into a comfortable, borderline not appropriate dancing for middle schoolers. They gave over for a minute, hips and hands and him using his intense eyes that had gotten him what he’d wanted when he was younger. Eve could dance, she’d made a living out of it before and during school before things got too hectic to keep up work and study and residency. She’d danced before that with fake ID’s in clubs, she’d been around plenty of people and places, and she hated to admit that the man could move. With his almost pitbull puppy appearance she could forget that he was very in tune with his body when he wanted. She was reminded of it when she would watch him fight someone else. And she was reminded of it as he had his hands around her waist and hips with no hesitation, a confidence his usual demeanor with her lacked. They came together to sway, eyes locked and subtle smiles with competitive dark eyes watching the other.

“Eve?”

“Hmm?” she asks with a pleasant smile as she looks up to him in the reverse embrace.

“Would you-” he begins, his head tilted to her shoulder. He takes a low key deep breath and swings her away, taking her hands back into a much simpler embrace. “Would you wanna go out sometime?” His voice didn’t exactly crack but there was a fleeting moment of him losing his suave exterior to show the unsure boy with a crush underneath.

“Go out?” she asks rhetorically. “And do more of this?” she asks with a playful inflection to show he didn’t need to be nervous.

“I mean, if you want me to keep making you look bad…” he smirks and she steps on his foot and they share a hushed laugh. “We could go dancing.” he offers.

“We don’t have to,” she answers quickly and quietly. “It’s not something I do much. Well, in public anyway.” they continue a slow PTA approved slow dance stature together.

“Yeah me either.” he chuckles back.

“If not dancing..then what?”

“We could, uh, have drinks.” he offers with a thoughtful pursed mouth.

“We could eat.” she offers with a wide grin.

“Always with you and food.” he teases

“Always. I’ve never seen you turn it down anytime it was offered.”

“Touche.” he narrows his eyes. “Food and drinks. Alright, we’ll go to a place that has food and drinks.”

“....a restaurant?” she asks with a bubbling laugh.

“Yeah. One of those.” he breathily laughs it out and looks away for a moment.

He was awfully cute when he was dumb.

“I know this place. Good burgers.” he nods. “There’s a bar and you can get food. It’s small… not very busy. Mostly working-class people y’know. Easy to have some privacy.”

“You make it sound like we’re going on a stakeout.”

“Old habit I guess.”

“So it’s not in fact, a stakeout?”

‘No. No stakeout.” he answers enthusiastically and feeling her playful energy.

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.”

“Deal.” she doesn’t break from the sacred finger hold, and neither does he. “So if it’s not work…” she begins with an animated move of her neck. “Does that mean this is a date?”

He pauses for a moment and lowers his chin to face her more head-on, speaking more quietly. “Yeah. A date.” she sees that flash of fuck boy, she’d named it. You know the lip-biting, the fingers through the hair and doing that nod your way like they know you want them. Tik tok fuck boys, the ones with 90’s teen heartthrob hair. While Diego’s hair wasn’t quite to that length yet, she wondered for a distracted second how it might look on him, or if he’d had that hair when they were that age.

“Was it the Carlton dance?” she asks with wiggling eyebrows and he breaks his suave demeanor. “Or was it the chair dance?” she gives a goofy wiggle in his arms.

“It was more the chair than the Carlton…” she feels that shift, his hand a bit more demanding on her lower back, keeping her close. “But I wouldn’t turn down that Carlton dance after a few drinks.” they both fall into a shared bubble of laughter as she ducks her head to his chest and her shoulders shake.

“I’ll be sure to wear a pastel sweater and some pleated khakis on the date.” she says with a sly grin that he answers with crinkled eyes of amusement.

“The chair dance in THAT? Now THAT’s sexy.”

“Oh yeah, catch me three drinks deep and grinding in my fuckin’...Tommy Bahama dress slacks.” she moves her hips grinding on his thigh to call his bluff and before he can break his sarcastic bitten lip to show excessive interest in the idea - a voice breaks their bubble of intimacy they’d been working on all night.

“Do we need a separate license to teach dance?” The voice breaks a cozy moment between them. They both freeze and Eve blinks curiously at the short teenager with the angry face. Oh yeah, that had to be his brother.

“We have that license. And the one for the use of the songs.” Diego’s hands move away without much rush from Eve, his smile fading almost instantly. “What do you want?”

“A word?” a cocked eyebrow from the pale and strong-jawed young man.

“We were kind’ve in the middle of-”

“In the middle of -what- exactly Diego?” Five’s head cocked the side.

“It’s fine. I can go. It’s near the end of my session anyway.”

“Oh.” Five mumbles. “Didn’t realize you were a paying customer.”

“Yeah. Hi. I’m Doctor Eve Corpuz.” she reaches out her hand after putting on a hoodie.

“Doctor, eh? What kind?”

“ER Doctor at Calvary.”

“MMph.” He gives a respectful nod. “Wouldn’t be where you met my mess of a brother would it?”

“It would be actually.” she gives a warm smile as she stuffs her things into her duffle.

“Pleasure to meet you. But I do need a word in private with my brother.”

“Family stuff. I get it.” she nervously laughs. “I’ll see you on Thursday?”

“Uh...yeah.” Diego shakes his head, obviously flustered and glaring at his brother.

“Okay. See you. You boys have a good night!”

Eve pulls up her hood to cozy against the blustery spring night.

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

Eve had received a smattering of high energy texts from her friend when she sent, ‘I think my trainer just asked me out?😏’.

With playful accusations of what a harlot Eve was planning on being she was also met with a new nervousness. Now the way her coworker was seeing it, her hot Personal trainer asked her if she wanted to go out. As opposed to how Eve saw it, her mentor Diego seeing if she wanted to do something besides train for once. But he loved training. Yeah, she couldn’t lie to herself. It was a date.

Once the revelation hits her she keeps a sly smile on her face as she goes about her evening in her apartment. It WAS a date. And he HAD had his hands all over her tonight. Not that it was unusual with their new ventures into MMA, but this was different. That was for fun. Not for training purposes. They’d just been two people dirty dancing. At least for what action Eve had gotten lately, it was considered dirty.

She turns her playlist to the one from the gym earlier over her speakers. She finds the same sultry song, the one she’d used in her VIP room lap dances. She’d loved the video for the song and made up a routine based on it. She wasn’t a fan of the movie or book it came from but it was a moody vibe setter and that’s what she liked in her work. She takes a chair from the corner of her room, in just her panties and paper-thin t-shirt, and channeled that part of her that’d been bubbling beneath the surface ever since she’d met Diego. That part of her that kept in touch with her sexuality every day. The part of her that loved moving her body to the music, audience or not.

She admires herself in the dresser mirror for a moment. Something she hadn’t done in a while beyond the quick double-take of having her butt look good. She felt like herself, the Eve she was without all this worry about powers and careers and responsibility. That girl that loved dancing. The girl that went from town to town, loving and leaving and never staying long enough to take root. Being led by nothing but her heart. Not a thought to the future. It was easy to miss that version of herself, but she knew she was better for having gotten her shit together. But it was nice to romanticize from time to time alone.

He could just be a guy at a bar, and she’s an eager woman looking for something that burns so hot it couldn't last. It doesn’t take long for her to fall into her fantasy, recalling his hands on her, sweat dripping onto her collarbone from his damp hair hanging across his forehead over those dark eyes. She could smell him, feel his hands on her she knew when she kissed him she’d taste the salt of his sweat. She was in deep, just like her fingers between her pussy lips. She’d have a spicy little daydream, cum nice and hard, and fall into a heavy sleep. That was her plan for the evening.

Across town, in his apartment, Diego’s night was just getting started. He was looking over documents Five had given him, something he thought he might need to know about. But he was finding it hard to concentrate.

He thought he was past this sort of thing, some adolescent reminiscent sudden sexual urge that made its way into your head and wouldn’t get out. As his fingers fidgeted and his leg bounced, he took a deep breath and he felt his body getting warm, the blood flowing and him seeing the straining against his gym shorts. He took another deep breath and this one felt more like a sigh, a slump onto the desk in front of him as he looked down at his twitching shorts.

“Really? Now?” He mutters to himself as he looks around as if someone could be watching, making his way to his bedroom. Wasn’t going to chance anyone interrupting him again.

He sat on the bed, kicking off his bottoms and tossing his shirt aside. But as soon as he gave into it, it was like he could feel her hands on him, and there was only one woman on his mind. It’s like she was in his arms again, her strong hips in his hands, he could feel her hand creeping up around his neck, nails raking on his scalp and making him shiver.

She didn’t waste much time, her clit already throbbing and aching for attention. In her mind, she finally brings those full lips to her own, hand into his pants and happy with what she finds there.

It was as if he could feel her mouth around him, his hand and hers one of the same, her imagining him in her throat and nice and wet before abandoning the laws of physics and then suddenly laying down and her slipping him inside.

From her leisurely position on the bed she moves on her hands and knees, a pillow a poor stand-in, but her imagination makes up the rest. She wanted to feel that broad chest under her hands and the slap of skin to skin. She felt the slip of sweat on her palms and held him by the hair as she rode and kissed him.

Diego was sprawled in his bed, hand around his cock, and pumping to try to satisfy himself. He could feel her grinding against him, that delicious weight of a woman on top of you, taking what she needed. He very easily imagined it, finally seeing her tits bounce as she moved and the never-ending expanse of her tattoos without the interference of clothes. He was happy to take a back seat for a hot creature like her but he grew hungry, nearing his end faster than he anticipated.

Eve was at the desperate stage. So close to reaching the peak. Everything sensitive and flushed and wanting to lay back and take it. She grabs a dildo from the bedside drawer, a quick stick to the headboard, and Eve was moaning out his name to an empty room.

With a hand hard on the headboard, his body taught and almost angry at the tension, he feels the bounce-back of her ass as he drills into her. Hands fast to her hips and back, holding her down. He let out a frustrated growl as he felt his own orgasm about to rise.

With a moan, she begs for him to go deeper and she feels the release through her body. Hands on her tits and moaningas she convulsed, imagining his cock inside her instead, his hands tight to her hip and breast just as she was envisioning. He collapsed into the pillow beneath him, panting.

“That was… intense.” They sigh.

Apparently, Eve’s powers growing stronger was creating some interesting connections.

@jaegeeeeer @diegos-butt @anglovesthis @likedovesinthewnd

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fic #The Umbrella Academy #the umbrella academy fanfic #diego hargreeves fanfic

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gray-is-neutral · 4 years

Text

Supernatural

a fan fiction pt.4

Cas’ POV

Feelings are odd. It’s funny how a few little chemicals can effect your whole way of thinking. There is still so much I don’t understand about humans, but I’m pretty sure they don’t understand it themselves. Humans can’t choose what they feel, and even though they know this, they get mad at the other fir feeling the way they do? Why can’t these things be rational?

But there is no rationality for how I feel for Dean Winchester. It’s self destructive, addictive, and insane. It caused me so much grief, but I don’t want not to feel this way for him.

We all have our additions. Alcohol, drugs, sex, demon blood, but my poison gives the best high. It’s soul crushing and I love it. Being in love with Dean Winchester is literal hell, but it’s paradise too. How does one explain that? Most days, I would gladly punch him right in the nose, but that thought makes me sad.

Looking at him now, the Empty didn’t matter. It was horrible. I was in pain, and I just wanted to stop existing. He looked at me, and like every time, my heart melted.

“What do you want to talk about?” I asked. He wants to talk about the confession. I was so happy I told him, but that was when I was just going to die right after! I didn’t need to deal with the possibility of rejection. Why does this feel so bad? What the...fuck? Yes fuck! What the fuck is this? Why? Why are emotions so hard?

Now I’m worried what Dean feels for me. I mean, he went to the Empty to save me, and then, “Then I’ll stay with you.” Did he mean it? Was he just trying to motivate me? Would he have stayed in the Empty with me? Forever?

He didn’t even tell Sam, however. I was the one to tell him, and I’m regretting that I did.

“You’re in love with Dean?” he asked surprised. “I admitted that I did. I thought he would have told you?” I said. “Dude. It’s Dean. He would rather get on a plane and sky dive into a volcano than talk about feelings. No chic flic moments, remember?” Sam had said and smiled. “Yeah, I remember,” I told him.

“If you ever think about sacrificing your self for me or anyone else, I will drag your ass back from the dead to kill you myself,” Dean said. I looked at him. He looked relatively normal, but his eyes told a whole other story. Deans eyes always have what he calls “Chick flic” moments. He won’t say a word, but his eyes would scream what he’s feeling.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, feeling myself relax. Sam was right. “Dean won’t be able to just come out and talk about his feelings. He just...can’t,” he had said. Dean’s experience in love has been Hell. The lack of live from his parents. Loosing Lisa and Ben, and being forced to be responsible for his younger brother like a parent would, Dean’s....love map? Yes, that is what it’s called. His love map isn’t right. He’s still learning, and how can someone love another person, if they don’t love themselves first?

“We’re back with pie!” Jack yelled as they entered the bunker. It was hard to believe that he was God now. I looked at the child I helped raise. Dean regrets everything he’s done and said about him. He loves Jack, and I know he wishes he could take it all back. Maybe we can all start to actually heal now? No more big evils. Just family, and time.

“Hell yeah!” Dean said. “Uno?” Sam said, walking in. “Really?” “Well you two were taking forever,” said Dean. “What were we supposed to do? Braid each other’s hair?” Dean said, digging in the grocery bags for the pie. “I also have liquor!” said Jack, a little too proud of himself. “I can drink even though I’m God, right?” he asked.

“I guess we couldn’t stop you?” Sam said. I smiled despite myself. I missed this most of all. I was never letting this go again. It was too perfect. “We got the movies! They’re scary movies!” Jack anounces as he finds himself a place on the couch. “Hurry or I’ll start it without you guys!” he called. “I’m making popcorn! Wait!” Sam called.

Dean was getting a piece of pie, as I was looking for ice. “Hey I know angels don’t normally eat, he said, taking a huge bite of the piece he cut for himself. “But do you want a piece? It’s pretty good,” he said. “No I’m good,” I said. “Good, I didn’t want to share,” he said. He had pie all over his face. I held a straight face, and then imagined us like a scene in a movie. He would ask if I wanted any and I would kiss him, and say something teasing. Like, “You had enough on your mouth.” But then I thought that would be disgusting.

He walked out of the kitchen to claim his seat of the couch as Jack got up to get something. Probably candy.

“Dude he is definitely in love with you,” said Sam, joking. “He just doesn’t offer pie,” he said. “Your not funny. Leave it alone Sam. “I thought you two were together now?” Jack asked.

I honestly would have rather been with the Empty. No amount of torture could compare to this. I am getting better with expressions, I think.

“Stop that,” I said. “Can’t we just enjoy a movie?” I said, as Sam grabbed a six pack of some kind of beer. “Yeah, sure,” said Sam. “Opposite sides of the couch!” Sam yelled as Jack laughed. He wasn’t sure why he was laughing, just that it was supposed to be funny.

I rolled my eyes and walked into the living room. “What are we watching?” I asked. “Some horror movie,” he said. “Y’know, you aren’t obligated to hang out with us. You did just come from the Empty. If this is too much for you-“ “No,” I said. “I was isolated. I don’t wanna be alone,” I said.

He cleared his throat as his brother sat on the other side of him. “I got this!” Jack said, making the movie play with his mind. The kid is literally God, but he is so amazed that he has powers, isn’t that...sweet? Jack may be God, but he’s still Jack.

The movie played and Jack soon realized he didn’t like horror movies. “It’s a ghost! Salt! Why won’t they get salt?” By the third movie, Sam had fallen asleep and Jack was deep into the movie. I didn’t really care for it, but I was happy just to have this. This is normality. Movies, junk food, our family. It was perfect.

I noticed a sudden solid warmth on my shoulder. Dean had fallen asleep. How many sleepless nights had he gone through? He’s never fallen asleep like this. Not this vulnerable.

I smiled. Never mind, now it is perfect. I relaxed into this normalcy. I don’t sleep, but I closed my eyes to let myself take in the peace.

Suddenly, the Tv went to static. “Is your party super boring?” a commercial voice said over the tv. The people that looked like children look-alikes of us agreed, upset. “No problem! Just invite your good friend! Gabriel!”

“Heya boys, miss me?” Gabriel asked.

...

“How are you-?” Dean started. “Me? I’m good,” he said. “Castiel!” he said. “This is an exciting day for us, isn’t it?” “Gabriel, how did you?” I started. “Get pass the warding? Oh I just hitched a ride on that lil’ CD, now let me help you boys out.”

Suddenly, we were in a club setting. The place was empty. “You guys don’t have many friends, no surprise, but uhh how’s about some entertainment?” he said. Exotic dancers, male and female, appeared. “Gabriel!” Sam yelled, having had enough.

“Oh!” he lightly tapped his head as though he had forgotten something. “Sorry Sammy, is this more your speed?” We heard a confused scream. Eileen appeared from no where. “Sam!” she called upon seeing him. “Oh wait! Sorry you two broke up right? How’s this?”

A woman in a doctor’s uniform appeared. “What the fuck?” she said turning around quickly. “Where the hell am I? What just happened?” she said. “Enough!” Jack said. We were suddenly back in the bunker, but so were Eileen and the woman.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jack God sir,” Gabriel said, innocently. “I just wanted to express my gratitude,” he said. “For?” Sam asked. “Why? You saved me!” Gabriel said, dramatically draping himself across Sam. “If you hadn’t woken me up, I would have never escaped the Empty!”

“What?” Dean said, shaking the glitter from his hair. “My new bestie, Sammy boy here, threw those fireworks right by my head. I woke up and high tailed it out of there,” he said. “Did anyone else escape?” Jack asked. “A few low-level demons. Some low level angels. Crowley, Michael, Luci-“ he said.

I could have cried. Never, we can’t just have one normal night can we? “Don’t worry,” said Jack, taking Gabriel by the shoulder. “You guys help them, I’ll handle things really quickly,” he said and just like that, he was gone.

“Jordan!” Dean exclaimed, going to her side. So this is Dr. Jordan Blake. “What in bloody Hell is going on around here?” she demanded. I looked at Sam who was trying to talk to Eileen, it was in sign language, so I didn’t understand.

“I was in New York, and I’m where now?” Dr. Blake asked, trying to make sense of it all. “Look,” Dean said, gently embracing her. “If you stay for just a minute, we can talk and I will explain everything,” Dean said. She nodded and he cupped her face.

Eileen just wanted to leave. Sam offered to drive her home, but she said no. It was hard to tell how they felt about the other. Sam seemed to want to be with her, but Eileen seemed to want to forget recent events. I didn’t blame her because I understand wanting to forget. She felt used and forced. Now sh egg doesn’t know how she feels or felt. She doesn’t know if it was real. But did forgetting what happened also mean forgetting Sam?

Jack soon returned and took Eileen home. “Call me?” Sam asked. “Maybe,” she said quitely. Then she was gone.

I looked at the doctor, but soon noticed his young shr was. A little younger than Sam. I felt a pang of jealousy. He was so soft with her, but then I thought about the way he looked. It wasn’t how he looked at Lisa. It was how he looked at Jo or Sam.

He saw her like a sister, and for a second I was jealous of her. This is pathetic.

Dean gave her the her the speech. “Angels?” she huffed. “Of course it’s angels,” she laughed. “If I hear another thing about angels tonight,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked her. She rose her shirt to show the same tattoo that Sam and Dean had. “You’re a hunter,” said Sam.

This was going to be a long night.

#dean x cas #dean x castiel #gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day #supernatural #fan fiction #jack is god #destiel #dean #castiel #sam is a matchmaker #sam #Jack #sorry I love original characters #Cas is shy #gabriel #please dont come for me #i’m sensitive

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annaktheslightlygay · 4 years

Text

Almost - Part 1

It’s odd looking back, how little she remembers. Somehow Beca had made it here, to someplace in the middle of god damn nowhere, coerced to wear a blindfold led through the dark to this room. There was a sense of erie calmness that overtook her body in the car. Yet here, standing on some sort of wooden deck, it was replaced by a need to rip her blindfold off and get the hell out of here. She didn’t, though. “It would ruin the surprise, Beca!” Yeah, okay Chloe. Somehow the both of us didn’t anticipate this though so I’m not sure if this applies, Beca thought. She shifted her weight from one leg to another, waiting.

____

Literally, why was it so hard to get up out of bed? Maybe it was because there was literally no one there to judge her for it. It was not her fault her roommate dropped out the day college started. She thought that they could suffer through it together but it looks like that girl had the right idea: this sucked. There was no one here and no one to talk to. Not that Beca loved talking or anything, but it was nice to know that if she died or something at least someone would wonder if she was ever coming back. All she was really accountable for was keeping her plant alive at this point. And even he– she glanced over at him, drooping in the little pot in the corner of her windowsill– wasn’t looking good. When kids meant they cared about “streaks” these days, I don’t think they meant this.

This was the fifth day in a row she’d be laying in her dorm room, switching between her Netlfix and Hulu tabs religiously. But hey, at least she wasn’t hungry! Or, more likely, she’d surpassed hunger into the nauseous stage. She winced. That’s not great, even by Beca standards. She was pretty sure that was not recommended.

It was 4pm. That meant the dining hall wasn’t open with the exception of a few cereal options and rejected pieces of fruit from meals earlier in the day. Still, Beca headed to the elevator and indicated the first floor. Two people– a redhead and a brunette– got in on her long way down from the twelfth floor. Not bad for a building with a thousand people. The less human interaction, the better.

The food was bad, and but numbing. I mean, she couldn’t expect miracles from a bowl of captain crunch and a questionable banana, but still. Maybe she’d come back later that night. Maybe. That seemed like ages from now.

As she exited she thought vaguely of the library and of the textbook chapter she had yet to read for tomorrow. God, even just thinking of class was an exhausting thought. And still, she went. Usually. She knew that her dad would get a direct report if she didn’t. So yes, she did show up. But that didn’t mean she had to pay attention or, god forbid, participate.

Beca turned, deciding against it. A large body stopped her. Well, that was putting it nicely. Fat Amy basically initiated her, knocking most of the air from Beca’s lungs.

“Dude, watch it.”

“Yeah well maybe if you weren’t so busy looking lost I wouldn’t have to stop with the sheer force of my cooch.” Fat Amy said.

“Your what?”

Beca had heard of this girl. She was the one who poured pink hair dye all over some girl’s head after she called her a fat bitch. She must have just been called Amy back then, but the name stuck. Even good-natured professors found themselves calling her that. She was loud, obnoxious, and her Australian accent was so prominent Beca (and others) often wondered if it was even real. Claiming to be a fantastic exotic dancer (with a specialty in mermaid dancing apparently) Fat Amy was never one to miss a party.

“Here, you look like you could use this, short stuff.” Fat Amy thrust something to Beca’s chest. Before Beca could say a thing, Amy was gone as quickly as she had come.

Trivia night, huh? More like a situation where Beca would have to pretend to be occupied in her phone and to be social for a night. Still, it was starting in seven minutes, and Beca knew where it was. It beat going to the library and probably would help her case during her weekly check-ins with her therapist. Wow, Beca thought. A new low. Going to a social event so her therapist didn’t think she was lame.

Beca arrived at Barden’s Lion Den and found a seat just as the game started. Two girls asked if they could share the six-person table Beca occupied, and she obliged. The two girls sat and began discussing the answer to the first question. Dumbly, Beca realized she forgot to grab a card on her way in. There was no way she was going to draw attention to herself. Thank god for the iPhone that saved her in awkward social situations, like this one. She started scrolling, tapping haphazardly if she saw something that caught her eye. The two girls across from her excitedly discussed their answers, growing louder by the second. Beca realized that a third girl had joined them, promptly changing the topic to a party that night, related to the Barden Bellas.

Beca had heard of them of course– she had a bad habit of reading the posters that were always plastered through the hallways throughout the entire school– and often critiqued them in her mind. You’d be surprised how many administration approved posters there were that seemed to forget that spellcheck existed. Beca remembered the Bellas posters because of the flight attendant like uniforms that all of the girls on the poster sported, grinning from ear to ear. She kind of hated that poster. No people in college should be that happy, she thought.

Still, Beca heard bits and pieces. 8 pm. Meet at the Barden Lawn, and then head to a secondary location. Show up in green. It kind of sounded more like orders, to Beca. But immediately she did the math: 8pm wasn’t so bad for a Barden activity. Most things around here started at 11pm, at the earliest. And two social events in one week? There was no way Beca’s therapist could write her up or show any concern. This was healthy, and “very, very good, Beca!” She could practically hear Amber smiling. And, there was no invite needed.

Looking back, that had to be the night that she met Chloe. Chloe had to have been there with her, somewhere in the crowd with all the other chattering girls. But back then there was just a bunch of chatting girls that followed their leaders in a pack towards a supposed “secondary location”– a spot across town. Beca tried, like she always did, to make small talk with a few of the other girls on the way. As always, they became much more engaged in their own conversation than they did talking to Beca. So Beca trailed off behind them into the night air.

Notes: In this version, Beca is a little nicer and Chloe is most certainly not. This is a chiller version of the Bellas, and while there are some familiar members, there are also some new additions just to change it up a bit. Slow introduction to lots of drugs and alcohol, because that’s just what I felt like writing about. But let’s be real: you’re here to read about Bechloe, and I’m here to deliver– though I cannot promise that there will not be some angst to get there. With that, enjoy!

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

Text

The Dancer-Chapter Four

A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Previous chapters on AO3

Chapter Four

Claire sat on a high-pile, soft rug with children circled around her. Jamie noticed they all leaned forward from their Indian-style positions, eyes wide and staring at Claire. They were all on their trusted ponies flying across the Arizona desert, running after the bad guys who robbed the train. Claire did her best to narrate the story with inflections of fear and desperation while the story became real to those around her.

Jamie made a trip to his office and was waiting for Claire when the wee ones ran to their mothers, laden with purchases from the store. The room emptied out in ten minutes and Jamie flopped down on an overstuffed chair. He handed a baggie full of orange slices to Claire.

He noticed that her hair was still down and today she wore a soft dress with a bright colored flower pattern. The skirt was almost to her ankles so sitting on the floor, being eye to eye with the kids was easy. He looked at her approvingly, happy she had embraced her new look.

Claire noticed Jamie hanging around during her Storytime and book club meetings and he always kept her after for conversation and shared food. She wasn’t sure she understood what he needed but if she could answer his questions and understand his conversation she just went with the flow.

“I’m leavin Claire. It’s time for a new manager to take over this store so I can get to Glasgow.”

“I’m sure you will be missed, Jamie.”

“I’ve been doin this for the past nine years. This is the last store I will build. Once it’s up and running I start a new job, new level, and maybe dinna move around so much. Even if I’m offered a corporate position it willna be here in Scotland. More likely Germany or London.”

Claire did not understand where the conversation was going so she just kept up for his sake. Jamie was always so confident about the book business, but she thought it sounded like a lonely existence and wondered if he felt the same. She had never known a man more beautiful than Jamie Fraser and thought it unlikely that he spent time alone if he didn’t want to. So why did he come to see her dance? Week after week leaving hundreds of pounds for her.

“Claire, I want ye to consider taking over for me, as manager of the store. Ye’ve owned a bookstore, this is just bigger. I trust ye lass and that is more important than any experience or degree. Please think about it and we can talk again in a few days.”

“How about tonight? There is so much I don’t know.” She watched him intently.

“Sorry lass. I have plans tonight and canna break em.”

Claire sped across town and found a grumpy Madu in her studio, pacing like an irritated bull. He could look quite intimidating Claire thought. He was over six foot with a muscular frame and a mop of black curls fell against his cheeks and forehead. A beautiful man, she thought, watching him in the seconds before he noticed her.

She could feel his interest in her, barely contained, ready to sweep her off her feet. They would make a good match she assumed. His family would embrace the orphan in her and Madu would show her the heights of passion she had only dreamed of. The union made perfect sense, but she had not fallen in love with him the way she always dreamed it would be.

