#I’m gonna draw more scenes from a fortunate mistake | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chalkrevelations · 4 years ago

Text

SO, Episode 28 of Word of Honor was a roller-coaster ride.

(Spoilers, as ever, so scroll away and come back later if you want to see it unspoiled.)

They managed two entirely separate scenes in this one that had me going “Did … did that just happen? Is this really happening?” Let’s get this one out of the way first: The scene of Zhao Jing in his serial killer lair with the altar and memorial tablets and his serial killer trophies. Y’all. I swear, scene opens with a shot from behind of drunk Awful Yifu in his Fantasy Ancient China underwear staggering through a set of doors into a room with candles and draperies, and before I was able to register the rest of the set design, my brain gave a terrified squeak and started rabbiting around like, “Oh my god, please do not let this be Xie’er’s bedroom. Oh my god, they wouldn’t actually go there, not even hinted, surely that would be too far!” Then my eyeballs caught up and registered the set, so I thought I was safe, but that didn’t even turn out to be the moment in the scene that had me going “Is this really happening?” (Although I do think the fact my brain immediately jumped to that scenario speaks to the creepy vibe the show has managed to build between Awful Yifu and Xie Wang). So, Zhao Jing is a sloppy drunk and absolutely shitfaced, stumbling around and yelling at his dead brothers, and I’m sitting here watching him, feeling like I need a shower, with my skin a little bit trying to crawl off my body, and then he picks up Rong Xuan’s memorial tablet and pours an entire stream of alcohol out of the pitcher all over it, and I say, out loud, to the screen, “Oh my god, they just had him figuratively piss on that tablet.” Only, no, they didn’t, because there was no need to have him do it figuratively because then, he literally whips it out of his pants and takes a piss on the tablet, complete with sound effects, and I’m open-mouthed, thinking “Is this really happening?” As some background, I grew up in mainstream U.S. culture where ancestor veneration isn’t formally practiced - although it isn’t an entirely absent part of our cultural mythos, it’s just that now when I when I offer cultus to the Patres Patriae, it’s deliberate and intentional – but I’ve been doing ancestor work in my particular flavor of polytheism for long enough, and intensely enough, that I had a visceral reaction of disgust and horror to this. Hand literally clapped over my mouth in shock, even after watching all of his ranting at his dead brothers and spitting at his dead shifu and just generally being a disrespectful asshole with delusions of grandeur building up to it. So, yes, show, you have indeed convinced me that Awful Yifu is the worst, even in an episode that also devoted that much screentime to Prince Jin.

Fortunately, the other “Is this really happening?” moment was at the other end of the spectrum, somewhere in the face of how married Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing are, which I cannot believe passed censorship. I know I keep saying that, but every time I think I’ve adjusted to how far they’re going to go, the show laughs gay-ly as it pushes the envelope another mile down the road. Truly, this show is the gift that keeps on giving where these two are concerned, and not just because of Zhang Zhehan’s face. I realize I had to spend 50 episodes deciphering Lan Wangji’s smallest microexpression (not that I’m complaining), but I can’t believe how expressive both Zhang Zhehan and Gong Jun are in these roles, with Gong Jun’s little sadness eyebrows when WKX wants ZZS to humor him, and how soft Zhang Zhehan’s face gets when ZZS looks at WKX, and how great they both are at making all this look like a pair of adults who are in an established relationship and confident of each other. I’d be as weak as Wen Kexing if Zhou Zishu pouted at me the way he does when he tells Chengling that he can’t do anything to help decorate the Manor except observe and direct because he’s oh, so injured and frail, poor him. Wen Kexing can laugh at Zhou Zishu when ZZS pokes at him by saying the papercrafter was such a beauty! (Compare this to his reaction back in the day, when ZZS deftly manipulated him out of bringing A-Xiang along on their honeymoon adventures by calling her a beauty and implying she might draw attention away from WKX!) Wen Kexing waves kitchen knives at Zhou Zishu in (somewhat fond) exasperation! Zhou Zishu now accepts Wen Kexing piling his plate with food at the table as perfectly normal! There’s no crying in Spring Festival! They send their kid outside to watch the fireworks so they can have sex some alone time! (Merciless killers. How the fuck so adorable?) Someone must have backed up an entire truckful of money to the house of someone very important to get this aired, because what is the heterosexual explanation for … any of this?

Other thoughts:

We continue to get small things that maintain the parallels between Wen Kexing/Zhou Zishou and Gu Xiang/Cao Weining, including the mirrored theme of finding a home with a welcoming family, shown through family dinner, and expressed through WKX’s description of his former self as a “lonely ghost,” echoing A-Xiang’s self-description (to Shen Shen in an earlier ep) the same way.

HAN YING! Listen, I am stupidly attached to this bit player, and not just because he’s a familiar face (because half of Wen Xu’s screentime in The Untamed was just a disembodied head hanging at the entrance to the Unclean Realm, so it’s not like there was time to get … attached). And I say stupidly attached because ever since we first saw the way he looked at ZZS with big puppy heart-eyes, I knew he was going to be a goner. I just know they’re gonna fridge him for the next step in ZZS’s journey, because something has to pry ZZS out of Four Seasons Manor, as much as I, personally, would like nothing better than to see 8 more episodes of wedded bliss for two gay dads and their son. (OK, one thing I would like better would be if their daughter and son-in-law came to live with them, too.) At least it looks like Han Ying will get to die taking a figurative bullet for ZZS, which will make him happy and might prevent him from finding out the Glazed Armor he’s so proud of bringing is actually pointless, because don’t think that didn’t hurt to know while I watched him being so proud of managing to get his hands on it. But I’d prefer he didn’t die at all, show. Also, why on earth are there only two (completed) stories under the ZZS/Han Ying label on AO3? Because yes, I have looked. I have the search open in another tab right now. Why haven’t more people taken advantage of this guy’s utter devotion for ZZS? How are people looking at the way Han Ying reverently brushes his fingers over the single white blossom on the wall mural in ZZS’s rooms back in Prince Jin’s palace and not falling all over that?

Xie’er, oh, Xie’er. You’re killing me, here. I need someone to rescue you, you desperate affection-starved little sociopath. So, to recap, last time we met, your Awful Yifu finally let it slip that he was never ever going to acknowledge your existence in public. So now, you’re being a very clever boy, setting up a scheme to manipulate him into having to publicly acknowledge you if he’s going to claim credit for your successes (because I’m sure you can’t even contemplate failure) in service to Prince Jin. So clever, but I hate to tell you, you’re clever at everything except learning from your mistakes when it comes to your Awful Yifu. You really learned nothing from Beauty Ghost, did you? Ugh, your sad little face as you watch your hot mess of an Awful Yifu while you wait for the maids to make tea – it hurts me. Please tell me you’re playing some kind of long game, and you’re just a really great actor. Because he’s sloppy drunk, and right now, watching your face journey, I think maybe you think that makes what he’s saying true – that he’s not guarding his words, and he means it when he tells you that of course he loves you and would never leave you. “Are you still angry with me?” Awful Yifu literally asks. “Alright, I’ll apologize. I was just mad. It didn’t mean anything. We’re together in this. I’ll always stand by you.” Xie’er, you have got to stop believing gaslighting abusive men who shovel that BS. This is what they call the honeymoon period in the cycle of abuse. Seriously. This is textbook. Please stop making the same mistakes over and over again. Maybe think about the fact that your Awful Yifu is, single-handedly, the reason the Department of the Unfaithful actually exists in the first place. He is THAT AWFUL. I would like to think actually seeing his serial killer trophy room will make a difference, now that you have some confirmation of what Tragicomic Ghost told you and not the ability to wave it off as part of some he-said, she-said situation where how could we ever possibly know the truth, despite the fact that Zhao Jing has shown he’ll stab anyone in the back in his quest for power? But, then, I also thought maybe learning last ep that he never planned to publicly acknowledge you would make some kind of difference. Are you going to roll the dice again, gambler? Because I’ll tell you right now, the house always wins. (Not that you’d listen to me anymore than you listened to Beauty Ghost.)

(Also, wait wait waitwaitwait. Waitaminit. This is pure speculation and probably way too out there to be true (oh, but, someone’s going to write this AU for me, right?) Hot-mess drunk yifu tells Xie’er that they’ve been depending on each other “ever since I picked you up and brought you back home.” I can’t remember if we know anything about Xie Wang’s background at this point, but it does sound like Zhao Jing might have literally yoinked him off the street to raise him. He … he doesn’t think Xie’er is actually Yan’er, does he? Only he kidnapped the wrong orphaned urchin by mistake? I’m just sayin’, thinking back to Shen Shen’s reaction to finding out Zhen Yan was still alive, it would be exactly the kind of thing Zhao Jing would do, to keep this kid that his brother(s) wanted to find hidden right under their noses.)

Chengling and the chicken. I can’t, y’all. And Zhou Zishu’s face as soon as he realizes what Wen Kexing is telling Chengling to do – he knows this is going to be a show.

Prince Jin, you are almost as bad as Xie’r and his awful Yifu combined:

Prince Jin: Zhou Zishu, you mastermind, your super-secret spy network continues to spread everywhere, including into my very own palace. Oh, the things you must be plotting against me!

Zhou Zishu, chillin’ at Plum Blossom Manor, day-drinking, dressing up in pretty festive robes, taking advantage of his disciple’s unpaid labor so he doesn’t have to raise a finger for himself, and providing his husband with sex so incredible he is never required to actually cook: “OK, my gay husband and our son-with-two-dads, how about we just stay here together forever and be happy?”

Also Prince Jin: *Creeps on Zhou Zishu like a gaslighting m’fker*

Anyway, if Prince Jin always knew what Han Ying was up to all along, is the letter about ZZS’s father a plant, with false info? It was just kind of suspiciously hanging out in the open on Prince Jin’s desk.

#zhao jing #xie wang #zhou zishu #wen kexing #gu xiang #cao weining #zhang chengling #han ying #prince jin #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

44 notes · View notes

fresh-prince-of-denmark · 4 years ago

Text

New Dawn Fades — Literary References Analysis Part 4: The Id, the Ego, the Superego

Cyberpunk Spoiler Warning

Here’s part four of me going through all the endings and looking for the literary references in each of the endings, which I believe allude to what happens to V/Johnny, possibly in future DLC. If you haven’t read my other posts, you should read them here (Johnny’s Mikoshi poem, V’s Mikoshi Poem, The Star ending) first since we’re gonna loop back to them later.

New Dawn Fades was such a pain in the ass; because Johnny is such an art hoe, I found three different poems/stories scattered around. Not only that, but two of them are translated from Polish, and one of them us from Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. I studied English literature so…forgive me if this is super surface-level. Also, stuff gets lost in translation, so the original meaning sometimes gets lost. If Polish literature is anyones niche, please teach me a thing two, but all I can do now is my best! But from what I could tell, damn…paints a pretty depressing picture. Let’s start with the two Polish writers first:

Bolesław Leśmian, "Why so many candles...”

Why so many candles, these faces above me?

No more harm shall ever meet my body.

Everyone is standing - while here alone I lie -

Grieving, feigning. One must be true when one must die.

And so, buried under these wreathes of leaves, I lie -

Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.

Death, gone silent, once again rushes to my head,

Though by now I know all my comprehension is dead.

How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.

This one is…yikes. Depressing. As I talked about in previous posts, V’s poem is more pessimistic: nothing we do matters, we’re all just dust in the wind, you know, the good stuff. Johnny’s poem has a very different stance; art makes us immortal, and we can change the world, etc. With this…Johnny seems to have given his larger-than-life attitude up in favor of V’s resignation that life sucks. Much like Prufrock in V’s poem, Johnny is lying “Solemnly - Agelessly - Solitarily.” Almost as if he didn’t want V’s body, not as a selfless gesture…but because he has grown accustom to his previous form. In Johnny’s version of Alt’s poem, it almost seems as if he embraces being a construct — the form of immortality it, and his legacy, grants him (remember all that hokey about being a golden bird to sing his message to the youth?). Blackwall was a kind of death Johnny knew — yet now:

“How I loathe to become accustomed to this grave,

To be what I once was - that is all I crave.”

Interesting. We never find out where Johnny is going when he leaves Night City, but it makes me wonder. Is he truly starting anew? Or hoping to fix what went wrong?

In the next room, we find another poem, this one an excerpt from Labyrinth by Wisława Szymborska:

So this way or that,

Or no, the other,

By ear or by your gut,

By your wits or by shortcut,

By any means necessary,

Cutting crooked corners.

Past whatever row in a row

Of corridors and gates,

Quickly, in the meantime

Your time grows short,

From one place to another

To one of many still open,

Of darkness and plight

But also delight, held just ajar,

Where there's joy, though sorrow

Lies well-nigh nearby,

And elsewhere, somewhere,

Wheresoever and whereabout,

Fortune in misfortune

Like a parenthetical parenthesis

Acceptance of it all

And suddenly - a fall

I’m a little shaky on the meaning behind this one. My immediate response is to compare it to the poem found in The Star — which contains a piece from The Marriage Between Heaven and Hell by William Blake. The overarching use of this poem, by my interpretation, is an explanation for what the Blackwall is: hell. But not hell how most would perceive it. In fact, according to Blake, hell isn’t so bad. Our views of heaven and hell, good and evil, are wrong. Everyone contains both good and bad within them, and neither is wrong, simply two opposites; between conformity and rebellion, art and obedience. If we were to look at it this way, V would most likely belong in “Heaven,” the world of the obedient, those who play by the worlds rules (at least, in the beginning of the story, before Johnny influences them toward the rebel path), while Johnny represents “Evil,” and would belong to Hell. In some dialogue choices, Johnny will even state that he no longer believes he is a human, and is in fact code, no longer belonging in the world of the living. In this scenario, both have found themselves where they don’t belong. Not only that — but one is supposed to be a healthy mix of so-called “Good” and “Evil.” The “Soul,” and “Body,” are one, not meant to be separated. Uh oh. The tone of this poem in Johnny’s context just seems so…lost, to me. Someone who found their other half, their perfect foil, a soul and body as one…and now it’s gone. What does one do after such a loss?

And finally, the most grim of the three stories: Ovid’s The Metamorphoses. Specifically, Book III, Narcissus and Echo. This one most likely has the greatest significance; not only is it a shard you can pick up, but an open copy of the book can be found in Johnny’s hotel room, drawing further attention to it.

If you haven’t read it, let me give you a quick and dirty summary:

At the beginning of the story, Narcissus’ mother, Liriope, asks the prophet Tiresias if her son will live to see old age, which he replies “only if he does not know himself.” One day when Narcissus is 16, he is out hunting when he finds a mountain Nymph named Echo. Echo, as one might guess, was cursed by Hera and can only repeat what is said back to her. You know. Like an echo. Echo falls in love with Narcissus at first sight and follows him throughout the forest, waiting for him to speak so she can communicate with him. Narcissus eventually gets separated from his hunting group, and calls out for them, which Echo…well, echos. Eventually Echo reveals herself and Narcissus freaks out, telling her basically he’d rather die than be with her. She hides in a cave and pines until she whithers away from hunger, and only her voice remains.

Many other nymphs fall for Narcissus because apparently he’s a straight up snack, but he rejects all of them. Apparently someone gets so salty about it, they summon the Goddess of Vengeance to do something about it. She leads him to a crystal clear pool, in which he is able to see his reflection. Remember the thing about knowing oneself? Yeah…At first, Narcissus thinks the reflection is a different person and falls in love. He smiles, the reflection smiles, so it must like him back, right? Eventually he reaches to touch it, and realizes that it’s him. He freaks out, and much like Echo, stays by his reflections side until he withers away. Having a total meltdown, he cries out “Alas!” which is echoed, by well, Echo. Her voice lived on, and she watches him die as he calls “Farewell, dear boy. Beloved in vain.” Once again, Echo repeats this. Narcissus dies and all the thirsty hoes make a pyre to burn him, but when they go looking for him they find the Narcissus (flower) instead (nooo...dont transform into a flower, you’re so sexy ahaha).

So what does this mean for Johnny/V? Well, two main things pop out to me: transformation, and reflections. Much like Echo and Narcissus are reflections of each other, V and Johnny reflect each other. As @ellitira pointed out in my analysis of the Star, V and Johnny constantly reflect each other. One of the most obvious ways is their literal reflection; if you look in a mirror during a relic malfunction, you’ll see Johnny, not V. But scenes are reflected as well; the first and last time V meets Johnny, they grab him by the shoulder from behind to get his attention as he turn to face them. The first time Johnny and V have a civil conversation, they’re sitting at a table in Tom’s Diner, Johnny’s foot on the table. This mimics their conversation in Mikoshi with Alt. Their conversation about taking a bullet for one another in the Pista Sofia where Johnny is sitting backwards on a chair while V is on the ground is also repeated moments later, as Johnny and V have their final conversation about who will stay and who will go with Alt. Johnny also mentions that he spent his first few weeks in NC laying in bed, staring at the ceiling fan. When he awakens in New Dawn Fades, what is he doing? Staring at the ceiling fan…in Pacifica, not far from the Pista Sofia. The boy who he gives the guitar to is even wearing V’s “favorite shirt”…the one we see them wearing in the first scene they’re introduced. There’s probably loads more, so feel free to share if you find any more. If you want to know more about why this is significant, make sure to read about V’s version of Alt’s poem.

So why do these reflections/echos matter? Well, what does one do with a reflection? Reflect. Johnny begins to examine himself through V, and he begins to realize he doesn’t like what he sees. If V calls him the man who saved her life, he’ll respond with “you have no idea how badly I want that to be true.” He tries his best to right his wrong only after this conversation with V, not only in Burning Love and Chippin’ In, but in other ways too. For example, it’s Johnny’s idea to call V’s loved ones to say goodbye on the roof scene, because “he wished that he had had a chance to.” Because of V, he grows, changes, and becomes a better person, just as much if not more as he seems to change V. As he leaves V’s grave, he even states that he has changed; that he’s wiser now, and won’t make the same mistakes. He states he won’t dwell on what happened, but somehow I doubt that, considering everything above.

The other theme of Narcissus and Echo is of transformation; after all, metamorphosis actually means "to change or transform.” Echo becomes, well, and echo, and Narcissus becomes a flower. V and Johnny also transform; not only physically between engram and human, but they transform one another. Both of them fall in love, and neither will move on. Echo falls in love with Narcissus, and Narcissus falls in love with his reflection. Because they refuse to transform the way they feel, they must die and transform physically. So who represents who in this scenario? In a way, Johnny is both. Johnny is a bit, well, narcissistic. He’s self-absorbed in his flashbacks, and adored by countless fans, yet ignores them in favor of his own company. He thinks everything is about him (Alt’s death, Samurai, etc.) and is willing to die for his beliefs. He is also constantly reflecting on himself through V. However, what really kills him is losing Alt; she tells him not to follow her (much like Narcissus tells Echo to leave him alone). He does anyway, and avenging her leads to his demise.

What’s especially sad about this is the way Johnny views transformation; he is very concerned with the idea of one’s individual identity, and hates the idea of turning into something you’re not. He despises that he’s going to turn V into himself by force. He hates dolls because he sees their behavior chip as something that changes them into something they’re not. He’s scared of V going to Blackwall not because it’s death, but because they “won’t be the same.” I don’t think Johnny ever wanted V’s body; again, not as a courtesy, but because it’s not him. After all, he could have just let nature take its course and let himself re-write their psyche, but instead he actively tries to save them as best he can. If V chooses to let him have their body, he hardly seems happy about it; especially compared to how happy he seems to see that part of him will live on in the way V refuses to give up should they choose to live on. By taking V’s body, he is no longer himself; rebel, rocker-boy, legend, and the guy who promised to save V’s life. Johnny in A New Dawn has lost his entire sense of self, his entire new and improved identity; one that learned from his mistakes and became a better person because of V. Johnny has The Tower tattooed on his arm, the card of (often painful) transformation and change. Yet this is what Johnny is most afraid of; not death, or even the not-so-bad sort-of hell that is Blackwall. He’s afraid of losing himself, and by losing V, he has lost a part of himself. The part of himself that was supposed to be a better person; who was supposed to save V’s life.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk2077 #cyberpunk 2077 v #cyberpunk spoilers #v cyberpunk #johnny silverhand #new dawn fades #my posts

67 notes · View notes

sanstropfremir · 3 years ago

Note

oh my god i am SO in love with lord of the dance. however i never think about michael flatley first when i think about it because in my mind gillian norris is the most important and iconic person in that show.

i used to have it on a dvd when i was little, i must have watched it like two times a week and never got bored of it. it was the original 1996 dublin stage, the only version i enjoy to its maximum capacity. fun fact, they came to bucharest in 2014, and i wanted to go, but ultimately didn't. and thank god for that. i found clips on youtube after that and everything was worse: the music, the outfits, the acting.

fortunately there are clips on youtube of the 1996 dublin stage too, as well as the whole show. i still sometimes watch them. and after much consideration, i have come to the conclusion that fiery nights, warriors and gypsy (however unfortunate the name) are my favorite numbers, in that respective order.

fiery nights wouldn't be what it is without the soundtrack, that fucking saxophone. i saw somebody say that that is what sex sounds like. i have heard the same thing said about ateez's desire outro. these things are so unrelated right now but i honestly can hear it and feel it for both and it makes so much sense to describe them that way. gillian norris is so mesmerizing, so captivating, like i am fucking seduced through the screen. and when she starts dancing with the guy who plays don dorcha and gives him that smile you can only see a brief second in shitty 360p quality? i am positively passed out. after they leave the stage the rest of the performance is kinda meh because the other girls don't give me any passion, much less the guys. they're lucky the choreography is so tight tho.

warriors is a fucking experience from start to finish. the "oh shit it's going down" vibe right from the beginning, the intensity of the dance, the speed, the accuracy, the synchronization, the piercing looks of don dorcha - i am both horny and intimidated. today's warriors number doesn't even come close to sparking up the same kind of heavy feeling the original did. it's so... cartoonish.

and finally, gypsy, which was my og favorite. i really wonder how i did not turn out bisexual, because gillian norris definitely made me question some things. i was always impressed with her elegance and power of seduction, my dream was to be sexy like her but also to jump as high as her for my birdies. sadly i never did learn irish dance. also i really wanted her hair.

special shoutout goes to breakout tho. i don't even know if i love the first half of it or the second more. bernadette flynn as the leader all the other girls follow, girlboss moment. her unspoken duel with gillian, exchanging those fucking murderous looks, i was SO there for it!!! again, watching today's version, it's like watching a bad disney channel series. there's no seriousness to it, no commitment, it's like putting on a puppet show for kids, which this musical is so not.

ugh, i'm probably gonna go and watch some scenes again. thank you for letting me rant in your inbox!! i've only really shared my interest and love for this show with my parents, who only like it a moderate amount (not because they think it's bad but because it's just not something they're passionate about) and my ex, who couldn't care less about dance and acting and who wasn't really interested in it.

if it's okay, let me ask, how did you get interested in stage performances, dance, theatre, all that jazz? for me, it was because i did cheerleading and dance for 5 years when i was little (then i quit because i thought i had it hard in school in 5th grade). i regret not continuing with it so much. and i daresay i was pretty good at it too. oh well, at least the passion for dance remained. it's the main part i got into kpop!!

it's no problem at all!! like i said, this is my virtual pub please come talk about about random things while i serve you a pint!! i love reading about other people's passions, this was lovely!

i only think of michael flatley because he's top billed and also one of the producers so his name is always on it, and also i haven't actually seen the whole show since probably 2005 because it didn't much strike a nerve with me as a kid. i think it was probably because i watched waaaaaayyyy too much cirque. i won't say very much on it but i will say that adolphe saxe knew what he was doing when he unleashed the saxophone on the world and we are still dealing with the repercussions (i say this lovingly as a saxophone player). i'm also a horrible person and i cannot watch any fiddle + flute based musical and not think of the the lord of the rings musical, because i love the lord of the rings musical.

well i got into theatre kind of unintentionally because i thought it might be fun to try doing stage crew for the musical when i started high school and then a year later i was the stage manager. my tragic flaw is that i need to be in a position of knowledge and authority at all times, but i’m slowly getting over it. i liked it so much that i decided at like 14 that it was going to be my career and here i am over a decade later. but i also watched a lot of perfomance and art programming as a child because my parents were weird hippies, so lots of cirque du soleil, a lot of classical ballet, and also shows like toy castle (do not click on this is you are in any way afraid of clowns or frogs) which is mildly horrifying in the way all children's content is mildly horrifying in hindsight but as a child in 2000 i ate that shit with a spoon. i also dated a contemp/ballet dancer in high school and then had a very weird and ethically dubious affair with another ballet dancer in undergrad. it's a long story. it helps that i'm truly obsessed with performance and art in pretty much all its forms and i'm one of those awful people that draws in art galleries and watches shows that i know are going to be bad so i can analyze them and avoid making the same mistakes in the future. kpop was a thing that just happened as a byproduct of being friends with lot of first gen asian immigrants as a kid. i've been around and aware since 2008 but i didn't get that deep into actually following releases until first lockdown because i just didn't have the time. but i'm glad i did, because it's been a really nice hobby!

