#and shout out to all the OTHER actors who have to deliver their lines without dying of laughter with these antics going on

[queen-scribbles]

This is my favorite MAaN and nothing will change my mind🤣🤣🤣

[seriouslycromulent]

Some thoughts on "Star Trek: Strange New Worlds" - Season 2

It may seem odd that I'm only now getting around to watching the 2nd season of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds, but that's just the nature of my schedule. I often watch a new series well after the season is over, and somehow manage to avoid spoilers until I watch it (but not always).

This works for me because I've always been an "Odd One Out" in that I rarely agree with the majority of the fanbase on the general likes and dislikes of a show or a season. So watching it at my own pace and reacting to it without the undue influence or commentary from the more "popular" voices in the fandom shouting me down is definitely where it's at.

So with that said, here are some of the random thoughts I've had while watching Season 2 of ST: Strange New Worlds.

Please keep in mind, nothing I say below is a sign that I don't like SNW. As a matter of fact, I'm one of those weirdo Trekkers who pretty much loves all things Trek. Each series has things about it that I like, even if it may not be my favorite series in the entire franchise. I pride myself on my ability to find joy in all things Trek because I believe the vision of this universe has many perspectives and stories to tell. And I'm here for all of them!

Let's dive in shall we ...

Loves

I love the way Captain Pike trusts his crew implicitly. It's almost to the point where, I dare say, he's bit of a Mary Sue when it comes to how much of a great boss he is. Every time hell breaks loose or some conflict arises, he always handles it far better than any boss I've ever had or any boss living today in the 21st century would likely ever handle it. I remember he was like that in Star Trek: Discovery, s2, and I was thoroughly impressed. Even taken aback by how good of a boss he was. And although it's kind of a Mary Sue, I ask the writers to change nothing. Who knows? Maybe some of the folks who are bosses watching it today will pick up on his behavior and bring some of that energy into the real world.

Like many, I loved the "Those Old Scientists" crossover episode with Star Trek: Lower Decks. But I knew I was going to like it if for no other reason than Jonathan Frakes directed it. Whenever I see Frakes' name under the director credit on anything, I know it's going to be good. I don't even care what the show is. But the part I truly loved about this episode besides all the fanservice delivered by the amazing script and the actors (you can never have too many Anson Mount eye-rolls) was the sweet moment between Pelia and Boimler around the warp core. The advice she gives him near the end of their conversation really hit home: " ... There's this one guy I remember, he said to me, 'I always pretended to be someone I wanted to be, until finally, I became that someone, or he became me.'" I mean, that line was honestly the most profound message I've heard from any Star Trek series in the 35 years I've been a Trekker. I'm serious. I think I'm going to write down that dialogue and turn it into my desktop wallpaper so I can look at it every day. Out all the awesome that's in this special episode, that moment was perhaps the one I loved the most.

Likes

Carol Kane joining the cast as Pelia. I've always adored Carol Kane. Ever since I watched her on reruns of Taxi when I was a kid. Her ability to balance comedy and drama in the most unexpected ways has always endeared her to me. But I never thought I'd see her on a Star Trek series, let alone as a recurring character or series regular. I'm beyond delighted to have her aboard, even if it's for a short while.

Thanks to Uhura, I think this is the first time we've ever seen a genuine doo-rag on any Star Trek series. If I'm wrong, please correct me. Either way, I'm glad that in the future, we can still keep it real about natural hair care and beauty maintenance.

Dislikes

"Ad Astra Per Aspera," the episode tackling the case of Una Chin-Riley's position in Starfleet after her background was exposed was a decent episode, but not a great one. Allow me to explain. The part that made it fall a bit flat for me were the courtroom scenes. Perhaps I've become too jaded by American TV legal dramas over the past 30 years, but the behavior of the lawyers and judges was far too lax, timid and inconsistent from what I would expect from a JAG-like proceeding or any courtroom for that matter. When the prosecutor yelled "Objection!", the judges barely responded, and certainly not in a timely manner. And when they did respond, it felt weak and uncertain. And then they were too lax when the defense attorney objected as well. I understand they wanted to remain impartial, but instead they come across as disinterested, and considering what was at stake for Starfleet, it simply felt out of place for this situation. Also I'm happy with the outcome of the episode, but it didn't stir the emotional response I expect from great writing on Star Trek, especially considering the way they've handled court cases in the past on other series. Overall, I just feel like that episode could've been written better, with tighter dialogue and more realistic reactions from all the parties involved.