Claire had only one reference for passion and love, the face of Jamie Fraser when she danced for him. She noticed the change in his look, his posture, his gaze that touched her in a place she had not known before. What started out as punishment for someone she hated had become a quest that she was ashamed of, but she continued, desperate to know what smoldered behind his eyes.

Claire jerked out of her reverie when Madu called to her. Her head flew up and she rattled off excuses for being late, running to dress for her dance. Madu gave her a knowing look and waited for the student to stand before him.

Claire considered Jamie’s offer to manage the bookstore. Her popularity for exhibition dancing and private parties had grown, as did her fees for such things. While the good people of Edinburgh were going to bed each night, she was draped in veils doing what she loved. She would help the new manager as much as she could but decided to decline Jamie’s offer.

As Jamie’s final days in Edinburgh grew near, he spent more time at the restaurant watching her dance. Claire tried to imagine his absence in her life, in the audience, and at the bookstore, as he went on with his life without her. The promise and desire behind his eyes would remain unknown to her and the blame was hers alone. If she had told him from the beginning that she was the dancer things would have gone differently. But she was hell-bent on revenge at that time and then it was too late. She tried to think of a dozen ways to tell him the truth but nothing would hide her betrayal, so she accepted her fate.

Jamie accepted Claire’s decision not to manage the bookstore like a gentleman and told her he was a phone call away if she needed anything. He promised to visit often as the new store was just a town away.

When he brought the new manager around for everyone to meet, Claire decided she was looking into the eyes of a human Bambi. John Grey was handsome on Jamie’s level but in a softer, more refined way. His smile was something to behold and she almost lost herself in it until she looked at Jamie and felt his power burn her on the inside.

Jamie was shaking hands and laughing with the staff, but he caught Claire in a moment of weakness and the look on her face made the hair on his neck stand up. She pulled away from the group and disappeared. He looked for her later wanting to spend some time with her before he left but she was nowhere to be found.

Claire drove home to get ready for her dance tonight. It felt like she was full of adrenalin with that awful feeling of impending doom. She knew this was about Jamie and his last night in Edinburgh. What ever did she want from the poor man who never received as much as a nod from her?

“Geillis! I have a problem. There is a man I have danced for numerous times. The way he looks at me makes my knees weak and I can barely keep it together. He is leaving town tomorrow and I may not see him again.”

“Okay Claire, you have my attention and I’m waiting for the problem. He’s married, he’s gay, he’s homeless, what?”

“No. None of those things. He’s perfect, and single, and moving to another town after tonight. I want to know him, that way, before I lose the opportunity.”

“That way?” Geillis was quiet for a minute. “Do ye mean ye want to fuck him, Claire?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then do it.”

Geillis caught on quickly that Claire needed help so she pledged to be there right after work, and they would make a plan.

Claire spent a quiet afternoon thinking about what she was doing and realized she could not stop herself if she wanted to. She spent an hour in a hot tub removing all her body hair, even her most intimate places. She was painstaking about her makeup, eyelashes, and bright red lipstick. The oil she smoothed over her skin was from Cairo, a gift from Madu. It heightened her senses when she dabbed it between her legs until she almost fell completely apart.

Pulling her most prized costume from her closet she zipped it into a garment bag for her second show, when she would touch Jamie and he would touch her.

Geillis whistled at the costume Claire chose and said she was getting hot just looking at it.

“Claire, relax. If ye want to fuck this guy and ye look like that, and he’s interested, then just let it happen.”

Geillis was winding the string of chains around Claire’s hips and looked at her friend.

“Ye know sex doesna bring love, right Claire?”

Claire nodded her head and raised her arms for the chain bra top Geillis was pulling onto her chest. It was time for her second dance and the invitation for Jamie to come to her dressing room. Claire felt the throbbing between her legs and could not wait for whatever was on the other side of that desire in his eyes.

When the spotlight hit the rows of chains, Claire sparkled like a thousand diamonds. Her body undulated up out of the fog layer Omar cranked out. Her performance was raw, and sexual, the best of her career because she would never have a greater prize than Jamie Fraser to dance for.

Jamie sat transfixed, unable to move as he watched the undulating hips and popping breasts promise forbidden love, the kind he would trade his soul for. As she spun in his direction the chains flew out at waist level looking punishing for any man who ventured to close to her. He watched her spin away from him and in a magical moment, he saw a card left on the table.

I await you, is all it said, and Jamie shook his head wondering if he imagined it was an invitation. He walked to the stage door and knocked softly. Diners were still eating but didn’t seem to notice him waiting for the door to open.

A warm hand pulled him into the dressing room which glowed with dozens of candles that smelled amazing and exotic. He bent to Claire and kissed her softly, noticing her chest rise and fall with her deep breathing. Whether from arousal or nerves he would take his time and see her relaxed and needy before he feasted on her body.

“What is your name lass?”

In that instant, Claire’s plan popped like a bubble. Holy crap, she thought, I have to talk to him? Why the hell didn’t I think this through? Her panic was rising, gripping her throat to choke her for being so selfish and concupiscent. In her panic, she could not think of a way to control the situation. She was bested and she knew it, so she just stopped moving and hung her head. She had heard enough Arabic to string some words together and show Jamie the door.

He looked confused but he left, and she locked the door behind him. Claire was too exhausted to cry or do anything else. She laid on the sofa waiting to hear Jamie’s truck drive away, praying he would not come back with more talking. She closed her eyes and imagined his touch, above her, beside her, behind her. Her body craved him and the sublime physical joining that would free her from the mundane world she lived in. Why had she convinced herself this was even possible? Because at the moment it felt like her life depended on it.

Claire heard Omar knock softly on the dressing room door, probably waiting to walk her out. When the door swung open Jamie lifted her up and kissed her quiet as he pulled the breath out of her lungs and every thought from her mind.

“No talking lass, just let me kiss you and touch you a bit then I go, without a word. There’s a reason you invited me here and a reason I came, that’s enough for me.” His kiss seared her lips with his heat and his hands ran over her body like he was touching the holy grail.

Claire twisted the buttons open and pushed his shirt off. She gazed at his muscled chest and arms feeling herself blush when he chuckled at her reaction. The kissing continued until Claire’s mind and body belonged to James Fraser. When she pulled her bra top off he held her away to look at her, then he embraced her, skin on skin, tilting her head up to kiss him again.

Claire knew the chains and veils would not easily come off without instruction and she did not want him to stop kissing so she pulled them off and stepped out of the tiny pants.

Jamie feasted on her perfect skin and lithe form watching the candlelight bounce off the flat planes of her body. He was speed stripping to catch up with her nakedness, wanting to feel her inside and out for as long as she let him.

Claire laid on the sofa, arms raised to him, mouth open, chest heaving. Jamie burned the sight of her into his brain to keep forever. His large warm hands caressed every inch of her from neck to feet as he laid soft kisses in their path. She felt his hot breath on her nipples before he filled his mouth and sucked to make her remember. When she was powerless to move, he pushed her arms over her head and wrapped several chains around her wrists before he stole the remaining part of her brain. His kiss started softly as his knuckles ran down her body, over her nipples, brushing against her core.

Each minute was more exciting and pleasurable than the last as Jamie swept her into an erotic fog that shot firecrackers to her brain. When Jamie’s knuckles started their return trip, he nudged her legs apart and dragged a finger up her fold. Claire bucked in his arms and she struggled to loosen the chains on her wrists. His long arm pulled the chains tight just before she felt his beard on the soft skin of her inner thigh. Pulling her legs apart he placed what felt like dozens of soft kisses between her legs, and inner thighs. Every few minutes the tip of his tongue would touch her bud nearly rocking her off the couch.

Claire didn’t think she could take much more without self-combusting. She felt Jamie shift his position and his hot, wet tongue slid into her, torturously slow as she gasped and arched her back seeking friction.

He would not be hurried with the beautiful dancer and intended to make this last, for both their sake. Claire was immobilized, without hands to distract him, so he set a slow pace and was thrilled the way her body reacted to him. He pressed his tongue deeper into her and his gigantic erection grazed the side of the sofa, hot and angry for being ignored.

Two long fingers replaced his tongue and he felt the walls of her pussy clamp down as he moved them in and out. She moaned and rocked his fingers feeling like she would explode. Jamie felt joy and satisfaction watching her fall apart. He lowered his head and flicked her bud viciously knowing the instant she left the earth. No longer on the plane of mortal man, she kissed angels and fell through layers of sparkling, raw sensation.

She felt the chains loosen around her wrist as Jamie kissed her deeply, preventing her full return to sanity. He wanted more, and she wanted to give it. He carefully negotiated the small sofa, pulling her knees up, creating a space to lay his long body as his tip pressed lightly against her opening. The intensity of his kissing made Claire’s hips rise to find him. Jamie smiled at her heroic effort to squirm under him until her wet pussy was pressing his tip into her.

He held her hips still and slowly pushed into her, watching her expression, feeling her energy shift to acquiescence. She surrendered to his strength, his need, his promise. As Jamie pushed into her he laid claim to her mind, soul, and body. His hard thrusting was banging into her clit making her lose her mind. Jamie kissed her deeply and felt her body grab him as her back arched tightly against his chest.

Jamie watched Claire’s orgasm second by second. She was wild, uninhibited, and completely under his spell. He released the iron grip on himself, slamming into her at least a dozen times, fearing he would lose his mind from the stinging in his balls.

The banging cymbals leading up to his release suddenly stopped as he was rocked to the core with pulsing pleasure. He floated back to her and nuzzled her neck. They were slippery with sweat and Jamie gathered her under him to keep her warm while she dozed. When she would startle awake her arms clutched him around his neck like she didn’t want to be without him, making his heart ache for her.

Jamie laid very still, watching Claire succumb to her exhaustion and kissing her quiet when she startled. He did not want this to end and letting her sleep added precious moments with her. He pulled her into a massive cuddle that overwhelmed her sluggish senses and she slept deeply for several hours while Jamie watched.

He was not used to the intensity of their lovemaking that now filled his head. Remembering her body quaking under him, mouth and eyes open, chest heaving while he pushed his full length into her. He could feel his erection growing until it throbbed for her again. She startled and grabbed him wrapping her arms around him to hold him to her.

Jamie pulled her to his chest and wiggled under her as his large hands held her gorgeous butt against him. She kissed him like her life depended on it and when he broke the kiss, she chased his mouth until he was putty in her hands. When she felt his tip against her, she pushed back until he slipped into her with a gasp.

Control temporarily lost, he wrapped his hands around her shoulders pulling down and pushing his cock deeper inside her. Jamie almost came when he looked into the eyes of a woman who would shred this couch to get to him. She needed to come, like a powder cake ready to explode and only he could make it happen.

Jamie grabbed her shoulders and lifted her upper body, so she straddled him. He groaned when her body opened to him, letting him sink into her warm wetness. Claire glared at him, panting, hands splayed on his chest. The feeling was so intense she couldn’t help but move her hips until she felt Jamie’s strong hands on top of her shoulders, holding her down. He sat up so they were face to face and pressed her shoulders down again feeling his dick go deeper into her body. He watched her eyes, only inches from his own. She didn’t know what was happening and no longer cared. She trusted Jamie to see her safely through the explosions she knew were coming.

We are almost there love, he thought, as he pushed her shoulders down and pressed his erection even deeper. Claire was wide-eyed and wanton when he impaled her, and he knew she had not been touched like this before.

Claire knew something was about to happen, good or bad she was powerless to stop it. He touched her cheek and smiled, then he touched her throbbing core and watched Claire’s world spin out of control. She threw her head back and rocked him with her hips until she slowly came back to earth. Her eyes opened and she smiled her gratitude, breathing deeply. He touched it again and she flew even higher in a long continuous moan as her hips rocked his cock again.

Jamie could not hold out any longer and flipped them pushing her legs over his shoulders for a dozen thrusts and stopped. Claire watched him get to his knees and push her legs open. He stared at her core for a long minute before he pulled her pelvis up and entered her again, watching the erotic show as his cock slid into her, over and over again until he shuttered and exploded deep inside her.

Jamie collapsed next to her panting for his life and refusing to let her go. He felt her hands on his cheeks as she kissed his face a dozen times, and then he felt nothing.

Some hours later Jamie woke up and smiled at the curled angel he held. He was leaving for his next job in Glasgow and wondered if he would ever see her again. He felt his heart swell at her trust and mutual interest. When he pushed the hair out of her face she smiled and pulled a lungful of air and opened her eyes.

Claire woke up to panic as the room was filling with light from the sunrise. Jamie could see the panic on her face and jumped up to dress quickly. He promised no words, so he kissed her softly and left.

She laid still with her heart ramming until she heard Jamie’s truck roar onto the road. Ten minutes later she was brave enough to get up and pull her sweatsuit on before disposing of the evidence of their magical night. She wondered if she would ever again feel a man touch her like Jamie did.

Claire looked at her watch and counted the hours until Geillis would come to get this wig off her head. Geillis added dots of the glue around the entire wig, so she didn’t worry about it slipping. Now she couldn’t get even a finger under it. She dropped her keys on the kitchen table heading for the shower. Raising her leg over the tub she saw warm liquid from Jamie run down her inner thigh. She watched it until her tears rolled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into a towel and sobbed.

Jamie pulled into Lallybroch and noticed Ian’s car in the driveway again. He looked up at Jenny’s window forming a possible reason before shaking his head and laughing. “It’ll never happen,” he said out loud. Ian was like a family member. Since they were lads Lallybroch was his second home and he often met up with friends and left his car overnight.

An hour later, Jamie tossed his suitcase, and briefcase in the back of his truck, the garment bag with his suits was hung inside the cab. With Glasgow just an hour away it hardly felt like he was going anywhere. How odd, he thought, that his last project would be in Scotland and so close to his home.

Once his big black truck was pointed at Glasgow, he sat back and let his mind drift back to the trauma he felt leaving home the first year. He hugged Jenny for a full minute and looked at her crying eyes trying to be brave. His Da shook his hand beaming with pride and fighting his own tears. Jamie walked away to board a very large plane that would fly him to Ann Arbor Michigan where he would build his first store.

The odds were stacked in his favor thanks to eight gentlemen that knew what factors influenced success and correctly matched the project to the manager. Putting Jamie on the other side of the world, where English was spoken, the winters were long and cold, in a college town with a superior football team, and thousands of coeds was no accident.

The next year was Italy, after that France, then back to America, England, Australia, Italy again, Germany, Edinburgh, and now Glasgow. He always came home to Lallybroch to rest. Sometimes it was three months, many years it was less.

Jamie’s natural charisma pulled people to him like moths to flame so he never felt lonely, or afraid. He saw his life as a never-ending string of new experiences, new challenges, and new people to meet, which became his Achilles heel.

Jamie remembered her still, the girl he cared for in Ann Arbor, the girl he left behind and then missed for the entire next year. It was a lesson to his heart to stay away from those most interesting, the most lovable, the most anything. He would find a lass or two in each town and move on quickly when they wanted more from him. It was a hard thing to do because he craved intimacy and feeling connected to someone. As his Scotland friends paired up and became a husband, Jamie realized he was going against the natural order, denying himself a heart to love. It got harder each year, but he never faltered from his plan. He would not leave a string of broken hearts in his wake.

The dancer crept into his thoughts and in his mind he reached for her, lovingly, protectively. Well, looks like yer comin to Glasgow with me. I thought maybe last night would cure me but here ye are. I’m no sorry. Ye are a rare gift to the world and I dinna want to let ye go. Not yet.

Geillis was losing patience, “hold still or I’ll spill this acetone in yer eye!”

She wasn’t feeling charitable this morning after being roused from her newest squeeze by a begging Claire. She dabbed the Q-tip into the glue as she pulled the hair from Claire’s skin.

“I hope the sex was worth all this.” She paused for a minute. “This is when ye tell me all about it lass.”

Claire stared out her kitchen window with a blank face seeming not to hear her friend's inquiry. She felt him touch her skin with warm hands that made magic happen the whole night. She tasted salty sweat from kissing his face when he was still far away spinning in pleasure.

“Claire!”

“What!”

“I’m talkin to ye lass. I’m gonna pull it off, ye ready?”

The wig pulled away and Claire instantly felt ten degrees cooler to her relief.

“Meet me at the wig store after work. Ye canna wear that one until yer skin heals. We can find somethin else to use. I have to break land-speed records to make it to work on time. Sorry to leave ye with the mess.”

Claire crawled into her bed where she would dream of copper-colored curls that tickled her nose, and thighs, and back.

For the next month, she spent a lot of time at the bookstore helping the new manager get settled. When she heard little voices yell her name she brightened considerably and watched tiny bodies run to the glass room with grateful mothers behind them.

The second month came and went but the bookstore still felt cold and sterile to her. John was becoming a dear friend who craved her company because he was alone in a strange city. Compared to Jamie, it was child’s play to avoid John’s constant questions about her other job. Claire was rarely bothered with anxiety anymore, so life went on with no great highs and no great lows.

When Claire was reading to her pint-sized fans she reached across the circle and pretended to grab someone's nose as little people erupted in laughter. Claire giggled back to her sitting position and froze when she heard his voice. Her heart was ramming and her ears almost hurt as they were seeking another sound wave, his wave, his cadence, and burr.

The story was over and the kids piled out to their waving mothers. Claire’s legs were hugged tight and tiny sets of eyes looked up to her smiling and waving. She waved back as the last few mothers led their children toward the exit. And there he was.

Claire felt the air evacuate from the room as she watched his genuine smile and outstretched arms. She leaned into him, smelling something lovely and familiar, wanting so badly to touch his curls and face. She felt his vibrating laugh when she hugged him and then quickly righted herself back to the friend zone tucking away her wants and desires for someone forbidden.

She smiled when John or Jamie made a joke but otherwise busied herself with cleaning up her room and flicking the lights off. She walked quickly to the exit and felt strong hands grab her arm pulling her to a halt. She knew that touch, those big hands, and felt herself shake inside.

“How is the new project going, Jamie?”

“It’s been a bitch, still is, but I’m done-in from all that anxiety and deadline insomnia.” He smiled at her, so relaxed and looking genuinely happy to see her. “I’m goin back tomorrow once I conclude some business here in Edinburgh, part of which is you.”

Claire looked up at him trying to look coy and relaxed. “What pray tell would that be?”

“Next weekend is Easter, Claire. I want ye to come to Lallybroch and spend the day with Jenny and me. Will ye come?”

“Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. And John? Will he be joining us too?”

“Who?”

Claire tilted her head to the upstairs office where John would be sweating bullets waiting for Jamie to announce the real reason he was here and hoping to have his job when he was through.

“Ah, yes of course lass, John too.”

Claire offered her hand and saw the change in Jamie’s face. “Until next weekend then.”

Jaime climbed the steps to the manager’s office feeling off balance at Claire’s stiff goodbye. His mind was in constant flux between two women since he left. The dancer reigned supreme in his thoughts and dreams, but he missed Claire in his life.

He felt his body calling to her, the dancer, and he knew it would take wild horses to keep him away from her tonight.

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fanbynature · 4 years

Text

Can you feel my heart?

OBIKIN X AU /PART 2/

Okay, so some comments before you start to read again.

The pictures are inspiration for Obi’s work place and apartment. Also for Asajj’s, Ahsoka’s and Rex’s appearance.

This is for sure still going to be Obikin end game it just got a little bit off the rails so bear with me. I need a little bit of love drama. My life is boring.

Also some more ages

Cody/Wolffe/Quinlan - 28, Asajj - 30, Aayla/Hera - 24

I noticed that there were quite a few mistakes in the previous one even though I checked it, but I apologise if this one got too. Again I do check them but I miss stuff.

Also if anyone has been feeling bad about themself let me tell you something that could probably make feel a little bit better.

I wrote a 5k word chapter for this but overwrited and I didn’t had the autosaved option on so now I need to try and remember what the heck did I write.

Enjoy

Ahsoka had just headed out to Uni and Obi-wan was cleaning the last things from breakfast. He headed to his bed, sat and starred and the card in his hand and then started typing the number on his phone. He pressed the call button and waited for the dialling sound.

After a few seconds of waiting someone picked.

“Yes?”

“Hello, is this Anakin Skywalker? “

“Speaking.”

“Yes, this is Obi-wan from the band “Space Maniacs. I am calling you about the offer you made us.”

“Ah, yes. Hello, nice of you to call. I hope you are going to give me a positive answer, I would be really glad to work with you.”

“Yes. I mean yes – it is a positive answer. We would like to meet you and tell us the details.”

“Awesome. Okay just give me a minute and I’ll be back with you.”

“No problem”

“Okay then, let’s see. How about Thursday this week, is it okay for you?”

“Yeah, we’ll work it out.”

“Okay. The time - how about 2 pm?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Excellent. See you then.”

“Yes, see you. Bye.”

In Obi-wan’s opinion that went better than he anticipated. He let out a breath he was holding in and felt lighter.

In that case, he better catch on some sleep for work. A scratching noise from the balcony door caught his attention. His furry friend was back. He sat on the floor and started petting it.

“Maybe I should give you a name. It would be easier for us, won’t it? Hmm, what’s a good name for a pet cat? I don’t have the experience for this. “

He starred at the purring creature for a little while longer and said.

“How about Spotty? You have two spots on your eyes, not that original I know. Do you like it Spotty?”

The cat continued rubbing herself in Obi-wan’s hands, putting her paws on his legs, waiting for permission to snuggle up in his lap. He took her from the ground and lifted her close to his face.

“You don’t like it? Hmm”

The cat put her paws on his face, lightly moving them across it.

“What about Ziggy? Like Ziggy Stardust.”

The cat let out a soft meow.

“Oh, a reaction – is it a positive one? Or a negative one.”

He put her on his lap and started petting her again.

“Well, I’ll continue calling you Ziggy if you don’t like it just ignore it and I’ll go back to calling you furry friend and little one.”

The cat looked at him and meowed then put his head in his lap and started purring.

“Well, now I have to sleep on the floor, Ziggy.”

After just sitting there for an hour, the man stood up slowly and put the cat next to his bed on a pillow he wasn’t using so he could sleep.

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

The alarm woke him up five hours after that and he got up to get ready. Ziggy wasn’t at the foot of the bed neither outside. He decided to leave some food and water if she comes around later. After showering and drinking coffee he was ready to go out. He also started hearing Ahsoka’s nagging voice in his head making him eat something or take something for later but he couldn’t be bothered at the moment. Maybe he’ll buy something on the way there.

The traffic was always awful at this time of the hour. You would think that travelling in the air would lessen the traffic, well you thought wrong. It’s just as awful – this was Coruscant, you can’t expect anything less. That’s why he always left from his apartment with time to spare because he liked to be there on time. Also fairly speaking the cantina was posh even if it was on the lower levels. The costumers Cody accepted weren’t low lives. They weren’t pretentious people but they were with a decent amount of money in their pockets, didn’t shy away from spending them but they also didn’t create trouble. Or at least the kind of trouble Cody would allow. There were exotic dancers with some private activity they would do from time to time but everything was legit and it for sure wasn't a brothel and if anyone thought otherwise they wouldn’t be able to set even one foot inside the place. Well, places. Cody ran two cantinas, he and his third brother Wolffe. They were placed in different places on the planet, so they didn’t see each other that often but from time to time Cody would go and check if things are running smoothly. The Fett brothers are all reasonably level-headed and serious people, so in Obi-wan’s opinion, they won’t have problems running and growing their business. As you know there are always exceptions to the rules – Rex is a good man, but sometimes not as sensible as his older brothers, him and his kid brother Boba are true troublesome kids sometimes. But maybe that’s why Obi-wan has a soft spot for them. Especially Boba – the little rascal can get out of any trouble with his puppy eyes, at least as far Obi-wan is concerned. Those tricks, however, haven’t worked for a long time on his brothers or father. Sometimes Obi-wan ends up being a shield for Mando’a insults, which are quite colourful and fun in his opinions but no 13 years old should know them.

“Gar batnor shabiur.” /You drunk halfwit/

“What did you call me, kid?”

“You heard me, besom” /ill-mannered lout, unhygienic person/

“Kid, you better watch your mouth. I don’t care that your brother runs this place; you are going to end up beat up.”

Obi-wan was minding his business on the bar, serving people when he heard a brawl from somewhere in the cantina. He looked around, squinting to find the source of the disturbance and he couldn’t believe his eyes. Boba was trying to pick up a fight with someone three times his size. It was a dowutin. Son of a bantha. Obi-wan thought. This kid sure knows how to attract trouble. He excused himself to his co-workers and went to stop whatever mess Boba dragged himself into. Cody is going to have an aneurysm from his kid brother.

“Good evening, what seems to be the trouble?”

“The little punk here is looking for trouble. I don’t pride myself in beating up little kids but who knows what can happen in the lower levels of Coruscant at night?”

“Who are you calling little? Also, are you threatening me in my brother cantina, gar di’k-“

Obi-wan put his hand on Boba’s mouth, signalling him to shut up.

“I am so sorry about the trouble, miss. I’ll be sure to watch over this little punk here and not let him cause any trouble for you or the other clients here. Say sorry, Boba.”

“Nayc”/No/

“Boba work with me here,” the older man said with gritted teeth facing the teen

Boba humped exaggeratedly but complied.

“Won’t happen again, sorry,” the teen said without any actual remorse in his voice.

But the dowutin was pleased enough so Obi-wan gave a small nod to the client and waited for her to be out of sight.

“What the in the kriffing hells are you trying to do exactly?” The older man turned harshly towards the teen trying to compose himself as he was still at work and started pushing the boy next to the bar. “You are taking your things and going to Cody.”

“No! Also in no way that was a girl. This-“

Obi-wan slapped him across the head before he could continue.

“Lower your voice and stop insulting people. Also if you didn’t want to go to Cody you should have thought about it before you started picking fights with much bigger beings than you.”

“Oh, please, Obi I’ll be good. Please don’t take me to my brother. It’s soooo boring. He just reads papers, signs stuff and doesn’t even spare me a glance.”

“Well, that’s called working. It’s supposed to be boring so you can have more fun when you are not working.”

“But your band is fun and that’s also working. That’s what you told me.” The teen was starting to sulk and Obi-wan didn’t have time to deal with this right now. It was rush hour and his co-workers were going to hate him.

“Look, sometimes there are aspects of one’s job that are boring and then there are parts that are less boring or even fun. It can’t be all fun and games. Do you understand me? Sometimes people have to sacrifice something to be able to receive another thing, okay.”

Boba was earnestly listening to him and he hoped that something went inside that buckethead of his.

“Yes, I understand. Can I go play in the backroom then? I promise I won’t disturb you anymore.” And the puppy eyes were on, how could he say no? He sighed and nodded. Boba did a little happy jump and hugged Obi-wan, took his things and went in the back room where the staff usually rested.

He returned to the bar and threw Asajj, who was next to him, an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry for that. This kid is a magnet for trouble.”

“No worries, love. We all know. It’s good that at least someone takes interest in him around here. You are more a brother to him than his blood one and teaching him more useful things that he’ll ever will.”

“Oh, I won’t go that far.”

“Sorry, what was that – one bespin fizz and two blurrgfire. Coming right up”

“Well, I would and the people who haven’t arrived here yesterday would. Even Cody would go that far.”

“I can’t be that harsh towards Cody. He is trying to run his own business and he is keeping it afloat plus is a pretty damn decent one.”

“Here you go, love. That’ll be 12,50 cred. Thank you. Here’s the change. Didn’t say he wasn’t doing other stuff and living his life and so on. That doesn’t change the fact that you care so much for that kid. And not only because Cody is his brother and your best friend - his kid brother is a pain in the ass but you like the little troublemaker for whatever reason and you worry for him.”

“Yeah, I do. I guess I just have a soft spot for cute and small creatures.”

Asajj smiled at him

“Guess so.”

While the Obi-wan was recalling the events of the previous month he had arrived at his destination. He got out of the hovertaxi and headed for the backdoor of the building. He got around 15 minutes to spare so he went to smoke a cigarette. Obi-wan stopped in his track as he saw the scene in front of him. Asajj was making out with her boyfriend and his childhood friend, Quinlan. It was already awkward for him so he tried to hide under the stairs and hoped they won’t notice him but with no such luck. As he lit his cigarette he heard the voice of his friend.