#fun fact i actually know the production designer of toy castle and have worked very closely with her #she is exactly as insane as you would expect #also yes canadian childrens programming in the 2000s was just like that #look up nanalan if you want to be even more horrified #geniunely im obsessed with the lord of the rings musical it is SO GOOD it didnt deserve to flop!!!#the stage alone.............just the mechanics...........(heart eyes)#galadriel entering lothlorian on aerial silks..........whatever in the mardigras fuck elronds costume was.......#brown haired legolas my beloved.....the uruk hai on pogo stilts......#it is a TRAGEDY that ive never found a boot and there's a grand total of ten (10) minutes of footage of the entire show #surprise!! betcha didnt think i was a lord of the rings fan but haha!! ive fooled you all!!#ive even read the silmarillion!!#i am a huge nerd please adjust your assumptions i am not cool in the slightest #answers #text #non kpop questions

3 notes · View notes

sea-side-scribbles · 4 years ago

Text

Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/70950861

Chapter 47

It was still nighttime when the stream of memories finally released him. The house was quiet, only his own breath blustered in his ears. His glass was empty, but his head was full of thoughts. Everthing he had revisited now demanded an appropriate reaction, but Nick had no idea what to do. He only felt a heavy weight on his chest. The night is ruined, he thought, and he felt tempted to silence his misery with another dose of Joy. But he didn't want to make it worse. He had wanted to make it better.

When he left the kitchen and made his way upstairs to his bedroom, he tried not to make a single noise. He wanted to keep the peaceful silence that made his surroundings look invulnerable, as if at least in this precious moment nothing bad could happen. In front of the bedroom door he stopped, listening in awe. Then he fetched a pen and paper from the side room and wrote a message to Morrie, that he shoved through under his door.

Some time later he sneaked through the dark and dank town, that was his second home by now. It still attracted him, even though the person he had been looking for was now sleeping in his bed. Perhaps he hadn't been looking for Morrie, he wondered. Perhaps he had been looking for his sense, his ability to make the right decisions. Or he had been trying to run from himself. He didn't know what he wanted now. He only believed that there was nowhere to run anymore. Instead, walking around aimlessly was exactly what he needed. He knew the routes where he was most likely safe from the patrols and drones. And just in case, he carried a bottle of brandy with him.

"Strolling around at night again?", asked the Bobby who was really hard to avoid. Fortunately, Nick got along with him. "I was hoping you'd feel better now, Mr. Lightbearer." "I'm alright, Constable", Nick replied. "I just thought you might miss me." Saying this, he pulled out the brandy and handed it to the man, who was visibly delighted. "Well, I can't deny that I miss attentive Wellies like you. One is so alone in these eventless nights." He opened the bottle. "But you're going home now, right?" "Of course", Nick said with a confident smile. Then the bobby surrendered himself to the brandy and forgot about the whole endeavour. Nick passed by him and walked into an alley that led into a small park. Scurrying through the meadow, his footsteps were much quieter. At a favourable spot he sat down in the grass and looked up to the starry sky. Why can't I do anything right?, Nick asked himself. A trickle of tears ran down his cheek.

He remained like this, with his hands clawing the grass, and trying to get rid of all the unnerving thoughts in his mind. Then he felt something. It was about time he took his next dose of Joy. Pulling out the package, he considered to take two pills. But after musing for a while, he only took one out and put the rest away. The pill was as black as the night. He popped it and soon he was given the pleasant, vitalizing feel of a new Joy-phase, while the stars twinkled in all colors. Slowly, he relaxed.

After sitting around like this, he again felt something different. As if someone was approaching him. Even though he didn't hear any sound. He dived deeper into the grass, searching the park with his eyes, but he didn't find anyone. Now certain that it had been an illusion, he sat back up and looked at the stars again. "You really have sharp ears", a quiet voice suddenly said. "Only your eyes fail you." Nick jumped and span around until he stared into a shiny silver mask. "James", he gasped. "My goodness...I didn't hear you. I only felt that someone was there." James smiled a secret smile. "In that case you have trustworthy feelings." Nick's hearbeat slowly calmed down. "And you are a trustworthy agent. As soon as the golden calf breaks the rules, you're on the scene. How did you find me?" "I simply followed the trail of alcohol." "Hey", Nick faintly protested, "It was only a present for a good friend. That's not a crime, isn't it?" "No. I figured you made him rather happy. That's a virtue." Nick smiled. He liked that agent who took liberties with the rules.

"Come here, join me if you don't plan to snitch me. Unless sitting in the grass is too vulgar for a classy man like you." James didn't seem to mind because he promptly accepted the invitation. "Looks like you're in a good mood tonight, beacon of hope," he said as he sat down next to him. "Oh...", Nick sighed. "It's the end of my time. That's making things easier." James eyed him. "What gave you that idea?" "I remembered more of my past", Nick answered wistfully. "You are right, this stuff really helps." He tapped the package of Joy in his jacket. "I got my past back. And you know what? I didn't change one bit. I'm in the same shit as before. I made the same mistakes without knowing." He blinked. The tears wanted to come back. "This time it's even worse. I'm hurting two wonderful people." He shook his head. "I'll end up all alone again. And this time I won't get a second chance." "You forgot something, Nicky", James said softly. Nick looked at him. "You're not alone. Not this time."

Nick gulped. A storm was raging in his chest. He felt like he should give in to it. Carefully, he leaned sideways, into James' direction, and laid his head on the other man's shoulder. It was comfy, and when his cheek touched the fabric of his suit he felt a cozy warmth spreading inside his body. Tensely, he waited for James' reaction. First, the man didn't move, so Nick assumed it bothered him, and now there would be awkward silence between them. But then he felt how James leaned his head against his and relaxed. He gave him a sense of conversance he had thought he would never feel for another person again. Perhaps he was still able to find new friends. Perhaps his fate wasn't as set in stone as he had believed. He wasn't alone. And the stars twinkled at him.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?", James whispered. "Oh, yeah...I haven't seen such a clear sky in a long time", Nick affirmed quietly. "Would you like to have a walk?" "An illegal walk?", Nick giggled. "With you?" "The illegal ones are the best." "Huh...yeah, I'd like to", Nick said and slowly lifted his head. They got up and left the park. Soon, Nick's thoughts were wrapped into a pleasant, untroubled fog.

He was standing in a dark alley, motionless, watching closely how James finished his work. "Do you want to hold it, Nicky?", the other man suddenly asked and showed him his shining, sharp cleaver that was dripping with blood. Nick cautiously accepted it. He noticed it was heavier than he had imagined. The blood that was dropping on his hand was warm. "I think I held it before", he said to James, who eyed him. "Do you know how to use it?", the man asked and put an arm around him to lead him closer to the lifeless body on the ground. Nick followed, knelt down next to the body, just like James used to do it and inspected it. Asking, he looked back at James. "Go ahead," the man said and gave him an encouraging smile. Nick raised the cleaver and took aim.

Light was blinding him, yelling and the noise of applause were roaring in his ears. Nick blinked. He was standing on a stage, but the audience didn't look at him. A second later, Uncle Jack entered the stage from behind a heavy curtain, solemly smiling. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to a new episode of 'Love Wins'! Today's candidate is no less a figure than Nick Lightbearer himself!" Now Jack gestured towards him, drawing the attention to him. Nick waved and blew kisses, trying to hide how confused he was. "I promise you, today's guests will give you a very thrilling episode," Jack announced happily. He made an expansive gesture towards a corner. "On the left side we have: Nick Lightbearer's great love, the light of his life, the title holder Morrie Memento!" The audience cheered when Morrie arrived on stage and walked towards Nick. Nick's heart missed a beat. He had a bad feeling, but Morrie didn't seem to mind. He confidently winked at him, with his head proudly raised, and looking gorgeous. "On the right side: the man who stole his heart, the king of his dreams, the challenger Arthur Hastings!" Now Nick's heart raced when Arthur walked on the stage, looking a bit shy amongst all the fuss, and awkwardly waving at him. Nick would've loved to jump up and yell at Jack to stop the show. He didn't like the way Morrie glared at Arthur. But something paralyzed him. "Oh, yeah, this is gonna be one hell of a fight!", Jack rejoiced. "But this wouldn't be 'Love Wins' without a special guest." Oh, no, Nick thought. Whos next, Virgil? "Let me introduce you to...you know what? Let's cut this short. See for yourself!" The man who walked through the curtain was wearing a black suit. His face was covered by a mask with sharp edges. His eyes blazed at Nick him from underneath it, glowing red like blood. Nick screamed now, but his voice was drowning in the cheers of the audience.

A second later he found himself in a room that looked familar, but before he could look around someone was pressing him down. "Stay down," that someone hissed, then they whooshed past him. Nick closed his eyes and tensed, waiting for the fight to break out. But it was quiet. So quiet that Nick dared to take a look again. He saw the man who had pressed him down, searching the room. Then the man turned around. "No one there," he said and sat down on the bed that Nick had apparently slept in. "We're alone. It was just a bad dream, Nick." His hand carefully touched Nick's back. "A...Arthur?", Nick stuttered. "Yes, it's me," the man said, looking tenderly at him. Nick jumped up again. "Where am I?" "Ssshhh...In your tunnel...Our tunnel...It's alright." "The tunnel...", Nick sighed, sinking back into the pillow. "Yes, you came back." "How long did I sleep?" "Not for long, you just had a nightmare after all", Arthur joked, then he furrowed his brows. "Aren't you happy to see me? Didn't you want to come here?" Nick froze. Arthur hung his head.

"I'm sorry. I thought...when I saw you lying in your bed...I thought you wanted to visit me. So I laid down next to you. I didn't mean to bother you." Nick now acted just as quickly as after the nightmare. He hugged Arthur tightly. "It's alright", now he sad, as if they had swapped their roles. Looking into the other man's eyes he tried his most charming smile. "I was just puzzled...It happens to me a lot. Please don't worry about it." He hugged him again. "You can join me whenever you see me lying somewhere. Except when you see me in a grave, then you don't have to follow me." It had slipped out of Nick's mouth. Arthur made a choked noise that sounded like the hint of a giggle. "You have quite a morbid sense of hurmor for a Wellie." "That's because of the crazy life I'm living...Sorry." Arthur didn't answer. He looked like he was hesitating and pondering. Then he pecked Nick's cheek. Nick was melting. Arthur was so shy. The kiss had felt like a question. Nick pulled him closer and kissed his black hair that was a bit tousled. Now that he was here, he couldn't just run off. Arthur was so happy to see him after all. Nick decided to spend time with him before he would start back.

#we happy few #Wehappyfew #arthur hastings we happy few #whf arthur #whf nick #whfnick #nick lightbearer #foggy jack #whf foggy jack #foggyjack #nickxmorrie #nickxarthur #whfarthurhastings

7 notes · View notes

pandas-pandemonium · 5 years ago

Text

Seventeen Reacting to Someone Flirting with their S/O

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (final)

Part 2 is finally out! Hopefully I can get the last part out within the next few days. Also each members part may get a little bit shorter each time because collectively I’ve written more than 3k lol.

Kwon Soonyoung

Soonyoung was the sort of person who wore his emotions on his sleeve, sort of. Maybe he never intends to, but it was always easy to tell when something upset the boy; especially when he goes quiet around you, someone he’s supposed to comfortable with. Thankfully, it was always easy enough to soothe his feelings and in no time, he’d be back to his jovial, bubbly self. Fortunately, his moods only came around once in a while. However, it just so happened, today was one of those ‘once-in-a-while’ moments.

You never really intended to make him jealous really, but the man in front of you just would not give up trying to get your number. After who-knows-how-long, you were close to just snapping at the flirt. It really was no use trying to be nice and polite with clueless people like him. Just as you were about to snap however, your lovely boyfriend came in and dealt a hefty right hook on the guy, leaving you stunned for a moment.

“Can you take a hint and leave my girlfriend alone?!” yelled Soonyoung, his cheeks red in anger. In any other situation, you would think he looked really cute, but you could feel the rage seething from his body.

“Honestly! You keep going on and on and on about her giving you a chance but she said that she has a boyfriend you idiot!” At this point, Soonyoung was fuming. It was the worst case scenario ever, you truly did not ever want this man’s rage directed towards you ever.

“Ho-Soonyoung-ah, leave the guy alone…I’m sure he’s learned his lesson,” you said, tugging at his yellow sweater sleeve, trying to pull the taller male away from the other guy’s body on the floor. Soonyoung wasn’t hitting him sure, but he was shouting angry insults which was drawing a crowd.

Your boyfriend turned towards you, his face still a bright red.

“You’re not defending him, are you?” he asked, mouth agape and in shock. Quickly you shook your head.

“Of course not! It’s just that your shouting is drawing a lot of attention…” you mention, gesturing to the curious crowd of people that had surrounded the three of you. Immediately, your boyfriend flushed pink again.

“A-ah. Whoops…I guess I went too far. Yeah, l-let’s go!” he said, grabbing your wrist and hurrying out of the crowd, pushing through the wall of people as he ran with you trailing behind.

Once you reached a quieter part of town, he finally let go of your hand, allowing you to speak.

“Soonyoung-ah, what was that all about? You don’t normally get this mad,” you said. The taller male sighed, looking down sheepishly.

“Honestly…I was watching from afar. I wasn’t sure if I should intervene, but that guy’s last remark really got to me you know. Something about you deserving a better man and all,” he explained. You sighed, pulling the man into your arms.

“Oh please, Hoshi. You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for. There’s no one better than you, okay?” you said with a small smile, in hopes of lifting up his spirits. Sure enough, it worked, and your smiling hamster of a boyfriend was back.

Jeon Wonwoo

You had just finished work at the cat café and Wonwoo was waiting by the front to pick you up. Although you had told him many times previously that it wasn’t necessary, he continued doing it. You soon got used to it and so did your co-workers. Wonwoo waiting by the front every day at 8pm soon became a normal occurrence and it was clear to everyone, even if you didn’t mention it, that you were both dating. It just so happened today of all days however, that a rather gutsy newbie at work tried to pick you up in front of Wonwoo, completely ignorant of the fact that he was your boyfriend.

“Hey, um, [L/N]-seonbaenim* …Thanks for showing me the ropes today. I was hoping we could head back after work together?” The boy asked. He was just a little younger than you, and honestly, not a bad person from your short experience of working with him for less than six hours. Before you could get a word out though, Wonwoo had gotten off his seat and headed to the counter where you two were.

“I’m sorry, but she’s got a boyfriend,” he said, his sharp gaze targeted at the shorter male. The boy’s eyes widened and his eyes flickered between the two of you.

“O-oh?” he stuttered out. “You have a boyfriend, sunbae? Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, surprise evident in his voice. You sighed and nodded.

“Yes, I’m sorry Ryujin-ssi. But you were bound to find out sooner or later,” you explained. You could see the frustration and disappointment on the younger boy’s face, but you weren’t sure how to comfort him.

Just then, Wonwoo sighed, “It’s getting late, [Y/N].” He then directed his gaze to the rejected newbie and spoke, “Listen bud, I think it’ll do you well to be more aware of your surroundings next time, and not make moves on someone’s girl in front of her boyfriend.”

Ryujin pouted, looking away in embarrassment. You let out a sigh, moving away a stray hair out of your face before speaking.

“Sorry to let you down, Ryujin-ssi,” you said, before you gathered your belongings and awkwardly came out from behind the counter. Once the two of you were out to nudged Wonwoo gently with your elbow. “What was that? You could have been nicer to him,” you reprimanded. Wonwoo averted his gaze and huffed.

“Sorry, I was growing impatient,” he said. Rolling your eyes, you thanked him anyways. At least he got you out of an uncomfortable situation quickly. You could only hope no other new workers will make the same mistake.

*seonbae-nim: honorific for someone of a senior position/class/have done a job longer than you

Lee Jihoon

(A/N: This was kinda different as I was running out of situations)

Jihoon was a man of few words, and often times he expressed himself and his feelings better with his music. Although it was a little difficult at times for the two of you to talk about your feelings, you knew you could always look forward to a new composition or a paper slipped under the door with lyrics to a future song, describing his emotions and his love for you. Some may find it sappy, but you thought it was romantic. At the end of the day, you were both fine with it as long as he got his feelings through, and yours to him.

However, the past the few months had been lacking in face-to-face communication time, as he had been away on multiple overseas trips, working with celebrities to produce hit albums. It was when he managed to secure a single day that you remembered exactly why the two of you held frequent communication sessions. Your date together was going smoothly despite the occasional cat calls and men trying to make a move when you were alone. Little did you know how affected Jihoon was, seeing his girlfriend having to turn down or ignore so many scumbags who didn’t know how to read body language.

The two of you were seated in front of his TV in his apartment when he finally spoke up.

“I’m sorry.” The apology came unexpectedly, confusing you.

“Huh? What for?” You ask, turning to face him. The light haired man was looking away, a look of guilt on his face.

“The date…I should have protected you better, but instead I always got there just when you handled everything yourself.”

Your face softened into a smile and reached over to hug your boyfriend. “What? That was it?” you asked, laughing a little. It only made the man blush a little, quietly shifting in your arms.

“Don’t laugh! I really felt upset! I mean, you’re pretty, gorgeous, sweet, everything a perfect partner could be! It was scary, I was wondering if you truly needed me…” he trailed off. Sighing, you sat up, turning your whole body towards him and taking both his hands into yours.

“Jihoon-ie, look at me. You’re VoBo, a genius producer, the sweetest boyfriend I could ever ask for. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of, okay? Also, without you, who can I use as a human pillow whenever we cuddle?” You ask, joking slightly, invoking a light chuckle from your partner.

“Yeah, we all know you’d absolutely suffer without me around as your cuddle bud,” he replied, his gaze softening. “Thanks, I think I have a new song in my mind now. I’m gonna go to my studio first, ‘kay?” he said, quickly standing up before heading to his studio.

A small smile crept on your lips.“Alright!”

Xu Minghao

Minghao always liked to think he was very trusting of his partner, having absolute faith in her that she won’t cheat or anything like that. A good healthy relationship is based on trust and faith after all. So, it was quite a shock for him, and you as well, when he found himself yelling at some guy for flirting with you. He just couldn’t describe the feeling of anger in his chest when he saw some bastard try to hit on you when you were right next to him. You’re his girlfriend! Why couldn’t he see that? Was the scumbag really that oblivious? Or was he just ignoring Minghao on purpose? Either way, the dancer could care less. The damn bastard was hitting you and making you feel immensely uncomfortable, and that was unforgivable.

He was very close to swinging at the guy when he saw him put a grimy hand on your shoulder, but somehow, you managed to stop him in time.

“M-Myungho, please don’t cause a scene,” you whispered in his ear, your hand wrapped around his arm. Minghao’s eyes softened as he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Right…it’s no use beating sense into such a dumbass anyway,” he said, just loud enough for the other man to hear him.

“Hey! What the hell did you call me you punk?” the man shouted, face flushed red with anger.

“Ahhh, it’s nothing. It’s just the truth, don’t worry. But, next time you try and make a move on my girl, I won’t hesitate to punch you in the face,” the lanky male said, a hint of mock in his voice. You sweat nervously, gosh, you really had to drag your boyfriend away from the stranger before an actual dogfight breaks out.

“Minghao~,” you dragged his name out, meeting your boyfriend’s eyes. “The movie’s gonna start soon,” you said, pouting slightly while tugging on his sleeve. Internally you hoped he got the message, and to your relief he did. The man beside you sighed, combing his fringe back with his free hand before nodding and turning away, leaving an angry and frustrated stranger fuming. While leaving the site, you didn’t notice your boyfriend glance over his back, shooting a piercing glare at the flirt.

Kim Mingyu

Often times you would say it’s easy to tell when your boyfriend, Mingyu was jealous. He was much like an overgrown puppy to you (and many others). See, Mingyu was the sort of person who thrived on your attention and affection, and when other people took that away from him, it irked him, badly. On occasions like that, the best action to take would be to smother him in hugs and kisses afterwards to get him out of his mood. You needn’t worry about him getting violent either, as most of the time, he would make light threats but you knew he would never actually hurt anyone. Thankfully these occasions were few and far between, but they still did occur on occasion.

Today was one of those rare occasions. See, some guy had come up to the two of you while you were both on a date. At first, he seemed like someone who just need directions to a shop he was supposedly meeting a friend at, but next thing you know, he was suggesting for you to come alone with him to “show him the way”. Of course, Mingyu did not take the man’s advances lightly, hurriedly pulling you back the moment the guy tried to pull you away from your boyfriend. The situation didn’t escalate any further than a few light threats and complaints from both sides, as your boyfriend’s height did most of the scaring-off. However, you were left to deal with the aftermath.

You were both in his apartment, silently eating dinner which he had cooked since he had claimed that the guy “ruined the outdoor atmosphere” and wanted to have some alone time indoors with you instead. Seeing as his place was nearer, you both adjourned there. The food was good, but the silent sulking wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, Gyu?” you asked. Even though he had cooked, he barely touched the food.

“Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Come on, Mingyu. You know I was just trying to be a nice local. I didn’t expect him to try and drag me,” you explained. Mingyu sighed.

“That’s not it… you could have been hurt. That’s what I’m upset about,” he said. A soft smile crept on your face as you gazed at the taller male lovingly. You then got off your seat, waltzing over behind your boyfriend’s seat and enveloping his bigger form in your smaller one.

“Sorry I worried you. But see! I’m perfectly fine, thanks to you,” you said, planting a kiss on his cheek. Mingyu blushed in response.

“A-alright, I see that! Now let me eat, [Y/N],” he stammered out, quickly shoving a spoonful of rice in his mouth, causing you to chuckle.

“Okay, okay. We’ll talk more about this after we’re done with lunch.”

Later that evening, the two of you spent the rest of the day cuddling on the sofa.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #seventeen x reader #reactions #kwon soonyoung #hoshi #wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #lee jihoon #woozi #minghao #the8 #mingyu #kim mingyu #fluff

150 notes · View notes

stellar-imagines · 5 years ago

Text

FALL SPECIAL: ❝#17 + #18.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Bakugou Katsuki ]

「#17 ❝Stargazing. Now. Why? Because it's romantic, idiot.❞ and #18 ❝Is that my shirt?❞ ❝It’s the only one that will warm my cold soul.❞ with Bakugou Katsuki.」

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

"The sky is clear today and we can see the stars. Are you really looking out your window? Heeeey, Katsukiiii." you whined, laying down next to your phone.

It was finally Autumn which meant no more suffering from the Summer heat. As the leaves turn brown and fall from the trees, the days turn cold and the nights draw in fast. Stargazing had been one of your favorite activities. You could say that its a great time to head outside and stargaze. The endless curtain of stars, constellations and falling stars beckons you to explore the deep space. You're attracted to its beauty. The weather during Autumn was just fantastic. The days get darker earlier and it means that you don't have to stay up too late to get a fantastic view of the stars.

Your hot-headed boyfriend, also known as Bakugou Katsuki, is also known for his early sleeping schedules. He rarely stays up late and goes to bed around the same time every single night. It annoyed you a bit because he doesn't stay for movie night or go stargazing with you. But, you didn't particularly like behaving so selfish. Sure, you whined and complain about it but you never forced him to stay with you all night. To be honest, school is tiring and sometimes you just wanna go to bed, you get that. But on a night like this, you thought that it'd be a waste to spend it indoors. Moving to the dorms had its benefits, each room has its own balcony, not a really large one where you can decorate it with tables and chairs.

You turned to the side, body now facing your window. There was something romantic about stargazing together with your special someone but you couldn't really express why. Maybe it was because of all those romantic scenes in Shoujo Mangas, Anime and movies. No, you were positive. It was because of those that you were convinced that stargazing is romantic. Bakugou may be what most guys would call unromantic but in reality, he's trying his best without being aware of it. Once you point out how romantic he's being, he'd deny, call you blind and dumb. He went along with whatever you wanted most of time but in return, you did the things he wanted too.

"So what?"

"Don't you think its romantic? Just a little bit? Come on, just be honest for once~" you flipped over on the bed, now laying on your stomach.

"Just go do your homework. Don't come begging for answers because you don't have enough time to finish it." you can hear the sound of papers and pencils from his sight, indicating that he had been working on said homework.

"It's a weekend tomorrow! So I'll leave it for tomorrow since you're gonna go training. I thought that maybe we could do something today." you hummed, swinging your feet back and forth. Hopefully, with the way you were saying this will convince your boyfriend to take action. However, there was a voice inside your head telling you that something like this wouldn't work. It was already late at night and it wouldn't be a surprise if Bakugou just wanted to go to bed.

"Just go to sleep before I make you." he snarled. You let out a small laugh to mask your disappointment.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go to sleep. Love you, Katsuki!" you said. Bakugou didn't miss how your initial enthusiasm has faded, now replaced by exhaustion and sadness.

"Yeah, whatever. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Katsuki." you didn't even wait for that long and hung up first.

You got off the bed and turned off the lights before walking over to your desk to switch off the table lamp. The curtains on your balcony door were still drawn apart, giving you a clear view of the night sky. It was disappointing but you had already expected it. Slowly walking over to the balcony door/window, you pressed your hand on it, giving the sky a longing look. One day, you told yourself. Someday, you'll get your stubborn boyfriend to sit and enjoy the stars with you. It will take a long time but you will make it happen. You grabbed onto the collars of your sweater, lifting it up and inhaling the scent. It wasn't yours to begin with anyway. Bakugou had left it in your room by accident.