I'm also not a big fan of the fight choreography on SNW overall. To be fair, the fight choreography on all Star Treks has always been a bit silly looking. It's very theatrical, as in what you would normally see on the stage (think Broadway or the West End). Then, on top of that, there's a lot of -- as they say in pro-wrestling circles -- selling to make the impacts look devastating. But on SNW, it somehow manages to look even more "made for the stage" than usual. Perhaps because they tend to use a lot of slow-mo in their fight scenes, at least more than other Treks. Maybe because the choreographer is trying to stay true to the fighting styles common from the TOS, where fists would swing very wide and every move was telegraphed 30 seconds before the actor even started. But it's just ... not ... working. It's not bad enough to make me dislike the show, but I'm not used to wanting to fast forward through fight scenes, and yet on SNW, I've been known to do so.

I know I'm in the minority here within the fandom, but I just want to reiterate that the least interesting thing to me about any Star Trek series is the romantic relationships of the characters. Look, I get it. A lot of fans love shipping characters, and it's the bread and butter of most fanfic stories. But as far as canon stories, I'm just not invested. It's not why I watch the shows. As a matter of fact, the only couple I've ever taken an interest in out of all 8 live-action ST series and 3 animated ST series is Riker/Troi. So you can imagine how much I groan inwardly whenever SNW spends significant time on the romantic relationships of the characters. And as I've said before, they spend A LOT of time on the romantic relationships. More than any other ST series. I don't hate it, and it's not enough to make me stop watching the show. But ... ... I cannot adequately express how much I don't care about Spoke and Chapel's relationship. And this season, they spent so much time on their relationship.

What the f*** and why?

Episode 4, "Among the Lotus Eaters." Capt. Pike, Dr. M'Benga and Lieu. Noonien-Singh travel down to Rigel VII to try to repair the cultural damage Starfleet inflicted on a planet during a botched mission from years before. Pike has been there before. He knows they have to land far away and walk to their destination. They need to walk a whooping 20km before nightfall, in fact. It's snowing and the winds are fierce. I'm sure that Joseph and La'An can tell what the weather is like before they leave the shuttle. And yet ... not one of them packs or wears a hat and gloves. Why? La'An even had the audacity to mock Lieu. Ortegas for wearing a hat when she thought she was going to be on the Away Team. Guess what? Erica was right! You all should be wearing hats and gloves. I don't why that was so annoying to me because it is sooooooo on-brand for Star Trek, but seriously ... why no hat and gloves? Why are you not prepared?

Why oh why is every single set on this show so damn big?! I've seen fans complain about the technology being too advanced compared to other series (on ST: Discovery, s1-2). I've seen fans complain about the sets being too dark compared to other series (on ST: Picard, s3). But am I the only one who's like, "Why is this shuttle carrying only 3 people so freaking big?" Or "Why is a Lieutenant's quarters so huge?" Seriously, Erica Ortegas' quarters could fit a 3-bedroom apt in NYC inside of it. It would seem that SNW loves to make up for past transgressions when it comes to square footage. Their transporter room is ginormous. I mean, the space between each transporter pad is absurd. The bridge looks bigger than the USS Discovery's bridge, and Discovery's bridge had more personnel on it. The Captain's Ready Room doubles as a conference room, but I also think there's a study, a smoking lounge, and a walk-in closet in there. And the mess hall! Come on! It's as big as Ten-Forward was back on ST: TNG. And I swear you can fit the entire USS Defiant inside one of the shuttles on SNW. Now I try not to compare New Trek with Old Trek or '90s Trek because I feel it's not really fair given how much technology has changed. But when it comes to the sizes of the sets, that really doesn't have anything to do with technology. Soooooooo ... why are the sets so damn big?!

---

OK. Now that I've gotten that off my chest, here are my overall thoughts on the show --

Warning: Here's the part where I piss off a lot of fans, so hold on to butts. I like Star Trek: Strange New Worlds. I think the cast is lovely. I'm happy to see these stories are being told, and I will definitely watch season 3. But ... it makes me miss Star Trek: Discovery even more.

I appreciate what they're trying to do with SNW by delivering nostalgia vibes along with new stories that never had a chance to be told, but hopefully tell them in a way that works for today's audiences. Yet unfortunately, I'm not the audience they're aiming for. Hear me out. I'm the audience that has been waiting decades for Star Trek to tell stories about hard and honest topics that may not have convenient or happy solutions by the end. Stories where human beings behaving like real human beings, not poster children intended to be idolized as role models. Deep Space Nine gave me some of that. And Discovery gave me all of that.