“Look what the loth-cat dragged in? If this isn’t Obi-wan Kenobi?”

“The one and only, hello Vos.”

“Hey, come on, don’t be a stranger. Come here and let’s hug it out.”

Obi-wan looked at Asajj trying to send some signal so she can try and stop this madness. She just smiled at him and shrugged. This, little-

Before he could finish his thought strong arms enveloped around him, crushing his ribs and stopping his breath for a second, after that he felt a stinging slap on his ass.

“Still a hot piece of ass.”

“Your girlfriend is right there, do you have no shame.” Obi-wan rolled his eyes even though he knew better than to ask. No, this man had no shame whatsoever.

“Nah, she knows you are on my pass list. You are on hers too.”

For sith’s sake, how did he even became friends with this person, he would never know. Okay, he knows but that was in his past, he is not like THAT anymore. Maybe just less.

He looked at Asajj again, shaking his head in disapproval. She was smoking now and yet again she just shrugged but this time send him a wink. Okay, the image of him being in the middle of that sex sandwich was not what he needed at the moment.

The forgotten cigarette in his fingers was starting to get shorter and the heat from it returned him to the reality, he tossed it on the ground and put it out with his foot.

“When did you come back?” Obi-wan asked Quinlan without looking at him as he was taking another cigarette out.

“Just last night. I heard that you were having some troubles.”

Obi-wan stopped with his lighter mid-air. His mind and heart started racing. How could he know? Rex wouldn’t tell anyone. What if someone, what if that guy-

“The little rascal Boba is making your hair prematurely grey, huh.”

Oh, OH! Boba.

“He sure is” Obi-wan tried to shrug off the feeling of uneasiness and anxiety as he laughed and lit his cigarette.”But I won’t care for him any less. You know that better than anyone, Q” The ginger man looked at his friend through the smoke of his cigarette. He could see the sentimental emotions on the other man’s face written as clearly as his yellow tattoo across his face. Obi-wan glanced towards Asajj – her back was turned towards them, she was taking out her cigarette and going inside. Then his eyes landed on the man in front of him. Vos was softly smiling to himself, probably remembering something from their younger, much wilder days. Then the darker man looked at him again, extended his hand and started caressing his face.

“Kriff, don’t I know it?” A few beats passed between them, staying in the same position, with Obi-wan continuously smoking and trying not to blow the smoke straight into his friend’s face. He hated smoking. Well, at least that’s what he started saying three years ago. Before that, he was like spice on fire.”You are becoming prettier each time I see you.”

The ginger man snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know but thank you.”

“What I fool I have been, Obi, all these years.”

“Have you just come to this realization or you just came to accept it?”

Quinlan smiled and continued speaking.

“That mouth of yours has put us into so much trouble and gotten us out of trouble as much. “

“I got it from my daddy.” The ginger man arched an eyebrow at his friend and laughed. Quinlan laughed with him and went to caress his long locks. “This looks so good on you, truly.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend to throw your compliments at? As much as I am flattered I don’t know how she would feel. And honestly, I would love to just stand here and just have you adore me but I have to go to work. I am sure we can see each other these days.” Obi-wan threw his second cigarette next to first and stepped on it also. He turned his head to his friend and was taken aback by his friend leaning forward and tried to retreat as fast he could.

Quinlan looked at him and smiled.

“I guess it’s a little too late for that, huh. No hard feelings, Obi, none from me. I hope none from you too.”

Quinlan got close to him and kissed him on his temple. Obi-wan went cool as a dead star on the outside but his emotions were in a jumble inside. Why does Vos always have to come and make everything complicated?

“See you soon, Obi.”

Obi-wan cursed in his head and headed inside the cantina. This was not the time for old feeling resurfacing, not at all. He spotted Asajj as she was preparing herself for opening and headed towards her.

“Can you please do something about your boyfriend?”

She looked at him, confusion written all over her face.

“Whatever do you mean, love?”

“Please, don’t play dumb with me. You are smarter than that.”

The woman laughed.

“Surely but where’s the fun in that. I can’t see you antagonizing over it then.”

“Do the two of you want to end me or something? “

“Oh, come on, love. We are merely having a little fun.”

“On the expense of other people”

Asajj chuckled and looked at her watch.

“I think you have to get ready, unlike Quinlan and I, you won’t be able to satisfy our boss that way as he doesn’t even like doin that stuff. And no matter how much he loves you as his dear friend he doesn’t like showing favouritism while he is working at least.”

Asajj winked at him and continued sorting out the bar. The younger man death stared at the older woman and went to get changed.

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

This shift was NOT going all right. Except Cody not being mad at him, everything else was going off the rails. He had more than 10 drinks poured on him, he was hit on more times than he liked to know, he got almost groped 3 times but thanks to his fast reflexes he managed to avoid causing a scene and was able to warn the people who even dared to think that was going to happened and this was not even half-way into the shift.

Aayla was sending him encouraging smiles and thumb ups when she was on the bar. Aayla both served and worked on the bar and today was serving shift for her. He sometimes helped her when the bar wasn’t too busy as they had two floors and both floors had bars but not enough servers sometimes. He didn’t know what Cody was doing with managing the shifts or the personnel but it had been shitty for the past year. And he had the nerve to tell him that he couldn’t give him more shifts and told Ahsoka he didn’t need more staff. Huh, he should talk with him.

His attention shifted towards the loud voice that was coming from the side of him. He looked over from the table he was trying to clean up to his right, leaned forward a bit as he couldn’t see the whole scene. As every detail came into his vision he could see into one of the V.I.P boots, an extremely intoxicated client shouting at Aayla. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting about and he started heading towards the scene, trying to muster up his best customer smile. Inhale, exhale. He was starting to make up what all the fuss was about and it seems that he wasn’t happy with the drink he had been served but Aayla was trying to politely explain that this was exactly what he had ordered and if he wanted something else they could change it, there was no need for the foul language. And she was right – he was calling her names, how she shouldn’t be working here but at the back where the dancers usually gave private sessions to clients. He could see that Aayla was trying her hardest not to lose her cool but she was breaking. Obi-wan stood between them.

“Good evening, if there is any problem that you are having I would be incredibly pleased to listen to it and forward it to my boss if we can’t resolve it between us that is. You seem agitated and you are orally abusing my colleague here. I hope there is nothing big that is worrying you or is there, sir?”

The duros in front of him looked like he wanted to say something more, but decided against it.

“Bring me another drink and hurry up.”

“Of course, sir, I’ll bring you our finest liquor.”

Obi-wan turned on his heels and grabbed Aayla by her forearm.

“Thank you.” She whispered

“You don’t have to. You’ll soon learn how to deal with those kinds of sleemos. “

“I hope so.”

Obi-wan looked at the younger female and rubbed her back reassuringly.

“Or you don’t have to. Just look for me or Asajj. Or if we are not here just someone who has been here longer - most of them know how to deal with them. Okay?” He smiled her hoping to comfort her more. She smiled weakly back at him and nodded.

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

The rest of the shift passed rather slowly and nothing major happened except a few broken glasses from the washer. At the end of the shift, which was 7 am, Obi-wan had his feet up against the wall at the staff’s room, unlight cigarette in his mouth.

“Are you going to smoke that cigarette or suck it like a lollipop? “

He could hear Asajj from behind him.

“Ugh, I don’t even have the energy for moving my finger.”

Suddenly the cigarette was out of his mouth

“Give it to me then.”

“Hey, give it back.”

“You are not even using it.”

“I was sucking on it.” he said with note of sarcasm in his voice

At that moment the door opened and blue appendages came into sight.

“Do you want to get a lift home, guys? My friend is picking me up so she can give you one as well? “

“Sure” Asajj shrugged and stood up.

“If it’s not much trouble” Obi-wan tried to spin himself to get off the wall but gracefully fell on his back

“Ow”

“Come on, you idiot. Get up.” Asajj extended her hand and he took it. He was eyeing the cigarette in her mouth and took it after he stood up.

“Hey”

“That was mine anyways”

Asajj decided she was in a teasing mood so she bit back while getting closer to Obi-wan.

“Maybe I tell you that while you are sucking off, Quinlan” she smirked and it took the ginger a few seconds before he could react.

“VENTRESS”

The young twi’lek just slowly backed out from the room and shouted

“I am waiting for you outside”

“Look what you did. You are traumatizing the poor girl.” The younger man was trying to sound scandalized but couldn’t help a smile

“Oh, she’ll be fine, love” Asajj threw an arm around his neck and they headed outside

“You are unbelievable” Obi-wan shook his head in disapproval

“Thank you”

The man looked at her like she grew a second head and lit his cigarette. Cody had left 30 minutes ago while they were still cleaning some stuff and the staff for the first shift was briefed on everything they needed to know. The first shift was usually a lot calmer but also very slow. People usually came for coffee and breakfast and sometimes brunch and early drink, but it wasn’t too much hassle. Maybe Aayla would feel more comfortable there.

His thoughts were broken by a ringing sound.

“You are ringing”

“Thank you for the observation, I can hear.”

It was Rex; he is probably going to work.

“Hey, how is it going?”

“Same old, I am travelling to work. I hoped to catch you before you went to bed. How did the conversation go?”

“We have a meeting in two days, at 2 pm. I know that you are working an office job but you can do it remotely when you have to, right?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll them that I need to do it from home. I am glad that this is going okay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’ll call Ahsoka later, don’t worry. Go rest.”

“Okay, thank you. Have a nice day at work.”

“Hope I don’t decapitate somebody. Later.”

Obi-wan snorted and hung up.

“Rex?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s this meeting about, if it’s not a secret.”

Obi-wan observed her for a bit and spoke.

“Hmm, no one except the group knows and I haven’t thought of you as the first person to talk about it but sure why not? “

“Am I that awful of a friend?”

“What, no- wait, you think we are friends?” Obi-wan’s face and voice were full of confusion.

“Are we not? “ The woman said matter of factly like she wasn’t even asking the question but it was an obvious observation.

“I mean-sure, yeah. I haven’t thought about it this way, but, yeah.”

Asajj put a hand across her heart and posed melodramatically.

“I am hurt, Kenobi. We have worked together for how many years now.”

“Four”

“It was a rhetorical question, dumbass.” She said deadpan and continued “I know we are not on the level you have with your little gang of misfits but I have told you personal secrets, I have told you the story about-“

“Yeah, I don’t want to hear it again, thank you very much. It’s engraved deeply into my mind, thank you very much. I didn’t ask you for your secrets, but thanks, I guess.”

Asajj scanned him for a second and continued.

“You are a very comforting man. It’s a gift.”

Obi-wan looked at her with absolute confusion painted on his face.

“Me?!”

“My friend is around the corner”

They both looked at the younger girl, a little surprised at her as she hasn’t spoken until now. They were in their world really so they couldn’t blame her. They stood up and got closer to the girl.

Soon enough a light grey light freighter with some yellow stripes on it came into their view. Its door opened with a hiss and a green female twi’lek came into view.

“Dramatic”

Obi-wan snorted at Asajj’s comment.

“Hey, Aayla. Work was good?” the female went down to hug her friend.

“Hey, I have seen better days but I’ll tell you later.” Aayla was trying to signal her friend about the people next to them.

“Guys, this is Hera. Hera this is Obi-wan and Asajj.”

“Nice to meet you” Hera extended her hand for a shake and the man took it smiling at her.

“Likewise,” Asajj said and winked at her

Obi-wan rolled his eyes and spoke

“Just ignore her, she can be weird sometimes.”

Obi-wan smiled apologetically to the girl, she didn’t say anything.

“Well, I won’t take more of your time; I’ll just take you home then. Hope on”

“Yes, thank you very much for that”

They started boarding the vehicle while looking curiously around. They don’t travel by that kind of transportation every day. This was usually used for planetary transportation of cargo, even fighting on the battlefront. How curious.

“How did you come into having that kind of transport? Do you work for a transport company or something like that? “

Ah, Ventress – blunt as ever.

“Something like that. It’s an inheritance and my home away from home.”

“Oh, very hippie. I can get behind it.”

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angryhausfrau-writes · 4 years

Text

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 6 - In Which Anne Has a Lovely Night In And Jack Has a Terrible (But Productive) Night Out

Anne glares the last of the workmen out the door, grinning to herself at his wary backward glances even when he's halfway down the block.

It's not that she doesn't appreciate the work they've done – the house looks nice, all fixed up. Jack's own taste in décor is a lot better than the previous owners's, even in Anne's barely invested opinion. No one deserves to be subjected to a carpeted bathroom, no matter how posh they are.

Though even with all the stupid frippery ripped out there's still plenty of shit to be done around the place. Half the rooms are completely empty, even with how much furniture buying Jack's been doing. But Anne's slept a lot worse places than a double bed in an otherwise unfurnished bedroom, so she sure ain't fucking complaining about the lack of amenities. It's practically palatial compared to their previous squat. And a hell of a lot less rat infested.

Though she's looking forward to having some peace and fucking quiet around the place, even if it's just for a night. Jack and Charles are out at some rich bitch's bachelorette party of all things, so it's just her and Mary and Max sitting in the cavernous “informal parlor” eating shitty pizza and watching bad TV. But it's kinda exactly the thing she's needed after the whirlwind bullshit insanity of the past two months.

Cuz it ain't that she don't love Jack with all her heart. The two of them are partners till they're put in the fucking ground. But he's kinda high strung. A perfectionist in everything he does, including the whole redecorating scheme.

Frankly, Anne can't be arsed to form an opinion on shit like curtain fabric or sofa style or whatever the fuck else Jack is losing his shit over. So she and Chaz have mostly been relegated to demolition and then repainting and cleaning, along with Mary, when Charles ain't out pretending to be Jack's boytoy.

But Jack cares about all that shit, more than seems reasonable to Anne. And he and Mary and Max have had all too fucking many ideas about how to make sure the house looks like it needs to so that they're seen as respectable – but not too respectable – in their roles as rich idiots. Idiots with money power and no idea how to use it. Manipulable, so that they can manipulate their chosen marks.

Which she knows is important. They can't be low-class street toughs anymore, not and expect to work in the circles Max wants them to join. Which is why Anne had agreed to pose as Jack's personal assistant. She gets to watch his back while appearing semi-respectable.

But with Max giving Jack the job of conning the counselor – the first stage in them taking over the London criminal empire Lord Hamilton had worked so long to build before Flint had torn it down in a single week - Jack's been running himself ragged at that and at making sure the house turns out just right. And him being anxious has made him snappish and frazzled. And frankly, it's been doing Anne's fucking head in. So she's looking forward to a night of just not fucking dealing with that shit.

And so she'd talked Mary and Max into this little party – not that it had taken much convincing. And she'd stolen Charles's weed – not that it was all that well hidden, not from someone like her. And when whatever stupid action movie they'd been half watching is over, Anne chivies them all out onto the balcony to smoke up.

It's pretty fun, looking out at all the other posh houses, laughing at all the posh people weaving drunkenly along the street. Not that they're in much better shape themselves. But at least they're sitting down for their bouts of crossfaded giggling.

Though eventually it gets too cold to keep sitting outside. And the crowds of drunk partiers have slowed to a trickle and then disappeared completely. There'll probably be another round near dawn, but Anne ain't staying out in the cold to wait for that.

So they all head back inside and Mary wants to try out the fancy new bathtub that's big enough for a whole orgy of people, cuz apparently that's what rich people have in their bathrooms. And Max says she wants to take a bath too. And Anne's half asleep and doesn't particularly fucking care what they do as long as she can keep this floaty, relaxed feeling.

And it is nice, sinking into the hot water that's been filled with some kind of perfumey, glittery foam courtesy of one of Jack's myriad bath supplies. It's even nicer sinking back against Max's body, completely relaxed. Held by her as she pets Anne's hair with her soft hands, scratching at Anne's scalp with her short, manicured nails. So different from Anne's own hands, rough and paint stained and a little cut up from demolishing a house.

And then Anne feels the soft pad of Max's thumb press against her clit. She grinds lazily against the pressure.

“That feel good, mon cheri?” Max whispers into her ear.

Anne tilts her chin and looks dazedly up at her. Hums in pleasure and sinks deeper into Max's arms.

Across the bath, Mary's own hand has disappeared beneath the water. Anne grins at her, sly and contented, and spreads her legs wider.

She hadn't really thought about having sex tonight, or with Mary involved. But she ain't opposed to the idea - Anne ain't exactly one to be shy or anything, not anymore. And it feels right to do this. An extension of the rest of the slow, lazy, relaxed feeling that suffuses her. An extension of the camaraderie – the sense of family - she feels with Jack and Charles and now Mary.

After the bath, they all hose the glitter off in the equally large and ostentatious shower Jack's character of a nouveau rich fop had insisted on. And then they all brush their teeth at the ridiculous his and hers vanity and Anne drinks a big glass of water because this is too nice to spoil with a hangover tomorrow. And then they all put on pajamas – Max borrowing one of Anne's t-shirts, which is real fucking nice, even if she's gonna stretch out the fabric with her tits – and they go to sleep in Anne's bed, with its clean, cool sheets and warm quilt and new pillows. And that all feels right too.

The bachelorette party is going about as Jack had expected, which is to say pretty fucking terribly. What Claudette apparently meant by a rager is that they're going to every too-expensive only slightly seedy nightclub in London to drink luridly colored cocktails and do lines of expensive blow. Which has the upside of allowing Jack to inform some of his higher-class pushers of the event and position them strategically along the party limo's route and they make a considerable pile of cash that way, even with himself and Charles abstaining.

In fact, since he and Chaz are technically on the job, they aren't drinking much either. Their brightly colored drinks little more than seltzer water and fruit juice after a quick word to the bartender when they buy the girls the first round. Because nothing makes pumping people for information easier than being the only sober person in the group. And they do get some useful intel in terms of who's fucking who and who's doing shady backroom deals with who and who's doing both. Invaluable in terms of both blackmail material and understanding the complex web of high-society relationships they're trying to enter into.

And, even more fortuitously, one of the gaggle of bridesmaids owns a monstrously upscale and “avant garde” art gallery and she'd drunkenly bragged about how much good press Jack could get by hosting a fashion show there. Which means that she thinks she could get good press through that little arrangement. But if Jack is to actually make a half believable pretense at being a fashion designer – a career chosen for him since it would allow him to travel all over the world with little fuss, but one less well regulated than a more traditional profession – he's got to start somewhere. And some rich “artiste” want-to-be's trendy rich-person art gallary isn't a bad place to start.

But that's something to be discussed with Max at a later date - and a more conducive time than three in the fucking morning from the back of a limo speeding towards, he's not sure actually. Somewhere expensive and tawdry, presumably.

They are, in fact, heading to a strip club. An all male one, of course. Which fair enough, the blushing bride-to-be's fiance is presumably doing a very similar thing tonight. And it's not that Jack can't appreciate oiled up, scantily clad men gyrating to heavy club pop.

And he's certainly worked enough corners as a pusher to have lost any sort of judgment or, or snootiness about sex workers. It's just that all the girls with them are treating it like some sort of exotic safari or something. Ogling the dancers in a way that's titillated, scandalized.

And if Jack is noticing, then surely all the dancers are as well. It's uncomfortable to be associated with them, to be painted with that same brush. He wants to leave, or at least move to a different table. Divorce himself from the group – and from his sudden, terrible understanding that this is what he is to them, too.

The understanding that he and Charles – who's currently getting a lap dance from a grinning young man, completely unaware of Jack's own inner turmoil – they're exotic things to be ogled at as well.

Understood to be foreign, rightfully understood to be lower class. They don't fit into the effortlessly glamorous lifestyle of the wealthy and titled. Outsiders, chosen to attend this little party because of their perceived danger and lack of refinement.

Which is fine. All of this is exactly what Jack had been gunning for, in terms of outside perception. He doesn't want to actually pass as a member of the upper crust. Just someone they'll deign to let walk among them.

Someone they will underestimate – and to their detriment.

But it doesn't exactly make it any easier to take, is the thing. Jack wants recognition for his achievements. For people to look at him and see what he's accomplished, despite the way the deck has been stacked against him since birth. Jack burns with the desire to be seen for – to be judged by - his merits and his merits alone.

And apparently Charles has noticed something is up, because he's leering in Jack's direction. And when he sees he's caught Jack's eye, he says, “Jealous that someone other than you is sitting on my dick, Jack?” And he voices it as a challenge.

But what he's really doing is giving Jack an out. A way to get them both out of there without it looking like anything is wrong. Without them losing their stupid, sex-obsessed, party boy facade.

It's masterful. And ultimately unnecessary, because Jack is a professional con and more than able to put his feelings on the back burner for a job.

But he will take the support that Charles is offering him another way.

“Never, darling. I know there's always room for me right... here.” He perches on Charles's broad thigh and leans into the hand that curls protectively around his hip.

If he can't have Anne here to watch his back, Charles is the next best thing.

#black sails #charles vane/jack rackham #max/anne #i travel troubled oceans #chapter 6

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alovelyvillain · 5 years

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F*** I hate tumblr. The question disappeared for some bizarre reason but it was something like "what is Tom's dreamdate with Hermione" I dunno this website gives me a headache I'm going to bed now.

Tom starts their evening by taking Hermione to a 3 Michelin star restaurant because he thinks it will impress her. When she asks how he swung the last minute reservation he admits he's a long-time friend of the owner (he met the owner the day before when he broke into the stranger’s house and blackmailed him for a table near the window.) Halfway through the tasting menu Hermione admits upscale dining is a bit strange to her (a polite way of saying she's uncomfortable) and the chips from the food truck by her office are her all-time favorite.

After dinner, he takes her to the ballet because he wants to appear refined despite his orphaned upbringing (he told her he grew up with two parents, a brother, and a beagle named Max) and as they enter their private balcony she jokingly asks if he's friends with the owner here, too. Tom smiles and says he knows one of the ballerinas (he really does.) Hermione’s face reveals a twinge of jealousy and she leans close to him for the remainder of the performance.

Afterward, she asks which ballerina he knows and Tom nods to Bella when the dancers take their bows. Hermione waits thirty seconds before casually asking how they know each other. Tom hides his pleased grin and takes her hand, assuring her they're merely old friends who met at school (they're old co-workers who met on assignment) and bonded over a particularly difficult chemistry lab (they managed not to kill each other while assassinating a foreign prime minister) but never shared any romantic involvement (they had sex twice and it was anything but romantic), they've kept in touch over the years and he wants to congratulate her on joining the dance company (he’d thought she was dead and wants to make sure she hasn’t risen from the grave to kill him.)

Tom tells Hermione he'll be right back but she insists on coming along, he can't think up a reasonable excuse so he agrees and escorts her backstage. He's reluctant to introduce her to Bella (who’s arguably out of her fucking mind) but Hermione unknowingly solves the problem when she starts up a lively discussion with the set designer.

Tom sneaks off and slips into Bella’s dressing room. She's expecting him and laughs maniacally upon seeing his bespoke suit and pristine hair. He asks if she's here for him and she calls him an arrogant bastard, then goes on to claim she's retired, too. Tom doesn't trust her but can't leave Hermione alone any longer. As he departs, Bella tells him to keep his pretty new girlfriend close, the rumor is someone has, in fact, been sent to kill him. He starts to ask more but hears Hermione's voice around the corner and quickly shuts the door on Bella's dark laughter.

Tom finds his date discussing cheesecake recipes with a dancer who looks like she's never taken a bite of cheesecake in her life. He touches the small of her back and asks if she's ready to go. Hermione offers polite goodbyes to the friends she’s managed to make over the last five minutes and accepts his hand as he leads her outside.

Tom makes the reluctant decision to cut their night short (he intends to take care of the assassin before the assassin takes care of him) but Hermione sees the Christmas light display in the park across the street and clutches his arm with both hands, bouncing excitedly with such a breathtaking grin he decides to put his life on the line for a few minutes more. They hold hands crossing the street and entering the park gates, then he wraps an arm around her waist and she leans into his side as they stroll between the colorfully decorated trees.

As they're leaving he tells himself he can't see her again (doing so surely puts her life in jeopardy) and then she rests her head on his shoulder with a soft sigh and he realizes he's fucked (completely and utterly.) Tom glances around and realizes where they are, then tells her he has a surprise (the opportunity is too good to pass up, international assassins be damned) and leads her a few blocks further until her office building comes into view. Her expression remains puzzled until they turn the corner and the food truck is revealed. She laughs and clutches his arm again. He smiles, pleased with himself as they join the end of the line in their fancy evening wear.

They eat their chips in the back of the cab and discuss the merits of each dipping sauce, passionately defending their selected favorite (honestly, what can compete with malt vinegar?) and attacking each other’s condiment of choice (curry mustard? She was obviously disturbed, perhaps he should rethink this relationship) and when the driver announces they've arrived at their destination they both glance at her building with disappointment.

Hermione bites her lip and thanks him for a wonderful evening. Tom desperately wants to kiss her (preferably not while the driver watches from the rearview mirror) and offers to escort her to the front step. She accepts and blushes when he circles the car and opens her door (despite the fact he’s been opening her doors all evening.) He's already fantasizing about the kiss when she reaches the stoop and turns to him with resolve in her eyes.

She asks if he'd like to come upstairs.

Tom blinks, startled by the offering. He knows he shouldn't (he really shouldn't) it's a terrible idea (bloody awful) and would be incredibly selfish of him. But he wants her (Christ he wants her) and at this moment she wants him (she looks so fucking beautiful standing beneath the moonlight, draped in black silk.) Tom finds himself agreeing before his mind even catches up to the decision.

He follows her upstairs, then he follows her inside, body drawing taut as she fumbles with her keys, the urge to grab her and pin her to the wall nearly overwhelming his self-control. But he keeps his dark desires at bay, stepping into her modest flat with a polite smile, mindful of her nerves (he can tell she doesn't normally do this.)

“I don't normally do this,” she explains quickly, cheeks flush as she sets her greasy chip box on the entry table.

Tom nods, fighting to keep his movements measured and calm. “I can tell.”

She swallows lightly, shutting her door and staring at the deadbolt, seeming to have an internal debate. Turning it means she assumes he'll be staying, perhaps overnight, which could be construed as presumptive, while not turning it means she expects him to leave soon, which could be construed as rude.

Dilemmas, dilemmas.

Tom bites back a grin, shrugging out of his coat as he watches her silent deliberation. Her hand trembles as it slowly lifts, turning the lock. His eyes flash, hunger roaring to life. He steps forward, gaze roaming her body as she turns.

“I’ll be right back,” she utters quickly, halting his predatory approach. Her eyes sparkle beneath the entryway lights.

Tom nods. “Alright.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” she says as she slides past, starting down the hall. “There's wine above the fridge, glasses in the first cabinet.”

“Perfect.” He watches her dart around the corner and flip on the light in what was presumably her bedroom before promptly shutting the door.

He hangs his coat on the rack and wanders into the galley kitchen, grabbing the sole bottle from atop the fridge (it’s caked in dust) and selects twin wine glasses from the appointed cabinet. He strolls into the living room next, setting his bounty on the glass coffee table and glancing around the room. He peels the wax seal from the bottle and examines a row of photographs positioned across the mantle. Various faces smile back at him from exotic locations around the world. Hermione doesn’t appear in any of them. (She must be camera shy. Tom certainly is. It took him nearly three weeks to track down the last roll of film containing his face, another six hours to kill the photographer.)

His casual perusal is stalled by a stack of magazines blocking his path. He tilts his head and reads the titles along the side. Cosmopolitan, Vogue, Look, then scans the cover page on top, gaze narrowing on the address label.

“Lavender Brown…” he mutters, then senses movement from the corner of his eye.

Tom dives behind the couch with the wine bottle as the shot rings out, muffled by a silencer. He hears her bare feet pad across the hardwood and catches sight of her reflection in one of the glass picture frames.

“I presume you aren’t an art appraiser?” He calls out.