It had his scent, something that you couldn't explain in words but it always made you happy. A sense of warmth, comfort, security, and protection, was what it gave you. You were content with this. The moment you told yourself that everything was okay, you decided to go to bed. And you didn't expect to hear some aggressive knocking at your door. You approached the door quickly, not wanting to keep the person waiting for you. You didn't expect your boyfriend, Bakugou Katsuki, to be there.

"Katsuki? I thought you were going to bed? What are you here for―? What? Why?" you were too surprised that he was even here after saying that he's going off to bed.

“Stargazing. Now. Why? Because it’s romantic, idiot.”

He answered all your questions in one go, forcing his way into your room. In his hands was a jacket to fight against the cold. You blinked a few times, your confused expression turning into one that showed happiness. You're the one who mentioned about how romantic stargazing was. There were tons of things you wanted to ask him but at this point, it doesn't really matter. Fortunately, he had a change of heart that led him here and you had no complaints. You closed the door behind you and skipped over towards your boyfriend. The two of you sat by the balcony window, staring into the sky. It was when you leaned against him that he noticed what

“Is that my shirt?” Bakugou asked, pointing at the sweater you were wearing.

"Yes, why?"

"I was wondering where the hell that one went. Why are you wearing it?"

“It’s the only one that will warm my cold soul.” you replied.

"The fuck you saying? You better give it back to me later." he scoffed while you laughed, your body rocking back and forth.

"You're being awfully docile and nice for some reason. When it comes to mushy stuff like this, you'd get all defensive and tell me to back off." you said.

"Last time I checked, I'm your boyfriend. So doing mushy shit with you is fine." he argued as you slipped your hand in his, lacing your fingers with his own.

"The stars are really beautiful tonight though." you sighed with a smile. Bakugou kept his eyes on you, seeing that awestruck look on your face.

"Yeah, they are." he grumbled, sounding like he didn't care.

His eyes never left your face when he said that.

Total: 1143 words Published: 09.10.2019

We’re open for some limited edition prompts featuring Fall and Halloween! Read more here!

Thank you for requesting! *｡٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و*｡ It’s late at night and I’m watching an anime that I should've watched a few years ago. Hope you enjoyed it, anon! ― author Hibiki/Lou

Thank you for requesting! We’re both starting a new anime together and we can’t stop. This was a bit rushed. We hope you liked it, though. ― author Natsuki

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

180 notes · View notes

the-lupine-sojourner · 5 years ago

Text

The Tale of Astoria Kenobi [Chapter 1] [Obitine and Anidala featured] [Dad!Obi-Wan/Daughter!OC]

I hope you guys like it!

I'll put the same disclaimer I did last time; I am not an expert at all things Star Wars. I'm sorry if I make any mistakes but I'm still learning. Just bear with me. I did so some research to make sure I had the basic timeline right before I got too far into this story though.

Alrighty! This Right Here is the prologue to this story for those who haven’t read it yet.

Now for the taglist: @elite-guard-hardygal, @forcearama (who created the Scandalore/Secret Marriage AU I’m using), @sunshineisdelightful, @fwtcanimelover, and @babycollectiondragon135! Thank you all for being so amazing and supportive! :)

One more thing; Would y'all be mad if I started writing in 1st person from Astoria's point of view? I just realized that doing 3rd person will get a bit difficult.

Also, um...does anyone have scene suggestions for the ten-year gap between this and Attack of the Clones? Cus, looking at the timeline of everything, that's how long it takes to get from this point we're at currently (not long after Phantom Menace) to Attack of the Clones.

Anyway, I'm gonna let you guys read the story now and hope you all enjoy!

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

“Can you believe it?” Satine murmurs, settling her few bags down in the room she’d been loaned. It was rather small and spartan, but Satine had known far harsher living environments and couldn’t complain.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Indeed. The Counsel are rarely so conceding.”

“They even allowed me all day tomorrow to make absolutely certain Astoria will adjust well to life here.”

“Yes, though they more than likely expect the generosity returned, should we have need of it.” Obi-Wan points out sagely.

Satine nods. “Oh, I’m well aware. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Perhaps, dear, you could request to be given assignments to Mandalore? Since you're the most...experienced in Mandalorian affairs?”

Obi-Wan smirks, rising to her challenge.“Darling, is this your way of saying you want me home more often?”

“’More often’ implies you’re at home sometimes.” Satine snips, crossing her arms and looking away petulantly, though she wasn’t truly angry with him. The mood shifts regardless and Obi-Wan gently spins her to look at him.

“Satine...you know I would never stay away intentionally.”

“I know, Obi-Wan, but..." Now that Satine had said those words aloud, she realized she did mean them, angry or not, "surely you could manage a few visits? Astoria gets to see you so rarely...she misses you.”

“I miss her more.” Obi-Wan replies softly, easing Satine’s hair from her face. “And you, as well. I meant to leave, you know. But…” The unspoken words ring in the air as if they’d been verbalized.

Obi-Wan would never abandon Anakin, and Satine would never ask him to.

“I know, Obi-Wan.” Satine rubs his arm comfortingly. “I know.”

The pair are content to simply hold each other then, the door shut against any surprise visitors.

=#=#=#=#=

Astoria was nervous, fiddling with the sleeves of her Jedi robes.

She liked her new clothes, plain though they were. They were fairly soft and comfortable, if a little thick for the warmth in the Temple.

The reason she was nervous was that she was waiting outside a chamber Uncle Obi told her his superiors were in.

When she asked what ‘superiors’ were, Obi-Wan had explained that they were the ones that told him where to go and what to do.

And Astoria was going to meet them!

“Don’t worry.” Came a voice behind her, and Astoria turns to see a young boy, not much older than her, standing there smiling. “The Counsel don’t do much. They just ask a lot of questions and sit there.”

Astoria feels a little better, returning the boy’s smile as she extends a hand in greeting. “Thanks. My name’s Astoria Kryze.” She introduces.

The boy shakes her hand. “Anakin Skywalker.” Astoria decided she liked this boy, though he was older than her.

From around the corner came Obi-Wan, having finished whatever had called him away. He smiles in greeting at the two. “I see you two have met. Good.”

Astoria grins. “Yeah!”

Obi-Wan crouches before his daughter, absently straightening her robes. He felt a mixture of pride and sadness that his child was already wearing the Jedi robes, hardly remembering that she was older than most Younglings when they were brought to the Temple. “Now, Astoria, just be polite and everything will go smoothly, alright? No need to be nervous.”

Astoria feels her stomach swirl a little as her nerves started to come back, but felt them leave again when her uncle squeezed her hand and stood up, smiling at her.

Without another word, Obi-Wan hit the button to tell the Counsel they were waiting, and soon enough a deep voice inside told them to enter.

=#=#=#=#=

“Should I be concerned our daughter has such a penchant for fighting?” Satine asks coyly.

The settling of Astoria in the Temple was going rather smoothly. Astoria took to life in the Temple like a duck to water, though Satine suspected her departure for Mandalore the next morning would spell trouble.

Obi-Wan chuckles, distracting Satine from her thoughts. “Darling, she is Mandalorian.”

“Half Mandalorian.” Satine corrects, playfully smacking her husband’s shoulder.

“True, true.” Obi-Wan side-hugged his wife, watching with a large smile on his face, though the smile faltered when he saw that she seemed genuinely a little concerned. “It’s alright, Satine.” He assures her, “She’s just begun her training. She won’t have these violent tendencies for long.”

Directly down the hall from them, Astoria was playing with Anakin. Their playing had quickly dissolved into wrestling and Astoria tended to use more aggressive strategies, Satine noticed.

The thing stalling the adults from intervening was the laughter ringing in the hall.

Anakin had not had it easy in life and Obi-Wan was rather hesitant to stop his Padawan’s fun.

Obi-Wan recalled the meeting with the Counsel not two hours ago. Astoria had charmed the Jedi almost immediately and performed remarkably well on the small tests Mace Windu gave her.

Obi-Wan had even had the fortune of putting the braid in Astoria’s hair himself, missing Fisto’s smirk entirely as he worked.

No one else had said a word when Mace Windu asked who would braid the new Younglings hair, so Obi-Wan came forward, motioning his daughter to him and beginning the braid, instructing her to remain still.

“I am almost sad, seeing the braid in Astoria’s hair.” Satine muses, sighing. She had smiled and encouraged Astoria when the girl proudly displayed it for her mother, but Satine’s heart clenched knowing what that braid meant.

“And yet it means hope.” Obi-Wan reassured Satine, rubbing his wife’s shoulder comfortingly, “She won’t be far out of either of our reach here, darling.”

Satine nods. “Of that, I am certain. But...I won’t get to see her grow up.”

A teasing smirk reaches Obi-Wan’s face and he chuckles. “Now you know what I went through.”

Satine whirls to glare at him, drawing away from her husband's side. “Oh, really, Ben! The nerve!” He knew then that, though her tone and body language conveyed annoyance and perhaps a bit of anger, she was teasing on the inside. She only called him Ben when she was teasing him.

“I have plenty of nerve, my dear.” He counters, daring her to continue their game as he grabs her hips to draw her back in.

Instead of replying, she kisses him boldly on the lips. It’s only through the Force that Obi-Wan had enough warning to withdraw reluctantly from Satine and call for Anakin before Plo Koon rounded the corner.

As a result, the approaching Jedi saw nothing but the children halting their wrestling match and the adults taking the children’s hands. If it weren’t wearing the rebreather, everyone would see his smile as he watches Astoria take her mother's hand.

So this was the new Youngling. He’d been en route to Coruscant when she’d been given her braid, watching her through a hologram as Obi-Wan volunteered to braid the girl’s hair. It was one thing seeing her in a hologram, it was quite another thing seeing her physically.

“Pardon the intrusion.” Plo Koon calls. “I was on my way to the library.” Astoria loved libraries and runs over, still riding the adrenaline of nearly winning her match against Anakin.

“Library?” She asks eagerly, bouncing in front of the Kel-Dorian, who takes her youthful giddiness in stride. “Can I come with you?”

“Yes, little one.” Astoria squeals in delight and before Satine can scold her, Plo Koon takes her hand and guides the excited child down the hall.

Anakin goes to catch up to his new friend, not for the destination, but because he liked her company already and didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

Obi-Wan and Satine follow in the rear, their hearts singing with joy that already their child was making friends.

=#=#=#=#=

Jocasta Nu was pleasantly surprised when Astoria walked up to her, now calm after a few words from Satine about behaving herself, and asked to see some maps of the galaxy.

“Well, dear, we have many maps. Are you looking for anything special?” Jocasta was slightly confused as there were no adults with the child, though she could hear people within the library. Luckily, Satine then came around a bend, spotted her wayward daughter, and approached the librarian apologetically.

“There you are, Astoria.” She takes her daughter’s hand. “Apologies, madam. She’s still young.”

“No need, Duchess.” Jocasta assures Satine patiently. “It’s not every day a Youngling comes in and asks to see maps.”

Satine smiles. “Yes, she is rather curious to see the galaxy. She’s never left Mandalore before.”

Jocasta offers her hand to Astoria and, after once more telling Astoria to behave herself, Satine allowed the kind librarian to lead her daughter away, staying where she was.

Satine was trying to ease Astoria into not needing to be around Satine as much as she could. After seeing Astoria engrossed in picking out a map, Satine slipped out of the library to pack her things. Come tomorrow morning, Satine would no longer be allowed in the Temple.

Plo Koon, for his part, was watching Astoria with piqued curiosity. There was something about that girl...but he couldn’t quite place what it was.

He supposed he had plenty of time to figure it out and began the task that had led him to the library in the first place.

Obi-Wan helped Jocasta educate Astoria on the various planets the girl asked about and spent a pleasant half an hour this way before Anakin, bored of watching them, wandered off.

Obi-Wan then had to excuse himself. He had to be Anakin’s Master, not Astoria’s father, though he yearned to stay where he was.

Anakin was looking at records of various lightsabers. He still called them ‘laser swords’ and Obi-Wan had yet to fully iron out that habit.

The group spent a pleasant afternoon in the library while Satine, heart growing a little heavier with every item packed, was alone in her room.

She knew full well now that Astoria would be very happy here, would grow into a Jedi that would make her and Obi-Wan prouder than they already were, if that were possible.

And yet Satine would miss her daughter terribly. She knew there would be visits and calls as often as could be helped, but it wasn’t the same as having Astoria in the palace with her.

It never would be.

Obi-Wan found her nearly packed after escorting the Younglings to the evening meal. He’d slipped out with two portions, one for him and one for his wife.

He knew this was hard on her and regretted that he had to put his duties before his family. “Take a break.” He calls as he enters. “I brought food.” Satine turns and walks over, heart lightening a little at seeing him.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” She says, glance teasing as she took her plate.

They sat on her bed and all was quiet for a few minutes. “Satine, I wish I could say it gets easier, missing her day in and day out, but I’d be lying.” He murmurs, knowing full well the source of the weight on her shoulders.

“How do you cope?” She asks miserably.

“You learn to treasure the moments you see them, hologram or in person, and memorize the little things, the tidbits that make the person who they are.” Obi-Wan says softly, wrapping an arm around Satine as she leans her head on his shoulder. “You memorize their voice and let the memories surface when you feel the loneliest.”

“Seems a rather dull way of life.”

“We’ve known worse.”

“That we have, darling.” Satine finds a small strength in that revelation. Yes, she had survived worse than separation from her daughter. "It’ll be a hard conversation, explaining all this to her.” Satine sighs, leaning on her husband for support in more ways than one, her head against his shoulder.

Obi-Wan nods, leaning his head against Satine's. “Yes. Do you want me there?”

Satine nods her head. “That might be wise. You are her father and a Jedi. You can explain the things I can not.” Her tone was sad, resigned. The matter of leaving Astoria and having to explain to her why Satine was leaving still weighed incredibly heavy on his mind.

“Satine, it’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

=#=#=#=#=

Astoria washes down her food with a few gulps of water, grimacing a little.

The food was satisfying to be sure, but it really didn’t taste like much.

Anakin told her he wasn’t overly fond of it, either, but it was better than what he had on Tattoine.

That prompted an eager discussion between the children about where they each were from.

That is, until Obi-Wan appeared and informed them it was time for evening meditation and bedtime. Anakin groans and heads off with the other Younglings they’d been eating with, but Obi-Wan grabs Astoria’s shoulder and silently leads her to Satine’s room. He’d talk to her about meditation later.

Astoria was wondering where her mom had gone, about to ask where she was when Obi-Wan came to guide her to Satine’s room after her bland meal.

It doesn't take long to get to the room.

“Hi mommy!” Astoria cheers, missing the sadness in Satine’s eyes as she hugs her mother.

“Hello, dear. Did you enjoy dinner?” Satine asks, settling Astoria beside her.

“No. It didn’t taste like the food back home.” Astoria replies, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, you have to get used to it.” Satine says gently.

Astoria wasn’t paying much attention; she was more concerned with why her mom’s bags were packed. “Are we going home already?” She asks. “We just got here!”

“Darling…” Satine winces, drawing Astoria into her lap. “You have to stay here. I have to go back to Mandalore.”

Astoria’s eyes go wide, head tilted in confusion. “But...but Momma, I thought…”

“You remember your mother telling you about my job?” Obi-Wan chimes in, feeling his heart ache at the troubled look on his daughter’s face and the sadness in his wife’s eyes.

“Yeah, but...Uncle Obi...that’s your job.” Astoria points out, not understanding why she was staying when her mother was returning to Mandalore.

“And you will be helping me.” He says.

Astoria frowns. “Really?”

“Yes, in a way. You will stay here, learning what the Masters teach you, and in time you will help me with my job.”

“But why can’t Mommy stay, too?” Astoria asks, lip trembling a little as the weight of what was happening was beginning to occur to her.

“Because, sweetheart, I don’t work here.” Satine explains simply. “It was through the kindness of the Counsel that I was allowed to come with you in the first place. But they can’t let me stay. This place...is special.”

“I’ll miss you.” Astoria whimpers, going to hug her mother tightly. “I don’t want you to go!”

“Oh, Astoria, I’ll miss you greatly, as well. But don’t lose heart; you can call me sometimes when you’re allowed. And maybe you can even visit me once in a while.”

“Really?” Astoria asks, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes, Astoria. Now...I have a lesson for you before bedtime, alright?” Obi-Wan interjects, reluctantly cutting the moment short. Satine was well aware she was on limited time with Astoria, but smiles at her daughter encouragingly.

Astoria slowly gets off the bed. She then turns back around. “Are you leaving now?”

“No. I’m leaving first thing tomorrow.” That comforts Astoria and she hugs her mom again, kissing her cheek before leaving with Obi-Wan. The two are quiet as they walk toward her new bedroom.

It wasn’t far from Anakin’s, which would make it easier for Obi-Wan to check up on her when he could.

“What’s the lesson?” Astoria asks once they’re in her room.

“Sit.” Obi-Wan says simply and crosses his legs. Astoria grunts and struggles to get her legs crossed. Obi-Wan chuckles and leans over, helping her get into position.

“This hurts, Uncle Obi.” She grumbles.

“You’ll get used to it. Now, I want you to take deep breaths and close your eyes. Think of something that makes you feel at ease.”

Astoria tilts her head. “What does that mean?”

Obi-Wan reaches out with the Force, sensing her connection easily. It was turbulent and unruly, like most Younglings. She’d have much work to do calming this flurry of thoughts and emotions.

He helps her begin that process slowly, easing his way through the storm to the center. There, he calms the pulsing ball of energy he finds, very very slowly. If he dimmed the ball too much, he’d risk harming Astoria.

“Like this, young one." Obi-Wan says, eyes still closed. Astoria sighs contentedly, sudden exhaustion causing her to yawn.

“...I think I like this, Uncle Obi.”

“Good, remember how this feels, and try to quiet your mind even further.” Obi-Wan instructs, withdrawing his presence in his daughter’s mind.

“I don’t know how.” Astoria replies, coming back to her senses a bit and feeling embarrassed she didn’t know.

“It’s alright. Just breathe and relax. Don’t let your mind wander. Imagine putting it to bed.”

“...” There are several moments of quiet before Astoria groans, and Obi-Wan feels the progress he’d made vanish as she comes out of her attempted meditation. “It’s not working.”

“Patience.” He replies softly, his mind calming as he talks. “It doesn’t come without practice. Try again.”

Astoria does, with the same result, but Obi-Wan had felt a subtle change. It was clear she was trying, but she was still overthinking things.

He smiles at her and decides that was enough practice for tonight. “Alright, Astoria. Let’s go to bed.”

“But I didn’t do what you wanted.” Astoria protests as he helps her stand.

“That’s alright. You just started learning. No one learns meditation right away. I struggled with it, too, but with time and patience, I was able to master it. One day, you will master it, as well.” Astoria nods, going to brush her teeth.

“Can I say goodbye to Momma tomorrow?” She asks once she’s getting under the thin cover on her bed.

“Yes. I’ll wake you so you can say goodbye, but then it’ll be breakfast time and we’ll have to go eat.” Obi-wan explains.

Astoria nods, yawning. “Thanks, Uncle Obi.” She murmurs sleepily. Obi-Wan has to fight the urge to kiss her forehead. He knew better than to confuse the girl by being overly affectionate just yet.

“Goodnight, Astoria.” He whispers from the doorway, closing the door quietly and leaving.

=#=#=#=#=

“It was quite the honor, having you as our guest, Duchess.” Kit Fisto says genuinely, walking beside Satine on her way to her ship.

“And I am most grateful for the opportunity.” She replies, just as genuinely. “I don’t think I would have left Astoria here if I couldn’t see for myself what the Temple was like. When Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were my protectors, Obi-Wan would describe his training as intense and the conditions in the Temple as spartan at best.”

“Perhaps he was exaggerating, or perhaps he assumed you were used to a life of luxury and thought the Temple would not suit you.”

“Perhaps.” Satine concedes, unsure herself what he had meant, but content with either explanation.

“If I may be frank, Duchess, I suggested your visit to let you see Obi-Wan again. I understand you two are...close.”

Satine’s heart skipped, but she remained calm outwardly. “Yes. A year on the run together tends to make people close.” She muses.

“I’m certain.” Is Fisto’s careful reply. He knew for a fact she was hiding just how close She and Obi-Wan were, but he was not willing to upset her by revealing he knew of their relationship. “If it helps at all, I will do my part to look after Astoria. I may not control which Master will one day train her, but I assure you whoever it is will take very good care of your daughter.”

“Thank you, Master Fisto.” Satine replies. She quite liked Kit Fisto. He was more approachable than other Jedi, more...relaxed and almost carefree.

By now, they were near her ship, and the pair turn when they hear running footsteps behind them.

“Astoria, wait!” That was Obi-Wan's voice, sounding far away, and soon enough, Astoria came into view, stumbling haphazardly around a corner and barreling toward her mother, eyes wide and desperate.

“Mom, don’t leave yet!” She cries, pumping her legs as fast as she could and it’s only through Kit Fisto kneeling and sticking an arm out that Astoria was prevented from knocking her mother clean over.

“You must learn restraint, young one. You would have hurt your mother running into her like that.” He cautions, letting Astoria go so she could jump into her mother’s waiting arms.

“Sorry, Master!” She squeaks with the good grace to look sheepish now that she had accomplished her goal.

She’d made it before her mother left. That was all that mattered to the girl.

Obi-Wan walks over, panting. “She just took off after I woke her up. She was so worried she'd miss you leaving.” He explains with no small amount of exasperation. Satine smiles.

“Thank you for escorting her, Master Kenobi.” She replies, refusing to acknowledge Fisto’s smile that seemed too knowing.

“Of course, Duchess.” The two then remember that they weren’t alone and walk to the ship, a respectful distance between them, Fisto trailing a bit behind, highly amused that they thought they were successfully hiding their feelings for each other.

Astoria didn’t move her head from her mother’s shoulder till they were at the landing ramp. It was so hard for Astoria to understand why she had to stay, but she had to say goodbye to her mother now. “I’ll miss you, momma.” She whimpers, sniffling and slowly leaving her mother’s arms when Satine hugs her again, kissing her daughter’s cheeks and forehead.

“Darling, you’ll see me again before you know it.” She insists, smiling sweetly at Astoria and gently lifting her chin so the child was looking at her. “Be strong, dear, and learn everything you can, alright?”

“Alright.” Astoria replies thickly.

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan calls her from his position a few feet away. “Astoria, come on. Your mother has to leave.” Astoria runs to her ‘uncle’, a few tears running down her cheeks. Out of sympathy, Obi-Wan crouches and lets Astoria hug him briefly as he waves to Satine subtly.

The ship then closes with Satine on board and Astoria sobs as Obi-Wan stands, unable to carry her and continue the comforting hug with Fisto nearby.

“Astoria, remember what your mother said. You have to be strong. No more tears.” Obi-Wan felt so proud when Astoria obeyed, wiping her eyes and squaring her shoulders.

“...Can I get some food?” She asks meekly. “I’m hungry.”

#Fanfiction #Star Wars #SW #Tale of Astoria Kenobi #Obi-Wan #Satine #Obitine #Anidala #SW OC #OC #Original Character #Original Female Character #Jedi OC #Uses both Clone Wars and the movies

32 notes · View notes

lena-in-a-red-dress · 5 years ago

Text

Cult of Luthor: Sleepover

The Danvers home almost makes Sam cry. Not for the home she used to have-- there's no similarity between the dark, dusty house she shared with Patricia and this wide, windowed house full of light.

Pictures of Kara and Alex hang on every wall, sit on every surface. The only photos Patricia had of Sam were baby photos, tucked into an album at the back of a closet. Life graces every inch of Kara's home, in the shoes left by the door (Kara's haphazardly, Lena's neat and square), in the magazines cluttering the coffee table, and the rumpled blankets along the back of the sofa, and dirty dishes in the sink.

As soon as they arrive, Kara and Lena divide and conquer. Kara relieves Sam of her backpack, while Lena draws her to the kitchen. She removes a plate from the cupboard and fills it with cut vegetables, pulled from tidy plastic containers already chilling in the fridge, and a sampling of fruits and crackers.

It's a simple offering, but it's the first produce she's had since telling her mom and it's so fresh and so clean that her body cries out in relief and Sam bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam waves Lena off, when green eyes snap to her in concern. Kara returns in that moment, surveys the scene, and lifts the sudden tension with a slanted grin.

"What did I say about making pregnant ladies cry, Lena?"

Lena pegs her with a roll of her eyes.

"No, please," Sam pleads, wiping her eyes even as tears continue to flow. "It's not-- you guys have been so great. Just-- hormones, you know?"

It's a cheap excuse not explain that after two months of cheap junk and fast food, a baby carrot is enough to move her to tears. That the kindness she's been shown thus far has come with an unspoken expiration date, and only after Sam asks for it.

Never offered, never given. Simply extracted, through pity and guilt and some social expectation to not turn a pregnant woman out on her ear.

"Thank you," she says simply, ostensibly for the handkerchief (an actual, cloth handkerchief) that Lena hands her, and starts filling her mouth with food.

Kara sits with her at the breakfast bar, filling the space with warm words of mundanity. Lena, on the other hand, remains in constant motion. She unpacks the dishwasher, clears the dirty dishes from the sink, and tidies the mail left in a messy pile on the table in the adjacent dining room.