“You presume correctly,” Hermione replies calmly, keeping the gun aimed high while approaching the couch. “Though I have a fond appreciation for the museum, I killed someone there just last month.”

Tom wets his lips, carefully maneuvering while keeping himself concealed. “Let me guess, you got chips afterward?”

“Naturally. They’re the only food truck in London with curry mustard.”

“The attempt on my life I can forgive, but there’s no absolving poor taste.”

She tiptoes around the coffee table. “Drop the act. We both know you didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth. Though I’m impressed by the lengths you went to just to get inside my knickers.”

Tom clenches his jaw as she stops before the couch, leaning over with the gun aimed down. “It seems I wasn’t the only one putting on a show.”

“Your reputation precedes you, Tom Riddle. I needed you to drop your guard and follow me upstairs. No man can resist the blushing virgin routine.”

He seizes the opportunity before it’s too late and tosses the wine overhead, counting on her lethal training to kick in. Sure enough, she lifts her gun and shoots the bottle dead center, glass and ruby liquid exploding in every direction as Tom grips the bottom of the couch and flips the furniture with all his strength. She falls back, knocked off balance as he leaps the cushions and topples against her, sending them both crashing onto the glass table.

It shatters, flimsy frame buckling. He hisses with pain, shards slicing his skin from every direction, coating his shirt and raining from his hair.

“I didn’t think you were a blushing virgin,” he groans, slowly pushing upright. “I just wanted to meet the woman who assassinated Secretary Umbridge in the middle of a crowded museum during broad daylight.”

She glances at him sharply, pausing with her hand half-way to her fallen weapon.

“I know all about you, too, Hermione Granger,” he smiles, “and I’m honored Grindelwald selected you to terminate my contract.”

She draws back, glass sparkling in her hair and blood gleaming across her arms. “Then why bother with a date? You could have attacked me long before tonight.”

“I didn’t want to kill you,” he states simply. “I wanted to get inside your knickers.”

Hermione growls while he laughs, then they’re both diving for the gun, reaching it at the same time and rolling back and forth as they fight for control. She wrestles for the grip while he fumbles with the release switch, pulling it down as she wrenches the firearm away. The magazine slides out and hits the ground with a heavy thud. Tom kicks it across the floor and she takes aim at his head. He sits up with no time to spare as she pulls the trigger and the remaining bullet zips free from the chamber and strikes the brick fireplace, sending dust into the air.

She releases a sound of rage and throws the gun aside, stalling his brain when she lifts her skirt high, revealing a set of black lace garters. And then he catches sight of the gleaming knives strapped to her thigh and his senses come flooding back.

“Shite.” He rolls away as she begins throwing the blades with effortless skill, metal whizzing past his head and lodging into the hardwood. He grabs fashion magazines off the pile and holds them aloft, catching a knife darting for his face.

Tom knows she’s out of cutlery when she growls again and springs to her feet, charging him headlong. He manages to pull upright before she’s able to drive her knee into his skull, taking the blow to the side of his leg instead. What she lacks in muscle she more than makes up for with speed, delivering a series of rapid shots to his kidneys and ribs that leave him breathless. But when she takes aim at his neck for the knockout blow he catches her wrist and twists it behind her back. She bites her lip to keep from shouting, pretty face grimacing tight. His side is black and blue from her wicked right hook so he feels a thrill of satisfaction at her misery, that is until she drives her heel into his shin with such brutal force he’s certain she’s snapped his tibia in half.

Tom releases her and staggers back, the abrupt movement causing an object to dislodge from his pocket and roll across the floor. Hermione blinks, staring at the long and narrow cylinder as it comes to a stop between them, then glances up in disbelief.

“That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you,” he mutters, flexing his sore knee.

“Who the hell carries a grenade in their pocket?”

“The dating scene is rough. It’s good to be prepared.”

She shakes her head and springs forward with renewed purpose, grabbing photos off the mantle and launching them at his head like deadly missiles. He slaps them away, hissing when the corner of a metal frame clips him in the forehead, and then she’s leaping over the upturned couch like a gazelle and landing against his body, the forward momentum knocking them both to the ground. The strap of her dress tears as he knocks her sideways and rolls atop her thrashing form.

“Watch it! This is designer, arsehole!”

“Which designer?”

She shrugs, throwing a jab he blocks with his forearm. “How the hell should I know? Lavender’s closet was bursting with options.”

“And where is Ms. Brown?”

“Tied up in the closet, obviously.”

Tom smirks, then pushes away as she aims a punch at his groin. “Christ, you fight dirty, don’t you, luv?”

She rolls her eyes and springs to her feet, dress and hair a mess, face utterly stunning in its blood-lust. “You have no idea.”

Tom braces for round-three, raising a brow when she retreats for the window instead. He grips the side table and stands, watching her slide open the pane and perch atop the sill.

“This was fun,” he says, breathing in the cool night air. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Let me check my calendar and get back to you,” she replies, swinging her legs over the side and stepping onto the fire escape, moonlight framing her silhouette. “By the way,” she glances back with a smirk, “curry mustard beats malt vinegar’s arse any day of the week.”

Tom grins, limping forward as she begins to descend, shaking the metal structure as she goes. He peers through the window and watches her drop to the cement, sparing him one last glance before charging headlong into the dark night, disappearing around the next block.

She would be back. Her life was in as much danger as his until she completed her assignment (he looks forward to their second meeting.) But for now, Tom leans back and closes the pane, knocking the lingering glass from his hair.

“Well, as first dates go, that was undoubtedly one of my better ones.”

#drabble #unedited and ratchet af #tomione #love is a battlefield #alovelyvillain

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the--sad--hatter · 5 years

Text

Name Calling (38)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU, DEADPOOL & X-MEN

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -

Vernichtung - Destruction, Annhialation.

It was what you were named and what you were supposed to be but the only thing you wanted to destroy was Bucky Barnes.

The ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on enjoying it quite so much.

But when your past catches up to you in the form of the mad scientist who made you, Bucky might be one of the only things that can save you from yourself. You can’t run from what you are but with his help, you can fight back.

Current Word Count - 107,534

MASTERLIST or Read on Ao3

Moodboard by @talesofakindredspirit

Chapter Thirty Eight - Wilson Squared

“Tony, you can’t be mad at her. She’s exactly like you, it’s almost scary.” Pepper said in your defence.

You were nowhere to be seen, having disappeared after calling out the UN and Docherty live on camera.

“It’s different when I do it!” Tony insisted.

“Because somebody else has to deal with it when you do it, I have to deal with it. But when she does it, it’s on you.” Pepper said.

“You’re enjoying this far too much!” Tony accused.

“I’m worried about her as well but they can’t arrest her for not signing the accords or practising free speech. Until she actively breaks the law, all they can do is make threats.” Pepper sighed.

“Threats are bad, everyone is making threats against her! And if she’s on the wrong side of the accords, how am I supposed to protect her from Hydra and Docherty?” Tony demanded, two seconds away from tearing his hair out.

“We will find a way. Nobody is touching our girl.” Pepper said vehemently.

Tony smiled sappily at her.

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

The Avengers were divided. They’d all watched your escapes on the news and quickly devolved into two sides arguing.

In the middle of an Avengers family argument Sam checked his phone far too casually and started edging towards the door. Bucky narrowed his eyes and moved to stand next to him.

“You know where she is don’t you?” He asked quietly.

“Listen man, she’s overwhelmed. She needs space to think and calm down.” Sam hissed back.

“She doesn’t need space, she needs her best friend. I’ll distract everyone so you can sneak out.” Bucky said.

Sam looked taken aback and Bucky rolled his eyes.

“I know she loves me but she’s loved you for longer. She just tipped her whole world on it’s axis, she needs something familiar.” Bucky pointed out reasonably.

Sam nodded in understanding.

“Alright Barnes. You clear a path and I’ll go and look after our girl.”

Bucky nodded back discreetly and went to the other side of the room and started pacing angrily. After a few moments he cracked his fist down on a table, making a bang that got everybody’s attention.

“Why are we arguing about whether or not she did the right thing? We should be concentrating on what Ross is going to do next!” He raged.

“Bucky’s right, she done it and we have to deal with it!” Steve agreed.

In the ensuing chaos Sam slipped away unseen.

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

You saw Sam walking across the park towards you and sighed in relief. You didn’t regret your decision but the adrenaline had worn off and now you just felt nervous. You’d ripped the rug out from under yourself and while it was the right choice, you didn’t know where you stood now. Sam was steady, reliable and safe. You needed your best friend more than anything right now.

“Interesting place to hide.” He noted as he approached.

“I figured a public spot was probably my best bet.” You admitted.

“Until you actively defy the accords with more than words, Ross can’t do shit.” Sam huffed.

“Sam... Did you think I did the right thing?” You asked curiously.

Sam sighed and offered you his arm. You accepted and linked your arm with his as he started walking along the park path with you.

“I think you did the right thing for you. I don’t think you would be you if you did anything else.” He said diplomatically.

“But I made everything more difficult for everybody else.” You pushed.

You knew you’d pretty much screwed everyone else over and you were guilty but the UN had backed you into a corner and you had made the only move you could bring yourself to.

“Yeah you did, but I think you had too. Most of us don’t like the accords, we signed to keep the peace. Even those who agree with them don’t like Ross. Maybe you’re leading us towards a change. Would you sign if somebody you trusted was in charge?” Sam asked you.

“Yeah, I would. If I really trusted them. If it was somebody qualified, experienced and honest. Somebody with good intentions.” You said carefully.

Sam looked at you suspiciously.

“Are you thinking of somebody specific?” He asked.

“I am. Somebody The UN would approve of and The Avengers would listen to. Someone who can talk politics and strategy, make moral choices and keep the world safe.”

“I don’t think they’d approve of Cap if that’s where you’re going with this...”

“I’m not. I’m thinking of Rhodey.” You admitted.

Sam gaped for a second.

“That’s actually perfect. Colonel James Rhodes, War Machine. That could work.” He admitted.

“I’d sign for him, he wouldn’t abuse the position. For either side. The trick is getting the UN to fire Ross and replace him with Rhodey while thinking it was all their idea.” You said, swerving towards a food truck.

“So we ask Nat for help.” He said.

“We ask Nat for help.” You agreed.

“I’ve gotta ask, did you plan this before you told Ross to shove it?” He enquired.

“Honestly? No. I just did what my heart was telling me. It was only after I realised I was fucked and I wished someone good were running the show I thought of it.” You admitted.

You ordered food for the two of you and paid while Sam was lost in thought.

“If we can talk everyone into getting on board with this, and I don’t think it will be too difficult then The Accords might actually be what Tony was hoping they would. I’d still rather they didn’t exist at all, Steve as well probably but at least this way it’s a decent compromise.” He decided.

You nodded and motioned for him to stay while you went to a bench and put down some food on it and came back.

“Whatcha doing?” He asked curiously.

“You were followed.” You told him and he tensed.

You just smirked and motioned for him to watch the food. A few seconds passed before a red figure slipped out from behind a tree and crept towards the food.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii Peaches, other Wilson!” Deadpool called as he grabbed the food you’d left for him.

“No way.” Sam groaned, annoyed he’d been stalked by the merc.

“Hi sweetie!” You called back as Wade literally skipped over.

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

Bucky knocked on the door apprehensively. When Friday had asked him to come to the Lab, he’d had a pretty good idea about what Tony wanted to discuss. He stepped inside and Tony flung his screwdriver aside and looked at the Winter Soldier with a harsh glare.

“Do you love her?” Tony went straight for the kill.

“Yes.” It was a simple word but it held a universe’s worth of weight, he said it with such surety and conviction.

“Then convince her to sign the accords.” Tony implored.

“What?” Bucky blinked. That wasn’t where he thought this was going.

“If she doesn’t then she’s going to end up a criminal, on the run from the government, from Hydra and from Project Vernichtung. How long do you think we can protect her if that happens?”

“I’m not going to ask her to sign away her control and even if I did she wouldn’t do it.”

“She loves with her whole heart, she doesn’t know any other way. If she loves you, then she really loves you. I hate that but I can’t change it so you need to use that love to save her from herself.” Tony said with a bitter tone.

“She loves you more than anything Stark, if she won’t change her mind for you then she won’t do it for anything.” Bucky argued.

“Why is nobody taking this as seriously as I am? If they come for her she’ll have to run and she can’t come back. I’m going to lose her and so are you. Or are you going to disregard everything Rogers did to get you here and go on the run again?” Tony asked furiously.

“Steve did what he had to do because he’s my family. He’ll understand if I do what I have to for her.”

“So you are planning on running with her?”Tony said derisively.

Bucky didn’t answer him but the answer was clear anyway from the stubbornness of his stance to the passion in his eyes.

“Good.” Tony said with a nod.

“Wait what?” Bucky was thrown.

“I hate you. I don’t want to and I know it’s unfair and irrational but I do. Having you near my daughter terrifies me but the thought of her out there alone terrifies me more.” Tony admitted.

“You were hoping I would go with her if she ran.” Bucky accused.

“And now I know you will. I can’t, they would find us faster if I was with her but you know how to hide. I can help from here and lead them away from you as much as possible and you can make sure nobody finds her.” Tony said, turning his back on Bucky.

“Stark, I never planned to fall in love with her. I’m sor...”

“Don’t.” Tony spat angrily.

“She deserves someone better than you loving her but I’d make a deal with the devil himself to keep her safe and your love will protect her.”

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

When Wade said he knew a good place for you to hang out and lay low, Sam had been sceptical but intrigued. You had been excited, Wade always took you to the best places.

“A strip club?” Sam demanded uncomfortably.

“A classy establishment with exotic dancers performing.” Deadpool corrected.

“Man this is wrong on so many levels.” Sam said, his eyes drifting to the stage.

“That’s Candy, want me to introduce you to her?” Wade asked, leaning his head on Sam’s shoulder.

“No I do not!” Sam said, pushing Wade away.

“You can’t be ok with this!” He said, turning to you.

You weren’t standing next to him like he thought.

“Guys, they have a buffet!” You called excitedly from the other side of the room, piling chicken wings onto a plate.

“Well if they have a buffet...” Sam shrugged.

“Oh Candyyyyy, my friend wants a Dance!” Deadpool called the woman working the pole.

“I do not...!” Sam insisted but you didn’t seem phased by Wade’s announcement and the woman was already heading over.

“Well, I’d hate to be rude.” He said and grinned.

“I knew we were spiritually related!” Wade crowed excitedly.

You ignored the entire exchange in favour of balancing as much food as you could on your plate until a woman came to stand next to you.

“Hey, I saw you on TV earlier. Loved the way you stood up to those assholes.” She told you.

You looked up from the chicken wing you were devouring and smiled shyly at her.

“Thanks, I’m glad somebody sees it my way.” You laughed.

She very kindly picked up your second plate for you and carried it to an empty table.

“Wade was impressed as well, he was practically crying with pride.” She said with a fond smile.

“Oh you know Wade?”

“I’m Vanessa, his girlfriend.”

You choked on the chicken wing and looked at her in shock.

“You’re who now?” You croaked.

“It’s nice to finally meet you Peaches. Daddypool’s told me all about you.” She said with an amused grin and a friendly wink.

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

“She’s not there.”

Tony paused his angry stride towards your room and turned to look at Natasha.

“Of course she isn’t.” He said bitterly.

“Don’t worry, Wilson went to get her. He thinks he’s subtle.” Natasha smirked and handed Tony a folded piece of paper.

“I don’t like to be handed things, especially not mysterious pieces of paper by super spy’s.”

“This is where I went this morning. I knew she wouldn’t sign, people who spent their lives being controlled by someone who wanted to use their abilities don’t willingly sign away that control to someone else. This is her contingency plan I set up. Show her the paper, have her memorise the address and then burn it.” Natasha instructed.

“A little warning would have been nice before I walked into the situation.” Tony grumbled, snatching the paper.

“You really should have known Tony.” Natasha admonished him.

“Yeah, hindsight is 20-20 though. Listen I need you to run a name for me, very quietly.”

Natasha looked intrigued.

“What’s the name?”

“Anne Docherty.”

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

You honestly couldn’t tell if Vanessa was just a natural flirt who was being nice or if she was actually flirting with you. If it was the latter you were really going to regret asking her to teach you how to give a lap dance, but something told you Bucky would forgive you.

“Well hello there.” Wade purred and you peered around Vanessa’s hips to look at him.

“This isn’t what it looks like!” You defended yourself.

“Hey Red, your girl is as adorable as you said she would be.” Vanessa greeted him as he kissed her on the cheek.

“I told you you’d like her. So can we keep her?” He said, pulling off his mask and giving her puppy dog eyes.”

“NOPE!” You yelled, dumping Vanessa onto his lap instead.

“Yes we can.” Vanessa smirked.

“What about Wilson, can we keep him?” Wade pleaded.

“Where is my Sam?” You asked nervously.

You looked around and spotted Sam chatting away animatedly to three women who all looked convincingly invested in what he had to say.

“I think she’s pretty in love with her soldier though.” Vanessa warned him, shooting you a soft grin.

“Aren’t we all?” Wade sighed dreamily.

You grinned at the thought of Bucky. Your soldier. You didn’t care what Tony said, you wouldn’t lose Bucky. You wouldn’t lose anybody, you didn’t care what you had to do to pull it off. All you had to do was keep out of trouble long enough to get Rhodey on the UN council so could sign the accords.

But because fate was a bitch and Wade Wilson pissed of a lot of people that was the moment the bullets started flying.

You immediately grabbed Vanessa from Wade and pushed her behind you.

“Friends of yours?” You asked Wade as you watched Sam dive behind the bar.

“DEADPOOL! Our boss has a message for you!” One of the goons yelled.

“Vanessa, get under the table. Wade, give Sam a gun.” You instructed calmly and stepped into the centre of the club.

“Not to be a cliché but gentlemen, you really don’t want to do this.” You addressed them.

“Holy shit, It’s Deathwave!” One of them yelled as they all aimed their guns at you.

“Always happy to meet a fan.” You smirked.

“We’re here for Deadpool, we don’t have any beef with you.” The de facto leader sneered.

“Hate to break it to you sweetcheeks but she’s with me.” Wade called helpfully.

“What he said.” You agreed.

They opened fire on you and you kicked the table you’d placed yourself behind up into the air to shield yourself. It was a lot harder than Steve made it look and you had to dive to the side to avoid getting shot.

You heard the sounds of screaming and looked up in time to see a guy getting stabbed by Wade. You stood up and grabbed the gun arm of one of the men and snapped the bone in half, kneeing him in the head when he fell to the ground. One of his buddies snarled angrily at you but before he could retaliate Sam shot him.

Wade was cackling maniacally as he slashed and stabbed his way through them. You rolled your eyes and picked a man up by the shirt and threw him clear across the club.

“You idiots really want to take on Deadpool and Deathwave?” You asked them, purposely not identifying Sam for his own protection.

“Let’s get out of here!” They shrieked.

You pulled Wade back by the scruff of the neck as they fled.

“Let them go.” You snarled.

“But..”

“I am not getting arrested in a Strip Club for breaking the accords like this. It’s not nearly epic enough and it’ll be hard to explain.” You said wearily.

“So I guess you want me to forget this happened?” Sam asked you, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, what do you want in return?” You sighed.

“At least one day a week with you, no Barnes and you have to help me get back at him and cap for always picking on me during runs.”

“Done.” You agreed.

“What do I get for keeping your secret?” Wade asked you cheekily.

“I’ll give you Cap’s phone number.” Sam offered before you could negotiate.

“DONE!!!!” Wade shrieked excitedly.

Wade became very hard to contain as he flapped over to Sam and you and Vanessa rolled your eyes simultaneously.

“You wanna bribe me for your silence?” You asked as you checked on her.

“Nope. Just keep coming round here once in a while to say hi and we’ll call it even.” She said and you shook on it.

“Wilson I knew you got me, it’s like we’re one! We are meant to be, we’re spiritual soulmates!” Wade said loudly and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Sam Wilson will you marry me?” Wade sunk down to one knee and looked up at Sam seriously.

“No.” Sam said shortly.

“But we are destined for one another and the best part is we don’t even have to change our last name!”

Sam shot you a pleading look and you sniggered.

“Dibs on being your best man!”

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

You’d wanted a calm normal day but what you had got was far from it. Still, you had your priorities in order now and since you had calmed down all you wanted was Bucky. You walked quickly though the compound, hoping to avoid running into anyone else before you found your soldier but again, fate was being a bitch.

You heard gentle footsteps skittering down the hall and poked your head around the corner to see a little furry black blur running away. You sighed and shot after it, scooping the black cat off the floor.

“Not so fast buddy, Thor will be in a world of trouble if anyone else sees you.” You muttered to the hissing creature.

You narrowed your eyes at it and hissed back. The evil thing looked taken aback for a seconds before it swiped it’s claws at your cheek and you swore and dropped it.

“How dare you manhandle me mortal!” The cat that wasn’t a cat anymore said.

The cat was now a very very tall dark haired man, clad in green and gold and wearing the most vicious sneer you had ever been on the receiving end of.

“Well the good news is my transgressions are about to be old news!” You said.

“You would betray Thor to draw attention away from yourself?” He hissed in disapproval.

“Don’t take the moral high ground with me LOKITTY, I’m telling my father because Thor snuck a god who once tried to take over the planet into the compound!” You shrieked, offended.

“So you would rather run and tattle to your father than speak to my brother and give him a chance to explain himself? How typically selfish of your kind.”

You frowned at him. He had a point actually.

“Fine. Kitty up and I’ll take you back to Thor.” You huffed.

“I do not take orders from Mortals.” He insisted, affronted.

“Listen to me tall, dark and menacing, you either hide and come with me to Thor or I take you to see Dr Banner... It’s a compromise, not an order.” You told him.

“Very well... little one.” He said, making Thor’s cute term of endearment for you sound like an insult.

You were staring down at a cat again.

“If you try and scratch me again I’ll snap your tiny neck.” You warned and the cat rolled it’s bright green eyes at you.

Ignoring how surreal that was you tentatively picked it up and hurried back to Thor’s room. Without bothering to knock you burst in.

“Little one! You have brought back Lo... my cat!”

“Yeah Thor, I brought your evil brother who you snuck in in cat form back before he could escape.!” You hissed, dropping the cat on a chair.

Thor had the grace to look chastised.

“Little one, he is not evil. He is my brother and I can explain.” Thor said, his eyes pleading.

“You had better. You have two minutes to explain why the villain who brought aliens to New York and killed hundreds of people is currently licking his paw and giving me side eyes.”

“Loki was not himself when he did these things, he was under the influence of a true villain.” Thor insisted.

“That’s his defence? And you believed him? He’s the god of lies!”

“You know nothing of Loki except what your father has told you, I have known him all my life. I believe him.” Thor protested.

“Well if you’re so sure he’s telling the truth, why not be honest with The Avengers?” You demanded.

“I do not believe they will treat him fairly.” He admitted.

“Well that’s insulting. They let Bucky in, they let Natasha in... Tony created Ultron. Forgiveness is a thing around here, for those who deserve it. I’m going to go get my dad and you and I will explain Loki. If he’s telling the truth then I promise you, he will be treated fairly.” You assured Thor.

“And if he is not?”

“You are my friend Thor, I won’t let anything bad happen to your brother, even if he is a little fluffball of evil.” You promised, glaring at the cat in question.

You turned towards the door and reached for the handle.

“Loki no!” Thor roared.

You whirled round and were blinded by a green light.

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

“You have some explaining to do...” Clint sniggered at Thor.

The God of Thunder was stood in the living room looking sheepish and nervous, holding a black cat by the scruff of the neck in one hand and a toddler screaming and crying into his chest with the other. The little girl looked up at Clint and Natasha with very familiar red rimmed, tear filled eyes and held her arms out to the red-headed assassin.

“Oh no, you have a lot of explaining to do!”

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

This is for UnitedKindomOrgy who requested the Wilson day out with marriage proposal. The next chapter is for Annabelle who suggested something tropey like de-aging or sex pollen and for the many many people who asked for Loki! I hope you like and are excited for the next chapter?

Also, there's a lot to unpack in this chapter but what are your thoughts on Rhodey??And Loki? And Bucky knowing she needed Sam?? And Tony and Bucky?? Christ this was a long chapter!!

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first@thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala@the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the–real-wombat @buckitybarnes@fairislesheets @angieptt@meganjonezzzz@dugan365@fluffeh-kitty@memanda17@krystallynx@theonelittleone@piscesbarnes@free-as-fishes@tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard@dropthepizza346@jaynnanadrews@likes-to-smell-books @drdorkus @life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky @jsmith509

#hattersmarvelverse #bucky x reader #bucky fic

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sophiaholmes221b · 4 years

Text

Sophia Holmes and the Study in Pink

Chapter Four

After I score top marks in dad's observation quiz, we head over to Scotland Yard to hand in our statements to PC Jane Downing: the wife of the murder victim and the lead officer on his case.

It's approaching seven o'clock when we leave, and the heavy traffic still hanging on from rush hour is making our commute back to Baker Street is making us dangerously close to being late, but I hop out of the taxi just as Dr Watson limps down the street. Oblivious to us, he steps forwards and knocks on the door before dad calls to him from behind.

"Hello," dad says cheerily as he steps out and hands the cabbie our fare with a "thank you."

Watson turns around, holding out his hand as we approach. "Ah, Mr Holmes."

"Sherlock, please," he insists, wringing the doctor's hand.

Watson looks to me and offers his hand. "And Sophia, isn't it?"

I nod politely and shrug as I take it. "Or Sophie, I don't mind."

John nods and looks around. "Well, this is a prime spot. Must be expensive."

"Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."

I smile, remembering the old man. I can now place where I remember Mrs Hudson from. Mr Hudson was an abusive husband who ran a drug cartel and sexually exploited his wife and the other exotic dancers he had in his club.

"Sorry, you stopped her husband being executed?"

Dad smiles at John, who is, at the moment, looking fairly impressed.

"Oh no. I ensured it."

John gives dad a puzzled look as the door opens, and Mrs Hudson opens her arms for both of us with a broad smile.

"Sherlock, Sophia, hello." We step into her embrace briefly before dad steps back to present John to her.

"Mrs Hudson, Doctor John Watson."

"Hello,"

"How y'do?"

Mrs Hudson gestures us in, smiling happily. From her body language and the way she's treating him, it's clear she thinks Doctor Watson is dad's partner. "Come in."

"Thank you."

"Shall we?" Dad asks as John doesn't move forward.

"Yeah," Mrs Hudson mutters and holds the door open for us as we go through.

Dad pushes past and lopes upstairs, then pauses as he waits for us to catch up. Doctor Watson is hobbling up the stairs in front of me and there isn't enough room to push up on through, so I follow up slowly behind. As we finally reach the landing, dad swings the living room door open dramatically and walks in, Dr Watson and I following a few steps behind.

"Well, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed," Dr Watson says, looking around impressed.

"Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely," dad looks happily around the flat, "So I went straight ahead and moved in."

"Soon as we get all this rubbish cleaned out ..." he finishes, simultaneously. I grimace and John looks around at me awkwardly. "Oh. So this is all ..."

"Well, obviously I can, um, straighten things up a bit," dad says, walking across the room and half-heartedly throws some of my school folders back into a box whilst I attempt to tidy up by piling up a stack of books. I don't know much about the Holmes family, but I don't think tidiness has ever been one of its strengths.

John looks around and notices Billy, the skull, sat on the mantelpiece and he lifts his walking stick to point at it. "That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say 'friend' ..." His only friend, or at least, the closest I've ever known him to have.

Mrs Hudson finally makes an entrance, and I watch as she picks up the cup and saucer dad was drinking from yesterday. Scanning for a book in one of the boxes, I sit down to read, taking off my greatcoat and scarf and throwing it into the kitchen. I might pick it up later.

"What do you think, then, Doctor Watson?" Mrs Hudson asks as she continues to flit around the room. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be needing two bedrooms."

Again, I find myself having to stifle a grimace.

"Of course we'll be needing two." Doctor Watson says, looking confused.