She remains part of the conversation, deftly splitting her attention between task and Kara, until she dips out with a quick excuse me to start a cycle of laundry.

"She doesn't idle well," Kara says in a quiet voice once Lena is out of earshot. "But once she gets all the doable stuff done, she'll be able to relax some tonight. Hopefully."

Sure enough, Lena returns from the laundry room and seamlessly transitions to starting dinner, asking Sam whether she'd prefer lasagna or tuna casserole.

Sam almost moves to immediately demure, because really she's already imposing enough, but pauses when her stomach churns ominously at the thought of tuna.

"Lasagna sounds amazing," she says finally, feeling a warm flush spread up her cheeks. "Can I help?"

She almost expects Lena to dismiss her, in the manner of a consummate host, but Lena pauses herself, and nods.

"Eliza said she picked up some fresh Italian bread. I was planning to turn it into garlic bread..."

"I can do that!"

Kara pouts. "Aw, that leaves me with salad. That's the worst."

"No one's going to make you eat it, Kara," Lena drawls, already pulling out a box of noodles and a jar of tomato sauce.

Sam smiles at their banter. "I don't mind doing the salad."

Kara gives an exagerrated fist pump. "Yes!"

She does a happy dance all the way to the bread box, and Sam watches with happiness in her heart for the first time in months.

They don't put anything in the oven until later, and Sam tides herself over with an unending supply of cut melon as they all spread their homework across the table and get to work.

Well, Sam and Kara get to work.

Lena breezes through it, her pen flying across the page as she renders her solutions in neat lines. Sam finds herself watching her more than focusing on her own work, and Lena's focus is so intense that she only notices when she finishes the last problem with a final tick mark on her list of tasks. "Did you need help?" Lena asks. "Oh, no, I--" "Just say yes," Kara mumbles distractedly, head in her hand as she glares at her copy of the Crucible. "She teaches it better than the teachers being paid to do it. Trust me." And that's how Eliza finds them when she arrives home, hours later. As she pulls the lasgna out of the fridge and slides it into the preheated oven, she smiles at the sight of them with their heads together, Lena speaking in low tones as she breaks down a complicated formula and explains it in simple terms. She knows Lena's nearly seamless transition to the outside world is temporary. It's the result of her natural curiosity, and not a revocation of her belief in LuthorCorp's mission, or her faith in her brother. But even so, she's grateful for the friends she's making, and the warmth she spreads to those who need it. Sam enjoys dinner, and the momentary normalcy it brings. Once again, Lena's intelligence shines through in the words she exchanges with Eliza about her work. To her surprise, Sam finds herself able to follow along a little. Her afternoons spent in city library were good for something, at least. But Kara's prediction comes true once the table is cleared and the dishwasher run. They all gather in the living room, with books and music and sketches. Kara traces lightly in her sketchbook, and Lena bends over a diagram of SOMETHING from her seat on the floor at the coffeetable. Sam simply basks in the comfort, her eyelids heavy as she sits curled on the couch beneath a soft, warm blanket. When Eliza catches her eye, the woman seems to understand what Sam is unable to vocalize. "I hope you don't mind me asking, Sam," Eliza says, her voice gentle in deference to the warm quiet that fills the room, "but have you been receiving prenatal care?" Kara's pencil doesn't stop moving, but her eyes lift briefly in interest. Lena's head lifts, her features open and soft. Sam nods. "Yeah. I met with the school health nurse, and she pointed me towards some programs for young moms. I'm set on that, at least." Eliza nods. "Do you have any plans for after the baby is born?" "I'm keeping her," Sam states simply. "The rest I'll figure out as I go." She shrugs. "It'll be easier after graduation. Once I can get more hours, I can get an apartment of my own, and think about childcare." It's all she needs to say, but somehow, the words keep pouring out of her. "I've already been accepted into a few colleges, though. NCU offered almost a full ride-- I'd just need to pay for books and materials." Which is still considerable expense. "But I'd have to be a full time student, and I've been trying to figure out how to make it work, but I don't know how I can do it and still earn enough money for an apartment, and childcare, and everything else. But at the same time, I don't want to give up on school because-- what kind of example would I be setting?" Eyes burning, Sam presses her lips shut against the word vomit. No one's asked her before. She's never told anyone. But while doing so lifts tears of futility to her eyes, it also lifts the weight from her shoulders. "Sorry," she mutters quietly, wiping her eyes. "Don't apologize," Eliza soothes from her seat on the far side of the coffee table. "That's a lot of burden to take on all at once, especially without support at home." Swallowing, Sam shoots a glance to Lena, whose features had grown solemn in thought. "But I admire your dedication to see things through, and to set a good example for your daughter. It takes a great deal of strength to do what you're doing. I'm only sorry you're facing it alone." But Sam doesn't feel alone tonight. Especially not when Kara pulls her and Lena upstairs, and not when she makes the fortunate mistake of complimenting Kara on her braided crown. "Lena did it!" Kara practically crows. "Lena, you should do Sam's hair!" "Oh, no, that's okay--" Sam tries to wave it off, but Kara is insistent. "It's already a sleepover," she counters. "Now it'll be a proper one!" Which is how she finds herself on the floor between Lena's knees, slowly loosening under the gentle fingers that comb through her hair. Their talk soon turns to gossip, and Kara regales them with the story of how Barry Johnson once tripped over his own shoelace and knocked out his front tooth. Sam remembers it well, and the memory brings laughter to her chest. She cherishes it, and does her best to stamp this night in her mind-- the first, and likely last time her life has ever felt like the quintessential high school experience. Later, when her hair has been comfortably woven into a horizontal figure eight at the base of her skull, and helps Lena prepare a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor of her bedroom. "I'm not kicking you out of your bed!" "You're pregnant!" Sam glares at her, and Lena relents. "I didn't think you'd want to share, but... I don't mind if you don't?" "There. Solution found. Now bring those blankets back, we're gonna need 'em." They slip into bed, and Sam's surprised that Lena doesn't roll to the far edge of the bed. "I shared a bed for years," Lena confesses a moment later. "I've been told I'm a cuddler, so I apologize in advance--" "I'm sure I'll survive." In the darkness, Sam feels more truth rising to the surface, just as it had earlier that evening. "Thank you for chasing me down today. It's been a long time since... I've missed being a part of things, I guess." Lena doesn't respond for a long moment. When she does, she sounds... hesitant. "I hesitated to mention it in front of the others but... Have you heard of LuthorCorp?" The biggest tech conglomerate inthe world? "Yeah, of course." "Well, they have an outreach program, called LuthorCares. It's dedicated to investing in new potential." Sam snorts. "Potential? Like, head hunters?" "No, I mean-- sorry, that probably sounds weird. I mean, when someone is eager to learn, but feel they don't have the means or opportunity, LuthorCares can help alleviate some of that burden. Members can stay in lodges all over the country for nominal fees, tutition assistance, even childcare." Sam stares at the shadowed ceiling, waiting for a catch that never comes. "You're so smart, Sam. And driven to do the right thing, both for yourself and your daughter. You're exactly the kind of person they want to help realize their potential." It can't be that easy-- the answer to all of Sam's problems delivered on a single platter. "Sorry," Lena apologizes quietly. "I don't mean to pressure you. I just hate that you might be forced to choose between your education and your child, when you could be free to have both." The raw honesty in Lena's voice sends Sam's threatening tears down the sides of her temples, to get lost in the tangle of her hair. Lena's fingers curl around her hand. "You deserve both," she whispers. Sam nods. "I'll look into it," she manages, clearing her throat. "Thank you, Lena." --- The next morning, Sam is amused to discover that in sleep, Lena's definition of cuddling is a face smooshed in the crevice between Sam and the mattress, her breath hot on Sam's back. She groans pitifully when Sam rises, but rebuffs the pocket of cold by pulling the blanket over her head in defiance of the hour.

"See you tonight, you three," Eliza calls as they gather their things to leave. Sam's stomach clenches, arrested by what she's sure is a slip. But when she looks up, Eliza is looking right back. When the woman nods, Sam returns it with a wobbling dip of her chin before Kara grabs her by the hand and pulls her out the door.

Continued: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Appendix A

#cult of luthor #sam centric #found family #lena's kindness is gonna get her into trouble hey o #supercorp #i swear it is #its coming next part

78 notes · View notes

itsmarianstories · 5 years ago

Text

They call me kitty🐾

[Jikook Social Media Au]

Part 30: Past >> Part 31: Ready

Jungkook is a bratty college student, who stumbles through life, trying to find his way. He is attractive and he knows it, so he is used to getting whoever he wants. Until a certain cute boy walks into his life with swaying hips and fluttering lashes, who seems completely unimpressed by Jungkook. However, being the stubborn boy that he is Jungkook refuses to give up just yet, not knowing that with that he has already become a figure in Jimins game of life.

(A/N: Hello! I’m gonna leave another warning here, Jimins backstory is not exactly rosy be prepared for mentioning of drug abuse, prostitution, implied murder... Also sorry for the amount of written parts I hope the Jikook fluff makes up for it ksksk)

_._._._._._._._._._. _._._._._._._._._._. _._._._._._._._._._. _ Jeongguk sighed as he stared out of the window. He couldn’t really see anything outside since it was already pitch black. All he could see were the raindrops that slid down the smooth surface of the glass. His room was dark as well, a nurse has checked on him not too long ago and told him to get more rest.

He wasn’t in a critical situation but he’d still have to spend some time in the hospital because the the stab in his shoulder tore the muscle and damaged a tendon which meant that if he weren’t extremely careful the movement in his left arm may be irresistibly restricted. The doctors gave him one of these slope thingys to stabilize his arm but in some certain movements it still brought burning pain rushing through his shoulder. Fortunately, the stab in his leg wasn’t as bad and didn’t cause a lot of damage. It would hurt quite a while and leave an ugly scar but at least he didn’t have to be worried about permanent damage. Moreover, he also got himself a nice fever since he was exposed to the cold, humid atmosphere while his body was already in an extremely susceptible state. Well, he probably should be glad he didn’t get a lung infection.

Jeongguk sighed again as a new song started playing over his headphones. Jin brought him some stuff that he may need while in the hospital, which Jeongguk was very grateful for. It was way more comfortable in his own clothes and with his favourite pillow. However, he still couldn't sleep. The doctor said it was normal after such a traumatic experience and that he probably should go to a therapist. But Jeongguk wasn’t scared or anxious actually. He was just mad, he was so angry. Ever since he arrived in the hospital and had time to think everything through there was this fire slowly simmering in his chest. He was mad at this Seungri guy and his men, he was mad at Jimin, he was even mad at Jin for not being there with him, although he knew how irrational that was. However, all that didn’t compare to the fury he felt towards himself, for not being able to defend himself, for not being able to do literally anything, for allowing those people to stamp all over him, for not being stronger. He swore to himself the moment he was out of this hospital room he’d-

“Bunny?” Someone touched his hand and Jeongguk jerked up, fist already clenched, ready for a punch. Jimin reacted quickly and caught his fist halfway in the air, forcing it down again.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you, you didn’t hear me knocking though.” Jimin explained and Jeongguk let out a long breath, his heart still racing in his chest. He pulled out the headphones and layed back down on the pillows as Jimin sat down on a chair next to the hospital bed.

“How did you make it past the nurses? Visiting time is long over.” Jeongguk asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I have good connections to some doctors in here, remember? They owe me some favours.” Jimin said and shrugged off his pink, glittery bomber jacket. He was back to his soft and fluffy looks, the leather outfit from last night completely gone. His hair was growing kind of long and the pink was fading, only a hint of it left. He looked cute in his black leggins and the big sweater, however Jeongguk has long learned not to mistake Jimin for who he is.

“How do you feel?” The older asked now and Jeonggukk shrugged with the one healthy shoulder.

“I’m alright.” He half-lied. He was feeling like shit actually but it was to be expected after what he went through. He was probably doing better than he should. Jimin reached out and pushed his bangs back, laying a hand on his forehead. Jeongguk sighed dreamily at the soothing feeling of Jimins cold hand on his sweaty skin.

“Your fever hasn’t gone down yet.” He stated and wanted to pull his hand back but Jeongguk held him in place.

“Wait please. This feels nice.” He mumbled, not missing the small smile that crept on Jimins lips.

“Okay,” he whispered and as Jeongguk moved a bit to the side on his bed Jimin followed quickly, settling down next to him. The bed was small and they had to sit pressed together but neither of them minded.

“Jimin,” Jeongguk mumbled. His eyes were now closed as he relished in the cooling feeling of Jimins hands on flushed cheeks. The older hummed.

“Thanks for not sticking to your words.” He said and opened his eyes to see Jimin frown confused.

“What do you mean?” Jeongguk bit his lip and stared at the ceiling again.

“You know, the ‘You can shoot him for all I care’ part.” He whispered, not really understanding why he was feeling embarrassed all of a sudden. Jimin sat up straight next to him to be able to look at Jeongguks face. His thumb brushed over the cut on Jeongguks cheek.

“Did you believe that?” Jimin asked and watched the youngers face closely. Jeongguk shrugged again, wincing as he accidentally moved his injured shoulder. Jimin leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“That was a bluff, bunny. I had to make them think they had nothing against me. If they had noticed how important you are to me, they would have used you as a hostage. You probably would have ended up quite worse. It was saver for you to stay in that room until everything was done.” Jimin explained and cuddled up to him. Jeongguk had already learned over the past few weeks that Jimin is actually pretty clingy, once he gets used to someone. It’s adorable and so contrary to his cold hearted, merciless gang leader behaviour.

“They could have shot me right there and then to get rid of me.”

“Yeah, it was a risk but I know Seungri and your chances were better like that, rather than them dragging you out into the shooting area.” Jeongguk thought about his words for a while as another question formed in his mind. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to ask that, if Jimin would answer him or if he’d get mad but he thought he’d shoot his shot and see where it goes.

“How good to you know him exactly?” Jimin tensed slightly but Jeongguk continued. “I mean as they were--- trying to get something out of me Seungri also talked about how you two have a long past and how he taught you everything and that you’d owe everything to him.” Jimin snorted at that, his fingers drawing patterns on Jeongguks belly.

“Of course he’d say that.” Jimin mumbled before taking a deep breath and groaning. He rolled back on his back and now it was Jimins turn to stare at the ceiling.

“Do you remember how you once asked me how I came to being a gang leader and all that stuff?” Jeongguk nodded, he has been wondering about that ever since he learned what Jimin is doing. The older sighed.

“Well, obviously some shit has to happen for someone to end up on a path like mine. For me, I sometimes think it was predestined but who knows. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t really have a lot of regrets. I’m happy where I am now, but I sometimes wonder how my life would be if I had a normal office job or something. I don’t know,” Jimin chuckled.

“Anyways, I’m an orphan, I grew up in a really shitty orphanage where no one really cared about us children so it has always been ‘survival of the fittest’. The strong kids got the food, the comfy beds, the toys. So I learned to fight my way through life. It was pretty similar in school and once I became older and hit puberty I learned that people tended to underestimate me for my looks, so I used that to get what I wanted. I started using my body to get what I want, whether it was with teachers, other students, or whoever might have been of help for me. Obviously, rumours spread about it and that’s how I got to know Seungri. He was a senior of mine in high school and approached me one day asking if the rumours are true. He told me that I could make a business out of it to get more than just good grades or people to do my homework.” Jeongguk gulped. This was not at all what he had expected. Jimin shook his head slightly.

“I was young and naive. I thought I was the smartest shit and that I’d be in control so I agreed. I thought it were only Seungri and me. He got me the customers and made sure I’d stay save and I did the dirty work. I had no idea that he worked with a brothel and that I was falling deeper and deeper into this whole underground shit.” Jimin frowned. “We actually made quite a lot of money at first and I apparently became very popular in the scene, since I was so young. I had--- a lot of customers and started skipping class until I eventually dropped out of school. It was fine at first, I enjoyed what I was doing, I enjoyed the power I falsely believed I had. Especially when the first high class men came to me. I fucked the previous major, can you believe that?” Jimin chuckled again and ran a hand through his hair.

“One day one of my customers offered me a small pill and asked if I wanted to try. I agreed, not thinking much of it but it only accelerated my downfall. I never learned of the side effect of drugs, I just knew how amazing they made me feel and how much better the sex was so I tried all kinds of stuff that Seungri got for me. I got so used to it that I didn’t want to do it without being high. That’s when I found out that Seungri only used me, he said I owed him a lot of money for all the drugs he got for me and for his ‘work’ as my ‘manager’. He said I had to work more to pay him back and he stopped paying me, so I lost my flat and was forced to move into the brothel that Seungri worked with. That was probably my biggest mistake because it made me dependant. They gave me more and more customers, at one point I had about twenty-five to thirty customers a week. You can imagine, my body was not in the best condition.” Jimin said and turned his head to see Jeongguks wide eyes as he stared at the older in shock. Jimin chuckled again and softly brushed Jeongguks cheek with his knuckles.

“I’m gonna spare you the details but my condition became worse and worse and I tried to block out the pain with more drugs. I had my lowest when I almost overdosed and collapsed on the chest of no other but the police captain of the local police station, which was probably my rescue, because obviously he didn’t want to be connected to my death. He organized me being taken to a hospital.” Jimin smiled nostalgic. “He was a sweet man, he even visited me in the hospital and I confessed my situation to him in a very ugly breakdown. He promised to help me, if I promised to stay silent about him. Obviously, I agreed and that when I got to know one of my best men now. Namjoon, was a former officer that the captain ordered to help me. At first he just helped me getting out of that shit hole and getting away from Seungri but we became kind of friends and stayed in contact.” A grin spread on Jimins face as he kept talking.

“About a year later, I got to know Taehyung, he’s the one who blew up the bunker, do you remember?” Jeongguk nodded. “He used to be a normal dealer with high aspirations.” Jimin explained and shook his head amused.

“He was also mistreated a lot so we made plans together to build our own empire, a better one, where we won’t have to fuck people up to make them loyal. That was uhm--- about five years ago, now I think. The most difficult part was to get loyal people, who didn’t see us as naive, stupid kids. I admit, it was a long, bloody way up. We had to be fierce, you know? There are probably about thirty different rookie gangs and constantly new ones or old ones falling apart. It’s very hard to actually make it. But we were stubborn and unafraid to do whatever it takes. We were probably also pretty lucky that we knew the right people and that others constantly underestimated us. Well, it doesn’t really matter now. The point is we made it. So I guess, Seungri did kind of start it all, by dragging me into this and making me ruthless.” Jimin shrugged. “But I don’t own this fucker shit.” Jeongguk just stared at Jimin for a while, his mind slowly processing Jimins story.

“What did you do to him?” Jeongguk asked eventually and Jimin scrutinized him closely for a while.

“Nothing yet, I’m keeping him in a cell in our base. Why?” Jeongguk scooped a little closer towards Jimin. They were facing each other, their noses almost touching, their breaths mingling.

“When I was tied to that chair and Seungri was--- s-stabbing that knife into me I-” Jeongguk clenched his fist and took a deep breath. “I felt so helpless, so--- vulnerable. They could have done with me whatever they wanted and I had no chance to defend myself whatsoever.” Jimin stared deep into his eyes as he spoke and somehow Jeongguk felt that the other knew exactly what he was talking about. The older cupped his cheek again but his eyes never left Jeongguks. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again, never. Please, teach me how to fight back.” Jimin inhaled a sharp breath.

“You said you don’t want to become a monster like that.” Jimin mumbled. Jeongguk moved his head a bit so their foreheads were pressed together.

“I had a lot of time to think about that while laying here and I realized that the kind people usually get taken advantage of. I’d rather be a monster than having everyone else stamp all over me.” Jimin made a deep sound in his throat, his hand moved from Jeongguks cheek to his neck where the grip tightened in his hair.

“Why is this turning me on?” Jimin mumbled against Jeongguks lips. The younger snorted but returned the passionate kiss, allowing Jimin to take the lead and pushing him back into the mattress.

---

(A/N: Whoop, any questions?)

#bts #fanfition #bts fanfiction #social media au #jikook social media au #jikook #kookmin #park jimin #jeon jungkook #kitty gang au #kitty gang au 30 #ggukienet

33 notes · View notes

danddymaro · 6 years ago

Text

By Amazonian Law | Ranma 1/2 Mousse x Reader

Summary: the Amazonian law states that women who are defeated by outsider women are to fight to the death to regain honor. However, those who are defeated by outsider men must marry those men. In a tribe whom is prideful of producing powerful warriors, such rules would apply for a male defeated in battle. An outsider woman capable of defeating him is worthy of being his bride. In short; Mousse is bested by the reader, forcing the traditional laws to apply, but she is reluctant, despite the likeness she has for him, and the little aching feeling in her chest, he morality fights against this proposition... And then there's the issue of Shampoo... Anyways I don't know of many Ranma 1/2 stories, especially including the reader inserts. If you haven't watched it give it a try. It's pretty cute. P.S. Even if it seems they fell in love so quickly, come on its Ranma 1/2, doesn't everyone?

HE’S SO FREAKING CUTE!

Italics are a person's thoughts. example; 'sample.' (f/n) , (l/n) = Reader's First Name, Last Name. (e/c) = eye color (h/c) = hair color Timeskips and/ or changes in scenery are both identified by the little periods I put to separate them. While I do love filling space with a description about just every little thing, it can get tedious, forgive me. I, of course, own nothing but the story itself. The characters mentioned and used are not property of me of course. Mousse silently followed (f/n), trailing behind the young woman with a dark cloud looming over his hanging head and slumped shoulders. He looked like the definition of misery and suffrage as he followed her like a second shadow, trudging his feet with each step, accenting even more his grief. It took a while for the (h/c) haired girl to notice his presence, having been stuck in a daydream, one of little significance as a matter a fact. However, when she did notice him and his seldom appearance, she couldn't help but pull up a brow at his actions. Taking quick glances back at him, making sure she wasn't just imagining things, she looked completely lost and confused at the confirmation that he, was in fact, following her... But as far as she knew the only woman the long-haired boy ever trailed behind was Shampoo, so what was his deal now? And just Why did he look like his life was practically over?

‘So many questions...’ she thought to herself, nibbling on the top of her thumb’s nail.

‘ ...But come on (f/n) you have to be imagining this,’ she added, unconvinced that there would be any reason the Amazonian male had to follow her.

I mean, Come on...

‘ Maybe we’re headed the same direction…’ she thought brainstorming for ideas, coming up with the only logical excuse she could muster up, that he was actually headed in the same direction as her and it was just a coincidence.

“But the cafe isn't anywhere in this direction,” she mumbled to herself, dismissing that thought and scratching her head. “ He’s not delivering anything… and he doesn't live around here…” She Said softly. Another possibility struck her,

‘Well, it could be…’

'No,’ she thought, shaking her head in denial. ‘that's not why.’ She rather set that idea aside, certain it couldn't be it because If he was set on revenge on her, he would have attacked her by now. Besides his beef was with Ranma, not her.

‘ i swear, ‘ she started. ‘ it would be because of that Ranma Saotome.’

....................................................................................................................... ( short flashback) The last time she had crossed paths with Ranma, and Mousse for that matter, there had been a mistake of identity. That day she had the misfortune of quite literally walking in between one of their squabbles, which of course ended in a fight between the two boys as usual. There was never such a thing as a discussion with Ranma because the boy was a hit first ask questions later, or as she would dub it; a hard headed idiot. Mousse’s horrible vision cost him yet another match when he focused on (f/n)’s blurred vision, rather than the retreating form of Ranma, who had seen his opportunity to scramble away.

Unfortunately, for someone as gifted and strong as Ranma, he never misses a chance at a quick escape, a trait he probably picked up from his yellow belly father she supposed. When the opportunity struck, he didn’t let it go to waste, leaving (f/n) to fend for herself against a very vengeful, hot-headed enemy. And while she usually found the amazonian male’s methods of martial arts amusing from outside a match, he was quite terrifying on the other end of the ring. However, to her great fortune, A bucket of icy, cold water was always available, and with little effort, she had found her ticket out and splashed him with the entire content of a passing little, old lady’s flower bucket onto him. All of which included the rusty can itself, hitting him straight in the face with a rageful force. The curse took its effects and he turned into a squabbling mess of feathers, defeated beneath her right hand as she pressed him down forcefully.

With another hand reaching out and taking hold of his thick-lensed glasses she placed them on his head, frowning at him when she knew he could see her clearer. The stern look she gave him showed every bit of her frustration, annoyed that he had her heart racing like a stallion on an open field when all she wanted was to get a little snack to begin with. When his eyes set on her he had stilled, releasing one single cry and flopping his head down with a huge honk, making her jump and release him in shock.

After that he had flown off he left her dumbfounded, a bit worried as well as to why he seemed so frantic as he saw her. The annoyance she felt had washed away as she watched him fill with desperation.

All she was certain was that whatever his reasoning was for leaving so abruptly, it was enough serious and grave enough for him to cower away and hide from her for the following week, avoiding her whenever she was around, which in a way hurt.

She had assumed they were on good terms for the most part.

……………………………………………………………………………………

( Back to the present)

Taking one last look over her shoulder, she frowned, stopping herself from walking further. ‘I can't just have him following me around like this,’ she inwardly sighed, noticing onlookers stare at the pair, whispering amongst themselves as always. The number of gossipers in town was outstanding and it seemed that there was always a spare set of lips passing on new information, much to her annoyance.

‘I’ve got to just ask, get it over with.’ she thought while Inhaling a large breath from her nostrils. she turned to mousse, directly facing him with determination and without looking up at her, he stopped too, sniffling. “Alright! What in the heck has gotten into you?” she asked bewildered. “What's going on, and why do you look like all is lost?” she said with a heave. He stayed still, unmoving and unresponsive to her questions, until she had an idea of her own, hopefully explaining his display of misery. There was only one reason for his suffering, and it was of course 'his beloved,' Shampoo. “ Ahh, so Did shampoo reject you again?” She asked a bit softly, making him sniffle again at the mention of the purple-haired amazonian warrior.

At least That got a good response as he exclaimed, “M-my shampoo!” making her ears ring. He continued to cry, making quite the unpleasant scene unfold, rather than just getting on and speaking about the issue. “ my dear shampoo, now we will never come to be!” he said loudly, with his head in his hands. (f/n) was left baffled, unsure why this had anything to do with her, and before she spoke The dark-haired, bespeckled teen looked up at her, tears streaming down his face like two large rivers cascading down his cheeks.

‘exaggerated as always.’ she thought to roll her eyes at his display, however, it did hit a pang in her heart seeing him that way, especially when it came to shampoo… She could never understand why he kept persisting with someone who clearly had no feelings for him, but she supposed she couldn't speak much on the matter herself when she was just as bad. “Uh, mousse, calm down,” she said softly, gingerly putting a hand to his shoulder and giving him a gentle smile, hoping to cease the ever ending tears he wept. She felt an immense amount of sympathy and compassion for the weeping boy, compelling her to bring him comfort. “ just tell me what's wrong ok?” she added, trying her best to comfort him and finally draw a clear answer. Nodding silently, he slowly struggled to make the words to come out. “By amazonian law…” He started, “by Amazonian law, you're now my fiance…” he muttered, croaking out the last bit of revelation.

The sounds around them, the chattering of the passing people, the birds alike, as well as the breeze, stilled and quieted. There was a ringing in her ears, making her spine tingle and feel icy cold pricks run along its course.

‘Did he really just say that?’ she thought wide-eyed, feeling her mouth dry. ‘Amazonian law? The same one that had tied shampoo to Ranma right? That same one?’ she questioned herself, still looking at him bug-eyed.

She took a couple of moments to blink, cocking her head to the side, and just as the realization hit her like a ton of hard bricks and had its moment to settle, she quickly shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her into an x. “No, no, no, no, no, no “ She chanted out. Unwillingly a fit of laughter left her as she was gone into a full denial and disbelief. “I'm gonna walk away, “ she said unable to control her nervous tick. “ I'm gonna walk away and pretend this didn't happen, ok … ok?” she compromised, immediately, sprinting away, jumping from house to house, and dashing through the air faster than she ever has before. ‘He's crazy…’ she thought to herself, feeling the world around her beginning swirl, twisting her stomach along with it. “He's freaking nuts!” she squealed slapping two cool palms onto her very heated cheeks. He had made her entire face glow red and heart wildly beat with an arrhythmic, jumbled quickness.

“ME?!? MARRIED….WITH HIM!?” she cried loudly, leaving a trail of hysterical laughter behind. ………………………………………………………………………………… Shortly after receiving the heavy news she had made it her goal to avoid anything that had to do with the dark-haired young man, and So She went on, going the rest of the week rather stiffly, almost having bit off her nails into short nubs in anxious wait for the inevitable run-in she’d have with him. With her luck it’d be a complete mess, worrying her even further. So She opted for what seemed like a good plan, avoiding the outside world instead, hoping it would blow over.

The entire ordeal had to go away eventually... if only she’d wait it out. She was certain it would, and he’d probably forget, and go back to pursuing shampoo like always, an idea she found herself pained at. The wait felt eternal for her and after being confined within the walls of her home for only three days, she found herself facing the front door, glaring at it with uncertainty. ‘I have to come out sooner or later,’ she thought swallowing down thickly. ‘I can't hide here forever,' She contemplated further, mustering the courage she needed. Huffing, she swung her front door open in one quick movement and jumped out into the world. Silently, to not draw so much attention, she walked around town looking in every direction, careful not to run into her new supposed fiance.

Despite the many time's she's replayed his words in her head, and the scene as well, she still couldn't believe it.

To be roped into something so insane and unbelievable...

‘I bet this is what Ranma feels, having to watch out for all those crazy girls...at least it's just one guy for me,’ she thought with a bit of relief. ‘ just one guy, And he’s actually kind of cute…’ she added in consideration as she peered around the corner. ‘And kinda sweet...adorable really’ she added with a dopey smile melting onto her face, hearing her heart pitter patter within her body like a ball hitting a paddle repeatedly for strive at a world record.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the corner, holding onto it tightly as she watched a passing couple and as she watched them leave, the instant image of both mousse and her walking hand in hand replaced them, making her breath hitch. “What am I thinking?” she said out loud, slapping a hand to her forehead, staring up at the sky in disbelief. “I cant… I can't seriously be thinking about that!” she cried out, walking forward. Taking another quick glance back, with a longing expression at the sight of the linked hands between the happy couple, she sighed.

In her own little world of fantasy and longing, a hard object clashed into her, making her fly back at the force in which it came at her. She fell back and landed on the floor with a grunt, feeling her butt already sore and as she looked up she realized just what had thrown her into the air.

She was met with frantic blue eyes staring down at her, wide-eyed and surprised.

‘W-What the heck?.’ she thought eyeing the dark-haired young man standing before her, already feeling the scorn of before coming back, along with the present annoyance. “Care to watch where you're going Saotome?” she asked huffing, feeling her blood boil at the sight of him. ‘ you giant dork, this is your fault!’ she inwardly screamed, wanting to strangle him right then and there.

‘If it weren't for you I wouldn't have even been thinking of Mousse like that, I'd be able to roam around happily!'

Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms stubbornly Ranma gave her a halfhearted glare in return replacing the previous look of fretfulness. “ (f/n) I could ask you the same thing, you bumped into me! ” he argued. “The ground’s down here not up there!” he barked, pointing up at the sky. “Maybe if you didn't have your head in the clouds, “ he mumbled, making her glow a bright shade of red, remembering just what had her preoccupied.

‘I was thinking about… about how cute... mousse,' she thought dumbly, unable to fight back at his remark. “W-whatever, drop it! ” she said starting to pull herself up when his hand extended out to her. He had almost shoved the hand in her face for her to take a hold of. The gesture made her stare up at him surprised, but nonetheless grateful. It had been partially his fault, but he wouldn't admit it, instead, he gave her some help, hoping that would suffice as an apology enough, and it did. To his pleasure the fallen girl gratefully took it, and he pulled her up quickly. “Thanks,” she said forcing a smile at his act of concern, blowing over the less than pleasant greeting as her own act of agreement at a middle ground.

“So whats got you running around like a madman?” she asked somewhat curious, noticing his disabled appearance.

If he had been running around carelessly enough to run into her like that, there had to be a good reason, she assumed. “It’s that damn shampoo again, “ he breathed, glowing two different shades of red afterward, looking away from her gaze. He wouldn't elaborate more on what had occurred since he was already embarrassed enough to have been there and say her name. All (f/n) knew was that whatever the girl did had been serious enough for him to look like a rugged mess.

“ ....not to mention that idiot Mousse,” he added with more aggravation in his tone, the second name tasting bitter to his tongue. She felt her breath hitch at his words, almost choking on air. “M-mousse you said?” she asked with her eyes bugging out. “He’s not anywhere here is he?!” she asked frantically looking in every direction around. Her state of alarm made him want to ask a million questions but opted to simply keep shut, not wanting any more problems than he was already burdened with. ‘Perhaps another day,’ he thought shrugging, hoping to remember to ask next time. “ it’s alright though ! I think I lost them," he said relieved, hoping to make her drop the panic in her widened (e/c) colored eyes. “Th-that good,” she said sighing, her shoulders drooping in a melting relaxation before a loud crash was heard besides them.

The side of the wall they had been hiding beside was no more than bits and pieces. Instinctively (f/n) flew up, wrapping her arms and legs around the pigtailed boy, and he did nothing more than panic as well, latching onto her like a tick with the face of utter shock and fear. Releasing a scream she looked to the clearing rubble and noticed the double bun-haired young woman Glaring in her direction like a feral beast. “ You hussy, What you think you doing with my airen! Stay back! ” shampoo cried, swinging at her with one of her custom colored Chui, and by default also aimed her strike at her supposed fiance. Pushing (f/n) away Ranma caught shampoo’s extended weapon quickly and took it from her possession in one swoop.

Keeping One away from her he felt more confident facing the fiery, angered woman.

“Chill shampoo!” he cried almost pleading, putting on a gentler facade to make her drop her defenses. “ I no chill when shampoo’s Airen huddle up to other girl! Why Ranma look for other lover?” she said desperately, aiming her other melee weapon at Ranma in retaliation, but missing when he ducked. “ First Akane, then that kodachi girl! That Ukyo, and now this girl! Ranma’s love is only for shampoo!” she cried desperately, feeling scorned, believing he had run off just to meet up with another lover. Her red irises then left Saotome to flew towards her new enemy and glared harshly. “And you!” she said aiming an accusing finger at (f/n) “ You dare steal my Ranma!” she cried out, sounding betrayed. ( f/n) stood baffled, astonished at the little time it took for hell to break loose. 'All cause I ran into that butt over there,’ she thought, throwing a glare towards Ranma who in turn grimaced at her.

‘I should be avoiding him instead of mousse now that I think about it,’ she added gritting her teeth. ‘This is a strike two for you Saotome!’ she thought maliciously. “ Your eyes swallow up my Ranma like greedy pig!” shampoo stormed, making (f/n)’s attention fly back to her. “shampoo, I don't want Ranma!” she said anxiously, paying her attention back to the threat before her. “You lie!” shampoo said aiming all her anger at the other woman, forgetting she had even held a bit of malice for the dark-haired boy, which to (f/n) was totally unfair.

“It's true !" (f/n) said dodging a heavy kick. She darted her eyes left and right, noticing Ranma gone, leaving nothing but rubble and mess behind.

He had left the second both girls looked away from him, finding his ticket out. By that point, he was only a red, tiny speck in her eyes as he retreated far in the distance.

‘That bastard!’ (f/n) inwardly cried, ‘ STRIKE THREE YOU JERK! I’M TEARING YOU A NEW ONE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU! !’ she thought, gritting her teeth, deciding if she made it out alive, she’d pay him back with a boot to his sneaky butt.

The idea of vengeance left her as her mind went blank when saw six rounded edges rimmed with soft yellow and teal approach her face with vigorous speed. She panicked already knowing that she would end up with a broken nose, or much worse a broken face entirely and In the heat of the moment, she could only cry out.

But rather than a scream, words flew out like water out a broken dam,

“ I HAVE A FIANCE!”

She screamed at the top of her lungs making the violet-haired girl’s attack stop. The weapon in the Chinese girl’s hand retracted just as it barely grazed the other’s nose. (f/n) only felt the cold tip ever so softly press against the point of her nose and she would admit that She had never been so relieved in her entire life, so grateful to breathe air through her nostrils.

Shampoo and her trusty weapon would have destroyed the thing and given her a new face.

‘Thank god,’ she wheezed feeling her heart on the verge of escaping through her open mouth. However, her words soon caught up to her as her own jaw slacked open further. “fiance?” shampoo said raising an eyebrow, sounding unconvinced at the revelation. “ who is this fiance, girl?” she said poking( f/n)’s chest in disbelief and with a very noticeable snarky tone.

She didn't believe a lick of the so-called confession. ‘I can't believe I just said that.’ (f/n) thought to herself, wanting to go hide away for the rest of her life.

‘Great…’

she looked up to shampoo and swallowed hard, finding a way to say the words and fess up. “My fiance…” she started shakily, feeling pressured under shampoo’s dangerously shining ruby eyes. The rummaging in her chest didn't help either.

She struggled to say it, feeling her face glow red, and her tongue get tied.

“My fiance is… is....”

“Me shampoo, I'm her fiance,” interrupted a new, more masculine voice.

Both girls turned to see the Chinese, amazonian male step forward, looking sternly at both women. (f/n) let a little sigh of relief leave her, feeling safe, spared from speaking the words herself.

Looking to the side and away from both people, she averted her gaze unable to face Mousse any longer, finding it increasingly harder when she felt a tiny spark hit her as he directed himself to her, staring at her with expectancy. “ yeah...it’s mousse,” (f/n) confirmed, not daring to look straight at the teal eyed young man, or the ruby-eyed female before her. With her legs feeling wobbly, she couldn't face anyone or stand well, let alone in the presence of the man that was causing her heart to bounce rigorously. “Mousse?” Shampoo asked cocking her head to the side, visualizing both of the people together, never having thought about it. However, the idea settled into her quickly as her face lit up with joy.

It meant a free path for her and her Ranma from now on and She couldn't be happier, not feeling any bit saddened at losing the young man ’s interest. It was actually a blessing to her. “Mousse no want to marry shampoo then? Then Mousse no longer get in the way of Ranma and her!” she said looking elated, clapping both hands together joyously. “Is happy day for me, and for Mousse…. You too bride of mousse!” She said graciously.

Her expression had changed into a sweet cherub, beaming with joy, erasing any trace of hostility once bubbling in her blood.

Turning to (f/n) fully she smiled, expressing herself like an old-time chum, even after the horrific encounter. “ shampoo sorry, (f/n)” she said modestly bowing, all the while smiling to herself and before leaving with a bubbly step to her heels. She didn't pay heed to the still standing amazonian male, not even enough to take a side glance back at him. her mind was giddy with joy at having an easier path to her ‘Airen’. With that, Both mousse and (f/n) were left alone, awkwardly glancing at each other, and taking turns doing so.

Her eyes wandered to him stubbornly, trying to get a read off him, but failing as she cowered too quickly to do so. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks so heated she could probably roast a marshmallow on them. She was certain they were firetruck red since he showed up. Finally finding some backbone she looked towards him in expectancy, waiting for something to come… but he didn't give anything back.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead swallowed his words and walked away. He didn't seem his usual self, still somber but not in a depressing manner like she had seen him before the mess that had occurred… like when he had told her about the Amazonian Law and their marriage.

He acted like a completely different person... and it scared her to a degree. “What's wrong with him now?” she whispered, concerned about his behavior.

He was empty, not giving her indications of resentment or hate, nor joy and relief and she missed his open expressions. She liked him better that way, when she could read him like an open book and before she knew it her legs moved and she trailed behind him, nervously playing with her hands as she inched closer.

He walked with his face aimed at the world and straightforward, a tall stride.

She hadn't noticed how well built he actually was, but as his bare back faced her, giving her a nice sight she took notice. Perhaps it might have been that he always wore such baggy clothing, never indicating he had something so good to hide.

As his hair flowed smoothly with the breeze, she could see him perfectly well, nice shadows and lines she knew only came with hard work. And of course that was the case, he was a martial artist. ‘He's got a really nice body...’ she said observing him shamelessly. The muscles were obviously tensed, and she held the will to touch them beneath her trembling hands.

She couldn't decide which seemed like a better choice, his silky locks or his beautifully shaped body all inches from her. Everything about him had started having its effect on her, making her feel weaker and weaker. Her working legs began to fail her and feel like jiggly jello once again.

Having been focused on the beautiful contours of his body, she hadn't noticed he stopped dead in his tracks and he inhaled a large breath before speaking, probably what he’d been holding in since they saw each other again.

“You're saving yourself for me,” he commented, making her face twist into confusion.

It wasn't a question, but a statement that he voiced. “you're taking it seriously,” he added, referring to the supposed union between them. It made her wonder if he Was bothered she had brought it up, but to her defense, she had only used it as a defense tactic, blurting it out in desperation, not like she meant to scream it out to the world like a proud proclamation. But even if that had been the case… he came to her first…

She felt so stupid knowing he didn't want anything to do with her and she knew this fully well from the start, that his heart lied somewhere else.

Her heart was bouncing heavily for him, and she held undeniable attraction and feelings for him. Those were undeniable facts that weren't cause of some stupid law. They came from within her, nested deep inside the safety of her heart.

‘Stupid mousse… stupid… stupid Mousse… if you had never said anything…’ she thought bitterly, biting her tongue. She hadn't considered the idea of being an item with him, or even of sharing the same sentence in any form of affectionate way, only until he had given her the stupid idea of them being together. She had suppressed all those feelings beforehand, fully knowing the painful consequences of pursuing him.

Her morality was in a clash with her growing affections, waging a nasty war. On one side she could have him, she could truly enjoy him to herself and be his, But then... At the end of the day, he was being forced, thinking of someone else all along. When she’d face him dressed in white, looking at nothing but him, he'd look past or much more heart wrenching, stare directly at her but imagine everything but her. He’d imagine his true love there, holding the bouquet, dressed as a princess on her special day… He’d imagine Shampoo instead...

(f/n) couldn't live like that. She wanted to push him away before she fell in deeper.

When he looks at her with his lovely teal eyes, sparkling with joy, it makes her heart swell with a sweet fulfillment, and when he tears up, glossing those lovely gems with fresh tears it makes her want to run to him and hold him, comfort him with every ounce of affection she can muster.

She wanted him to think of her upon dreaming, wanting her just as much as she did him... but that wasn't something she couldn't ever get. she knew it.

‘ I think I love him…’ She thought sadly, shutting her eyes tightly, already feeling them become wet with tears.

‘ i just wish you'd never said anything…’ she added clutching the fabric of her skirt in her hands. As she opened her eyes again she watched him turn to her suddenly, whipping around and making her jump, scaring her at the suddenness of his movements.

With both his hands crushing her shoulders in his hands, he aligned his gaze to hers and though she couldn't see his eyes behind the heavy set lenses, she still felt a growing insecurity...

Could he see past her? Could he tell she was actually yearning for him…?

Her heart nearly stopped when he spoke again.

“I should do the same!” he cried out, making her almost faint and topple over. “You pushed aside Saotome for me, and cried out with such pride about our marriage (f/n),” he said with admirance, his lenses gleamed with reflecting sunlight, almost blinding her.

She wanted to turn into a puddle and slip down the drains now. She didn't expect it at all and was far less certain which she would have preferred, this or the actual confrontation about her big mouth. At least with the harsher scenario he would have made it easier to distance herself… to hate him if he was a jerk… but he wasn't doing such. “ i... I actually… mousse, no.” she said escaping his hold and backing off, watching his face fall as regret settled into her for her actions.

There was a vice grip capturing her heart and squeezing it bloody, but she had no choice...

‘This isn't right,’ she said to herself, convincing her heart that this wasn't the way. She wanted him willingly.

“You don't have to commit to anything!” she assured him. “Your free to do what you want!” she said quickly, feeling a pang in her chest at the words.

‘Even if it is pursuing someone else…someone who might never love you as much as I know I do.’

Something inside her was slowly breaking as she spoke but knew she couldn't tie him down like some caged animal, against his will.

He was doing it out of force, not free will and love.

“You can keep going after shampoo,” she said sounding shakier than she intended. she no longer wanted to look at him and instead found occupation at glancing at the building beside her. “So just leave me alone,” she said tightening her fists.

‘ if I don't see you again, maybe this will go away…’

He was silent, only looking at her wordlessly, watching her break down, “I just want you to be happy,” she said sniffling, feeling tears already bubbling at the corners of her eyes.

‘This is so hard…’ she thought wiping away what stray tears moved down her cheeks.

'why is this so hard to do?' She couldn’t pinpoint when it happened...

Perhaps It was when she met him, a year ago in that cafe. He had waited on her, giving her a cute smile, swooning her with the small gesture. He had almost spilled her drink all over her blouse, as well as her order and she never before had been so giddy about receiving such horrible service.

Before she left he waved at her, asking her to come back again, a courtesy and probably part of his job, but it didn't help her from feeling herself attracted to him. She asked herself constantly ;

‘why him?’

Why someone so clumsy, so silly and blind both literally and metaphorically. Figuratively for not realizing his chase was fruitless, or in literal terms when he could barely see someone standing an inch from him without those large lenses. She concluded that maybe she just liked dorky guys. Dorky, sweet, determined guys.

She felt crestfallen when she quickly realized he was yearning for someone else. The guy she had so carelessly fallen for already had someone in mind and there was no space in a heart that already had a reserved spot for another.

From his pursuit of the other girl, she could see his need to be loved and cherished. Essentially everything he did was inspired by love and admiration and she found him even more alluring. (f/n) attempted to make herself to understand that he was already interested in someone else, to get it through her head that he was after another. For good measure she made sure to watch as he chased Shampoo, to watch how passionately he yearned for her, but it backfired and made things worse.

It made her feel admirance for him. It made her feel desperate to comfort him, to be the one to correspond to him unanswered calls for affection. She found her own love being fed by small scraps, and so stupidly allowed it to fester more, to become stronger than she could contain.

Despite the craziness of his proposal, a small part of her became lively and elated, realizing that he could be hers. However, the thing such as morality stopped her, pulling her back from taking the chance.

“ (f/n) ” Mousse said softly, unsure of how to comfort her, not certain why she was tearing up either, but he knew for a fact it did hurt him. It was like a gnawing feeling deep within the pit of his stomach, begging him to touch her, to give her at least one small comfort.

She had always been so kind to him, assuring him he’d one day find the way to beat Ranma, winning the heart of his beloved and having his happily ever after. Lifting him up carefully whenever she was around, smiling at him with sympathy and wholehearted kindness. His eyes had never strayed away from shampoo... or at least in the past. When he first came from China, all he had was her in mind. It was years of relentless chase and rejection and he was always sure he’d find a way to get her...And then Ranma Saotome showed up.

He easily swooped her away without trying, without wanting it. The obvious joy shampoo showed knowing he wouldn't ever bother her anymore pained him, furthering the belief that she never would feel anything for him. And then there was (f/n). Always concerned about him, always wondering what troubled him. He had also noticed that She always ordered the same meal, and smiled all the same when he delivered it or served it to her.

He would stumble towards her, but not always because he couldn't see well or because he was just that clumsy, but simply because when he actually adjusted his sight on her, he felt a weird tingling feeling knotting his stomach. She made him nervous with a look from her pretty (e/c) colored eyes. he felt shaken by that glance. At the start, he was almost certain it couldn't have been real.

To feel something strange for another girl, when he was fighting for the love of another... Another who had been his dream since childhood. To him, it had been impossible for some girl to just come along and make him stray off from a romance he’s been chasing for more than the single year he knew (f/n).

He loved Shampoo and only shampoo….He HAD been certain of it. ‘ but why,’ he thought gazing at (f/n), watching her crumble before him…

‘ why am I here…. Why have I been thinking about her so much….? Why even when my Shampoo is there, besides me do I think of (f/n)…?’

… and more importantly,

‘ Why haven't I gone after shampoo yet?’ he asked himself

There were so many thoughts running his head that when (f/n) ran off, he just watched her get smaller and smaller, at least the tiny blur did… until it was nothing more. The two girls had gone separate directions, making him stand in between the two paths, looking at each side with uncertainty.

‘My shampoo… ' he thought sadly, breathing in a heavy breath. ‘ you were never mine… you even never cared to be...’

With a harsh swallow, he looked back to where his new ‘fiance’ went to. Something drove him to take a path there, to take that risk and make it to her. To at least make sure she was ok.

‘ (f/n), I don't want you to cry again... I want you to come in like every other day... I want you to order the same thing… I want you to smile at me when I come back.’

He took a shaky heave, feeling a strain in his chest.

‘I like it when you ask if I'm there… Please pick me up again, please tell me I'm enough. Tell me again how there's a place for me, but this time instead tell me it’s with you...’

With slow steps, he walked to where he saw the (h/c) haired girl run away.

“(f/n)” he said softly, counting each step towards her home. Every inch separating the two.

“I think… I think I might be in love with you…”

To him it wasn't a realization, it was more of a confirmation, finally coming to terms with what had happened. Finally taking notice that what he’d been feeling all along was attraction.

An attraction that grew into much more than feelings of friendship and appreciation. In his chest a feeling of love blossomed, growing more with each day and finally snapping and breaking loose from the lockup his denial had put it in. He headed straight towards her, not willing to back down or let her slip from within the spaces between his fingers.

‘

……………………………………………………………………………........... “Mousse?” she said confused, not having expected him to be the one standing at her doorstep. He was standing in her doorway holding a bouquet of fresh red roses in his hands, looking down at her with sparkling teal eyes, his cheeks blazed red as he clutched the roses towards his chest, tightly, nearly crushing them. “Roses?” She uttered confused. “ is this about us getting married? “ she asked pursing her lips, averting her eyes from the rather sweet image of him there with a bouquet of flowers for her.

It was so cliche, and yet here she was, feeling romanticized by such a thing.

“ I told you, you don't have to do that, I'm letting you go free, it wasn't even a real fight,” she argued, trying to put out every excuse to make him leave. She couldn’t have him there.

She couldn't risk looking stupid again or risk doing something of greater idiocy, like accepting him with such conditions. “ n- no, “ he stuttered, interrupting her with a high pitch to his voice, being almost incapable of controlling it.