"Oh, don't worry; there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones," she says, sounding confident. As if dad would get involved in such trivial matters such as love, let alone marriage. Not now, anyway.

Doctor Watson looks to dad for him confirm they aren't involved in that sort of business, but he seems oblivious. Mrs Hudson walks across the room and into the kitchen, then turns back to frown at me and dad.

"Oh, Sherlock, Sophia. The mess you've made." I bite my lip and raise my eyebrows as she picks up my coat and scarf and hangs it up, then starts tidying up our science equipment.

As Doctor Watson walks over to the armchair closest to the kitchen and sits down opposite the chair dad favours, I look over my book and scan him over, seeing if I can dig up more facts about him. Lives alone (obvious), traumatic past (obvious), and unwealthy (again, obvious - why else would he be looking for a flatshare?)

He looks up to dad who is still tidying up. "I looked you both up on the internet last night," John says, out of the blue. Dad turns around and my head snaps up.

"Anything interesting?"

"Found your website, The Science of Deduction."

I chuckle, whilst dad smiles proudly. "What did you think?" John sends him a disbelieving look, and dad looks comically hurt. It's our website, to be fair, but I don't update it half as much as dad does. I only tend to use it to drop the odd observation that dad misses from the case summary, but that doesn't happen often.

"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb," Doctor Watson recalls, and I laugh again. It's quite a simple deduction, and the airline pilot is primary school knowledge.

"Yes; and I can read your military career in your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits in your mobile phone."

"How?" Watson questions, but dad smiles and turns away. People who ask us that are rarely satisfied with the answers we give: it's usually better if we don't explain ourselves.

Mrs Hudson comes back through from the kitchen, holding a newspaper that she found on the table. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."

Dad walks over to the window and looks out as a car rumbles to a stop outside. There's been a fourth - but something's different about this one.

"Four," dad states looking down at the police car, its blue lights flashing against the opposite wall. It seems Lestrade has decided to contact us at last, but he wouldn't have come so soon unless something was different. "There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time."

I stand, placing my book on the table as the door opens downstairs.

"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson gasps, confused.

Dad turns to face Lestrade who he watches trot up the stairs.

"Where?"

Lestrade looks to me before answering. "Brixton, Lauriston Gardens,"

A small gasp slips through my lips. That was where I was found after I ran away.

Dad ignores this. "What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different."

"You know how they never leave notes?"

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?"

"Who's on forensics?"

"It's Anderson," Lestrade answers, anticipating our reaction and I groan. It never ceases to amaze me how low Scotland Yard's standards must have been to employ Anderson. Then again, I wouldn't exactly describe the rest of the force as particularly bright.

"Anderson won't work with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant," Lestrade answers, as if that makes it okay.

"I need an assistant." dad mutters.

"What about Sophie?" Lestrade asks, gesturing towards me. I make sure I look keen, but I know I'll come either way.

"No, she'll come as well, but I need someone with medical experience."

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car. We'll be right behind."

"Thank you," Lestrade says sincerely, before casting a quick look at Doctor Watson and Mrs Hudson and hurrying back down the stairs.

Dad waits until Lestrade has closed the front door before he leaps into the air, his fists clenched in exuberance, and twirls on the spot. I watch him with a wide grin - sometimes he really can be a bigger kid than me.

"Brilliant!" dad cries. "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" I throw dad his coat and scarf before retrieving mine from the hook in the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, we'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson sighs.

Dad opens the cupboard drawer closest to the kettle and pulls out the ID card he swiped from Lestrade last week and I tap my pocket to make sure I have mine. I might need to pickpocket Donovon again sometime. "Something cold will do. John, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home. Don't wait up!"

"Bye!" I call, giving them a quick wave before I follow after dad. I get as far as the front door before it clicks. "Wait, Sherlock!" He glances back. "John Watson is an army doctor. His experience is exactly what we need."

His eyes widen, and he sprints back upstairs, almost knocking Mrs Hudson over in his haste to go up. I consider going after him but can't be bothered to exert the extra energy so instead, I lean against the wall, straining my eyes to listen to the conversation.

It doesn't take long; Watson appears at the top of the stairs just a few seconds later.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson," he calls, coming down the stairs behind dad. "I'll skip the tea. Off out."

Mrs Hudson reappears at her door and glances at me before coming out, looking disappointed. "All of you?"

I make to move towards the door, but dad spins around on his heel and walks back towards her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her on the cheek.

"Look at you, all happy," she says, smiling. "It's not decent."

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" Dad pushes past me and races through the door and onto the street in time to hail an approaching cab. As it pulls up in front of us, I follow dad into the back and pull the rear-facing seat down, allowing Doctor Watson easy access to the seat beside dad.

Going on past experience, I know the journey to Brixton will take around three-quarters of an hour, depending on London traffic so I pull out my phone to keep me occupied. Dad copies me, pulling out his own before starting to update our website with the recent developments.

I become aware, ever-so-often, of Doctor Watson stealing nervous glances at me and dad. It must be strange for him: we only met this afternoon and he knows very little about us, but already he has moved in. Now he's joining two strangers on a long taxi ride to a location on the other side of London. He's braver than most, I'll give him that.

Eventually, dad gets the point and lowers his phone. "Okay, you've got questions."

"Yeah, where are we going?"

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?"

Dad looks at him. "What do you think?"

"I'd say private detective ..." Doctor Watson begins but trails off.

"But?"

"... but the police don't go to private detectives. And they definitely don't let their daughters tag along."

"I'm a consulting detective," dad explains. "Only one in the world. I invented the job. Sophia is training up to be the second."

"What does that mean?"

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me."

"The police don't consult amateurs."

I choke on my laugh, and dad sends him a hurt look. He's going to prove his point if it kills him.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said, 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"I didn't know, I saw." I look up, curiously. Time to check my deductions. "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's, so Army doctor – obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq." All right so far.

"You said I had a therapist."

"You've got a psychosomatic limp – of course you've got a therapist. Then there's your brother."

This was where he lost me in Bart's yesterday: I assumed he got that information from Watson's phone which I didn't get to see.

Dad confirms my assumptions in his next breath. "Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift, then." He holds his hand out expectantly for the phone and John gives it to him. "Scratches. Not one, many over time," he says, pointing to the screen. "It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

"The engraving."

Dad flips the phone over to show me the words on the back.

'Harry Watson

From Clara

xxx'

A gift from a family member - a female, going by the nail marks underneath the protective cover. I can't be sure, though. While it's not impossible that 'Harry' is a nickname and they are in a homosexual relationship with this 'Clara', it is statistically more probable that they are heterosexual and that 'Harry' just has slightly longer nails than the average male. It's clear dad is convinced Harry is male, but even so, something is niggling at me telling me that's not the case. There's no way to tell for certain without a microscope

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone," dad continues as I hand the phone back. "Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" Doctor Watson asks slowly looking confused and a little upset.

Dad smiles. I think I can see where he's coming from. "Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them. There you go, you see – you were right."

"I was right?" John repeats, sceptically. "Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

I hold my breath as silence fills the cab. This is the moment that will either make or break our relationship, the moment that so often turns sour.

"That ... was amazing."

I turn to the doctor in surprise. While there have been a few people who haven't punched dad in the face after he has deduced them, an expression of fascination is extremely rare. I wasn't quite sure what to expect from the army doctor, but that wasn't it.

Dad's seems so surprised that he's physically unable to answer for almost four seconds, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to compute what John has just said. "Do you think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say," I say, quietly.

"What do people normally say?"

"'Piss off'!" Dad says, smiling at John for a moment before the doctor turns towards the window, smiling madly.

I watch him with puzzlement for a few seconds before nudging dad with my foot.

He looks up at me, confused. "What?" he mouths.

"You've got to stop doing that," I say in a low voice, glancing over at John whose back is still turned to us.

"Why?"

"Because it freaks people out!"

Dad rolls his eyes. "That doesn't matter. I need an audience for my genius: I'm a show-off - that's what we do!"

I shake my head in disbelief, but can't help but give him a small smile until the cab makes a turn and I realise where we are.

The taxi drops us at the opposite end of the road to the crime scene and turns, heading back the way it came. As I look around at the narrow street, the memories come flooding back. If I remember correctly, there is an old abandoned house a short walk down this road; around about where that police tape is...

"Did I get anything wrong?" dad asks Doctor Watson as he gets out.

"Harry and me don't get on, never have," Watson confirms. "Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce; and Harry is a drinker."

Dad smiles to himself, obviously impressed with himself. "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."

"And Harry's short for Harriet." Dad and I stop in our tracks. A smile creeps onto my face at the realisation that I picked up on something dad didn't.

"Harry's your sister," dad realises.

Doctor Watson continues walking. "Look, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Sister!" Dad says furiously through gritted teeth while I start walking forward again, catching up to John within seconds.

"No, seriously, what am I doing here?"

"We need you to check something out," I tell him as we approach the tape, being deliberately vague so as not to deter him.

"There's always something," dad mutters to himself from behind us and I roll my eyes. I'm really regretting not voicing my theory: just imagine the bragging rights I could have had if I did.

"Hello, freaks," Donovan greets us in the friendly manner that makes her so characteristically endearing.

"We're here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," dad says as he catches up.

"Why?"

"We were invited."

"Why?" she repeats, purposely getting on dad's nerves.

"I think he wants us to take a look," dad retorts, sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"

Dad lifts the tape for me to swing under, then follows. "Always, Sally." He inhales deeply and I take his lead, doing the same and picking up on a distinct scent. She's wearing a different deodorant to usual - one marketed towards men. It's a familiar brand. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."

"I don't ... " I smirk happily at her loss of words, so she looks over to Doctor Watson. "Er, who's this?"

"Colleague of mine, Doctor Watson," he turns to John, "Doctor Watson, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend," dad says, his voice sprinkled with sarcasm.

"A colleague?" Donovan asks sceptically, "How do you get a colleague?!" She turns to Doctor Watson. "What, did he follow you home?"

"Would it be better if I just waited and ..."

Dad gives him a look and lifts the tape. "No."

As Watson ducks under the tape, Donovan lifts her radio to her mouth. "The Freaks are here. Bringing them in."

She leads us over to the crime scene and my stomach tightens as I realise it's the house I was found in after mother died. I feared it would be when Lestrade first mentioned Lauriston Gardens.

I decide to distract myself and bury my feelings once more - I can't let them get to me, especially when I'm on a case. Fortunately, a distraction steps out of the house as we reach the pavement.

As Anderson approaches in one of the awful coveralls, I inhale through my nose again to confirm my theory and smile as I identify the same scent on him as was on Donovan.

"Ah, Anderson," dad sighs. "Here we are again."

Anderson looks at us with distaste and reluctance. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Dad nods and I hear him inhale. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?"

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out," Anderson scoffs. "Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."

"My deodorant?"

"It's for men," dad says sarcastically.

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!" Anderson retorts and I roll my eyes. It worries me that the lead officer on forensics is oblivious to such obvious observations.

"So's Sergeant Donovan," dad answers, and Anderson pales.

Dad sniffs again. "Ooh, and I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"

Anderson points at us, fury etched upon his face. How cute. "Now look: whatever you're trying to imply ..."

"I'm not implying anything," dad says as we walk past, heading for the front door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." He turns back and scans Donovan over, so I do the same. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees."

They look back at dad in horror, earning them a smug smile as we turn and head inside.

#SophiaHolmes #BBCSherlock #sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #benedictcumberbatch #cumbercollective #sherlock'sdaughter #parent!lock

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lokissceptres · 5 years

Text

Dirty secrets

@scorpionchild81 - I accidentally lost the ask so I’m tagging you instead ;)

This is such a good request and very detailed too! Thank you ;)

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of alcohol

Summary: In ask.

“Hi, Y/N” Tony nodded in your direction as he entered the Avengers Tower. You had been working for Tony for as long as the tower had existed. Tony treated you like a friend rather than a member of staff, and so did all of the other Avengers. Tony had even offered for you to live in the Avengers Tower, but you had declined for ‘personal reasons’ that Tony still hadn’t managed to figure out to this day.

Smiling at Tony in a feeble response, you walked to the bar, heels clicking against the well-polished floors, taking your place behind the counter. Reaching down you began to polish the glasses for tonight. You weren’t going to be there of course, but it was your job to make sure that the bar was all ready. Once every week the Avengers men would have a drinking night, set with strippers and plenty of alcohol, funded by Tony himself. Natasha did join occasionally but she enjoyed doing things by herself and staying out of the drunken chaos the boys created.

As you placed the glass on the counter and reached for the next one you saw a familiar face appear from around the corner.

“I forgot to mention, Y/N” Tony began, “we’re not staying here tonight so there’s no need for you to do this, in fact, you can just go home now, I don't mind honestly. Toodles” he finished waving his hand and disappearing again. You chuckled softly, this wasn’t unusual for Tony to let you go home early, however, the guy’s going outside for an evening? That was unusual, especially with them being the Avengers and all.

It didn’t matter anyway, they would probably go to some nightclub nearby, not where you performed. During the day you were an innocent member of staff among the many at the Avengers Tower and in the evening you were an exotic dancer, performing at a Nightclub across town. A few years ago your sister had passed away due to a fatal illness, your nephews had mourned for you as they were forced to move in with you. Not that you minded, you were more than happy to have them, it was just that you were stuck for ways to support them. Tony had been nice enough to make you a staff member but the money still wasn’t enough to support two nephews as well as yourself so you had decided to take up a position as an exotic dancer. You knew you could ask Tony for a pay rise whenever you wanted, he would willingly give you the rise and much more, but you enjoyed exotic dancing, it gave you a chance to be free and forget the struggles of your everyday life.

Watching you stare into the glass you had set on the counter, lost in thought, was a certain raven-haired prince who seemed to be looking at you more often nowadays. As the bar was in the middle of the tower, and most of the walls were made of glass it gave Loki the perfect opportunity to sneak glances of you without raising any suspicion. Loki had found himself intrigued by your personality and how you worked without complaint. He was compelled by you and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Every time he saw you being so friendly with the other avengers, it filled him with possesive envy, it made him want to claim you as his then and there and not let anyone else so much as look at you. He would flirt with you every now and then, attempting to bewitch you but for whatever reason, you didn’t fall as easily as he had hoped, which enchanted him even more.

Snapping yourself out of your flashback you slid the glass under the counter and went to retrieve your bag before leaving the tower. Not noticing the icy gaze that followed you.

—

“Attention!” Tony silenced, holding his whisky glass up as a way to hush the men in front of him, “today we’re going to do something special” he announced.

“What? Hire more strippers?” War machine joked, arms folded. Loki rolled his eyes as he watched from the corner. He wasn’t particularly interested in coming, however he had nothing better to do and it was particularly amusing to watch the chaos that was about to ensue.

“No! We’re going to a nightclub, and I, have rented a private room!” Tony finished, which elicted a cheer from the men.

“Where’s the fun in that” Loki murmured to himself, tucking his hair behind his ears.

—

The bass pumped through your veins, your hips swaying with the beat. A thin layer of sweat covered your body but you were too caught up in the music to care. Your body sung with the music, entrancing the many drunken men and women that were in front of you.

Loki had managed to slip out of that private room Stark had mentioned earlier and began to blend into the crowd, seeking out mischief. It wasn’t until he looked at the dancers did he notice a very familiar face.

Frozen to his place with suprise and darkened lust he watched the way your hips moved so entrancingly, as if summoning him. Every part of your body exuded passion. His eyes trailed around your very revealing outfit, appreciating the bounce of your breasts as he sucked in the amazing sight in front of him.

Mischief glinting in his eyes, he decided to take a seat in the booth right next to the stage, continuing to be hypnotised by your very welcoming dance. He couldn’t control himself as his mind was filled with dirty thoughts, lighting the flame of desire within him. He needed to get you out of that outfit and himself inside you ASAP.

It wasn’t until the bass had died down and you had walked off stage to go and change into a fresher outfit did you notice anything strange. You felt as if someone familiar was watching you but you shook off the feeling and continued into the staff room.

As you opened your locker, it was slammed shut and you felt the cold metal pressing against your back, two muscular arms caging you. You let out a small yelp that was silenced once you realised who it was.

“That was a very inviting dance, Y/N” Loki growled.

“Loki...”

“Yes, that’s my name pet” he whispered, head dipping into your neck, biting softly, “Do you have any idea how hard it was not to drag you off that stage and ravish you wherever I could?”

His voice was dangerously low and husky, you felt as if he might pounce on you if you even dared to move. You let out a whimper as his cold tongue licked a stripe on your neck.

“You drive me crazy Y/N” he said breathlessly, pressing his forehead against yours, his body now flush against you. Feeling a surge of courage you moved your hand to palm his rock hard bulge. Loki’s eyes snapped shut and he let out a low groan.

“I’m trying very hard to control myself, pet” he snarled, eyes filled with hunger for you, “but if you keep going that then...” you squeezed his bulge cutting off his sentence as his eyes screwed shut again, a faint whimper leaving his throat.

“That’s it.” he hissed, grinding into your hand, holding your wrist in place so you couldn’t move it, he tilted your chin up towards him with his fingers. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you...”

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words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years

Note

'For reasons wretched and divine', Sarah and Jareth?

Between you and me I wrote three whole pages of a Wild Huntscene, read two romance novels of questionable quality but with a GREATconcept, scrapped the lot, and wrote this AU instead.

For this ask meme!

Some things about archangels just don’t come through overthe TV.

Everyone says as much, but it’s not until Sarah’s standingsix feet from one that she really gets it. Sarah prides herself onher unflappability—flappable vampire hunters don’t live too long, and Sarah is immaculateas vampire hunters go—but just seeing the Archangel of New York touch downon the roof knocks the air from her lungs. He’s slim, dressed in a loose white shirt that looks like it belongs ona stage, a black vest so tight it’s almost a corset, and his trademark painted-on pants, with wild blond hair,and for a split second Sarah helplessly remembers how many people she knows whowould kill to be this close to him.

Then he starts walking toward her, eggshell-white and palegold wings mantled behind him and his trademark slim smirk on his lips, andSarah feels her lizard brain sit up straight and inform her that if he wantedto kill her, there wouldn’t be a damn thing she could do about it. It’snot fear, not really. Sarah is intimately familiar with fear. It’sjust inevitability, and for an alarming moment Sarah feels herself lockup like a rabbit in headlights.

“You must be Miss Williams,” he says as he drawsclose to her. He sounds amused—he always sounds amused, it’s part of whyhe can hold his territory so effortlessly. It’s hard to contest someonewho won’t even give you the dignity of sounding displeased while he turns thefull brunt of his power on you. Jareth never sounds more than mildlyinconvenienced, and as a result he’s held North America more or lessuncontested for a long, long time.

Three years ago, some vampire under Jareth’s command triedto rebel, betrayed him to Maeve, the archangel who holds most of Europe. Unfortunately for the vampire, Maeve told Jareth. The vampire lived—butjust barely. Jareth had laughed outright at the one and only reporterwith the brass balls to ask him about it. Sarah does not want tobe the next cautionary tale about crossing an archangel, and if she’d had anysay in the matter at all, she wouldn’t be here right now. Angels arepretty to watch and necessary to control vampires, and Sarah is perfectlycomfortable seeing them at a distance, thank you kindly.

But Jareth and the rest of the Cadre want a vampire hunter,and saying no when invited to the Tower isn’t a good way to keep adistance either. Even the most easygoing archangel is used to beingobeyed, quickly and without a fight, and while there are crueler archangels outthere, Jareth isn’t exactly known for being easygoing.

Sarah realizes abruptly, after solidly ten seconds ofwatching Jareth like a snake about to strike at her, that he’s expecting aresponse, the angle of his smirk going sharper and more amused with each momentof silence.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m SarahWilliams.”

“Sarah,” he says, consideringly. He hasn’tever adjusted to the American accent, much less New York, and retains somethingthat sounds most fundamentally British, with a trace of the same exotic,nameless drawl that every angel seems to learn at birth. It makes hername sound like something rare and strange, rather than one of the most commonnames in history. Sah-rah. God, Sarah wants to be out ofhere. “I’veheard of you.”

That gets her attention. Normally, vampire huntersoperate in relative obscurity—only someone paying close attention to reports ofescaped vampires or to the Guild’s rare public announcements would have pickedup on her name. Even though everyone agrees that Sarah is thebest–that’s why she’s here—her childhood dreams of being famous diedwhen she realized she had the gift for tracking vampires.

“I’m flattered,” Sarah says carefully. There’s something about his expression that says you should be withoutthe slightest flicker of change.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the tidy table setwith something between a tea service and an elaborate breakfast. Thechina looks like it might cost as much as Sarah’s apartment, and the neat towerof scones bears the sort of perfect uniformity that only skilled professionalscan manage. She’s been scrupulously ignoring the table since she reachedthe roof, for fear of more or less this exact situation. “Eatsomething. My chefs are the finest in the world, you’ll taste nothinglike their food elsewhere. Even on a Guild hunter’s paycheck.”

Sarah hesitates, and his gaze sharpens, just slightly.

“Sit,” he repeats.

Sarah sits. But she doesn’t take any food, nor touchthe numerous pots of tea and coffee. Something about the way he givesorders, like the world will rush to bend itself to his word, makes herbristle–he’ll get civility from her, but he needs her. Sarah doesn’tknow for what, not yet, but until such a time as she’s served that purpose,she’s reasonably sure that he won’t cut out her heart and leave it in her handsjust yet.

“Not hungry?” Jareth asks, almost silken, as hesettles across from her, wings flared neatly behind him and one eyebrow cockedas he arranges himself in a casual slouch that is doubtless completelyintentional, right down to the careless drape of his hand on the table.

“Ate before I came,” Sarah lies.

Jareth smiles at her. It's not news thatarchangels are beautiful, every one of them. Having every inch ofJareth’s beauty directed at her feels like a revelation, like Sarah’s neverseen beauty before, and it makes her frantic cocktail of nerves and awe andfear settle into a much more comfortable status quo ofslow-burning anger.

“No,” he says, still smiling. “Youdidn’t.”

It’s been—a long time, since someone called her out thateffortlessly. Vampire hunters live and die on their poker faces, andSarah—well, Sarah’s the best.

“Why am I here?” she asks, throwing caution to thewind. If he wanted her dead, nothing and no one could stop Jareth fromtossing her off the edge of the roof, to drop a hundred and forty-fourstories. She’s seen how fast archangels can move when they want to, andhonestly, if he wanted to, she probably wouldn’t even have time to reach forher hidden knife before her head parted company with her shoulders.

That’s very gruesome, Jareth’svoice says in her mind, still threaded with laughter, as if her mental image ofhis long elegant hands neatly ripping her head off is high comedy. I’mdisappointed. I’d have expected something more creative from you, Sarah.

“Get out of my head,” Sarah says, forcing hervoice to remain level, “and tell me why I’m here. The down paymentfor this job was–" Ludicrous, she wants to say. Insane. Enough zeroes to fill a textbook. Instead she opts for somethingapproaching diplomacy and finishes, "Impressive. Why did you want meso bad?”

Does it matter? I am prepared to pay you anunfathomable sum of money.

His gaze is fixed on her face, a riveted attention thatdoesn’t match the pose of laconic good humor he’s affected. His eyes aremismatched, and Sarah used to believe that one was dark. Now she can see,at such hazardous close range, that they’re both the same shade of impossiblemetallic blue, but that one is all but consumed by pupil, endless black staringback at her with only the thinnest rim of blue around it. It makes theskin of Sarah’s throat prickle, her heart racing in her chest and her breathingpicking up the pace just enough to make her a little dizzy. Shedecides immediately that she doesn’t care for the feeling.

Sarah can smell snow—no, frost, she can smell frost andstone, too strongly to be imagining it, but it’s a warm June day and there’snothing near her but concrete. None of the vampires she met in the Towersmelled of frost and stone, and it’s not a vampire sort of scent anyway. They smell tempting, enticing, like wine or chocolate or even paper, but she’snever met one yet with a scent as unfriendly as frost. Maybe she’sfinally losing her mind.

Sarah takes a breath, does her best to set the scent aside,and says, "I don’t work for people who won’t tell me what I’m doing,I don’t care what you’re paying me.“

Are you sure? I could pay you in more thanmoney. His humor takes on a harder edge inher mind, and a memory surfaces unbidden, of herself as a child dressed up incostume jewelry and dancing around her room, in a young teenager’s bestimpression of a waltz. The memory is shadowed with her younger self’simaginings, an ornate ballroom and beautiful music, dancers all around not quiteas beautiful as she, and an indistinct prince, looking nowhere but atSarah.

In the memory, the prince blinks mismatched eyes and says,"I could pay you with your dreams, if you would prefer.”

The air leaves Sarah’s lungs in a rush, and for a moment,she’s herself as a teenager, dressed in a white and silver ballgown out of somebygone era, staring up at Jareth, too much in shock to even answer.

Then she shoves his dream-self away from her, hard,and closes her hand around the blade of the knife hidden at the waistband ofher jeans.

“Stay the fuck out of my memories, Jareth,”Sarah hisses as blood seeps through her fingers. The pain helps, itclears her head just a little, and the vision of them dancing evaporates likemist under sunlight. “And tell me what the job is, or I’m goinghome.”

Something in Jareth’s expression cools. “You lackrespect,” he observes. Sarah can still feel him, pushing at theouter edge of her mind. Not trying to break in, just nudging the wholething slightly off kilter, like taping a penny to a gyroscope. She’spretty sure the penny is labelled obedience, and she sets her jaw.

“Get. Out." The words come out groundfine through her teeth, against the sudden pressing urge to agree, agree,agree. "Fuck off. Either you hire me as is, or you tossme off this roof.”

“You seem very ready to entertain the latterpossibility." Jareth’s wings flare around him, idly, and Sarahthinks semi-hysterically that they’re patterned like a barn owl. Thisisn’t the first time she’s noticed it, but no one ever says it aloud—eventhough his wings look crafted out of barely off-white bone china and palestgold, it’s just too common a bird to safely associate with the Archangelof New York, who holds all their lives in his easily-bored hands. "Do tell, why should I hire someone who clearly has such a death wish asto tell an archangel to fuck off?”

Well, to hell with it, Sarah decides. Might as well behanged for a sheep as for a lamb.

“Here’s what I’ve figured out,” Sarah says. “You and the Cadre need a hunter—not just any hunter, the best hunter,because Didymus is my friend and he admitted outright to me that you personallycontacted him looking for someone on those terms. You’re anarchangel–”

“Well spotted,” Jareth says in his mostcoldly entertained tone. Sarah ignores him and silently hopes thatDidymus will remember to send her bank account details to her brother, alongwith the announcement that, unfortunately, Sarah got mouthy and got herselfkilled by an archangel.

“—so obviously you don’t need a soldier. Anything youcan’t take out would turn me into a smear on the pavement in under a second.That means you need a bloodhound, and I’m hunter-born, the strongest tracker inNorth America. So you have an old, powerful vampire who’s managed toelude you—maybe a couple of them. The most I’ve tracked on a normal jobwas five, so it would need to be quite a few. The only thing I can’tfigure out,” she adds, musing almost to herself, “is why you paid somuch. You don’t manage your own finances, I assume you have people forthat, so it’s not that you’re unaware of the usual fee per head. Evenaccounting for hazard pay, it’s way too much. So all I can think is thatyou wanted to be sure I’d be here, even though only an idiot would meet anarchangel on terms like these, and expected me to say no right away. Youeven had a table set up, like this was going to be a nice chat rather than ajob interview. You’ve been trying to make me want to agree, soobviously you think I’m going to say no. Which would mean…”

For the first time, Sarah follows that thought all the wayto its conclusion and she does not like it.

For the first time, she’s seeing Jareth unamused, and shedoesn’t like that either. His angular face is harsh without humor, themismatched blue of his eyes sharp enough to slice her to ribbons, and insteadof a smirk, his thin expressive lips are twisted into something alarminglyclose to a snarl.

She wonders if this is the last thing that traitor vampiresaw, before Jareth’s hands broke open his chest and lifted out his heart, stillbeating.