His legs shook and he felt a blooming feeling in his heart. The only hesitance in him was of fear, fear of being pushed away by her.

He didn't have a doubt anymore. He wasn't wavering or unsure. His heart raced as he stepped forward, lessening the small space distancing them. “ this isn't about Amazonian law.” he insisted. Walking up to her with a nervous smile playing at his lips he swallowed a large breath and pushed the flowers towards her.

The scent of sweet roses filled her nose and she peered over at him flustered. “Then what is it?” she asked matching the flower’s color, beginning to grow more anxious as the seconds passed. Her hands tightly clutched the de-thorned stems as she stared up at him with shining (e/c) gems. “If you allow me, I will court you from now on, I promise to bring you flowers!” he said rushed, saying it in a single breath. “Flowers of any kind actually, even if they are on the other side of the world I'll find them just for you!” He promised. “ which are your most preferred?” he questioned her, looking enthusiastic, having a new light brighten his vibrantly colored eyes. “No, wait, You don't have to tell me your favorite… I'll devote myself to get you every color and every kind until you're satisfied... If that pleases you.” he said twiddling with his fingers and mumbling the last bit rather cutely. “ anything you want!” he declared tightening his shaky hands into fists, looking every bit as determined as he sounded, swallowing down his nervousness.

There was something in his eyes that made her melt. He was so hopeful, so full of devotion and love that desperately wanted to be taken in and nurtured. She felt like a sucker, easily mellowing at that vulnerability, feeling it all so different from before. She felt like the only woman on earth, being looked on by him with such affection, one that couldn't be swept from beneath her. “ Mousse, “ she said gently, feeling her heart skyrocket... Looking up at him she gave him a melted gaze, looking vulnerable and sweet. “I want what you want.” She assured, holding onto the bouquet with trembling hands. “What I want?” He asked, elated, raising both eyebrows growing excited by the minute. Nodding, she stepped closer to him daringly, swallowing down heavily. Her breaths came out heavy and shaky as she was before him. “I want to be with you,” he insisted again sounding certain and decisive, no trace of future regret or turning back.

She Couldn't believe it.

She couldn't believe he was there, holding flowers just for her, standing there and looking at her with such pleading. “ A-Are you sure? “ she asked, “ what about shampoo?” she said softly.

At the mention of the name, he smiled faintly, looking at her with sincerity, and speaking with the same tone, not one bit saddened.

“ (f/n)... I love you…

I was too afraid and stubborn to admit it, that I had put my eyes on someone other than her. It felt like I was giving up. I don't know what you did to me, but I feel like nothing can hurt me with you by me. During that time when you didn't show up to the cafe… When you were gone, I felt alone. I felt like something was missing from my life. I didn't think about chasing shampoo down. Instead, I was worried about you. Worried about what made you cry, about what I could do to make you smile again. Anxious to know if you never wanted to see me again." Something in her just snapped, and unable to hold herself back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him tightly in an intimate hold. The roses that had been in her hand slipped from her hands, falling to the ground in a mess, but none of them paid mind to them.

Slowly his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in warmth. The way he pressed her to him was almost bone-crushing as he found letting her go not to be an option. With a quick peck to her forehead, he coddled her like it was the only time he’d get the chance and she felt just right being there, not a question in mind, no reason to peel herself away and suddenly the idea of getting married seemed less insane than the first time he had proposed it.

101 notes · View notes

littleoldrachel · 6 years ago

Text

Tenth chapter is up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut.

Dedicating this chapter to @totally-aced-it for being the sweetest cheerleader <3 100 Ways to Say I Love You

Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous | chapter 10/100 - “I’m sorry for your loss.” | Next Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x Tw for graphic description of a panic attack, discussion and memories of child abuse, references to disordered eating and self harm, grief

It's not often that Sirius is bored at work – there's usually so much to do and learn that he's focused and occupied from the moment he clocks in until he's forced out of his desk in the evening by his supervisor. But today is not one of those days; instead, he's half-filling in a crossword from yesterday's copy of the Guardian, and half-texting Remus, his computer screen idle before him.

Consequently, he jumps out of his skin as Akilah appears at his shoulder, silent in spite of their heeled, steel-capped boots. They drop a thick folder on to his desk, and it's the slapping sound that makes him sheepishly fold up the newspaper. Akilah rolls their eyes, tapping a ringed finger on top of the file.

"Good job on that submission, Sirius," they say, "you've got yourself a client."

Sirius jerks up, seizing the folder and flipping through it excitedly, "seriously?!"

"Siriusly," Akilah says with a cheeky grin, cackling as Sirius sticks his tongue out at them. "Are you gonna manage this on top of your big magazine deadline?"

"Watch me," Sirius says, with more confidence than he's used to expressing – but he means it. He finally feels like he's found his footing at Queerllustration; he's stopped feeling star-struck around his idols, having realised that they are just as nerdy and quirky as he is, he's been out on a pub crawl with all of his team and had a blast, and he's had nothing but positive feedback on everything he's submitted thus far. Even the prospect of running two big projects at the same time feels like a fun challenge rather than overwhelming – he is neither bored as he was at school, nor overwhelmed like at university, and the change couldn't be more welcome.

"Well, if you need anything, you know where I am," Akilah says, and Sirius grins, glancing over at Akilah's warzone of a desk (sketches, fabrics, magazines littered everywhere, half-full mugs of coffee surrounding their computer monitor like guards), "but I trust your judgement." Sirius' heart swells at their confidence in him, because is there any feeling in the world as good as being respected by someone you hold in the highest regard?

Speaking of – he glances back at his phone screen, which has three new notifications. One is a bunch of likes on his Instagram post of his latest coffee art (he might not be a barista anymore, but making patterns in steamed milk is fun, alright?), and the second is Remus' guesses at the crossword clue he'd sent him. He studies the crossword for a moment, realising with unsurprised amusement that Remus is correct, as per usual, and sends him an affectionate 'nerd' in return.

The third –

Oh.

It's a Facebook message, which is unusual in itself, because nobody in their right mind prefers Facebook Messenger to WhatsApp. But it's the sender of the message that makes him pause.

Regulus Black (1 New Message)

Sirius stares at the notification for a few seconds, which blinks back at him, flashing with new messages at alarming rate. Then he shoves the phone away from him, and it lands face-down at the edge of his desk.

He breathes.

For a few minutes, he manages to ignore the niggling sense of anxiety; he flips through the new folder without taking any of it in, he tries to edit a fight scene but frustrates himself with his inability to draw fucking hands, he continues sending memes to Remus, allowing him to take control of the conversation.

(Remus is… struggling, there's no two ways around it. Sirius hates the fresh scratches he sees on Remus' wrists, hates the tired and empty look in his eyes, hates the way Remus talks about himself as though he's shit on the bottom of someone's shoe. He hates that Remus still has to fight to leave his bed each morning, that he can't face work without having violent panic attacks, that he lurches between forgetting (read: not caring enough) to feed himself and eating everything in sight).

(And yet. Things are improving: once upon a time, the scratches would have been gashes, the bleakness of his expression would not have lifted, the self-deprecation would have been all that left his mouth. And Remus is trying – Sirius can see how hard he's trying, and it fills him with the fragile kind of hope that he wants to lock away in a tower to keep it safe. When Sirius asks about how he's really coping, he can see the struggle in Remus' mind, but Remus is fighting, and he is more open than he has ever been before about the reality of the situation).

(Sirius is sort of embarrassingly proud and concerned and grateful all at once).

His phone vibrates again, and Sirius clicks on the notification without thinking – expecting it to be Remus again. Only it's not, and the screen switches to Messenger before he can rectify this horrendous mistake.

Regulus Black: Sirius. I know you do not want to talk to me. I understand that sentiment. But this is of the utmost importance, and I do not have another way of ensuring that this news reaches you. I implore you to believe me that this is not the way I would prefer to tell you this, but again, this is urgent.

Regulus Black: Uncle Alphard has died.

Regulus Black: I am so sorry, brother. I know how much he meant to you.

Regulus Black: It was very sudden. The doctors say it was a stroke. Mother and Father – well, you can imagine what they are saying.

Regulus Black: I am sorry. I know that probably means very little coming from me. But, he was my uncle too. And I am sorry.

Regulus Black: In his will, Uncle Alphard has left everything to you, Sirius. Mother and Father are livid and are doing everything they can to get their hands on the fortune. But it belongs to you. One of your friends – MacKinnon - is a lawyer, I believe? Perhaps you can arrange something with them against Mother and Father. It is not important now, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later.

Regulus Black: There's something else. Mother and Father have sunk even lower than I thought possible and have barred you from attending the funeral. I do not know what they will do to you should you show up anyway. I will of course give you the details if you wish to come.

Regulus Black: You do not need to respond. But Sirius, please do not be alone. Please take care of yourself or let someone take care of you. I know this news must be very hard for you. But you were important to Alphard, and he would want you to take care too.

Sirius – he – he doesn't –

Sirius has a plethora of talents, but languages have never been among them – and for a while, he feels like he's had a passage of Mandarin placed in front of him, because the words? don't? make? sense? But then he realises it's more like he's reading an obnoxiously academic text, because he understands the individual words, but together it's like a riddle.

When he finally comprehends, it's like all the force of a brick wall crashes down on him – only it must be a set of walls stacked like dominoes, because it keeps happening. Every blow is crushing, every breath is harder and harder to reach because he's buried under mounds and mounds of rubble.

"Sirius," he hears, but it's muffled, and he is fading fast. There's even more pressure on his shoulders and he moans, shaking it loose – it's too much, too much, too much –

There are voices – beneath a rushing in his ears and the sounds of his choked gasps for air, people are calling his name and there's movement everywhere, but Sirius is drowning, drowning, drowningdrowningdrowning –

Something touches his neck this time, and he howls, jerking away violently, causing something to give way beneath him and he thumps down, knocking what little breath he has out of his lungs.

"Right, everybody out!" Someone shouts and claps their hands, and Sirius presses his hands over his ears as he continues to fight for breath, because it's all so loud, why are they being so loud? There's some kind of animal too – something is making an awful groan, as though it's been mortally wounded, and Sirius wants to sob at the sound of its distress, because it's appalling.

(When he's six, his father takes him hunting for the first time. Sirius loves what felt like dressing up in the fancy riding gear and is so excited to be on a horse again. But then the hunt begins, and Sirius watches a dog ravage a pheasant, his father's hand clamped on his jaw to keep his head from cringing away from the violence. Tears course down his cheeks as he pleads with his father to make it stop, "please daddy, I'll do anything," cries that are harshly silenced when his father backhands him hard, and spat, "I don't know why I'm so disappointed that you're as useless at this as everything else." When Uncle Alphard drops by later that evening, he is livid at the blotchy bruise across Sirius' cheekbones. Sirius can feel the phantom sensation of Alphard's gentle hands holding him in a rare, safe hug, can hear his voice explaining that under no circumstances are Orion's actions acceptable).

"Sirius."

Words are far too hard right now, and the only sounds he seems capable of making are pathetic whimpers, but he recognises that someone is trying to reach him from where he's trapped – someone knows he is here and suffocating.

"Sirius, you're perfectly safe. You're at work, you're having a panic attack. Can you open your eyes? I want you to see that you're safe."

Sirius is shaking his head violently before the person has even finished speaking, because he don't think he can cope with seeing the world in ruins as it now must be (or worse, the world as it was before, because if it's not in tatters, if it's just his world, how is he supposed to deal with that?).

"Okay. Okay, eyes closed then. I'm not going to touch you," they say, and Sirius feels tears smarting at his eyes. (He can't tell what he wants, because on the one hand, the thought of people – strangers, unknown people – laying hands on him makes him want to hurl, but also, he's an incredibly tactile person and the thought of a warm hug right now makes him physically ache with need).

"We're just going to breathe together, okay? That's all you need to do, and I know it's hard, but you just need to listen to me, and follow me, okay?"

The voice begins to count, and with it, Sirius loses all concept of time. After a while, and what feels like a thousand ragged, counted breaths, he becomes aware that the keening injured animal is in fact him, and the sound cuts off mid-wail. He feels overwhelmed – the combination of embarrassment, anxiety and grief have overtaken his utter panic, but it's still too much.

"You're doing so well, Sirius, that's it. Let's keep breathing a bit longer."

Obediently, Sirius continues to follow the counting breaths (what else can he do?), and slowly – achingly, excruciatingly slowly, he begins to return to himself. He can feel the smooth coolness of the floor beneath him, he can see vague shadows through his scrunched-up eyelids, he can hear the relative quiet of the office, save his noisy breathing and the computer monitors humming. He loosens his grip around himself ever so slightly, and when he doesn't drift apart, he forces himself to open his eyes on the next count of eight.

(When Sirius is eleven, he hides out at Alphard's apartment, which is smaller and drabber than the extravagance of Grimmauld Place, but feels more like a home than anywhere Sirius has ever known. Alphard insists that he teach him to cook, because "one day, little man, you're going to get out of that godawful house and family, and you're going to be free to live how you want to live… but you're going to need to be able to feed yourself!" It's the first time that anyone has expressed belief that Sirius is capable of something more than being a Black, and Sirius has never felt so hopeful and valued before).

It's dazzlingly bright, which hints at how long his meltdown has lasted, and he shrinks back into the shadows under his desk (how did he end up under here?). His muscles are throbbing from being held taut for so long and don't want to support his body weight, so he falls back with a soft thump. A coffee-brown hand reaches out and clasps around his wrist with a gentle tug, preventing him from thwacking his head against the ground.

He pulls himself back up, even though everything in him wants to lie down, curl up and cry. Akilah's concerned expression comes in to view, and Sirius feels another surge of shame at his behaviour.

"Hey, no, Sirius," Akilah catches his mortification, because of course they do, and opens their arms out for a hug. Sirius crawls forward, still humiliated but physically hungry for human contact, and allows himself to be swept in to Akilah's warm embrace. He closes his eyes against their chest (and a tiny part of him points out the enormity of the situation, because Akilah is awkward about their chest and the way it protrudes even under binding), and grounds himself against Akilah's heartbeat. "What happened? Is it the project?"

Sirius shakes his head, feeling a wave of fresh panic rise so fast that it's predatory, and he has to swallow down bile before he can speak. "I don't – um- I can't –" Words are much too much right now, and Sirius fumbles around for his phone, before shoving it in Akilah's direction instead, because the thought of having to say it out loud would mean acknowledging the truth in Regulus' messages, a truth which is too terrible to bear. They hold it steady as he shakily unlocks it, and Sirius can't watch as they read, doesn't want to see the moment they get it.

(He feels it though, because Akilah lets out a barely perceptible sigh and tightens their grip around him).

"What can I do?"

The compassion in their voice overwhelms him, and he feels a hot prickling at the back of his eyes. "I don't kno-w," his voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes tighter shut, even as tears leak out.

"That's okay," Akilah says immediately, "do you want to go home?"

Sirius nods, even though he's not sure what he wants, but home means his friends and safety, and surely that will feel better than crouching under a desk with his employer.

"Is there someone I can call? I don't want you to be alone, and…" Akilah trails off as Sirius taps at his phone screen again, deliberately not looking at Regulus' messages, and switches it to the WhatsApp conversation he'd been having before – all of this. "Okay. Okay. I'll give them a call," they say, and Sirius feels himself relax the tiniest amount for the first time.

(Nothing is okay. Nothing. He is simultaneously empty of all emotion and overflowing with how overwhelmed he is by it all).

He's not sure how he gets from work to home, because he shuts his eyes again, forces himself to think about literally anything else. When he next opens them, Akilah is speaking and he's been burrito-wrapped in a blanket on James and Lily's couch. The lighting is soft and unobtrusive, the television is on but almost inaudible, and the cushion he's resting his head on is one of the smooth, velvety ones. He can appreciate what Akilah's trying to do, even if he can't feel any gratitude because of it. He vaguely remembers that Lily has a late shift tonight and that James has parents evening, but he doesn't mention either of those things as he's persuading Akilah that they can leave now. It sucks more of his energy than he expected to convince them, and he feels – numb.

He manages to hold it together for as long as it takes to feign half-smiles and reassurances that yes, I'll be fine, my friend will be here soon, I'll call you if there are any issues, but the second Akilah leaves, he's floating again, stitches coming apart at the seams, and he wraps his arms around himself again, pressing his face against the soft cushion until it's hard to breathe.

(Sirius has known for years now, and years of shouldering this kind of secret have worn a tired and heavy ache in to his chest. It's something that is so fundamental to him, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, and yet, it's not all he is. But he knows his family won't see it like that. Then, one day, when he is fourteen and Alphard has just set a tagine dish before him, he cannot hold on to it any longer, and it comes spilling out of his mouth: "I'm gay." Alphard blinks at him, then smiles broadly, and says "okay. "Thank you for telling me. I love you, Sirius" before spooning a generous helping of couscous on to Sirius' plate. "More couscous?").

There's a knock at the door a little while later, but Sirius doesn't really hear it – or rather, he hears it but cannot register its significance. He huddles himself in to a tighter ball on the sofa, because if he loosens his grip for even a second, he is going to crack and fall apart and lose entire pieces of himself, and there is no coming back from that, he can't, he can't, he can't –

"Padfoot?" There's another knock at the door, and Sirius knows that voice, its familiarity would usually send butterflies fluttering in his belly and warmth around his heart. But not today, not now, not when he feels so incredibly numb and empty and hopeless, nothing can penetrate, nothing can help him.

"Padfoot, I'm coming in now." Sirius blinks and wonders fleetingly how much time has passed since that first knock. He doesn't open his eyes again, instead he squeezes them tighter shut as the door opens, as though he can force himself to wake up out of this nightmare.

Soft footsteps pad in his direction, but he is barely aware of them – he's barely aware of anything on a physical level. He's trapped inside his mind, disconnected from his body, and he knows that his fingers are tingling with a burning ferocity now because his entire arm is dead, but he cannot make himself move it – he doesn't know how anymore.

"Hey," the voice is incredibly gentle, like a wave lapping against the shore. Sirius wills himself to open his eyes. It takes the longest time for his body to get the memo, but when it finally does, the kindest of faces swims in to view. Their eyebrows are knitted in a concerned frown, their eyes are sad and crinkled, mouth turned down at the corners. He knows the name to this face, but his mind is so disconnected that everything's just foggy.

They continue talking, keeping their movements slow and obvious. Sirius lets the white noise wash over him like a tide, and keeps breathing, breathing, breathing. Eventually, it's like the world begins to come back in to sharper focus – shapes around the lovely face gain definition, the words being said make sense to him, and a name floats to the forefront of his brain: Moony. Remus.

"M'ny," he mumbles, and Remus stops talking immediately, moving close enough that Sirius can extract an arm from his blanket nest, reach out a hand and touch his chest.

"Pads," he says, equally softly, and within that single syllable is a multitude of empathy and support.

"Can you-" Sirius reaches for Remus' hands, but his dead arm sends a throb of stinging pain up to his shoulder, and his limb flops uselessly.

With one hand, Remus begins massaging his arm, beginning at his fingertips and working upwards. It sends tiny sparks of pain darting through him, but the sensation is strangely grounding, pulling him back to himself. Remus presses his other hand to Sirius' cheek, and the warmth of his palm seeps through the numbness, thawing the ice that has taken control of his mind.

It takes forever, but eventually, Sirius can wiggle his fingers without pain, and he immediately twists his wrist in Remus' grip, so that their hands slot together like jigsaw pieces. The grounding it gives him makes him sigh inwardly with relief – even more so when Remus shuffles closer, pressing their foreheads together. Sirius closes his eyes, breathing in Remus and all the comfort his scent brings, their lips so close they could kiss, only for once, Sirius has zero interest in kissing him.

Eventually, Remus presses a kiss against their entwined knuckles, and gently slides his fingers away. "I'm going to make us some tea, and then I'm going to cuddle the shit out of you. That okay?"

Sirius nods, even though it's not, and nothing will be okay ever again. Every breath he draws is one that Alphard cannot, and will not, ever again. It's like a knife twisting in his chest.

(He has to count deep breaths whilst Remus is out of the room, pleading with himself to not spiral once more).

Two mugs are placed on the coffee table with a light clunk. A warm weight settles next to him, and he doesn't even open his eyes, crawling blindly in to Remus' lap and pressing his face in to Remus' soft stomach. Remus runs his fingers through Sirius' hair soothingly, drags the blanket tighter around him.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Remus says quietly, and Sirius screws his eyes shut so viciously, it hurts, because those words. He knows people mean well by saying them, but what good does being sorry do? It's as meaningless as sending thoughts and prayers to the victims of a natural disaster – it's a nice gesture, but useless in the long run, and it is always about them, it's not really about the victim. And so, Sirius has always had a complicated relationship with those words – one that is part resentment and part exasperation –

And yet.

When Remus says it, it's different. Because Remus understands the weight of those words, having known his own fair share of loss in his life. And the way Remus says it isn't in an oh-what-a-shame-now-let's-talk-about-me sort of way, nor in a I-feel-so-bad-for-you-right-now way; it's entirely compassionate and empathic and full of the kind of love that Alphard had shown him – one that's unconditional and boundless and pure.

Sirius swallows all of these thoughts down hard, and opens his eyes again, twisting his neck to meet Remus' concerned eyes. He nods simply, cannot smile, and Remus links their fingers together once more.

"You don't have to cope with this alone," Remus says gently but with a firmness that steadies the sick, anxious feeling in Sirius' gut. "You are never alone, but especially not in this."

The tears threaten to return, and if he begins to cry now, he fears that he will never stop. Instead he turns his face back in to Remus' lap, allowing him to continue the head massage and start up a monologue about the impending Bake-Off finale.

"Don't leave," Sirius manages, what feels like hours later, once Remus has entirely wrung out an in-depth analysis of each contestant, before deciding that Ruby's firey-ness reminds him of Alice, and so is his favourite to win.

Remus squeezes him even closer, "never." He presses a kiss in to Sirius' hair, and Sirius feels himself welling up at the tenderness of it. He's not sure how much longer he can keep fighting the tears, though he's not even sure anymore why he's fighting them, he's not ashamed of these emotions, and he knows that Remus would encourage letting it out.

(Somewhere in his scar tissue, however, lies the memory of his pet dog being killed in a car accident, and being forbidden to cry, which has ingrained in him an expectation of punishment for expressing grief through tears).

Soon, James and Lily will be home, and even though he knows Remus has informed them both of the situation, their gentleness and comfort will be overwhelming. He snuggles closer in to Remus' lap, and almost smiles when he hears Remus' stomach let out a small growl.

"Hungry?" he says, in a voice that is scratchy with pent-up emotion, poking Remus fondly, and the other man squirms a little.

"When was the last time you ate something?" Remus counters, and Sirius frowns. Remembering a detail like that seems like it would waste all of the energy he's focusing on breathing and not crying, so he shrugs, because what does it matter? "Sweetheart, you need to eat."

Sirius shrugs again, not wanting to snap at Remus, but can't he see that he doesn't give a shit?

Remus sighs and says, "what if I make a stir fry? Something quick and simple?"

Unable to muster any strong emotions around anything food -related, Sirius shrugs yet again, which Remus seems to take as assent, because he makes to get up. Sirius involuntarily curls closer around Remus, his heart clenching at the thought of being alone again.

"Hey," Remus says so gently that tears spring to his eyes again. (Or maybe all this kindness is the tipping point on how long he can refrain from weeping). "I'm not leaving. You can come with me." He waits for Sirius' reluctant nod before moving again, this time pulling them up together.

Once in the kitchen, Sirius leans his weight against Remus' back, where he's chopping carrots, courgette and pepper in to strips, and wraps his arms loosely around his waist. He closes his eyes, and focuses on the sounds of slicing and sizzling, the smells of soy sauce and frying garlic, the feel of Remus' soft flannel on his cheek.

Eventually, the gas is switched off, and Remus turns with a hum, wrapping his arms around Sirius. "Ready when you are, love," he says softly, but makes no move towards dishing up, instead just holding Sirius like he's something precious and loveable.

The front door opens with them still standing before the hob, and James and Lily sweep in to the room, wearing identical expressions of protective worry. Sirius braces himself for what will surely be a barrage of affection and concern, but to his grateful surprise, they simply join the embrace in silence. Sandwiched between his three favourite people, Sirius cannot stop himself – the relief and the anguish well up inside him, spilling out of his mouth in a strangled sob, as tears begin to stream down his cheeks. As one, his friends draw closer to him, allowing him to collapse his entire body weight against them as he begins to choke on his emotions.

(His grief is sharp and thorny and comes on all sides – every breath he draws, it snatches from him and replaces with barbed wire and spikes that it plunges in to his lungs – it hurts, it hurts so much. There is no pain like this – nothing his parents said to him can compare to the blood-spattered mess his grief is reducing him to –)

(And God, it's never-ending).

Time must pass because his throat is dry and raw from the gasping, wretched sobs that have been ripped from it, and the front of Remus' shirt is entirely sodden with his tears and snot and saliva, and he aches all over from curling into himself like this. But he doesn't feel any of it. He feels nothing except the huge gashing hole where his peace and his contentment once were; now there is only anguish and pain. But eventually his body cries out in surrender, and his sobbing ceases all at once.