Do continue, precious, hisvoice says in her mind. It’s not laughing now. It’s as quick andfrigid as a snowmelt river, and infinitely more lethal, and it tastes likefrost and stone. Tell me your conclusions.

“You’re desperate,” Sarah says, almost awhisper. Her voice picks up strength as she goes on. “Youthink that, whatever this is, it’s so bad that it’ll affect the whole Cadre ofTen. Something that could hurt archangels. You want to make sureI’ll work for you, and do it fast and quiet, before anyone can realize there’ssomething wrong. You’re–” oh God Toby, she’s sorry she’s about todie like a moron “–you’re scared.”

“And tell me, Sarah,” Jareth says aloud, leaningforward. He doesn’t look casual or careless anymore. He looks likea falcon in mid-dive, every fiber of him focused on his target. “Wasthat a difficult conclusion to reach?”

“It was a piece of cake,” Sarah says, numb to thebone with the knowledge that she’s absolutely not going to live throughthis. Live through this meeting, maybe, if she’s right. Livethrough the job, increasingly unlikely. But afterward? She’s rightthat they’re scared—that something, somehow, has frightened the Cadre, the mostpowerful beings that have ever lived—and that information is an undeniablethreat to them.

“You’re clever, precious,” Jareth says. Heleans back and rises to his feet, pacing slowly around the table until he’sstanding next to her, wings mantled around him as he bends down to speak intoher ear. She can feel his breath on her skin, stirring her hair. The smell of frost rises so sharply that Sarah has to repress a shiver. “You were only wrong about one thing,” he says.

“What was it?" Sarah does not turn herhead. She keeps her eyes fixed directly ahead, not allowing them to evenflicker toward him—he’s trying to get a rise out of her, and goddamn him, it’sworking. She unsettled him and now he’s unsettling her right back.

"I don’t need you to hunt a vampire,” he says, andreaches down to pull her bloodied knife out of the hidden sheath at herwaist. She shivers properly this time, as he tosses the little knife ontothe table, where the blood still clinging to the ceramic blade stains the whitetablecloth. Some security guy is going to have a very unpleasantconversation with an archangel, unless she’s mistaken, for letting her get thatpast the front door.

Jareth brushes her hair back behind her ear and murmurs, lowand sweet and lethal, “I need you to hunt an archangel.”

#labyrinth #labyrinth fic #sarah williams #jareth #sareth #starlight writes stuff #ask meme #you know that drawing meme going around about ship dynamics people like?#i like 'arrogant all powerful inhuman + the first shit ass mcnobody to call them out to their face' very much #and the novel this au is based on is very much that! but i did not care for it particularly much in execution #which is a shame #if anyone has suggestions for shameless trash involving blatantly ridiculous angels that's my favorite kind of trash #i probably won't write the rest of this fic but i DID have a ton of fun with this au snippet #no promises about the quality of this because i'm feverish and my quality control centers are offline #queue deeper than the sea of stars #Anonymous #asked and answered

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

Text

The Dancer-Chapter Two

Previous chapter on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Two

In the absence of maintaining her little book shop, Claire’s swelling bank account allowed her to move into a townhouse with a large main room that she kept unfurnished. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined two walls and custom lighting allowed her to turn up the ambiance to practice new dance routines. A lifetime of frugal living still governed her lifestyle and there was ample money left to hire a private instructor to continue coaching her.

Madu was an Egyptian, born into a family of dancers who followed the traditional dance of the gypsies. He was the real deal and cousin to the studio owner who first took Claire under her wing. His first lesson was very harsh, she was sore for a week and his continued assault of her musculoskeletal system took her to the brink of quitting him. When she was clearly trying to find the words to tell him nicely, he ordered her into several poses with rapid changes, then turned the music on. He asked for the most difficult movements and pushed her to do them perfectly. Claire was shocked she could perform many of the movements used by competition belly dancers, and the bigger picture was revealed to her.

Madu turned up the volume of her sex appeal with instruction in using her eyes to add mystery and allure. Claire struggled through this, but not because it was hard. When Madu demonstrated the classic looks, Claire lost it and laughed until she begged him to stop acting like a woman in love. He was completely ridiculous acting like a seductive woman, but Claire finally nailed the eye movements he was after. Claire’s favorite new moves were athletic and fun, easily incorporated into any routine to heighten the energy of the crowd or break the sexual tension when needed.

“You are not a stripper Claire. You do the exotic dance of gypsies for entertainment not for…” Madu was stumbling to find an appropriate word for erection while staring at his crotch. It was yet another moment when Claire lost her mind dissolving in giggles.

Arms were Madu’s focus for several weeks until she could move them as if she had no elbows. He was a great teacher and his perfectionism fit Claire’s personality like a custom glove. In addition to her dance instruction, Madu added running five miles, four days per week to help her breathing.

If Claire became winded, he would stop the lesson and point to her heaving chest and quivering stomach. Disgusted with her weakness, the lesson would be cut short with the teacher leaving abruptly. Claire would hit the streets and push herself to run faster and farther, day after day, just to see the approval on his face. It was a love, hate relationship and Claire blossomed under his instruction.

Jamie watched the paper for book club advertisements or any other activity that was literature centric. Where are ye, Claire? I know ye canna stay away from books so ye got to surface eventually. He wondered if she left Edinburgh but continued to search for signs of her, week after week, hoping to find she had landed on her feet.

Jamie continued to visit the restaurant, at least once a week, to watch the dancer. He noticed the changes in her movements and felt her beckon him like a siren to a sailor. The first night she showed her face he almost had a heart attack. It was unexpected and felt intensely personal.

The headpieces and scarves that hid Claire’s face were difficult to wear and she was losing patience with using them. Still, if Jamie Fraser was in the audience, she covered her lower face. During one performance, Claire’s face scarf was accidentally pulled off while she danced in front of Jamie. She was horrified and watched his face with mounting fear of being discovered. There was no recognition in his eyes, so she stopped covering her face with great relief.

Somehow, enticing Jamie with her erotic dance and ignoring his requests to speak with her mollified her need to stab him in the heart. When she felt extra hateful toward him, she would dance very close and slip her finger into her bra, pinching her nipple so he would see her reaction. Only he would see it and Claire could torture him with this movement whenever she needed to.

Claire was the vengeful and punishing dancer, Jamie was hopelessly obsessed with her. Neither of them realized how twisted and abnormal this dynamic was.

Jamie sat at his desk pondering his six months of searching for the little bookseller. Maybe she married her high school boyfriend and moved to the country to raise a houseful of bairns. Or maybe she moved to London where she would find like-minded readers to share her love of the classics. He told himself to give up trying to find her. In a last-ditch effort, he placed an ad for a Charles Dickens book club, the location of which was yet to be decided.

Over the following week, Jamie received a handful of inquiries to his anonymous posting. He looked through the names of the interested and brushed them into his desk drawer feeling his quest to find Claire was finally quelled. He might always wonder what happened to her, but he was ready to change her status to someone he once knew. He headed out to catch the early show at Omar’s and get lost in his fantasies.

It was two weeks later when an inquiry for the book club passed over his desk. He read the short response of interest and his eyes landed on the signature, Claire Beauchamp.

“There ye are Sassenach,” he said quietly.

This would require the aid of his sister and maybe a friend of hers to break the ice with Claire, so she didn’t run away at the sight of him. He picked up the phone to recruit Jenny’s help while drafting a notice for the first meeting of the Dickens book club.

“You want me to what?”

“Tell this girl I’ve been lookin for, that I want to speak with her, so she doesna run away at the sight of me.”

“Ye may have lost yer touch with the lassie's brother but ye willna get any help from me,” she scoffed.

“She lost her bookstore when the Edinburgh store opened. She is very young and sweet, and I’ve become obsessed with finding her.”

“The clubs in the city suddenly empty out of lasses?”

“I dinna want to date her or spend time with her Jenny. I just want to know she’s alright. If I can help her I will. Please, Jenny, try to understand that I canna let this go, canna let her go, knowing what I took from her. If she can just tell me she’s fine and landed on her feet, I’ll have no need to speak to her again.

Claire arrived at the designated coffee shop with a Tale of Two Cities tucked under her arm. She was excited to see three women sitting together, open books in front of them, talking animatedly. She felt her soul curl up with a well-worn blanket to enjoy this classic novel with new friends.

“Hello, my name is Claire, I am here for the book club meeting.”

Jenny’s smiling eyes lifted to a face of innocence, bright golden-brown eyes, and ivory skin that hosted not a drop of makeup. Her smile was trusting and sincere and it was clear to Jenny why she had haunted her brother.

After the introductions, the two other women left the table leaving Claire alone with Jenny. Jenny watched her nervous eyes dart around the coffee shop and did her best to corral Claire with a quick explanation.

“Dinna fear lass, this meetin is for yer benefit and I’ll tell ye why. Seven months ago, my brother was ordered to open a store in Edinburgh which caused yer bookstore to close from the competition. He has looked for ye ever since to make sure yer alright. Please, Claire, hear him out before he loses his mind. It might help heal a part of ye also.”

Claire’s heart was pounding. This woman could only be referring to Jamie Fraser, and what was this nonsense about his concern for her? She clutched her book intending to leave but when she stood there was a brick wall behind her.

“Please Claire”. Will ye talk with me for just a few minutes?”

He was blocking her exit so there was only one way to move, back into her chair.

Jenny smiled sweetly at Claire as she vacated the seat. Jamie claimed it and was now facing Claire across the table.

“I swear on my sweet mother’s grave I only want to talk to you. Make sure yer alright, that you found yer way. I promise I willna bother ye again.”

Claire looked up at Jamie’s eyes and felt like crying because they were so desperate.

“You have five minutes Mister Fraser.”

Jamie’s voice was soft and gentle as he inquired about her life, her new job, and her hobbies. He just wanted to keep her talking until she could relax and see him with new eyes. Not of an enemy but someone who sincerely wanted to help her, if she needed it.

Slowly, Claire opened her mind to this unexpected inquiry and assured him she was fine and working a new job she loved. Jamie seemed okay that she didn’t share the details of where she worked because he could see in her face how much she loved it. They shared a second coffee and Jamie finally let go of his guilt about forcing her to lose her business.

Claire had danced inches from this man on so many nights as she worked through her hatred and need to hurt him back. She found it difficult to connect that man with the one across the table as their conversation continued. She watched his eyes and his smile, feeling sad that this was a one-time meeting. Her enemy had a sincere desire to see her healthy and healed from his assault on her life. She forced herself to relax for just a few minutes and bask in the attention of Jamie Fraser.

“Well, I should go, Mister Fraser. I don’t hate you anymore and I appreciate your concern for me, but I am just fine.”

“Your people are lost without ye Claire.”

“What?”

“The customers that joined yer book clubs and school reading program are comin to me to facilitate such things and I dinna have a clue. There is a need for ye and I want to offer ye a job and all the space and support ye need to bring those programs back to Edinburgh. I pay pretty well too.”

Claire could feel the blush burn her cheeks while her heart swelled with the sentiment of her old customers.

“I…I couldn’t Mister Fraser. I’m no longer in the book business.”

Claire pushed her chair out to leave and offered her hand to Jamie. He shook it, slipping his card into her hand he asked her to think about it. The offer was open.

Jamie watched Claire walk to her car and wondered why she wouldn’t divulge the job she was doing now. Something was different about her. Her clothing and hair were the same, but she had a more confident air about her. It was a positive improvement he decided and hurried back to work.

The seatbelt clicked and Claire exhaled a long breath. Maybe she would consider the job and stay close to her beloved books. Maybe her heart would finally thaw out and she could feel normal again. She had lived like a training Olympian for the past six months, dedicated to dancing and training because it felt safe. She looked at his card, I’ll just add this to the stack on my counter, she thought miserably.

Driving home she tried to decide if she was happy during the last six months. She had made great gains with her dancing, moved into a better neighborhood, made very good money, and had her best friend, Geillis. She realized she moved through her days going from one obligation to the next and even if those obligations made her money or improved her skill, they were still obligations. What is the opposite of an obligation? What is the true form or feeling of happiness? She considered these questions for the next several days and finally decided she didn’t know. Maybe it was time she found out.

Claire made a list of all the activities that sounded fun and threw a small notebook in her glove box in case she thought of something while driving. She compiled her list over the weekend and there was a total of three activities. Fishing, camping, hiking and she was only guessing at the fun part because she really didn’t know.

“Christ, if I die tomorrow, I will have lived twenty-two years and never had fun,” she mumbled.

Claire ran to answer her ringing doorbell and a box was thrust into her hand, Madu was on the other side of it.

“It’s a gift from my cousin.”

Claire pulled the top off and gasped at the beautiful hair inside. It was a waist-length human hair wig that she slipped on and felt instantly transformed into a beautiful, exotic, woman. She pulled a comb through the luxurious hair and giggled with delight.

Geillis played with the hair while Claire got ready for work that evening. The sight of Geillis twitching her hips and moving her arms like a hula dancer with the wig puckering at the crown of her head made Claire lose it. She couldn’t stop laughing until she was kneeling on the ground holding her stomach. Geillis scoffed and pulled a panting Claire to the door.

Well, she thought, that was fun.

Geillis helped twist the long hair into a complex top knot that would fall out when she rolled her head, letting the curls tumble down her back as she spun. It was time.

Claire pressed her back against the dressing room door, wrists crossed above her head and waited for the spotlight. The music started with just a wood flute, soft and slow, like the music that pulled the cobra out of his basket. Her eyes were downcast as her body undulated softly. As the music rose in tempo and complexity, her eyes flew open with fear and darted around the room in mock terror. Attempting to push away she looked up at what held her to the door and suddenly threw her body away from the invisible bonds as she twirled, arms out, showing the joy of freedom on her face. Arms wide at her sides she spun across the floor lined with tables until she came to rest in the middle of the room.

Madu’s voice was in her head, “You are alone and free to dance as your joyous heart demands. What would that dance look like?”

Claire’s eyes were downcast watching her hip lift suddenly. A slight smile and she looked at the other hip lift. Back and forth she looked at each hip lift higher and faster. She spread her arms with a huge smile as her body launched into a head-spinning routine of all the classic moves of the belly dancer holding the diners spellbound. She twirled back to the stage door and was once again bound at her raised wrists. She looked up in mock horror and the spotlight went out.

Jamie watched the dancer against the door. He could hardly breathe when she tried to escape but could not. He filled his lungs when she twirled over and over again once free. The hair came tumbling down and bounced with her movements. She had never looked so beautiful and he felt he would explode if she didn’t speak to him.

He handed Omar his card and a hundred-dollar bill and before he could stop himself, he asked for an introduction to the dancer.

“Omar, would ye consider introducing me to your daughter? I have tried, each time I come to see her dance, but she willna reply to my request.”

Omar looked up at Jamie, one of his best customers, and cleared his throat. He was never blessed with a daughter but had come to feel like a father with Claire. If she led this man to believe she was his daughter there was a good reason for it.

Jamie licked his lips in nervous desperation, “is she promised to someone? Is she not allowed to speak to the patrons? Will she ever speak with me?”

Omar was searching his mind for the right response. One that would protect Claire and keep Jamie coming around to watch her. “It is not our custom,” a long pause, “but you never know.” He vaporized into his office leaving Jamie more confused than ever.

As autumn turned to the bitter cold of winter, Claire was running in snow and slush and the humid cold dipped into the single digits. She rounded the corner of her last mile and felt her legs lock up and turn to concrete. She slowed to a difficult walk gasping for breath. She had to get warm or feared she would die, as every step got harder. The nearest building was the new bookstore and she lunged for it as it spun in front of her. Once inside she bent over, hands on knees, hoping the spinning would stop as the floor came up to smack her cheek.

Claire felt her body was being jostled as she returned to consciousness. She was leaning against a large muscular chest so someone must be carrying her. A door closed and she felt a soft couch under her. She kept her eyes closed, more for nausea than a desire to stay hidden behind her lids. Her gloves were pulled off and someone blew warm air against her fingers.

Claire opened her eyes to Jamie, crouched on the floor trying to warm up her hands.

“Jamie Fraser.”

“Oh, good yer awake, ye scared me half to death lass. Dinna move yet. How do ye feel, should I call an ambulance?”

“Certainly not! I am fine, just a little dizzy. I am sorry for the drama, but your store was the closest warm building and I knew I was in trouble. I..I’m really very sorry.”

“Dinna move yet Sassenach! Please stay there for a few minutes. What happened to ye?”

“What did you just call me?” Claire’s voice was soft and questioning and she could see Jamie blush.

“Sassenach. It means …outsider…because of yer accent. Yer no a Scot is what I mean.”

“Maybe if I was, I wouldn’t pass out after running three miles in the cold.”

Claire inched her way into a sitting position and took a deep breath, feeling better but not well enough to run herself home. Jamie kept telling her to stay put so she did, enjoying a lovely chat with this interesting man. He fed her cookies and coffee until the color came back to her face. When Claire glanced at her watch and almost shot off the couch reaching for her phone.

“Madu! I am so sorry! I passed out halfway through my run today and I’m at the new bookstore in town. Can you come and get me? Yes, I’m alright, my friend here saved me with cookies and coffee. What? No! I did not say cookies. Why, did you hear cookies? She laughed weakly and dropped her phone into her coat pocket. She smiled at Jamie.

“Thank you for the rescue Jamie but I am out of your hair. She shook his hand and feasted on the bluest eyes she had ever seen, “goodbye.”

Jamie watched Claire from his upstairs office until a car pulled up to take her away. No cookies, he thought, what kind of life is that?

Jamie wanted desperately to watch the dancer tonight, but he was just there last night. He worried about his obsession with her and pushed back with a limit of once per week. The night before she had dropped backward like she was made of rubber and he felt her head on his shoulder. It took him several minutes to breathe normally again.

“Who are ye lass, and why won’t ye speak to me?”

A month later Claire was bobbing through crowds of shoppers as she ran through the retail district of Edinburgh. She couldn’t wait for the holidays to end so she could have her solitary run back. She launched into a sprint and heard her name called in the distance. She turned to see Jenny Fraser and friends, arm waving over her head with a big smile.

“Claire! Come say hello!”

Claire smiled and jogged back to the group and Jenny. Four women about her age were all smiles and warmth, talking about Christmas and Hogmanay. Claire was swept away by the welcoming women and allowed herself to sit and chat over hot cocoa. She could hear Madu in her mind listing the evils of sugar and became increasingly agitated until she broke away from the group and started running again. It felt like she was transported to a town in a Rockwell painting where she would have friends like Jenny and weight gain from Christmas treats was her biggest concern. Maybe someday she thought.

Getting back to her townhouse she added something to her list of fun activities on the refrigerator. “Having Cocoa with friends.” Her list was growing. There were now six activities.

Jamie struggled through Christmas day at Lallybroch. His anxiety felt like an army of ants had invaded his legs, biting him without mercy. When supper was over and cleaned up, he took off for the Bookstore to catch up on some work. Try as he might, the oppressive walls were closing in on him before a single report was read. It was useless to continue his fake reading, so he grabbed his coat and walked the streets, looking in store windows and letting his thoughts wander. Someone ran past him, billowing steam from panting and running quickly away.

“Claire!”

She stopped and turned around but all he could see was a white smile deep inside her hood. He caught up to her and putting his arm around her they walked together. Claire was really happy to have a diversion on this lonely day and night. She needed company and for a time Jamie was a dream come true. They pointed and joked about what was displayed in shop windows and Jamie asked a lot of questions that she couldn’t answer. He finally gave up to enjoy the respite offered by little Claire tagging along.

“I will respect yer privacy Sassenach, no more questions about yer job or where ye live. Can I ask why ye run all the time, and without cookies! So, tell me the truth of it, squirt.”

Claire looked up at Jamie and felt a friendship that she knew was real, still, all she could do is laugh and shrug her shoulders just before she took off to run home.

“Wait! Have ye thought any more about the job?”

Claire was jogging backward so she could see him, “I’ll do it!” Said laughing, before she turned around to run home.

Jamie watched her until her form was little more than a dark mark on the horizon. It was getting quite cold, so he turned toward the bookstore to head home.

Now that the distraction of Claire was gone, the shrouded mystery dancer spun in his head and Jamie felt his anger rage. Get out of my head, he thought, I’m tired of livin like this and I’m tired of you. Jamie forced her out of his thoughts and instead took a hard look at what was becoming a real problem. His constant presence at the restaurant, stalking her in the parking lot, shelling out at least four-hundred-dollars a month and losing interest in any other part of his life. Jamie pulled his truck to the side of the dirt road he lived on and looked straight ahead at Lallybroch.

He stayed in that position like he had been turned to stone. All the supporting evidence of his ill-placed obsession ran through his mind over and over until his head pounded. The obvious answer was to stop seeing her, cold turkey. She refused to speak to him for months and his continued pursuit was pure folly, if not illegal. He exhaled a long, sad, breath and promised himself he would see a therapist if he could not stop on his own.

“Christ, I need a twelve-step program for belly dancer watchin. A new low for ye Jamie boy,” he said to the air, and finished his miserable ride home.

Jenny was in the living room bundled into a blanket on the couch with her phone in hand, laughing and texting one of her gang. Jamie sat down and sighed rubbing his hands on his jeans. His sister saw his miserable face and put her phone down.

“I know ye’ve been possessed by some problem lately. Is this a sign yer ready to talk about it?”

Jamie looked at sweet Jenny’s face for a full minute before speaking. “I have a problem Jen and it’s gonna ruin my life if I don’t find a way out. Let me tell ye what I’ve done.”

Jamie talked for thirty minutes, pouring his heart out and leaving no secrets. Jenny had never heard more than a handful of sentences out of her brother in one sitting so she made not a peep during this momentous confession. She wiped at tears in her eyes twice, feeling her brother had been duped out of his money and time by swindling gypsies.

Jenny was furious. The boy who walked her home from school each day, taught her how to drive, took her shopping for her prom dress and held her up during their father's funeral was hurting. He was the king of men to Jenny and she was rocked to the core with hatred for this belly dancer.

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tanjamikaelson · 5 years

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LOVE FOR ETERNITY - PART 69

MASTERLIST

PART 69: | MIDNIGHT |

Natali barely had any sleep and with first sunbeams that came through their window, she decided to get out of bed.

- Where do you think that you're going?" Kol says as he grabs her hand to stop her from leaving the bed.

- "We should get up, Kol." Natali says and turns to look at him.

- "No, we shouldn't. We should just stay in bed." Kol replies and pulls her towards him.

Natali falls onto him, her head was on his chest and Kol wrapped his arm around her so that he was sure she won't leave.

- "You know I have to deal with my sister." Natali tells him.

- "I'm sure she can wait a little longer." Kol says, "Maybe like another thousand years."

- Natali laughs, "I know where you're going with this." she then turns her head to look at him, "You don't like the idea of me forgiving her."

- "You're right. I don't." Kol tells her, "She doesn't deserve that."

- "But it's for your sake. I just need to find out what she knows about a weapon that can kill you." Natali told him.

- "I can take care of myself." Kol replies quickly without thinking it through.

- Natali raises her eyebrow at him, "Oh, really? Sorry for not wanting you to die." she says and tries to move from him, but he doesn't let her.

- "I didn't mean it like that." Kol says, "I know everyone we know will die if they get that weapon, but Klaus and Elijah will handle it."

- "I will not let them deal with my sister. She is mine to take care of and I'll kill her if it's needed." Natali told him firmly, her decision was final.

- Kol sighs, "We should have stayed in Saint Tropez."

- "Tell me about it." Natali agreed with him.

A little while later both of them finally got out of bed and had a shower, then they walked downstairs to their club. Eric was already behind the bar, making them drinks.

- “I heard you two are about to come down, so I’ve made you bloody Mary, for breakfast.” Eric tells them and smiles.

- “Thank you, Eric.” Natali says and takes her drink.

- “What’s this?” Kol asks as he picks up a box that was on a bar.

- “Someone left that in front of the club. It’s for you two.” Eric told them.

Kol opens it and there was just an envelope with Renée’s name on it.

- Kol takes the envelope and looks at Natali, “It’s from your sister.”

Natali takes it from him and opens it, in the envelope, there was a Strix's business cards. On the back, there was a message: "7041 ST. CHARLES AVE. MIDNIGHT".

- “I guess we’re going to a party tonight.” Natali stated.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

On the table are a dozen lit white candles, a smoking sage smudge-stick and a map, while a spindle hangs from the chandelier and points Venice on the map. In each of Natali's hands are various multi-colored crystals and there are several other tables and candelabrum full of lit candles as well. After a moment, Natali, with her eyes closed reaches over and picks up a shot glass full of dark liquor before downing it in one gulp.

The alcohol activates her spell, allowing her to astral project to a hotel in Venice. When she opens her eyes, she is sitting at a table and she smiles affectionately at Rebekah, who is sitting across from her in her human body and has just finished a shot of alcohol of her own.

- “This is better than texts or video chat.” Rebekah remarked.

- “I wish you could come to New Orleans.” Natali told her.

- “Well, I could but no one allows me to do so.” Rebekah says, she was annoyed because everyone thought it’s for the best if she stays far away from New Orleans.

- “We’re right. You’re too fragile in the human body.” Natali says.

- “I finally have a life that I wanted, I’m not going back to my original body.” Rebekah points out.

- “Okay, I didn’t even tell you that.” Natali says in defense.

- “I know.” Rebekah says, “Anyway, so your sister is alive, huh?”

- Natali takes another shot, “Yeah, she is.”

- “How are you handling that?” Rebekah asked.

- “Okay, for now. Something bad is going to happen because of her, I know that.” Natali told her, “She invited us to Strix party tonight.”

- “And you are going?” Rebekah asked.

- “Of course I’m going. I need to see what she wants.” Natali says.

- “Keep your eyes wide open.” Rebekah tells her and lifts her glass.

- “Always.” Natali smiles and lifts her glass in a toast before they each drink their shot. Doing so returns Natali's astral form to her physical body.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

The Strix's party is in full swing, complete with formally-dressed members wearing masquerade masks and burlesque dancers dressed in the style of the flappers of the 1920s. There are humans in attendance as well, most of whom are being fed on by the various members of The Strix. As soon as Kol and Natali entered the room all eyes were on them. Since the party was for the members of the Strix who were Elijah’s sire line everyone wondered why the two of them came.

Quickly after they walked in Renée approached them giving them two glasses of champagne, then she tapped her glass to gather the attention of the guests.

- When everyone turned towards them Renée began speaking, “Welcome everyone. I probably don’t need to introduce Natali, most of you heard about her, someone of you may even know her, but no one knows this..” she paused for a moment before saying, “She is my sister."

Every vampire in the room was surprised to hear that.

- "Adopted sister." Natali added.

- "Yes, adopted sister." Renée confirms.

- "Renée waited a thousand years to tell you that and to tell me that she is alive." Natali told them.

- Renée smiles, “I love to make a good entrance.” after that everyone continued to do their thing and the three of them were still talking, “I was surprised you two even came.” she told them.

- “We wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Kol says with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Just then Tristan made his arrival to the gathering known and Renée excuses herself to go and join him in his speech.

Natali and Kol were looking around the room not caring to listen to Tristan when they saw Elijah and Hayley standing next to the bar. They walked towards them and heard Hayley saying, “These vampires are ancient. How is Marcel supposed to beat one of them?”

- “And I was wondering how did you beat the curse?” Natali asked, turning their attention towards them.

- “Davina actually did that.” Hayley replied.

- “Davina.. haven’t seen her in a long time.” Natali remarked.

- “That’s for the best I suppose.” Hayley tells her.

- Natali smiles, “Maybe we should pay her a visit. I heard she’s a regent now.”

- “If you touch her you’re gonna have to deal with me.”Hayley threatens.

- Natali laughs, “And what are you gonna do? Bite me?”

- “I think that’s enough, if you’ll excuse us.” Elijah says and takes Hayley by her hand so that they can walk away.

- “Care for a dance?” Kol asked her and held out his hand.

Natali took his hand and Kol leads her to the dance floor. She placed her hands around his neck and his hands were around her waist to pull her closer, she smiled as they started to move.