"Padfoot?" James says, very softly, gently touching the nape of Sirius' neck. When Sirius doesn't flinch away, he moves his hand up in to Sirius' dark curls, running his fingers through the tangles soothingly. Lily stands with a stiff difficulty, but Sirius doesn't raise his head to track her movements. Instead, he presses further in to Remus' chest, even though the dampness is awful, and Remus is probably sick of him –

"Sirius," Lily has returned, and Sirius lifts his face slightly to see her holding a washcloth. He closes his eyes, allowing her to wipe his eyes – his make-up is long-since ruined, but the warmth of the flannel soothes his sore cheeks and gets rid of the gross stickiness. When she's done, she sits back, looking more helpless than he's ever seen her – Lily is fiercely capable and dependable, and the sight of her looking so unsure is – frankly – terrifying.

Sirius takes a breath, and looks at James, who seems equally lost. With the two people he's come to count on most so powerless, he feels the ground begin to crumble beneath him, but he's saved from slipping through the cracks by Remus (because of course he is).

"Food. Bath. Bed. Cuddles. In that order. Non-negotiable."

It's rare for Remus to give orders – he is much more a follower than a leader, and Sirius means that in the best way, because there is nobody he'd rather have as a deputy. But the unusualness of the situation means that when he does take command, everybody snaps to attention immediately.

James hops up and begins reheating the stir-fry, whilst Lily makes them tea – peppermint by the scent of it. Remus helps Sirius to his feet, keeps an arm around his waist as he guides him to the sofa, and allows him to crawl back in to his lap. Minutes later, James and Lily come in with four steaming bowls and mugs. The heat of the bowl on his lap is uncomfortable, and the smell makes his stomach roll, but he knows that none of his friends will let him get away without eating, so he lifts a noodle wrapped around a carrot to his lips, and chews without tasting.

He manages half a bowl before he feels uncomfortably full and pushes the bowl away with a scowl. He knows he's being a bit of a brat, but he feels like he's earned it right now. Remus looks a little sad at the amount left in the bowl, but he doesn't push for more – it's just as well.

True to his word, Remus takes him in to the bathroom, and runs a bath in James and Lily's ridiculously big tub. He holds an Intergalactic bath bomb beneath the stream of hot water, because he knows that it's Sirius' favourite, and Sirius stares as the water swirls in to sparkling navy blue, glittering colours whirling across the surface. Remus leaves as Sirius undresses, but returns once he's in the water, and keeps up a steady stream of meaningless chatter. Sirius half-listens as Remus babbles on about the upcoming US elections, the dogs he saw today on his walk to work, his new medication and its side effects… the other half he is careful to keep on the water and not the intrusive memories that are attempting to barge through his mind.

But the warmth of the water is doing the trick. Sirius can feel the heat seeping in to his aching muscles, loosening the knots that have formed, and he relaxes just a fraction. And then a little more.

And then suddenly, Remus is stroking his hair back from his face, and the water is only lukewarm and he's so incredibly tired. Remus holds up a fluffy towel for him to step in to, and then hugs it around Sirius. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing, and it's nice and intimate and tender, and Sirius has to go and ruin it all by shivering, doesn't he?

Remus immediately whisks him to his bedroom, where a pair of fluffy pyjamas are waiting atop his pillow, and Sirius slips beneath the covers gratefully, his head heavy and groggy and sad. Remus presses a kiss to his damp hair, and then makes to leave, but Sirius growls, snagging his wrist, and yanking, so that Remus stumbles on top of the sheets.

"You want me to stay?" Remus says, as though the way Sirius is tugging the duvet around him isn't evidence enough, and Sirius refrains from rolling his eyes, if only because it would use his final scraps of energy.

"Obviously," he murmurs, and Remus smiles. He joins Sirius under the covers, and their limbs immediately tangle as Sirius curls around him. Remus wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Sirius pillows on to his chest, and it's so very nice and warm and safe.

"Good night, Padfoot," Remus whispers, as Sirius' eyelids close for the final time that night.

"G'night, M'ny," he slurs back, and swears he feels a kiss press against his cheek before he's off to the stars, floating in a galaxy of dreams and memories.

As peacefully as he slept, and as lovely as it is to wake up being spooned by Remus, his breath tickling the nape of Sirius' neck, the warm glowing contentment he feels pops like a balloon the second he remembers.

Remus is awake the moment he sucks in a choked sob, rolling him in to his arms and allowing him to weep in to his chest.

"It's not fair," Sirius manages, after what could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Then he feels like an idiot for saying so, because Remus knows that better than anyone. "It's not fair that he's gone and they're still here when he was a better man than – than –"

"I know, love," Remus says softly, but he lets Sirius throw his temper tantrum against his chest as he holds him, because he truly is a saint and Sirius does not deserve him.

There's a knock at the door, and Sirius freezes, before burrowing beneath the covers and tucking himself in to Remus' squish. The logical part of his brain – which obviously hasn't woken up yet – knows that it's just James and Lily, and they won't give a shit that he's tear-stained and sleepy. But the bigger part just wants to be left alone, so he doesn't emerge when Remus says, "come in," in his lovely, gravelly sleep-voice.

"Morning," James says, and the sound of mugs being placed on a hard surface stirs Sirius' interest – coffee? Tea? Water? He's so thirsty that any of those would be a dream. He pokes his head out of the covers, spies the coffee mug and launches himself towards it.

"Hey," Remus says, smiling fondly at Sirius' antics, "I would have passed that to you, you know?"

Sirius shrugs, settles himself against Remus' side, and carefully balances the mug on his knees, taking a sip even though it's scalding. Remus cards his fingers against Sirius' scalp - a sensation that usually makes him sag with pleasure, but today barely registers through the foggy grief-exhaustion-anxiety-sadness haze he's under.

"What's the plan today?" James asks, and the question is obviously directed at Sirius, but Sirius struggles to focus - it's all meaningless chatter to Sirius, because his world has shifted forever, why hasn't everybody else got the memo that everything is utterly wrong without -

"I'm at school until half five this evening," James tries, "and Lily's working till seven-"

"But I can swap shifts with Dirk, Sirius, if you'd like me to stay."

Sirius is already shaking his head, because the thought of being such a burden to either of them is unbearable - he cannot handle that sort of guilt on top of his already overwhelming load. (Even if the thought of being alone with his thoughts for a whole day is also unbearable - he will deal).

Remus clears his throat, "I have a day-off today. I can be here all day if you'll have me. Just need to get Alice to feed Winky," he says, and Sirius feels the relief like a shield, protecting him from the awfulness of his own mind. James and Lily seem similarly relieved, and Sirius feels a surge of both love that they care so much and irritation that they don't trust him to be alone. (His head is a fucking mess, and he's too tired to examine his conflicting emotions).

In lieu of having to come up with a verbal response, Sirius leans in to Remus' touch, and forms lazy half-signs, 'stay with me. Please.'

Remus murmurs, "always," quiet enough that even though James and Lily are watching intently, it's an intimacy that's just for the two of them.

Silence falls and Remus plays with Sirius' hair and Sirius' coffee cools and Alphard is dead.

(These are the facts, but they feel more like knives through his chest).

There's something else that needs to be said - Sirius can see it in the way that James and Lily, as in sync as ever, keep exchanging glances full of worry. But neither of them say a word, and the silence stretches longer and bigger and worse. Eventually, when he can't stand the tension anymore, he spits, "if you've got something to say, then say it, won't you?" It's harsher than he intends, and James flinches, but Sirius can't bring himself to feel guilty for his bluntness. (If things were different, he would be beating himself up for being so shitty towards his closest friends. Then again, if things were different, Sirius wouldn't even be feeling so numb to it all in the first place).

It's Lily who asks the question that they're all itching to, because Lily is the bravest of them all.

"We were just wondering when the funeral is, Sirius?" No matter how gently she asks it, Sirius' heart still shatters in to a thousand tiny shards, and it hurts - it hurts so much, how can she just say it like it's not rending the world in two.

Remus seems to sense something, because he reaches out and catches the mug just before it falls off Sirius' knee as he shifts violently, blindly lunging for something - anything to make it hurt less. He shoves his face into his knees, hugging his legs to his chest as tightly as he can, and he breathes, the raggedness of his broken heart still aching with every inhale.

There's a hand on his shoulder - too large for Lily's, too warm for James' - and even though everything in him wants to shrug it off, it grounds him enough that he can find the words to say to his knees, "it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to go."

The grip on his shoulder tightens abruptly. "What the hell does that mean?" says Remus sharply.

"My - my parents don't want me there."

"When has that ever stopped you from doing anything?" James says incredulously.

"This is different," Sirius insists, "Reg says - they've barred me, and -"

"Barred you?"

"What the actual fuck," hisses Remus, and Sirius looks up in surprise at the venom in his tone. The hold on his shoulder is hard enough to bruise (and Sirius would know), and Remus mouth is a grim slash. "How the fuck are they so fucking evil, I will kill them-"

"Moony-" James says pointedly, but Remus shakes his head.

"They know how special Alphard is - was - to Sirius - they are doing this on purpose, and I cannot -"

"Moony."

"Don't Moony me, Prongs, how dare they bar him - this is so fucking unfair, that's-"

(Remus has removed his hand from Sirius' shoulder, but it's now shaking with how hard his nails are clenched into his palm, and Sirius would rather a thousand times that it was him Remus was hurting).

"Remus." Remus finally falls silent at James' I'm-a-teacher sternness, but still glowers defiantly. "Do you think this is helpful?" He nods his head at Sirius, who suddenly becomes aware that his cheeks are damp.

Remus has the grace to look ashamed as he deflates. Keeping his movements as obvious as possible, he moves back to Sirius' side, taking up his hand and twining their fingers. "I'm sorry," he says softly, and Sirius nods distractedly - he doesn't even know why he's crying, and he's more concerned with where Remus' nails have dug into his palms. Remus raises their joined hands, uses the pad of his own thumb to wipe Sirius' cheeks, and it's so tender it stings the raw edges of Sirius' broken heart.

James moves to Sirius' other side, and Sirius leans tiredly against his side - it's not even eight am and he just wants to sleep until he wakes up from this nightmare. Lily tucks his feet into her lap, shuffling closer, and for a moment, Sirius' sniffles are the only sound.

Eventually, James breaks it - "We can find out where they're - um. Where he'll be buried. And then we can go and pay respects. I know it's not the same, Pads, but -"

"Yes." Sirius says, unable to meet anyone's eyes, because he's terrified he'll see Alphard's disappointment that he can't even bring himself to stand up to his parents on this one small thing. Instead, Remus presses a kiss to his temple and Lily squeezes his leg gently.

"I'm proud of you, love," James murmurs, "we all are."

"For what?" Sirius says bitterly, "Alphard's the bravest man I know - knew. This isn't-"

"Having the courage to make yourself a priority is brave," Lily says fiercely.

James nods in agreement, "if you went to the funeral, you'd be seeing your abusers again. You'd be understandably anxious about that, and about making a scene, and you wouldn't get to actually say the goodbyes you need to. I know you know this."

"Sometimes self-protection is the bravest thing you can do," Remus says quietly, and Sirius closes his eyes. He wants to take their kindness and force his mind to accept it - to shove it at the voice that calls him a coward and shut it up because it's wrong, dammit.

But he's so tired and sad and empty, and the combination is too much for one person to manage. He curls into Remus' lap, facing away from the world's compassion that he can't quite convince himself he deserves. Remus returns to stroking through his hair in silence whilst Sirius wallows, and eventually James and Lily have to leave with kisses and well-wishes and the promise that they are only a phone call away.

(Sirius isn't alone - not emotionally, and certainly not physically - but he's alone in the intensity of this feeling. It's an exhausting, constant wave of grief that continually shudders through him, and it wears him down to the extent that he's slipping into a restless sleep once more).

It's Remus who phones into Sirius' work, explains the situation with a levelness that Sirius could never have managed, and arranges for compassionate leave. It's Remus who alerts their wider group of friends to the circumstances, details what he needs from each of them - knows what he needs from each of them - and responds to the overwhelming tidal wave of well-wishes. It's Remus who sits in silence with him for hours at a time, willing to listen when Sirius feels like talking (which isn't often, especially in the beginning), and ready to talk when Sirius' head is too loud and overwhelmed (which is often).

The next few days are not a blur. Sirius remembers them in sharp painful detail, and every breath aches like an old wound. He does his best to keep busy - he and Remus go to Richmond Park, trample through the snow-laden fields, walk as far as Remus' aching bones will allow. Remus takes him to the newest exhibition on Aboriginal art at the RA, and he wishes that his mind felt less foggy to appreciate its beauty and individuality. The two of them bake cookies - gingerbread shaped like dreidels - and binge the entirety of One Day At A Time and completely sort through Sirius' wardrobe.

It helps to keep himself occupied, because it prevents the memories from forcing their way through, though not even the sight of Remus with flour on the tip of his nose is enough to lift Sirius' spirits.

He's not sure why it hurts so much – he hasn't seen Alphard for a year, at least, and even then, their relationship has shifted from a paternal one to something like distant friends. The closeness had fallen by the wayside (and doesn't Sirius just loathe himself for allowing that to happen?) when Sirius had found friends he could rely on and a life he loved.

And yet it hurts so fucking much.

Perhaps it's the fact that he used Alphard's money to escape and rebuild his life afresh, without once going to actually visit his uncle and tell him how grateful he is. Perhaps it's the niggling voice in his head that whispers that Alphard knew about the abuse but still did nothing to remove him from it. Perhaps most painful of all, it's that in spite of the awfulness of his upbringing, his memories of Alphard are among his most nostalgic, but recalling them in a world where Alphard lives no longer is unbearable.

He finds himself going to text Alphard when he stumbles upon a recipe Alphard would have loved. He has to force himself to put down the scarf he's unthinkingly picked up for Alphard's Christmas present. He thinks of him when he hears Vivaldi, and when he passes bouquets of red flowers, and when he sees a deer frolicking through the fields, and suddenly his memory is everywhere.

(And it's unbearable).

(He's so, so tired).

Remus doesn't leave. That thought is the one that Sirius wakes up and lies down to. Every time he reaches for him, Remus is there before the thought has even fully formed. Every time his breathing becomes too tight and everything too much, Remus has his hands clasped in his own and is counting steady exaggerated breaths. Every time he begins to cry and doesn't know how or whether he'll ever stop, Remus holds him close and lets him sob in to his stomach, offering nothing but kindness and love and support.

And it should feel suffocating – like having an overly-attentive shadow, only… it's actually the biggest comfort he can imagine? Having someone who knows him so intimately means that he doesn't have to put into words how terrible he feels - because Remus gets it, and he gets him. James and Lily are, of course, wonderful, but it's Remus, and it's always been Remus, and there's nobody else Sirius would rather have by his side. Remus validates him and supports him and loves him unconditionally - and he knows any of his friends would do so too. But it's Remus.

(He spends a lot of his time wrapped around Remus' warm body, hands clasped together, Remus massaging his shoulders and neck, scratching his scalp, it's all Remus-Remus-Remus, and the tactile side of Sirius that craves physical contact is in bliss).

(Even if nothing else is).

#littleoldrachel writes #writing #fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus/sirius #100 ways to say i love you

3 notes · View notes

hithelleth · 7 years ago

Text

The Originals 4 x 13 “The Feast of All Sinners”

I cried a bucket of tears.

But first thing first.

So, Vincent’s final idea of containing the Hollow was to draw, quarter, and separate it for all eternity, much like they did it the first time with the bones, only now he would shove it into 4 original siblings who then would never be able to come near each other again, or, for that matter, Hope – because of the blood pull between Hope and the Hollow.

Of course, Vincent omitted the last part and only revealed it to Hayley, but fortunately Hayley has learned from her past mistakes and told Klaus, knowing he would do the right thing and sacrifice even not being able to be with Hope to save her.

They had a little problem getting ahold of Kol, so Freya had a back-up plan to turn herself into a vampire, but she didn’t have to, because Kol showed up.

In the meantime, the Hollow revived Dominic who proceeded with propaganda, yada, yada. Upon Josh’s suggestion to join forces with the Mikaelsons, Marcel went to the Hollow under the pretence of truce and knocked her out with some magic dust (curtesy of Freya or Vincent, I guess).

Really, Josh and Rebekah were the ones making the most sense – Rebekah had a great point of pointing out that despite everything, the originals don’t do that well separated; they are better together.

But anyway, according to the plan, Vincent did his thing and everyone went their own way.

Did I say that I cried? Yeah.

Like, when Klaus came to say goodbye to Marcel.

Although, the worst was him saying goodbye to Elijah and asking him not to come to his rescue (when he goes off the rails without the family and love that are keeping him in line/together – his words, just paraphrased) despite his instincts.

Elijah has been breaking my heart the entire season and proceeded to do so this episode, first by renouncing the ‘always and forever’, although that was just an attempt to make the separation not hurt so much as it soon showed (it was very much in line with all his self-loathing and fatalism throughout the season, though).

Because, the truth is, he would do anything for his siblings (even if that might not be the best thing), so he then asked Marcel to ‘set him free’ and compel his devotion away, which Marcel did with Vincent’s help (who needed to open Elijah’s mind).

Oh, yeah, I cried there, too.

So, now. I think Freya stayed in NOLA with Keelin and she’s searching for an alternate way to end/contain the Hollow and reunite the family.

Kol went back to Davina and we saw him giving the stolen witch diamond to commission some jewellery for Davina, along with an engagement ring. Good for him.

Marcel came after Rebekah, rather than going with Sofya when she left NOLA.

Hayley took Hope to Mystic Falls, where she can have friends and all.

Elijah was seen playing a piano in some dive in Marseille (I think). Where Klaus came by (already breaking the rules!), leaving him a huge tip (not that he needs the money).

I’m a little confused about Elijah. Marcel compelled him to forget his wow and all the pain and love that came with it, but did Elijah also forgot his family or only his feelings about them – in any case, even if he ‘forgot’ them, there was a recognition there when he saw Klaus, even if subconscious or ‘not caring’.

Because Rebekah was right, even if they are sort of happy with their significant others (or unfeeling, like Elijah), there would always be something missing without the others.

Also, regarding Elijah, I was speculating about his turning off his humanity, and this actually comes very close to it, because I think what made and kept him human was exactly his love for his family, so what is he going to be without that?

(Maybe I’ll now have some time soon to put all my thoughts on Elijah on one post one day.)

But, the one my heart is truly breaking for is Klaus, because he pulled the short straw: he is at the worst place of them all, perhaps at the worst place in his life.

Because while everyone else has someone (and Elijah has his family feelings on ‘off’), Klaus is all alone (no wonder he’s breaking the rules), more alone than ever – because even when he was quarrelling with one sibling or the other or more, there was always one of them beside him nonetheless. And he feels everything, all the love for everyone he can never see again. The question is, is his love for Hope and wanting to be a good man enough now that he can’t hope to ever see her or anyone he loves again to keep him going and not simply give up and turn into a monster.

I hope it will, I hope that maybe he has enough hope and determination that maybe he himself is searching for a way to deal with the Hollow and reunite the family like Freya is doing (I mean, he hasn’t got (m)any friends, but he is a thousand years old, he knows stuff, legends, people, maybe he can come up with something.)

And then, of course, Hope will grow in power as she grows. And I think it will be she who ends the Hollow, but she could probably use some help. (Apparently, they deleted a scene with her promising that they will be reunited, so… it’s logical that she would want that and be able to do that eventually.)

I wonder if we’ll get another time-jump to when Hope is older (I fleetingly glimpsed something like that somewhere), because that would make sense.

Anyway, I’m a mess and shouldn’t be trying to make sense of things just yet right now.

It was a good episode, despite all the heartbreak, worthy not only of season finale, but it would be also a good show finale.

(So, if you-know-who screws it up next year, I can always imagine this as the finale with some added headcanoning so everyone can live happily ever after without being separated. I mean, it’s true co-dependency and living in each other’s pockets all the time isn’t healthy, but neither is them being separated for all the eternity: I’d like to see them living their own lives, but staying in touch and getting together now and then a few times a year at least, that would be a good life for them, I think.)

Okay, I’m gonna stop. I have too many feels for this.

#The Originals #to s4 #4.13: The Feast of All Sinners #my meta: the originals #the originals meta #this post is a mess #as are my feels #rip me #ded by to s4 finale #i'm okay but i'm not okay if you get what i mean #also excuse my typos i don't feel like proofreading rn

2 notes · View notes

kiss-my-freckle · 8 years ago

Text

S3 Blacklisters

Blacklisters: Season Three

The Troll Farmer, Bo Chang

No. 38 Apprehended

Liz: You said the plan was to wait, that it was impossible to cross the perimeter. Red: Waiting was an option when we had somewhere to wait. Now we don’t. We need to contact the Troll Farmer. Liz: And I don’t know who that is. Red: The Troll Farmer uses social media to conduct highly coordinated disinformation campaigns on behalf of governments, lobbyists, corporations, crime syndicates, and on occasion, a humble fugitive. He’s mastered the art of information warfare by creating events, virtual hoaxes designed to piggyback on real public anxiety. He activates hundreds of fake accounts to post thousands of tweets, creating the appearance of, say, a terrorist attack in Paris that served as cover for an art heist. He doctors screenshots from news outlets to report an ebola outbreak in Atlanta in order to drive up the stock of a drug company developing a cure. The Troll Farmer is much more than a rumor monger. The events he creates appear to be real and provoke a very real response. Smoke manufactured to draw the cameras away from the real fire.

Marvin Gerard

No. 80 Still At Large

Red: Marvin Gerard was one of the most respected defense attorneys on the Eastern seaboard. Perfect wife, perfect job, perfect, all of it. Save for his son Timothy. Quiet boy. Fell in with some bad eggs, it seems. Disciplinary issues, troubles at school, drug abuse. Timothy was getting a steady supply of amphetamines from his mother’s shrink– Ritalin, Adderall. She constantly bullied the boy. Marvin and his wife separated. He fought for custody, contacted police, social services. But his wife was the princess in a very prominent and powerful legal dynasty, so no action was ever taken. Timothy remained in her sole custody. Her abuse worsened. Convinced he had no other option, Marvin kidnapped the boy. They tracked him down, of course. Returned the child to his mother. Marvin was disbarred, convicted, and incarcerated. Liz: And what happened to his son? Red: A year later, Timothy hung himself. He was 15.

Eli Matchett

No. 72 Apprehended

Red: What do you know about Verdiant Industries, Lizzy? Liz: Nothing. Red: They’re the world’s largest agribusiness. They sell seeds. More to the point, genetically engineered seeds. In fact, they’re the single largest manufacturer of genetically engineered seeds on Earth, and not just any seeds. Corn, soy, the crops at the very foundation of our food economy. Liz: I’ve read about this. Modifying the DNA of the seed itself, teaching it to create a protein that kills common pests that would eat it. Red: Yes, and those seeds are very expensive. Most small farmers can’t afford them. Many of them have been driven out of business. And when people feel their homes and livelihoods threatened, violence is never far behind. A few days ago, a Verdiant facility was attacked by a group of small farmers who call themselves Los Segadores, men determined to kill Verdiant before it kills them. Liz: Damaging one building will hardly kill Verdiant. Red: They did more than damage a building, Lizzy. They stole data, a cache of proprietary files detailing how Verdiant modifies its corn genome. That’s a trade secret worth billions of dollars. You and I are gonna take those files from the men who stole them. Liz: Assuming we could do that, why would we? Red: Verdiant launders money for the Cabal. Hundreds of millions of dollars a year. If we get those files, we have leverage over Verdiant. We have leverage over Verdiant, we have leverage over the Cabal.

Liz: Looks like Costa was copying Verdiant documents and feeding them to Matchett and his crew. He kept this ledger to keep track of the documents he stole. Red: He’s got internal memos here tracking some development project called Genesis. Liz: He was sending them to a feed store in Wilson Park? Wait, wait, look. We can’t just go charging in there. We had a hard enough time handling the Cabal when the FBI was backing us, let alone hunting us down.

Hanover: My God. You’re Raymond Reddington. Red: And you’re Susan Hanover. Chief Technology Officer at Verdiant Industries. And corporate shill for the Cabal. Come on. Why don’t we let the boy play? Red: I have some bad news, Susan. The virus you helped Eli Matchett create has been contained. Hanover: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Red: Oh, I think you do. See, I thought Eli Matchett was Verdiant’s greatest enemy. I assumed he left Los Segadores because he wanted to be even more radical, but that’s not true, is it, Susan? The truth is he was co-opted by your company. You paid him to attack that facility. You wanted him to steal that data. Hanover: That’s outrageous. Red: Oh, well, we certainly agree on that. You provided him with everything he needed, including the scientist who synthesized the virus. Hanover: Okay. That’s enough. Red: Sit down, Susan. Let’s not make a scene in front of the boy. Hanover: This virus you’re talking about. Why would we do that? Why destroy our own product? Red: Perhaps you were willing to create this disease because you already possess the cure. It’s ingenious. Hire a madman to unleash a catastrophic threat, and then wait just long enough for the world to panic. Hanover: Why would we do that? Red: For the money, Susan. So you and your company could come rushing in with a new product at the perfect time, a seed immune to the devastating scourge and available, of course, at a much higher price. Hanover: You can’t prove that. Red: Oh, but I can. I know about the Genesis project. By now, so do the FBI. At the risk of sounding immodest, I’m on their Most-Wanted list. Number one with a bullet. They came here looking for me. Unfortunately for you, what they found were dozens of internal Verdiant documents which will lead them to your warehouse in Silver Ridge, and I don’t need to tell you what they’ll find inside. A stockpile of new seed waiting to be sold to a desperate world on the verge of calamity. You would’ve made a fortune and looked like heroes in the process. Hanover: I knew Matchett was a mistake. Red: Never met the man. Wouldn’t judge him too harshly, though. He seized his chance to terrify the world, shine one glorious spotlight on the dangers of planting the same seed in fields all over the globe. Progress. It’s a bitch. Hanover: What do you want? Red: I came here to ask you to deliver a message to your friend, the Director. This is only the beginning, and I won’t stop until his own people realize that their only way forward is to exonerate Elizabeth Keen and to leave the Director to me. Please. Tell him I’m coming.

The Djinn, Nasim (Nasir) Bakhash

No. 43 Apprehended

Red: Aram. We’re looking for a woman who calls herself The Djinn. A matchmaker of sorts, who pairs clients with what they most desire– greed, lust, revenge. They say she can make any fantasy come true.

Aram: The kidnap and rape of a British princess. The mauling death of a big-game poacher locked in a lion’s cage. The vivisection of a drug dealer while he was eaten alive. According to Mr. Reddington, these are not random acts of perverse cruelty. Each was a revenge fantasy, planned and provided by a woman known only as The Djinn.

Nasim: I know who you are. Red: And I know who you are, Nasim. What a beautiful name. It means “breeze” in Farsi. But you weren’t born Nasim. You were born Nasir– “the victorious.” How ironic. But a boy. A perfectly healthy boy. Nasim: I don’t know what you’re talking about. Liz: Alice told us the story. We know you’re The Djinn. Red: And this must be your father. The butcher. Tell me, Bahram, was it so horrific to discover that your 19-year-old son, your eldest son, was gay? So horrific that you forced him against his will to go under the knife, change his gender, to give you a daughter instead of your son, who is gay? Bantam: Clerics accept– People can get trapped in the body of the wrong sex. The law says– Nasim: I wasn’t trapped. I liked my body. I liked men. Bahram: I wanted to protect you, Nasim. They could have killed you. Red: For being gay. They’re so homophobic that being gay is a hideous crime, but chopping off a man’s penis isn’t? Honestly, is it just me, or is the human race, armed with religion, poisoned by prejudice, and absolutely frantic with hatred and fear, galloping pell-mell back to the dark ages? Who on earth is hurt by a little girl going to school or a child being gay? Let’s be frank, Bahram. You didn’t change your son to protect him. You changed him because he disgusted you. Bahram: That’s not true. Nasim: You violated my body without consent. You sliced out my identity and discarded it as waste. You cursed me to live the rest of my life as a second-class citizen, despite being a firstborn son.

Arioch Cain, Blair

No. 50

Liz: The Cabal– they found us. Red: Worse. Liz: What could be worse than that? Red: Not what, who. Wendigo. Liz: Wendigo? Who’s that? Red: The myth of a nameless assassin. And he’s coming for you. Liz: This Wendigo, if he doesn’t work for the Cabal, who does he work for? Red: No one. He’s not for hire. Wendigo is the embodiment of vigilante justice. He identifies, hunts, and kills targets he deems unfit for society. Some believe he’s ex-special ops because his presence is felt but never seen. Whatever his history, apparently, you’ve caught his attention.

Ressler: Several of Wendigo’s killings are cold cases on the Bureau’s radar. El Malo Grande headed the Mejia cartel out of Guatemala. He was killed while living under an alias in Madrid. Jose Perez, exiled Angolan dictator, was murdered while hiding out in Brasilia. Samar: Maybe they’re cold because no one mourns their loss. They’re despicable thugs. Aram: Any known aliases? Ressler: No. Aram: The only hit on our forensics database is this. Ressler: Both kills were made using a homemade projectile fired from some kind of improvised firearm. Samar: Handcrafted weapons, homemade bullets used in homicides.The list can’t be that long. Ressler: Have it compiled by the time I get back from getting my ass kicked at the Presidential Commission

Blair: I’m the one who wants you dead. Red: On the couch. Liz: You need to take me off that site. Blair: No! Blair's father: What site?! What the hell is going on? What are you people doing here? Blair: She ruined everything. Liz: This isn’t a game! People are trying to kill me! Blair's father: Blair, what are they talking about? Blair: What you wanted. How many times have you said that you wanted her dead, that you wanted the person who killed mom to die? Red: The Orea bombing. Your mother died in the Orea bombing. Blair: Look at her. Her name was Sharon. Did you know that before you blew her up? Blair's father: Blair, honey, whatever they’re telling you to do – Blair: No! Dad, no. Liz: I am so sorry, but I had nothing to do – Blair: You killed her! Red: No, she didn’t. It’s understandable that you would think she did, – but she didn’t. Blair: You’re wrong. Liz: Take it down, Blair, before more innocent people die. Blair: My mom was innocent. Liz: I lost my mom when I was a little girl. I know how you feel. Blair: You don’t. Liz: I still think about her every day – what we might talk about, what her voice might sound like. I promise you, I had nothing to do with your mother’s death. I will do whatever it takes to find the people responsible. But I can’t do anything until you take me off that site. Thank you. Blair, I’m gonna get the people that killed your mother.

Sir Crispin Crandall

No. 86 Deceased

Red: Lizzy, what do you know about Andras Halmi? Liz: The French economist? Red: Belgian. He’s an econometrician. He develops economic models using regression analysis and game theory. One of the world’s greatest minds. And he’s been abducted. Liz: What does that mean to us? Red: Andras Halmi is the Director’s most trusted advisor. And has information that is critical to our plan. At first, I thought it might be a random abduction. But thát appears not to be the case as another elite econometrician went missing in Paris 10 days ago. Liz: Another? How many are there? Red: It’s a small group. Too small to be a coincidence. In the last six months, two acclaimed geneticists have gone missing, two prize-winning civil engineers. Always a man and a woman. Someone is building an ark, Lizzy, and populating it with some of the most brilliant minds of our time. But, to clear your name we need to find Andras Halmi. And to find Andras Halmi, we have to find that ark.

Zal Bin Hasaan, Shahin Navabi

No. 31 Status Unknown

Red: Agent Navabi. May I assume you’re aware of the recent abductions? Samar: Me and every agent in the building. Red: Perhaps. But they don’t share the same personal investment that you have in today’s events. Samar: And why is that? Red: Because you and I both know that Lazarum Systems International is providing technical expertise to Israel’s missile-defense shield. They’re encrypting software for the Iron Dome. Whoever took those contractors is an enemy of Israel. Samar: That’s a long list. Red: Let me shorten it – Zal Bin Hasaan. Imagine The man who’s killed more Mossad agents than any other assassin in history, right here on American soil. Samar: That’s not possible. Red: That’s what you thought in Cairo. He was right behind you, and you didn’t know it. That mistake cost your partner his life and put you in an Egyptian I.C.U. But back then, you were missing one critical element that would have made all the difference – me. Samar: What exactly are you suggesting? Red: That we combine our efforts. We both want Hasaan. I’ll be in touch.

Red: Tell me what’s happening. Samar: It’s my brother. They’re calling him Hasaan. Red: I’m sorry, Samar. I’m getting to the truth a little too late. Samar: The Lazarum hostages have all been executed. I don’t understand. If my brother is Hasaan, why would he risk an attack like this? Red: For the list – The list of Mossad agents and their informants working around the world to find and execute Hasaan. Samar: That list is I.S.O.O. secure. It’s not available electronically. There’s only a hard copy. Red: Where? Samar: The covert source record room. Red: If that’s where the list is, that’s where Hasaan is going. In a few minutes, half the federal agents in Washington will have that building surrounded. Your only job for now is to stay alive.

Kings of the Highway: Cash, Jilly, T-Bone, Pablo, Jasper

No. 108 Deceased/Apprehended

Red: Let me see if I can guess how this works.You grab hapless motorists, drain their ATM accounts, max out their credit cards, and dump them by the side of the road. Money or your life. You’re highwaymen. “KOTH” Knights? Kings Of The Highway. How romantic.

The Director, Peter Kotsiopulos

No. 24 Deceased

Red: The Director needed permission to have me killed. And he only got it by convincing others that I didn’t have the Fulcrum. That was a costly mistake. And now members of the Cabal will be exposed as a result of investigations. His own people are questioning his leadership. We need to capitalize on that by wreaking such havoc on the Cabal that they will choose to exonerate you and sacrifice the Director.

Mr. Gregory Devry

No. 95 Deceased

Red: What do you know about Shell Island? Liz: Never heard of it. Red: The Shell Island retreat is the pet name for an assembly of affiliated criminal organizations. Liz: I’m sorry, wait. Are you giving me a case? Red: You look surprised. Liz: I thought maybe after all we’ve been through the past three months that you might want to take a break. I mean, aren’t you exhausted? Red: Your past three months have been what my life has been like for the past 25 years. I’m often exhausted. The Shell Island retreat is a ritual that dates back to the roaring ’20s. The de facto master of ceremonies is Marcus Caligiuri, next in line to Espen Van Der Merwe, but to assume leadership in the Pater Dei group, the world’s oldest and largest weapons dealer. The leaders of the Bratva, the Yakuza, and assorted international cartels. They gather when they are presented with a problem so difficult, it can only be resolved by enemies working together. Liz: And where is this Shell Island? Red: There is no Shell Island. It’s just a name. The actual location of the meeting is always a closely guarded secret. Liz: I’d have thought you would’ve been invited. Red: Howard Jasnoch. He’s a competitor of mine. He’s arranged transport for the individual who called the meeting. Liz: And who is that? Red: I don’t know. What I do know is if he’s called a meeting and the members are gathering, he’s a very big fish. Whatever is troubling him, whatever has caught the attention of these men is critical. No less than an existential threat. These meetings are infrequent, Lizzy, making this a very rare opportunity. Follow this fish, and you can net the entire school.

Red: He’s a probe. Cooper: When we brought him in, he was in possession of classified data. Red: I’m not interested in the data he has. I’m interested in the data he’s looking for, about me and my relationship with this task force. Samar: The manhunt exposed your relationship to Liz. Red: Yes, people are talking about whether I’m cooperating with the FBI. Rumors are swirling. And whoever he is, he was sent to determine whether those rumors are true.

Liz: What was his name? Red: Gregory Devry. Liz: Were you close? Red: Gregory was a dear friend and a brilliant grifter. He made a good living conning con men. Short of George Sanders, I can think of no one I’d rather have pretend to be me. Liz: But you killed him. Red: Gregory had terminal stomach cancer. So at his request, I euthanized him. Liz: You manufactured a doppelganger to reclaim your reputation. Red: I have many contingency plans in place. This was one.

The Vehm, Cardinal Richards

No. 132 Deceased/Apprehended

Red: Edward Weston was an associate of mine. His murder remains unsolved – the cause of his burns, a mystery until now. William Dowd, found under the 14th Street bridge this morning sprinkled with burning lead. Aram: Uh, the marks and use of lead are consistent with a medieval device subtly called a lead sprinkler. The device is used to shower victims with molten lead, or in the case of Mr. Dowd, to pour it into his mouth, causing serious inner burns and eventual death.

Red: The Holy Vehm – a vigilante group that operated in the Germanic regions of Europe during the Middle Ages. The Vehmic Court was sanctioned by the Emperor and directed by the Archbishop to punish sinners. Liz: What sins did these two commit? Red: Well, in the 15th Century, the Vehm meted out justice for heresy and witchcraft. But today, who knows? During the height of their power, they killed thousands. If I’m correct and the Vehm has been resurrected, there’s no telling how many victims you’ll be looking at. Cooper: Aram, see what cold cases you can find with even a remotely similar MO. Ressler, Navabi, find Dowd’s wife. See what she knows.

Red: Like you, I’m a sinner– an envious one, I might add, as my transgressions are not nearly as divine as the ones you’ve been guilty of during the years you’ve been associated with the Vatican Bank. Cardinal: I’m afraid you were misinformed. I did work with the Bank to bring an end to an unfortunate era of waste and corruption. Red: Ah. Generally speaking, I’m not a huge fan of the incorruptible, but your new pontiff? He is not your father’s holy father. He has an undeniable decency, which you sorely lack. Yes. At his instruction, you helped to root out corruption so that the Vatican Bank would no longer be in the money-laundering business, but to paraphrase Aristotle, corruption abhors a vacuum. So you moved right in. You and your little band of eunuchs. Kudos on that, by the way. Gathering sick men, tricking them into thinking they’re killing pedophiles when, in fact, they’re killing money launderers whose business you covet? Cardinal: The Vehm cleanse the world of God’s mistakes. Their other targets are necessary sacrifices for the good of the holy church. Red: No sin in murder or money laundering, so long as it serves our Father here on Earth or you.

Alistair Pitt

No. 103 Deceased

Red: Have you ever heard of the promnestria? Liz: No, is he here, too? Red: It’s a term the Ancient Greeks used to describe a matchmaker– a negotiator. In this case, a man who brings together warring crime families through mutual self-interest, leverage, or violence if necessary. Liz: My mother– was she still alive when I was placed with Sam? Red: Yes. Liz: Why did she do it? Red: I let myself in because the situation is urgent. On Wall Street, a well-planned merger can return a windfall profit. Criminal enterprises are no different. The promnestria convinces sworn enemies that there is more profit in friendship. In return, he gets a percentage of the new venture. He only surfaces when he sees an opportunity for enormous financial gain. And I’m afraid he has resurfaced to unite two very lethal enemies. Liz: How did my mother die? Red: As I said, the matter is urgent.

Red: I bought this flat four years ago. So that some day I could bring you here to the scene of your crime. Josephine Molire. Now, listen. Josephine’s father was the most prolific criminal arms dealer in Eastern Europe. But for all his success, he had a problem, an enemy. An aggressive and lethal competitor named Stockwell. Alistair Pitt: I had nothing to do with what happened to that poor girl– Red: Yes, you did. Perhaps not directly, but very much by your hand. You arranged a marriage. The youngest Molire daughter to the only Stockwell son– a burgeoning psychopath with a long and troubling history of violence. To guarantee peace and profit for all, you arranged her marriage to this man. Pitt: Please. Don’t. Don’t do this. Red: I held her in my arms and watched the life disappear from her eyes. You destroyed a creature more beautiful than you could ever comprehend.

Lady Ambrosia

No. 77 Deceased

Red: Once upon a time, there lived a woman in the woods. She was neither purely evil, nor purely good. She gathered unwanted children and gave them a home in which to stay. She promised them they’d live forever and a day. She changed them into colors, so beautiful, so bold. Liz: She cared for them so sweetly, they never grew old. Red: You know it. Liz: Lady Ambrosia. Ugh. Always creeped me out. I’m more of a Wizard of Oz fan. You just can’t beat a farm girl in great shoes. Red: Every culture has their version of a mythic creature who takes children. The Germans have Der Grossmann, the Mexicans– La Llorona. But there are whispers that Lady Ambrosia is not a myth, that there’s a real woman out there– takes unwanted children and raises them with the promise of eternal youth. This little boy turned up out of nowhere yesterday, and I wonder if Lady Ambrosia played any part in his disappearance. Liz: Missing children turn up. Red: He wasn’t missing. He died four years ago. And he’s not the first.

Red: Anya Patinka– where is she? Lady: Who the hell are you? Red: Her fairy godmother. I hear it’s her birthday. We’ve come to celebrate. It’s been some time since freshman English, but I seem to recall that fairy tales about abandonment, death, and witches are supposed to allow children to deal with their fears in symbolic terms, but there’s nothing symbolic about this place. You’re a real witch. Lady: I don’t know who you are, but if you don’t get off my property right now, I’ll call the police. Red: I believe they’re already on their way. While we’re waiting, how about I tell you a story? It’s about a mother, her two sons, and a canoeing accident. Lady: You’ve talked to Noah. Red: The family lived by a river. The boys often took a canoe out to fish. One day, the canoe tipped. Inexplicably, the elder son, the golden child, the champion swimmer, drowned, while the younger, the lesser child, survived. The way Noah tells it, you allowed Theo to believe it was his fault, that he was the reason his brother died, that he would have been better off dead. Lady: They could have died together, beautiful and innocent. Theo would have been spared all this. Red: By “this,” you mean the horror of being different. Is that why you kill them? Lady: I save them. Red: From what? Lady: I make sure the damaged ones don’t grow up to be outcasts like Theo– hated, pitied. No one loves an outcast. Red: Not even his mother? Lady: I couldn’t send my son away, but when I look at him, I see what these children shouldn’t be and what they won’t be because I see the life I save them from. Theo: I’m ugly. Red: From where I sit, there’s only one ugly person in the room, and it’s certainly not you, Theo. Dembe: She’s breathing. She’ll be okay. Red: Excellent. We must be going. Theo, you are entitled to as much as anyone– happiness, joy, a mother’s love.

Drexel

No. 113 Apprehended

Liz: Why are we at an art exhibit? Red: Because Roberta Smith at the Times said it was worth a look. And it seemed like a fitting spot to introduce our next adventure. You’re looking at a crime-scene photo. It appeared online a few hours ago, along with a breaking-news bulletin about the murder of Randy Brenner at his new home in Richmond. The local police are flummoxed. It obviously wasn’t your typical home invasion or burglary gone wrong. It wasn’t a crime of passion. It is, in fact, to one somewhat disturbed individual, quite literally a work of art. Those who know of his existence call him Drexel. Considers himself a performance artist. And like most performance artists, his work is a form of social commentary. Liz: Most performance artists don’t kill people in service of their work. Red: Last winter, he murdered the owner of one of the largest CAFOs in Europe. Liz: CAFO? Red: A Controlled Animal Feeding Operation. Hung the owner up on a hook like the cattle they butcher. Liz: A little heavy-handed. Red: Drexel does not employ subtlety to get his point across. His work shows up in unexpected locations… sometimes only for a few hours. Liz: This man has fans? People support him? Red: Yes. A small-but-rabid following. Death as entertainment. Drexel makes them feel part of something– an underground protest movement. Liz: And how do you know Drexel killed Randy Brenner? Red: Because he’s advertising it.

Red: You know, I’ve often considered my love of art, and I realized it’s not just the art– it’s the artist. I like art a lot, but I love artists. I love the stories behind their work… The characters. Lopping off ears… Rankling the establishment with paintings of soup cans… Often boldly revealing themselves to our keen observation and insight, our scrutiny. What a marvelous thing, the courage to create. Though I must say, nothing about your work strikes me as courageous. It seems self-indulgent, petulant. Like a tantrum from a child who’s just realized that the world can be a dark and unfair place. Drexel: I’m– I’m not interested in your opinions of my work. An artist’s job is to speak. Red: And this latest manifesto? Beginning with the murder of Randy Brenner. What is it that you feel so compelled to say? Drexel: You have no idea what he was doing, do you?

The Caretaker

No. 78 Apprehended

Red: Are you aware that a gentleman in your State Department has been murdered in Beijing Liz: Yes. Fished out of the Hai river. Red: His name was Russell Pritchard. Murdered by the Chinese as payback for the assassination of a Chinese official, Zhang Lau. Liz: How? Red: With the help of Addison Wen, an extremely powerful Chinese-American businessman. While Zhang Lau was in town visiting the UN, Mr. Wen invited him to a dinner party at his home. That night, Zhang Lau is poisoned by agents that Mr. Wen agreed to let the State Department place on his serving staff. That agreement, it seems, was recorded by Addison Wen himself. He knew once the murder was committed, he’d be considered a loose end by your government. Liz: He wanted insurance that the government wouldn’t kill him. Red: Precisely. Which brings us to our next blacklister. They call him The Caretaker, a secret keeper– documents, recordings, photos. The caretaker maintains an impenetrable safe-deposit vault for criminals, governments, captains of industry, and he only releases those secrets according to one’s specific instructions. Liz: So, in Addison Wen’s case, that recording was leverage. He probably didn’t want in released unless he was murdered or arrested for the poisoning of Zhang Lau. Red: I agree. And yet, my sources tell me Addison Wen is very much alive and was in no danger of prosecution, which means something has gone terribly wrong. The integrity of The Caretaker’s operation is the only thing preventing thousands of closely guarded secrets from being exposed, secrets that implicate powerful and dangerous people.

Caretaker: My wife and unborn child died a few months before. I was out for a drive, and I saw her crossing the street. She tripped. Her father. Her father– mean. Drunk. He started beating on her. I got out, went over to him to explain, “She’s just a little girl.” A beautiful little girl. Words were exchanged. He took a swing at me. I moved in in self-defense. He went down… hard. As he lay there bleeding, I felt a little hand in mine. She just took it. Like she was saying, “Thank you.” We walked back to the car. She got in willingly. And we left. Left.

Mr. Solomon, Matias

No. 32 Still At Large

Red: 72 hours ago, Matias Solomon escaped from custody while being transferred to a holding facility. Liz: How does that happen? Red: The official story is he overpowered a guard, wrestled away his gun, and managed to kill the entire transport team before vanishing like the proverbial will-of-the-wisp. Liz: And the unofficial story? The Cabal? Red: Apparently not, considering all of the dead men were assets of the Cabal. Yesterday, Solomon reached out to an associate of mine… a man with a very specialized field of expertise. Solomon was inquiring about the storage and transport of tactical nuclear weapons, which would be troubling enough on its own, but coupled with the fact that your Air Force is scheduled to transport just such a weapon down the New Jersey Turnpike, I’m afraid your wedding plans will have to wait, Lizzy. Liz: Is that what this is really about? Getting me to delay my wedding? Red: This is about preventing Matias Solomon from getting his hands on a nuclear weapon. Liz: I’ll take it to the task force. Red: I was hoping you’d say that.

The Artax Network

No. 41

Aram: Alright, whoever was after Agent Keen hacked into a telecom hub. The servers in that basement were sifting data intercepted from the fiber optic cables. Samar: Sifting it and sending it where? Aram: I don’t know. Once they realized we’d figured out what they were doing, they pulled the plug and… and severed all communications. Ressler: But we know what they were looking for… Keen. They were watching her. Aram: Right. Yes. Watching and listening through private security cameras… traffic cams. Cooper: Someone was watching the attack on the church, in real time. Ressler: She never stood a chance. They were following her the whole time. Cooper: And you have no idea where this information was being sent? Who was tracking her? Aram: I’m tracing the packet routes, but it’s… it’s gonna take time. What I do know is that uh, Agent Keen wasn’t the only person they were monitoring. Uh, they were intercepting cell and CCTV footage out of the Warwick Hotel in Midtown, along with voice and Internet traffic out of something called the uh, Global Financial Council. Cooper: How is that connected to Keen? Aram: I don’t know. It’s… There’s so many pieces to sort through. It’s… This is the sort of thing Mr. Reddington would just see without even blinking.

Aram: I’m not looking for a needle. We need the whole haystack. And if I’m right, it’s the Artax Network. Cooper: What is that? Aram: It’s an old telecom project to provide data coverage to every corner of the Earth through a network of 73 satellites. Anyway, the company went bankrupt and the project was abandoned. Samar: But the 73 satellites are still out there. Cooper: You think our target is using them? Ressler: Is there any way to confirm that the network’s still active? Aram: Well, I’ve just gained access to a relay station, and I am about to lock onto one of the satellites. If it’s in use, the data will be encrypted, but… we’ll know if it’s active. Okay. Here we go.

Susan Hargrave, Scottie

No. 18 Still At Large

Red: Are you? A former Cabal operative led the assault that resulted in her death… Matias Solomon. You bungled his execution. He works for Halcyon now. I want him, and I want Scottie Hargrave. Laurel: I despise Halcyon. They’re powerful, arrogant, and unchecked, but our government depends on them. Red: Your government. Not mine. Give Halcyon a call, Laurel. Inform them that you have a job that requires their immediate attention. Laurel: I’m a National Security Advisor to the President. I don’t have the authority nor the discretion to act on my own. Red: That’s nonsense. If Henry Kissinger taught us anything, it’s that the National Security Council has tremendous latitude in both advising the President and shielding him. You do many things he doesn’t want to know about. And I can tell you the President doesn’t want to know about what I have in store for Halcyon. Laurel: The Cabal disavowed Solomon and made peace with Keen. We had nothing to do with this. Red: Elizabeth Keen was well hidden from the demons of her past until you went after her, until you told the world she was Masha Rostova. You put a target on her back and invited someone to take a shot. Do not try my patience, Laurel. On this topic, I have perilously little of it. Laurel: What’s the job?

Alexander Kirk aka Constantin Rostov

No. 14 "Alexander Kirk is gone, and he won’t be back.”

Red: Alexander Kirk is the alias of an oligarch who made a fortune after the fall of the Soviet Union buying mining operations for pennies on the dollar. In 2002, he went into hiding after falling out of favor with the Kremlin. He owes his survival to some of the world’s most powerful politicians whose careers he secretly bankrolls. But Alexander Kirk is the man responsible for Elizabeth’s death. He hired Susan Hargrave to abduct her, which is why we need to work with Hargrave to find him.

#redtimestories

4 notes · View notes