- “What do you think Renée is playing by introducing you as her sister?” Kol questioned.

- “I’m not sure.” Natali replied, “I’ll have to talk to her alone, but not tonight.”

They stopped dancing when Klaus and Lucien entered the room, with a large group of women wearing Halloween costumes.

Klaus howls drunkenly like a wolf as Lucien and the women all laugh happily, attracting the attention of everyone in the room to the point where everyone stops what they're doing and stare at the gate-crashers.

- “What a beloved occasion.” Klaus shouted.

- “My God, it's a room full of Elijah’s.” Lucian mocked, everyone could tell they’re all wasted.

- Klaus has his arms thrown around the women's shoulders and is drunkenly leaning against them, “I had that exact same nightmare once!”

The group all laughs hysterically as Lucien turns to one of the women, who is dressed in a fuchsia corset and matching bobbed wig and whose identity is concealed by a black mask.

- “Go and grab us a drink, love! Feel free to fetch one for yourself.” Lucian tells her.

- “One for me, please!” Klaus slurred, “And one for her, and her, and her, and her..”

The woman in pink turns to fetch drinks and Natali was suspicious that it was actually Freya under a mask.

- “Tristan? Tristan! Come out, come out, wherever you are! Unless, of course, you're afraid!” Lucian and Klaus shouted.

- Tristan heads straight for Klaus and Lucien and gives them a patronizing smile, “You should, uh, move along. You're not welcome here.”

- “Oh. Oh, okay. We're-we're not welcome here..” Klaus says and plucks a champagne flute from the nearest serving platter before walking up to Tristan and slurs drunkenly at him, “Or maybe you should move along before I make you cry in front of all your little friends!” he ended his statement with a laugh.

- “My concern is for your companions. They appear out of sorts without a shiny pole to writhe upon.” Tristan deadpanned.

- Lucien looks over at the woman dressed as a skeleton bride, “Ohhhhhh, he's suggesting that you're exotic dancers! Which, to him, is an insult-” he then gestures toward the burlesque dancers who have stopped working in favor of watching the drama unfold, “If not hypocritical. But, don't take it personally, love. He finds all work demeaning. The only dignified way to accumulate wealth is by birth.” He smiles at Tristan and leans forward, extending his index finger and tapping Tristan on the end of the nose, “Boop!”

Klaus can't resist laughing hysterically at this.

- “Lucian, can I ask you nicely to leave?” Renée says, taking a step forward, she now stood in front of Tristan.

- “Oh love, I was deeply hurt when I haven’t received your invitation to this party.” Lucian tells her.

- “You’re not part of this sire line. You and Klaus can make your own party elsewhere.” Renée told him.

- “We’re not the only ones.” Lucian replied as he glanced towards Natali, Kol, Hayley.

- “Niklaus.” Klaus turns in an ungraceful manner to try to find the source of the voice until finally realizing that Elijah is coming from the opposite direction. Elijah eventually walks toward him until they're standing side-by-side.

- “What is it?” Klaus asks.

- Elijah rolls his eyes, “Oh, you're hammered. Which should come as very little surprise to anyone here, but it does hamper the festivities somewhat. So, could I recommend that you find the nearest exit?”

- “Just..” Klaus whispers.

- “Yes, and could you take your playthings with you, too?” Elijah says patiently.

Klaus shoves his champagne glass into Elijah's hands before staggering farther into the ballroom.

- "You know, I used to find it insulting that I was barred from your special little club. But now, I realize that I lack the flexibility to become a member - I could never get my head far enough up my own ass.” Klaus bowls dramatically and laughs, while Tristan and Elijah exchange annoyed glances. Lucien and their companions are delighted by Klaus' behavior. Klaus walks back over to Elijah and takes the glass from his hand before downing the rest of the champagne in one gulp and handing it back to him. Afterward, Klaus makes a disgusted face at Tristan and remarks on the champagne, “Cheap.” then he turns to address Lucien and the others, “Come on. Let's go. This party's dead anyway.”

- “See you later, love.” Lucian says to Renée before they all turn to leave, howling and laughing loudly as they do so.

- Natali pulls Kol to the side, “Let’s go after them.”

- “Why?” Kol asked in confusion.

- “I think Freya was with them. They’re up to something.” Natali tells him.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

They went to the compound and in the courtyard, they’ve found Lucien, who was sitting next to his witch Alexis on the couch, while Freya is standing close to them.

- “Freya, you’ve been with them at the party, didn’t you?” Natali asks.

- At the sound of her voice, Freya turns towards them, “Yes, they kidnapped Lucian’s witch.” she tells them and they all look towards the couch.

- “If looks could kill.” Lucian remarks when he saw how Kol was glaring at him.

- “Oh, if you insist, there is a lot of ways I could kill you.” Kol threatens in a low voice.

- “Kol, can you leave that for later?” Natali asked him.

Kol just rolls his eyes and walks towards a table where he found a bottle of whiskey.

- “What’s going on between you and Renée?" Natali asked Lucian. After their talk at the party, she had a feeling there’s more going on between them.

- “Why would you think there’s anything between us?” Lucian says.

- “See you later, love?” Natali reminds him of what he said.

- “It was a figurative speech.” Lucian replies.

- “Are you sure? You knew she was alive all this time and you never told me.” Natali tells him, “Why?”

- “Because she told me not to tell you.” Lucian says.

- “I didn’t know you listen to her orders.” Natali told him.

Lucian was saved from revealing more to her when Alexis began to wake up. Soon after that Klaus also joined them in the courtyard.

- “I'm sorry. I hoped I was wrong, Lucien. I really did. But I saw it. I saw him die.” Alexis says and looks over at Klaus who sighs and closes his eyes, not at all happy with this news.

- “Did you see the weapon?” Lucien asked nervously and Alexis nods in response, “What is it?” he asks.

- “To understand, it must be seen.”Alexis says quietly.

She smiles weakly at Lucien, who frowns in confusion for a moment as Klaus stares at them both suspiciously. Alexis holds her wrist out to Natali, who sits down next to her on the couch. Lucien stands to his feet and allows Kol to take his seat next to Alexis so he can see the vision as well and she holds out her other wrist to him. Kol and Natali look at each other warily before they each bite into Alexis' offered wrists and begin to feed.

Alexis throws her head back as her eyes roll back into her head as the visions begin. Like the other visions, the first flash is of a page from a grimoire with a spell and several pentacles are written on the parchment. Then, the vision cuts to the dining room of the Mikaelson compound, which is in disarray - it looks like a fight broke out during dinner because the chairs are overturned, broken glasses litter the table and floor, and the plates of food have been scattered over the bunched up tablecloth. There's another flash to Freya dipping her fingers in the bowl of Klaus'/Alexis' blood, and the scene of Elijah's painted portrait in the living room dripping blood. Another flashback of Freya casting the spell to see the visions from Alexis' blood is seen as the pieces of paper with Klaus, Elijah, Rebekah' and Kol’ names written in Elder Futhark Runic script catch on fire. There is then a flash of Lucien's face, which looks serious at first before he smirks smugly. Another flash of the "beast" with extremely long and sharp fangs is seen as well before the vision erupts into flames.

Suddenly Alexis' nose has begun to bleed, and Natali quickly stops feeding on her, looking at the blood on her hands in fright. Kol throws up all the blood he had just drunk onto the floor and Natali looks sick as well as she tries to keep herself from throwing up as well.

- “Something’s wrong.” Kol says.

- Natali looks at the others, “Poison!”

Alexis gags before she, too, begins to vomit up a large amount of blood, and Lucien, alarmed, rushes over to Alexis, whose nose and mouth are still bleeding profusely.

- “No! No!” Lucian continues to say as Alexis weakly falls into Lucien's arms and he desperately tries to wake her.

She falls into Lucien's lap and dies, while Klaus looks both suspicious and concerned regarding what has just happened. Lucien, however, is devastated and furious and scowls as he tries to figure out who did this.

⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡ ⚜ ✡

MASTERLIST

Tags: @mikaelsonsmagic @p3nny4urth0ught5 @cute-freak27 @ias-born @superhalsteads @characterobsessed @hinata7346 @luiza-4-ever @huntress1428 @infiniteoblivion21

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citizenscreen · 5 years

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It was 85 years ago this week, in October 1934, that Mark Sandrich’s The Gay Divorcee was released in theaters across the country. That occasion would normally have been just another movie release except it marks a significant moment in movie history. The Gay Divorcee, you see, was the first starring picture for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. While cinema has given us many memorable romantic movie couples, only one was so memorably romantic in dance.

The Gay Divorcee is my favorite of the Astaire Rogers pictures thanks in large part to its hilarious supporting cast including Alice Brady, Edward Everett Horton, Erik Rhodes, and Eric Blore who supply laughs galore in a story we’d see over and over again later in the 1930s as the Astaire and Rogers film canon picked up speed. Here we see Mimi Glossop (Rogers) trying to get a divorce from her estranged husband. Her Aunt Hortense (Brady) suggests she consult with attorney Egbert Fitzgerald (Horton) with whom Hortense has a romantic history. The fumbling lawyer suggests a great way for Mimi to get a quick divorce is for her to spend the night with a professional co-respondent and get caught being unfaithful by the private detectives hired for the task. Except, Egbert forgets to hire the detectives. As the co-respondent Egbert hires Rodolfo Tonetti (Rhodes) who is supposed to introduce himself to Mimi by saying “Chance is a fool’s name for fate,” but the Italian can’t keep the line straight, which never fails to make this fan roar with laughter.

“Fate is the foolish thing. Take a chance.”

In the meantime, staying in the same hotel is dancer Guy Holden (Astaire) who falls for Mimi the moment they had an uncomfortable meeting on the ship from England. Guy is determined to make Mimi his while she mistakes him for the co-respondent. It’s quite the confusing premise that serves the talent of the cast and Astaire-Rogers pairings on the dance floor, which made the trip to the movies the magical experience these movies surely were.

Fred Astaire reprised his role from the stage play The Gay Divorce for The Gay Divorcee. Censors insisted that The Gay Divorce be changed to The Gay Divorcee, because a gay divorce was no laughing matter. Erik Rhodes and Eric Blore, who played the waiter in typical snooty fashion, also reprised their roles from the stage version. Cole Porter wrote the music for the stage production, but only one of his songs, “Night and Day” was retained for the movie.

The Gay Divorcee won one Academy Award, the first ever Best Original Song for “The Continental” with music and lyrics by Con Conrad and Herb Magidson respectively. The film was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Art Direction, Best Sound, Recording, and Best Music Score for Max Steiner, then head of the sound department at RKO. While award recognition is great, the place The Gay Divorcee holds in history is much more important. As mentioned, this was the first movie where Fred Astaire’s and Ginger Rogers’ names appear above the title. This film also sets the stage quite nicely for subsequent Astaire-Rogers movies, which often followed the same formula. First, Fred’s character usually falls for Ginger’s at first sight and he is often annoying to her. In The Gay Divorcee, for example, she has her dress caught in a trunk while he attempts to flirt. In Top Hat (1935) he wakes her up with his tap dancing in the room above hers. In Swing Time (1936) he asks her for change of a quarter only to ask for the quarter back a bit later.

Most Fred and Ginger movies also have mistaken identity central to the plot and some are set in lavish surroundings, extravagant art deco sets, “Big White Sets” as they are called, and include travel to exotic places. The world in these pictures is rich and cultured and never fail to offer an escape from reality.

More importantly, most of the Astaire-Rogers movies feature dances that further the characters’ story together, all are supremely executed, beautifully orchestrated, and emoted to a tee. Through dance Fred and Ginger express love, love lost, anger, giddiness, joy, despair, tragedy. The movies usually feature at least two main routines for the couple, one a fun, lighthearted affair and the other a serious, dramatic turn, depending on where in the story the dance takes place. These dance routines take precedence in the films above all other elements and are, ultimately, what create the Astaire-Rogers legend, each its own priceless gem. For this dance through history the focus is on the dance routines, which were born out of the RKO story.

RKO was born RKO Radio Pictures in October 1928 as the first motion picture studio created solely for the production of talking pictures by David Sarnoff and Joseph Kennedy as they met in a Manhattan oyster bar. Radio-Keith-Orpheum (RKO) resulted from the merger of the Radio Corporation of America, the Film Booking Offices of America, and the Keith-Albee-Orpheum circuit of vaudeville houses.

In its first year, RKO did well by producing about a dozen pictures, mostly film versions of stage plays. The studio doubled that number the following year and was established as a major studio with the Academy Award-winning Cimarron (1931) directed by Wesley Ruggles. Unfortunately, that film’s success did not result in money for the studio. That year RKO lost more than $5 million, which resulted in the hiring of David O. Selznick to head production. Selznick immediately looked to stars to bring audiences into theaters. The first place he looked was the New York stage where he found and contracted Katharine Hepburn whom he placed in the hands of George Cukor for Bill of Divorcement (1932) opposite John Barrymore. Hepburn became a star and the movie was a hit, but RKO’s fortunes did not improve making 1932 another difficult year. Enter Merian C. Cooper and a giant ape. David O. Selznick had made Cooper his assistant at RKO.

The idea of King Kong had lived in Cooper’s imagination since he was a child, but he never thought it could come to fruition until his time at RKO. It was there that Cooper met Willis O’Brien, a special effects wizard who was experimenting with stop motion animation.

King Kong premiered in March 1933 to enthusiastic audiences and reviews. RKO’s financial troubles were such, however, that even the eighth wonder of the world could not save it. David O. Selznick left RKO for MGM and Merian Cooper took over as head of production tasked with saving the studio. Cooper tried releasing a picture a week and employing directors like Mark Sandrich and George Stevens. Of the two Sandrich made an important splash early with So This Is Harris! (1933), a musical comedy short that won the Academy Award for Best Short Subject. This short paved the way for RKO’s memorable musicals of the decade, the first of which introduced future megastars Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers as a dancing duo.

“I’d like to try this thing just once” he says as he pulls her to the dance floor.

“We’ll show them a thing or three,” she responds.

And they did. For the movie studio permanently on the verge of bankruptcy Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers proved saving graces. Pandro S. Berman, who produced several of the Astaire-Rogers movies, said “we were very fortunate we came up with the Astaire-Rogers series when we did.”

Fred Astaire was born Frederick Austerlitz II on May 10, 1899 in Omaha, Nebraska. Fred began performing at about the age of four with his older sister Adele. Their mother took them to New York in 1903 where they began performing in vaudeville as a specialty act. Of the two it was Adele, by all accounts a charmer on stage and off, who got the better reviews and was seen as the natural talent.

By the time Fred was ten years old, he and his sister were making about $50 a week on the famed Orpheum Circuit. As they traveled the country, their reputation grew and by 14 Fred had taken over the responsibility of creating steps and routines for their act. He also hunted for new songs as he was able, which led to a chance meeting in 1916 with then song plugger George Gershwin. Although the two did not work together then, they’d have profound effects on each other’s careers in the future, including the Astaires headlining George and Ira Gershwin’s first full-length New York musical, Lady, Be Good! in 1924.

Unlike her driven brother, Adele did not even like to rehearse. For Fred’s constant badgering to rehearse she ascribed him the nickname “Moaning Minnie.” Fred later admitted the nickname fit because he worried about everything. Between Fred’s attention to detail and Adele’s charm for an audience, the Astaire’s reviews usually read like this, “Nothing like them since the flood!”

Fred and Adele made it to Broadway in 1917 with Over the Top, a musical revue in two acts, and never looked back. Their other hits in New York and London included the Gershwin smash, Funny Face (1927), where Adele got to introduce “‘S Wonderful” and the Schwartz-Dietz production of The Band Wagon (1931), Adele’s final show before retiring to marry Lord Charles Cavendish in 1932. At the time she and her brother Fred were the toast of Broadway.

The Astaires, Adele and Fred

After his sister retired, Fred starred in Cole Porter’s A Gay Divorce, his last Broadway show before heading west to Hollywood where he was signed by David O. Selznick at RKO. Legend goes that of Fred Astaire someone in Hollywood said after watching his screen tests, “Can’t act; slightly bald; can dance a little.” If true, those are words by someone who had a terrible eye for talent, but I doubt they are true because at the time Fred Astaire was a huge international star. The likelihood that someone in Hollywood didn’t know that is slim. David O. Selznick had seen Fred Astaire on Broadway and described him as “next to Leslie Howard, the most charming man on the American stage.” What was true is that Fred Astaire did not look like the typical movie star. He was 34 years old at the time, an age considered old for movie stardom. In fact, Astaire’s mother insisted he should just retire since he’d been in the business from such a young age. We can only be thankful he ignored her request.

Not sure what to do with him, or perhaps to see what he could do, Selznick lent Astaire to MGM where he made his first picture dancing with Joan Crawford in Robert Z. Leonard’s Dancing Lady (1933). Flying Down to Rio experienced some delays, but it was ready to go after Dancing Lady so Fred returned to RKO to do “The Carioca” with a contract player named Ginger Rogers.

By the time Fred Astaire made his first picture, Ginger Rogers had made about 20. She was under contract with RKO and excelled at sassy, down-to-Earth types. In 1933 Ginger had gotten lots of attention singing “We’re in the money” in Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933) and in 42nd Street. She did not have top billing in either of those, but the public noticed her.

Ginger Rogers was born Virginia Katherine McMath in Independence, Missouri on July 16, 1911. Her first few years of life were confusing ones. Her parents were divorced and Ginger was kidnapped by her father until her mother, Lelee (or Lela), took him to court. In need of a job, Ginger’s mother left her with her grandparents while looking for a job as a scriptwriter.

Lelee met and married John Rogers in 1920 and, for all intents and purposes, he became Ginger’s father. The family moved to Dallas where, at the age of 14, Ginger won a Charleston contest, going on to become Charleston champion dancer of Texas. The prize was a 4-week contract on the Vaudeville Interstate circuit. Lela took management of her daughter and put together an act called “Ginger and Her Redheads.” Ginger continued to perform on her own after the Redheads were disbanded eventually going to New York where she was seen by the owner of the Mocambo night club who recommended her to friends for the Broadway show Top Speed.

Ginger was making two-reelers in New York when she was offered a Paramount contract making her feature appearance in Monta Bell’s Young Man of Manhattan (1930) starring Claudette Colbert. At about that time, she was cast as the lead in the Gershwin musical Girl Crazy, which – by happenstance one afternoon – offered her the opportunity to dance with Fred Astaire for the first time ever. Astaire had been brought in to the Girl Crazy production to see if he could offer suggestions for the routines. Ginger was asked to show him one of the main numbers to which he said, “Here Ginger, try it with me.”

After that Ginger and Lela headed to Hollywood and the picture business in earnest. Ginger made a few forgettable pictures for Pathé before being cast as Anytime Annie in 42nd Street and singing that number about money in Golddiggers of 1933. Both of those gave Ginger Rogers ample opportunity to show off her comedic skills. These types of parts, funny flappers, were definitely in the cards for Ginger Rogers until fate intervened when Dorothy Jordan, who was scheduled to dance “The Carioca” with Fred Astaire in Flying Down to Rio, married Merian C. Cooper instead. Ginger was by now under contract with RKO and was rushed onto the set of Flying Down to Rio three days after shooting had started.

“They get up and dance” in 1933

The stage direction in the original screenplay for Flying Down to Rio simply read, “they get up and dance.” Ginger Rogers was billed fourth and Fred Astaire fifth showing she was the bigger star at the time. In looking at Astaire and Rogers doing “The Carioca” in Flying Down to Rio one doesn’t get the impression that these are legends in the making. Ginger agreed as she wrote in her memoir that she never would have imagined what was to come from that dance. “The Carioca” is exuberant, youthful, and fun, but certainly lesser than most of the routines the couple would perform in subsequent films. I say that because we can now make a comparison. At the time audiences went crazy for “The Carioca” and the dancers who performed it, their only number together in the Flying Down to Rio and only role aside from the comic relief they provide. The picture was, after all, a Dolores Del Rio and Gene Raymond vehicle.

Doing the Carioca in Flying Down to Rio

Hermes Pan’s first assignment at RKO was to find Fred Astaire on stage 8 to see if he could offer assistance. Fred showed him a routine and explained he was stuck in a part for the tap solo in Flying Down to Rio. Hermes offered a suggestion and another legendary movie pairing was made. Pan worked on 17 Astaire musicals thus playing a key role is making Fred Astaire the most famous dancer in the world.

Pan explained that he went to early previews of Flying Down to Rio and was surprised to see the audience cheer and applaud after “The Carioca” number. The studio knew they had something big here and decided to capitalize on the Astaire-Rogers pairing.

When RKO approached Fred Astaire about making another picture paired with Ginger Rogers, Astaire refused. After years being part of a duo with Adele, the last thing he wanted was to be paired permanently with another dancer. If he was to do another picture he wanted an English dancer as his partner, they were more refined. Pandro Berman told him, “the audience likes Ginger” and that was that. Astaire was at some point given a percentage of the profits from these pictures and the worries about working with Ginger subsided. Ginger’s contribution to the pairing was not considered important enough to merit a percentage of the profits.

The Gay Divorcee (1934)

The Gay Divorcee offers ample opportunity to fall in love with the Astaire-Rogers mystique. The first is a beautiful number shot against a green screen backdrop, Cole Porter’s “Night and Day.” Fred as Guy professes his love for Mimi (Ginger), mesmerizing her with dance until she is completely taken by the end. He, so satisfied, offers her a cigarette.

Later in the film the two, now reconciled after a huge mix-up, dance “The Continental.” The song is introduced by Ginger who is swept off her feet to join the crowd in the elaborate production number. Needless to say Fred and Ginger clear the floor with outstanding choreography. “The Continental” sequence lasts over 17 minutes, the longest ever in a musical holding that record until Gene Kelly’s 18-minute ballet in An American in Paris in 1951. “The Continental” was clearly intended to capture the excitement of “The Carioca” and exceeds that by eons with enthusiasm and gorgeous execution by these two people whose chemistry is palpable. No one could have known if either Fred or Ginger could carry a movie, but The Gay Divorcee proved they were stars of unique magnitude. For 85 years dance on film has never been bettered and that’s why I celebrate this anniversary with all the enthusiasm I could muster as my contribution to The Anniversary Blogathon sponsored by the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA), which is celebrating its tenth year of classic love.

Doing The Continental in The Gay Divorcee

Fred always gets a solo number in these pictures, by the way and, as you’d expect, they’re wonderful. Many times these take place in hotel rooms all of which – luckily – have fantastic floors for tap dancing. In addition, The Gay Divorcee has the added attraction of a routine with Edward Everett Horton and Betty Grable, who has a small part in the picture.

Fred Astaire and Hermes Pan would begin work on the routines up to six weeks before the principal photography was scheduled to start on the pictures. Pan played Ginger’s part and would teach her the routines once she arrived to start rehearsals. Her part was long and arduous and Fred Astaire always said he admired her work ethic as she gave everything she had to make those routines memorable and match him move for move. Fred was also impressed by Ginger being the only one of his female partners who never cried. As they say, she did everything he did “backwards and in heels,” which by the way, is a phrase born in the following Frank and Ernest cartoon.

The unfailing result of their work together is absolute beauty in human form. Ginger Rogers completely gave herself to Fred Astaire, was entirely pliable to his every whim in dance. This is why they became legend. Fred may have partnered with better dancers and I certainly cannot say whether that’s true or not, but what he had with Ginger Rogers was special. The Gay Divorcee was only the beginning.

As for working with Fred again, Ginger had no worries. She enjoyed the partnership and the dancing and was fulfilled by doing various other parts at the same time. While Fred and Hermes worked on the routines she was able to make small pictures for different studios appearing in seven in 1934 alone.

Roberta (1935)

Fred and Ginger’s next movie together is William Seiter’s Roberta where they share billing with one of RKO’s biggest stars and greatest talents, Irene Dunne. Here, Fred and Ginger have the secondary love affair as old friends who fall in love in the end. As they do in most of their movies, Fred and Ginger also provide much of the laughs. The primary romantic pairing in Roberta is between Dunne and Randolph Scott.

The film’s title, Roberta is the name of a fashionable Paris dress shop owned by John Kent’s (Scott) aunt and where Stephanie (Dunne) works as the owner’s secretary, assistant, and head designer. The two instantly fall for each other.

Huck Haines (Astaire) is a musician and John’s friend who runs into the hateful Countess Scharwenka at the dress shop. Except Scharwenka is really Huck’s childhood friend and old love, Lizzie Gatz (Rogers). Fred and Ginger are wonderful in this movie, which strays from the formula of most of their other movies except for the plot between Irene Dunne and Randolph Scott, which is actually similar to that of other Astaire-Rogers movies. Again, aside from the dancing Fred and Ginger offer the movie’s comic relief and do so in memorable style with Ginger the standout in that regard.

There are quite a few enjoyable musical numbers in Roberta. Huck’s band performs a couple and Irene Dunne sings several songs including the gorgeous “When Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” and a beautiful sequence on stairs during a fashion show to “Lovely to Look At,” which received the film’s only Academy Award nomination for Best Music, Original Song. That number transitions into a Fred and Ginger duet and dance to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” followed closely by an exuberant finale number.

Fred and Ginger in Roberta

Early in Roberta, at the Cafe Russe, Ginger is delightful singing “I’ll be Hard to Handle” with the band. She and Fred follow with a supremely enjoyable duet with their feet, a routine where each answers the other with taps. I believe there were requests for them to re-record the taps after the live taping as you can hear Ginger laughing during the routine, but Fred insisted to leave it as is. The result is a relaxed, wonderfully entertaining sequence I hadn’t seen in years. The pantsuit Ginger wears during this number is fabulous.

I’ll Be Hard to Handle routine in Roberta

Later, Ginger and Fred sing a duet to “I Won’t Dance” with Fred following with an extraordinary solo routine. This may be my favorite of his solo sequences, which includes an unbelievably fast ending.

Astaire in Roberta

Fred Astaire was perfection on the dance floor and, as many have said, seemed to dance on air. None of it came without excruciating hard work, however. Astaire was known for rehearsing and losing sleep until he felt every movement in every sequence was perfect. He stated he would lose up to 15 pounds during the rehearsals for these films. Clearly, nothing had changed since his days preparing for the stage with his sister.

Fred Astaire fretted over routines constantly. He could not even stand looking at the rushes himself so he would send Hermes Pan to look and report back. Astaire admitted that even looking at these routines decades later caused him angst. Of course, his absolute dedication to perfection, pre-planning even the smallest detail of every dance number, resulted in much of the legend of Fred and Ginger. Fred’s demands on set also made the pictures epic among musicals. Astaire insisted, for instance, to shoot every single sequence in one shot, with no edits. He also insisted that their entire bodies be filmed for every dance number and that taps be recorded live. He was known to say that either the camera moved or he moved. One of the cameramen at RKO who worked on the Astaire-Rogers pictures said that keeping Fred and Ginger’s feet in the frame was the biggest challenge. All of these Fred Astaire stipulations ensured that the performances are still moving many decades after they were filmed and all of them are as much a statement in endurance as they are in artistry.

Top Hat

Directed by Mark Sandrich, Top Hat is the first film written expressly for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers by Deight Taylor and Alan Scott and feels bigger from its catchy opening sequence on forward than the other movies in the series to this point. This is perhaps the most well regarded of the Astaire-Rogers movie pairings and it’s no wonder because it’s delightful even though it shares several similarities with The Gay Divorcee. Joining Fred and Ginger once again are Edward Everett Horton in the second of three Fred and Ginger pictures he made, Eric Blore in the third of five, and Erik Rhodes in his second. To my delight Rhodes dons that wonderful, hilarious Italian accent, which by the way, got him barred by Mussolini. Joining the group in this picture is Helen Broderick as Madge Hardwick, Horton’s wife.

The story in Top Hat begins when Fred as Jerry Travers meets Ginger as Dale Tremont when he wakes her up by tap dancing in the hotel room above hers. She is naturally annoyed, but warms up to him fairly quickly the next day as he seeks her favor with Irving Berlin’s “Isn’t This a Lovely Day?” when the two are in a gazebo during a rainstorm. The song ends in a wonderful dance sequence that starts off as a challenge, but warms to affection. I should add we see here what we see in many Astaire-Rogers routines that is so darn exciting – when they don’t touch. The gazebo number is not as emotionally charged as others the couple executes because it is the lighthearted one in the picture, the one during which he woos her with dance. By the end of this number she is sold on him and what prospects may lay ahead.

It’s a lovely day to be caught in the rain from Top Hat

Unfortunately, after the gazebo number some confusion ensues as Dale believes Jerry is married to one of her friends. This is the requisite mistaken identity. It is Horace Hardwick (Horton) who’s married, not Jerry. Some innocent games and trickery take place before Dale is hurt and Jerry has to win her over once again. Then heaven appears.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven And the cares that hung around me through the week Seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek”

These songs are standards for a reason. It just does not get better than that.

To continue the story – at the insistence of Madge Hardwick, Dale and Jerry dance as he sings those lyrics to her. She is mesmerized, wanting to believe him wearing that famous feather dress. They move onto a terrace in each other’s arms as the music swells.

A gorgeous, sexy backbend during Cheek to Cheek in Top Hat

Once again, the song is over and her heart is stolen. She’s seduced. And so are we.

One of the few times Ginger seriously disagreed with Fred concerning a routine was her stance on the feather dress for the “Cheek to Cheek” sequence. Fred hated it. During the number feathers went everywhere, including in his face and on his tuxedo. Ginger designed the dress and insisted she wear it, despite the cost of $1,500 worth of ostrich feathers. She was right. While you can see feathers coming off the dress during the number, none are seen on Fred’s tuxedo, but it doesn’t matter because it moves beautifully and adds immeasurably to the routine.

The feather dress didn’t stay there. In fact, it stayed with Ginger for some time as thereafter, Astaire nicknamed her “Feathers.” After what Ginger described as a difficult few days following the feather dress uproar, she was in her dressing room when a plain white box was delivered. Inside was a note that read, “Dear Feathers. I love ya! Fred”

Fred Astaire has two solo routines in Top Hat, “No Strings” at the beginning of the movie, the tap dance that wakes Dale, and “Top Hat, White Tie and Tails,” a signature production number considered one of his best.

Following in the tradition of “The Carioca” and “The Continental,” Top Hat features “The Piccolino,” an extravagant production number with song introduced by Ginger who said that Fred was supposed to sing the tune and hated it so he told Sandrich to give it to Ginger. In any case, she and Fred join the festivities with only their feet visible heading toward the dance floor, reminiscent of the movie’s opening sequence. It’s quite the rush as you see their feet advancing toward the dance floor, I must say.

“The Piccolino” is lively and fun, a terrific routine with a fun ending as the two end the number by sitting back at their table with Ginger having to fix her dress, a beautiful dress that made it to the Smithsonian.

Fred and Ginger doing The Piccolino

Top Hat premiered at New York’s Radio City Music Hall to record crowds. Added security had to be sent to the venue to ensure order. The movie went on to gross $3 million on its initial release, and became RKO’s most profitable film of the 1930s.

Follow the Fleet (1936)

Mark Sandrich was back to direct Follow the Fleet, which I have a huge affection for. The Irving Berlin score in this film is superb with songs that take me back to my childhood and the memory of watching them on Saturday nights on our local PBS station. Fred, Ginger, Sandrich and the crew of Follow the Fleet heard about the record numbers of moviegoers attending Top Hat as they gathered to begin shooting this movie. The excitement certainly inspired them to make Follow the Fleet the cheerful, energetic movie it is. Although, Ginger hoped that by this, their third movie together, Mark Sandrich would recognize her worth it was not to be. She discusses his dislike of her a lot in her book.

Like in Roberta, Fred and Ginger’s relationship in Follow the Fleet is that of the secondary romantic couple supplying the laughs in the film despite the fact that they get top billing. The primary romance here is the one between Harriet Hilliard (in her first feature film) and Randolph Scott. The story is simple, Bake Baker (Astaire) and Bilge (Scott) visit the Paradise Ballroom in San Francisco while on Navy leave. At the ballroom are Connie Martin (Hilliard), who is immediately taken with Bilge, and her sister Sherry (Rogers), the dance hostess at the ballroom who also happens to be the ex-girlfriend of Bake’s. Sherry and Bake reunite by joining a dance contest and winning (of course), but it costs Sherry her job.

In the meantime, Connie starts talking about marriage to Bilge who is instantly spooked sending him into the arms of a party girl. Bake tries to get Sherry a job in a show, which entails a mistaken identity amid more confusion until things clear up and the two are successful, heading toward the Broadway stage. The confusion here comes by way of some bicarbonate of soda, in case you’re wondering.

Follow the Fleet is a hoot with several aspects straying from the usual Fred-Ginger formula. To begin, Fred Astaire puts aside his debonair self and replaces him with a much more informal, smoking, gum-chewing average guy. It’s enjoyable seeing him try to be common. Fred opens the movie with Berlin’s wonderful “We Saw the Sea,” the words to which I remembered during the last viewing, quite the surprise since I had not seen Follow the Fleet in decades. Later in the movie he gets another solo tap routine on deck of his ship with fellow seamen as accompaniment. Both instances are supremely enjoyable as one would expect.

Fred during one of his solo routines in Follow the Fleet

Ginger does a great rendition of “Let Yourself Go” with Betty Grable as a back-up singer. A bit later there’s a reprise of the fabulous song during the contest, the dance reunion of Bake and Sherry. According to Ginger, a search through all of Hollywood took place in hopes of finding other couples who could compete with Fred and her. This may already be getting old, but here you have another energetic, enjoyable routine by these two masters. The whistles from the crowd at the Paradise Ballroom show the audience enjoy it as well.

The Let Yourself Go routine during the dance contest in Follow the Fleet

As part of an audition, Ginger gets to do a solo tap routine, a rarity in these movies and it’s particularly enjoyable to watch. Unfortunately, Sherry doesn’t get the job as a result of the audition even though she’s the best the producer has seen. Thinking that he’s getting rid of her competition (mistaken identity), Bake prepares a bicarbonate of soda drink, which renders the singer incapable of singing. Sherry drinks it and burps her way through the audition.

Sherry during the rehearsal, a solo tap for Ginger in Follow the Fleet

Now rehearsing for a show, Bake and Sherry sing “I’m Putting All My Eggs in One Basket” followed by a wonderfully amusing routine where Ginger gets caught up in steps leaving Fred to constantly try to get her to move along. During the number the music also changes constantly and they have fun trying to stay in step be in a waltz or jazz or any number of music moods. This routine is a rare one for Fred and Ginger whose dance sequences are usually step perfect. It looks like they have a blast with this including a few falls and a fight instigated by Ginger.

“Eggs in One Basket” routine from Follow the Fleet

Fred and Ginger follow the comical exchange in “I’m Putting All My Eggs in One Basket,” with one of their greatest sequences, another rarity in that this one happens out of character for both in the movie. The wonderful “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” and the routine to it make as iconic an Astaire-Rogers sequence as has ever put on film. The song and the performance tell a mini story outside of the confines of the plot. This is a grim tale executed with extraordinary beauty as we see two suicidal people happen upon each other and are saved from despair through dance. Again, kudos to Berlin’s genius because the lyrics of this song are sublime.

“There may be trouble ahead But while there’s moonlight and music And love and romance Let’s face the music and dance”

Ginger is a vision as Fred guides her across the dance floor. The dance starts off with a sway, they are not touching, he’s leading her, but she’s despondent at first, unable to react to his urging that there is something to live for. As that beautiful music advances she responds and in the process conquers demons. The routine ends as the music dictates in dramatic fashion with a lunge, they are both now victorious and strong. Magnificent. The movie concludes minutes later because…what more is there to say?

“Let’s Face the Music and Dance” Fred and Ginger

Ginger in beaded dress for “Let’s Face the Music and Dance”

Ginger is wearing another legendary dress in the “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” routine. Created by one of her favorite designers, Bernard Newman, the dress weighed somewhere between 25 and 35 pounds. The entire thing was beaded and moved beautifully along with Ginger. Fred Astaire told the story of how one of the heavy sleeves hit him in the face hard during the first spin in the dance. They did the routine about 12 times and Sandrich decided on the first. If you look closely you can see Fred flinch a bit as Ginger twirls with heavy sleeves near his face at the beginning of the dance, which is affecting, beautifully acted by both, but particularly Ginger in the arms of Fred Astaire.

Lucille Ball plays a small role in Follow the Fleet and can be seen throughout the film and a couple of times during the “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” sequence. Also, Betty Grable makes an appearance in a supporting role. Harriet Hilliard sings two songs in Follow the Fleet as well, but to little fanfare.

By Follow the Fleet Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers were top box office draws as a team. America was in love with Fred and Ginger. And they still hadn’t reached the apex of dance.

Swing Time (1936)

Swing Time was directed by George Stevens, his first musical, made when he was the top director at RKO Pictures. As I watched these films in succession I noticed something I never had before, Fred and Ginger’s dancing in Swing Time is more mature than in previous films. The emotionally-charged “Never Gonna Dance” sequence has always been my favorite, but I had never considered that it is because Astaire and Rogers are at their peak. This, they’re fifth starring outing as a pair, is their best.

The plot of Swing Time is similar to that of Top Hat to include the ever-present mistaken identity theme, but this movie is wittier and more inventive and clever surrounding memorable songs by Dorothy Fields and Jerome Kern. The story here begins as dancer and gambler, Lucky Garnett (Astaire) arrives late for his own wedding to Margaret Watson (Betty Furness). Angry at the young man’s audacity, the father of the bride tells Lucky that the only way he can marry his daughter is to go to New York and become a success. Lucky heads East with his lucky quarter and constant companion Pop Cardetti (Victor Moore).

Once in New York the stage is set for a chance meeting between Lucky and Penny Carroll (Rogers). The encounter leads to the first routine in the movie to the glorious “Pick Yourself Up” at the dance academy where Penny works as an instructor. The exchange leading up to the dance sequence is quite enjoyable as Lucky makes believe he can’t dance as Penny tries in vain to teach him. His fumbling on his feet causes her to be fired by the furious head of the dance studio, Mr. Gordon (Eric Blore). To make it up to Penny, Lucky pulls her to the dance floor to show Gordon how much she has taught him and she delights in seeing his amazing dancing ability. The routine that ensues is energetic, fun, and the movie’s acquaintance dance after which Penny is completely taken with Lucky.

During the “Pick Yourself Up” routine in Swing Time

Watching Ginger transition from angry to incredulous to gloriously surprised to such confidence that the dance floor can’t even contain them is simply wonderful. As the dance progresses her joy grows naturally illustrated by such details as throwing her head back or giggling as Fred, who’s the wiser, wows her. And she, in turn, gives Gordon a few hard looks as he sits there making memorable Eric Blore faces. At the end of the dance their relationship is different and Gordon is so impressed he gets them an audition at the Silver Sandal Nightclub where they enchant the patrons and are hired. Incidentally, since Fred’s mood, shall we say, is what initiates and dictates these routines he has little emotional change through these mini stories. The journey is mostly all hers.

Before they do the nightclub act, Lucky sings “The Way You Look Tonight” to Penny while her hair is full of shampoo. The song won the Academy Award for Best Music, Original Song. Penny and Lucky are now in love. That night at the nightclub, Penny tells Lucky that bandleader Ricardo Romero (Georges Metaxa) has asked her to marry him many times so it’s no surprise when Romero squashes their chance to perform. That is until Lucky wins Romero’s contract gambling and sets the stage for the “Waltz in Swing Time”

“The Waltz in Swing Time” seems to me to be one of the most complex of the Astaire-Rogers dance sequences. Performed at the gorgeous art deco club, this routine is as airy as it is masterful. Fred and Ginger lovingly looking at each other throughout as twists and turns and light taps happen around them. Gosh, they are awe-inspiring.

The Waltz in Swing Time

The next day Lucky does all he can to avoid a love-making scene with Penny. He’s in love with her, but remembers he’s engaged to another woman and hasn’t told her. Meanwhile Pop spills the beans to Mabel (Helen Broderick, the fourth wheel in this ensemble.) A kissless Penny and a frustrated Lucky sing “A Fine Romance” out in the country and Ginger once again gives a lesson in acting. I’ve noted in other posts about how acting in song is never taken too seriously by people and this is another example. Ginger Roger’s reviews in these films were often mediocre with the praise usually going entirely Astaire’s way. Admittedly, Astaire-Rogers films are not dramatic landscapes that allow for much range, but the fact that Ginger manages believable turns in the routines and in all of the sung performances should be noted. She had an air of not taking the films and roles too seriously, but still managed a wide range of emotion, particularly when the time came to emote in dance. That only made her all the better and often the best thing in the movies aside from the dancing.

Fred Astaire has a wonderful production number, “The Bojangles of Harlem,” in Swing Time even though he performs in blackface. The number is intended to honor dancers like Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson who were influential to Fred Astaire. Aside from Fred’s indelible dancing in the sequence, the number is memorable for introducing special effects into Fred Astaire dance routines as he dances with huge shadows of himself. The effect was achieved by shooting the routine twice under different lighting. “Bojangles of Harlem” earned Hermes Pan an Academy Award nomination for Best Dance Direction.

As our story continues – Penny and Lucky are definitely into each other and Ricardo is still wooing Penny when Margaret shows up to spoil the festivities. Actually, she comes to tell Lucky she’s in love with someone else, but doesn’t have a chance to say it before Penny is heartbroken.

And so here we are…we see Penny and Ricardo talking. Given the situation with Lucky – his impending marriage and his losing their contract while gambling – she feels she has no choice but to marry Ricardo. Lucky walks in. Two heartbroken people stand at the foot of majestic stairs as he begins to tell her he’ll never dance again. Imagine that tragedy. The music shifts to “The Way You Look Tonight” and “The Waltz in Swing Time” throughout. Ginger, who had gone up the stairs, descends and the two walk dejectedly across the floor holding hands. The walks gathers a quiet rhythm until they are in each other’s arms dancing. Still, she resists, attempts to walk away, but he refuses to let her go until she succumbs, joining him in energetic rhythm, two people in perfect sync as the music shifts to past moments in their lives together – shifts between loud and quiet, fast and slow, together and apart – mimicking the turmoil of the characters in that time and place.

Ginger’s dress here is elegantly simple as if not to detract from the emotion of the piece, which is intense. Everything about this routine is absolutely gorgeous.

Fred and Ginger split toward the end of the number, each going up an opposite staircase on the elaborate set. They reach the top where the music reaches its crescendo. The two dance, a flurry of turbulent spins. Until she runs off leaving him shattered. And me.

To my knowledge, the “Never Gonna Dance” sequence in the only one where a cut had to happen during the dance in order to get the cameras to the top of the stairs. This is the famous routine that made Ginger’s feet bleed. One of the crew noticed her shoes were pink and it turned out to be that they were blood-soaked. Also notable is that the number was shot over 60 times according to Ginger and several other people there. At one point George Stevens told them all to go home for the night, but Fred and Ginger insisted on giving it one more try. That was the take that’s in the movie. Once done the crew responded enthusiastically.

In the end of Swing Time, as is supposed to happen, Lucky manages to interrupt Penny’s marriage to Ricardo and makes her all his own.

Ginger looks stunning in Swing Time. For details on her Bernard Newman designs in the film I suggest you visit the Glam Amor’s Style Essentials entry on this film.

Despite the many wonderful things about Swing Time, the movie marked the beginning of audience response to Fred and Ginger movies declining. The movie was still a hit, but receipts came in slower than expected. The Fred Astaire-Ginger Rogers partnership never quite gained the same momentum as it did up to this point in their careers together. Although the pair was still an asset for RKO and they had many more memorable on-screen moments to share.

Shall We Dance (1937)

In 1937 Astaire and Rogers made Shall We Dance with Mark Sandrich at the helm once again. Edward Everett Horton and Eric Blore are also on hand for the film that featured the first Hollywood film score by George and Ira Gershwin.

The plot of Shall We Dance is a bit convoluted, but still enjoyable. Fred plays Peter P. Peters a famous ballet dancer billed as “Petrov” who yearns to do modern dance. One day he sees a picture of famous tap dancer Linda Keene (Ginger) and sees a great opportunity to blend their styles. Similar to their other movies, Fred falls in love with Ginger at first sight. It takes her longer to recognize his graces, but eventually falls hard for him too. That is, after many shenanigans and much confusion when she gets angry and hurt and then he has to win her over again.

Fred has a terrific solo routine here with “Slap That Base,” which takes place in an engine room using the varied engine and steam sounds to tap to. Ginger later does an enjoyable rendition of the Gershwin classic, “They All Laughed (at Christopher Columbus),” which leads to a fun tap routine for the duo. For this Ginger is wearing that memorable flowered dress by Irene who dressed her for this movie. This “They All Laughed” sequence is where he woos her and where she cannot help falling for him.

Soon after “They All Laughed” Fred and Ginger call the whole thing off in the classic sequence that takes place in New York’s Central Park on roller skates. At this point in the story the tabloids have reported the two are married and, having fallen for each other, they don’t know what to do. “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” was written by the Gershwins in New York prior to the making of Swing Time. The brothers brought the song with them to Hollywood and it works perfectly in the comedic scene with both Astaire and Rogers taking turns with verses of the catchy tune before starting the roller skating tap routine.

Unable to stop the rumors that they are married, Pete and Linda decide to actually marry in order to later divorce. The problem is that they’re both crazy about each other, which he demonstrates with one of the most romantic songs ever written, “They Can’t Take that Away From Me.” This song was a personal favorite of both Fred and Ginger. So much so, in fact, that the song was used again in their final film together, their 1949 reunion movie, The Barkleys of Broadway. “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” remains the only occasion on film when Fred Astaire permitted the repeat of a song previously performed in another movie.

George Gershwin died two months after Shall We Dance was released in May 1937. He was posthumously nominated for an Academy Award, along with his brother Ira, for Best Original Song for “They Can’t Take That Away From Me.”

The finale of Shall We Dance is an odd production number. Fred dances in front of dozens of women donning Ginger Rogers masks. Pete Peters decided if he can’t dance with Linda Keene then he’ll dance with many of the next best thing. The real Linda joins him for the final act, touched by his attempt to clone her. The end.

Carefree (1938)

Carefree is probably the Astaire-Rogers movie I’ve seen least and it was refreshing to take a new and improved look at it for this tribute. Mark Sandrich directs Fred and Ginger for the last time in this romantic comedy, the shortest of their films, which attempts a new story flavor for our stars with Irving Berlin tunes.

Stephen Arden (Ralph Bellamy) asks his Psychiatrist friend Dr. Tony Flagg (Astaire) to meet with his fiancée Amanda Cooper (Rogers). Immediately we know Arden’s in trouble because Ralph Bellamy never gets the girl, but anyway… Amanda is having trouble committing to marrying Stephen and agrees to see Tony who immediately decides she needs to dream in order for him to decipher her unconscious. After having all sorts of odd foods for dinner Amanda dreams, but of Dr. Tony Flagg, not Stephen. Embarrassed by her dream, Amanda makes up a weird tale, which leads Tony to think she has serious psychological issues that only hypnosis can fix. In slapstick style, Stephen comes by Tony’s office to pick up Amanda and without realizing she’s hypnotized lets her run free on the streets causing all sorts of havoc.

Fed Astaire does a terrific routine early in Carefree where he hits golf balls to music. I know nothing about golf, but recognize this is quite astounding. In a 1970s interview, Fred commented on the scene with some affection saying it was not easy and couldn’t believe he was asked to do another take when the balls were ending off camera.

Amanda’s dream allows for a beautiful, fantasy-like routine to Irving Berlin’s “I Used to Be Color Blind” made famous because Fred and Ginger share the longest kiss here than in any other one of their movies. It happens at the end of the sequence done in slow motion, which definitely causes swooning. About the kiss Fred Astaire said, “Yes, they kept complaining about me not kissing her. So we kissed to make up for all the kisses I had not given Ginger for all those years.” Fred was not a fan of mushy love scenes and preferred to let his kissing with Ginger in movies be alluded to or simple pecks, but he gave in partly to quell the rumors that circulated about he and Ginger not getting along. As Ginger told the story, Fred squirmed and hid as the two reviewed the dance and she delighted in his torture. She explained that neither of them expected the long kiss as it was actually a peck elongated by the slow motion. That day she stopped being the “kissless leading lady.”

The longest kiss Fred and Ginger ever shared on-screen from Carefree

By the way, Ginger is wonderful in the sequence when she’s hypnotized. She gets an opportunity to showcase her comedic skills in similar fashion than she does in Howard Hawks’ Monkey Business (1952) opposite Cary Grant.

At the club one evening Ginger kicks off “The Yam” festivities. According to Ginger this is another instance where Fred didn’t like the song so he pawned it off on her. Who could blame him? Silly at best, “The Yam” is a dance craze that never actually catches fire as it doesn’t have the panache of “The Continental.” These people give it all they have, however, and the evening looks like an enjoyable one. Or, at least I would have loved to be there. Of course Tony joins Amanda in doing “The Yam” before the crowd joins in. As an aside, Life Magazine thought Fred and Ginger doing “The Yam” was worthy of a cover on August 22, 1938.

After yamming it up, Amanda is determined to tell Stephen she’s in love with Tony, but he misunderstands and thinks she professes her love for him. Suddenly Stephen announces their engagement. It’s a total mess that Tony tries to fix through hypnosis, which backfires supremely. Thank goodness everything straightens itself out in the end.

Before getting to the final, exceptional routine in Carefree the supporting cast deserves a mention. Louella Gear joins the fun in Carefree as Aunt Cora, in the same vein as Alice Brady and Helen Broderick in Fred and Ginger movies before her. Hattie McDaniel makes a brief appearance albeit as a maid, but it’s better to see her than not and Jack Carson has a few enjoyable scenes as a brute who works at the psychiatrist’s office.

After Amanda tells Tony she’s in love with him, he hypnotizes her to hate him because he doesn’t want to betray Stephen. When Tony realizes he loves Amanda it’s too late, she’s left his office to be happy with Stephen, avoiding Tony at all costs. But at the club one evening, Tony manages to find a few moments alone with her outside and what results is a sexy number during which she’s completely under his spell. In fact, this may be Fred and Ginger’s sexiest routine. “Change Partners and Dance With Me,” which begins inside as she dances with Stephen, is another beautiful song from Irving Berlin, which received one of the three Academy Award nominations for Carefree for Best Music, Original Song. The other two Oscar nods were for Best Art Direction and Best Music, Scoring.

Howard Greer designed Ginger’s gowns for Carefree and the one she wears in the impassioned “Change Partners and Dance With Me” dance is absolutely stunning.

Ginger is under Fred’s Spell in Carefree

The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle (1939)

The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle directed by H. C. Potter is the ninth of ten dancing partnership films of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, the last of their musicals in the 1930s and for RKO, and the only one of their films based on a true story and real people.

Vernon and Irene Castle were a husband-and-wife team of ballroom dancers and dance teachers who appeared on Broadway and in silent films in the early 20th century. Hugely popular, the Castles were credited with popularizing ballroom dance with a special brand of elegance and style. Their most popular dance was the Castle Walk, which Fred and Ginger do in the movie. In fact, they replicate most of the Castle’s dances as closely to the original as possible. As you’d expect from Fred Astaire.

Irene Castle served as a Technical Advisor on The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle and the story goes that she eventually disowned the film because of the film’s lack of authenticity. In defense of some of the changes though, 1934 censorship restrictions were quite different than those in the 1910s. The differences affected costuming and casting at every level of the film. That said, Variety gave The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle a glowing review and the public received it warmly.

Ginger and Fred as Irene and Vernon Castle

It must be mentioned that The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle features two of the greatest character actors who ever lived. Edna May Oliver plays the Castle’s manager Maggie Sutton and Walter Brennan plays Walter, Irene’s majordomo, for lack of a better word, since she was a child. Both of these characters were changed dramatically for the film due to production code restrictions. The real Maggie Sutton (real name Elizabeth Marbury) was openly a lesbian and the real-life Walter was a black man. Neither of those suited the production code mind for broad appeal across the country.

Fred and Ginger do a fine job in this movie. The dances are pretty if not as elaborate as those Astaire and Rogers performed in their other movies. It is exciting to see them do a Tango, a dance I am particularly fond of. However, there is one other dance sequence in particular that moves me immensely, “The Missouri Waltz” at the Paris Cafe when Vernon returns from the war. The acting in the sequence is superb as you can feel the emotion jumping off of her as he picks her up in a gorgeous move during which she wraps herself around him. It’s stunning.

Ginger wrote in her book about the day they shot “The Missouri Waltz,” the last filmed in the movie and, to everyone’s mind, likely the last number she and Fred would ever do together. RKO was abuzz with rumors and people came from far and wide to watch them shoot it. They came from all around RKO, from Paramount and from Columbia to see this last dance. “This was a very dignified way to end our musical marriage at RKO.”

In 1939, after completing The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle, Astaire and Rogers split as you know. Astaire’s salary demands proved too much for RKO pictures. Fred Astaire went on to make movie musical magic in all manner of ways, both alone and with other outstanding talents, leaving a rich legacy of treasures. Ginger Rogers went on to prove herself a true quadruple threat. We knew by 1939 that she could sing, dance and be funny but now, determined to go into straight drama she reaches the pinnacle with an Academy Award-winning performance in Sam Wood’s, Kitty Foyle in 1940. I recognize Ginger’s dramatic talent in the time I spent watching the many dance routines she did with Fred Astaire, but in a time when movies were seen just once it’s difficult to think of other actors who make the transition from film genre to film genre so seamlessly as she did. Hers was a rare talent.

Since I already dedicated an entire entry to Fred and Ginger as The Barkleys of Broadway, Josh and Dinah Barkley, I will forego a full summary here. For now let’s relive the reunion.

Ten years after she made her last appearance on-screen with Astaire, Ginger Rogers walked onto the set of The Barkleys of Broadway. The cast and crew had tears in their eyes. This was special. She said her “hellos”, kissed Fred Astaire and they got to work. At first Ginger explained that Fred seemed disappointed. Judy Garland was scheduled to make the picture with him, but was replaced by Ginger. All of that doesn’t matter though because as a fan, I cannot fathom what it must have been like for audiences in 1949. If people are out of their minds excited about the release of a superhero film today, if audiences drool over a new and rehashed installment of Spiderman, imagine seeing legends together again after a ten-year sabbatical. I would have had to take a Valium. I get chills just thinking about it, and admit a bit of that happens when I watch The Barkleys of Broadway in my own living room. From the moment I see the opening credits, which are shown while the couple is dancing, quite happily – she in a gold gown and he in a tux, I mean, seriously, I’m verklempt right now. We are all happy to be together again.

Despite their great individual careers the magic of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers together cannot be replicated. And it wasn’t necessarily the dancing, or not the dancing alone, that made them a perfect pair. It was the glances, the touch, and the feel that made them magic. The spell of romance, real for the length of a composition, entranced. We all know Katharine Hepburn’s famous quote, “she gave him sex and he gave her class.” Well, Kate was not wrong. Fred Astaire was never as romantic as when he danced with Ginger. And Ginger, a down-to-Earth beauty, was never as sophisticated as when she danced with Fred.

Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers brought prestige to RKO when it was in desperate need of it and joy to a nation hungry for respite from tough times. In a six-year span they established themselves as the best known, best loved dancing partners in the history of movies and have remained there for 85 years. I’ll end with these words by Roger Ebert, “of all of the places the movies have created, one of the most magical and enduring is the universe of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.”

Sources:

The RKO Story

Ginger: My Story by Ginger Rogers

The Astaires: Fred & Adele by Kathleen Riley

As many Fred Astaire interviews as I could find.

Be sure to visit the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA) and The Anniversary Blogathon. There are many fantastic film anniversaries honored for this prestigious event.

85 Years of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers It was 85 years ago this week, in October 1934, that Mark Sandrich’s The Gay Divorcee…

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