There are some episodes this season where SNW attempts to do that, specifically the "Under the Cloak of War" (episode 8). But even in those moments where we get to see Dr. M'Benga show how messy humanity can be, it still comes across as an after-school special meant to teach the audience how to be a good productive member of society.

Plus, I think they only tried that with this episode because it dealt with war, which is the only topic for some where folks are willing to acknowledge that humanity is messy. Also, Star Trek's war scenes always feel a little bit too polished to truly reflect the darkness of battle and its aftermath. Perhaps this is due to so many people wanting the show to be sanitized for family friendly viewing.

Now, let me be clear. This is not a condemnation of SNW. Just a recognition that the stories that Discovery tells/told were for those of us in the fandom who love the unapologetic recognition of the reality that all life in the universe is complicated, and human beings are hardly the ones to get it all right in the end. Maybe that's why some "fans" dislike Discovery so much. But I have my doubts.

Anyway, that's my general takeaway from the show. Like I said, I love all things Trek. I'm happy to see SNW continue. I'm sad that this year will be Discovery's last season. But ultimately, I'm grateful to have all the stories the franchise is willing to tell.

[jenomark]

➔Pairing: Idol!Jaemin x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut ➔Warnings: Oral (F+M) + Penetration (F) ➔Word count: 2,473

➔Summary: Developing a crush on The Na Jaemin was never in the plan, but when his female co-host ends up late to the set, you step in, in more ways than one.

Anon Requested: Hello - may I request a Dreamie idolverse (idol!reader x your pick, based on who you think fits the best) where they have to interact on camera and there’s a huge tension and buildup, and then when they have a moment alone after, they can’t keep their hands off each other? Thank you! 😊

“You! Girl!” someone called.

Startled, you looked around for the voice to see a very sour looking man gesturing for you to come forward. Clipboard in hand, and an earpiece dangling from his ear, he very impatiently pointed at a spot next to the male co-host.

Na Jaemin looked up from the script in his hand. He looked at you first, how you stood there rooted to the spot in fear. Next, he looked at the man who was seconds away from getting angry with you, and he clapped him on the back.

“Sir,” he said. “There is plenty of time. I'm okay with waiting.”

The man seemed to settle down a bit. When he looked at you a second time, he asked you nicely to stand next to Jaemin, but his eyes made it clear that you better listen.

“To check the lighting,” he added gruffly before disappearing and leaving you and Jaemin alone.

The female co-host was late. Since they needed someone to stand in for her, in order for them to adjust the lighting correctly, and to see how the person next to Jaemin would appear on camera, you were the girl up for the job. Didn’t matter that all you were was a lowly assistant. Didn’t matter that Jaemin was the most handsome man you had ever seen, or that being in close proximity with him meant having to finally address the crush you had on him.

“These lights are hot.” Jaemin said. “After this, you should get into some cool air.”

Oh My God, he is talking to me. A real idol...talking to ME, you thought.

You moved your head a little to the right to show that you were listening. He was right. The lights were very hot, and you could feel yourself sweating underneath the thick sweater you wore. You were going to respond to him, gathering up the courage to do so, but a voice over the loudspeaker announced that the female co-host wouldn’t be there for another half hour.

You looked over at Jaemin. His professionalism allowed him to smile gracefully at the inconvenience. He tucked his script underneath his arm and looked towards the camera. You couldn’t stop staring at him, and you didn’t stop until someone snapped at you to look at the camera, too.

“People here aren’t very nice.” you found yourself saying.

“Not always.” he said.

You could feel him staring at you, but you didn’t dare look at him. The people behind the camera had their eyes on you. You were too scared to act up. It wasn’t until Jaemin touched his fingertips to the inside of your palm that you looked over at him.

“Have you been working here for a long time?” he asked. “I think I remember seeing you a few weeks ago.”

“That was me.” you said, trying your best to forget the time you tripped right in front of him and nearly fell flat on your face. If it wasn’t for the fact that everyone was watching and your pride forced you to catch yourself, you would have embarrassed yourself completely in front of The Na Jaemin.

Your little work crushes never lasted long, but there hadn’t been many people that affected you quite like Jaemin did. He was always so present with the people around him, so jovial and warm. He was kind to the staff. He even paid for the coffee everyone drank one day, the bill too enormous for someone with a job like yours. Sure, he was handsome and everything was perfect, and it was cool that he was an idol, but there was something about him that felt normal to you. Romanticizing him couldn't stop that feeling every time you set your eyes on him.

“Have you fixed your feet since then?” he asked, a smile so radiant and as blinding as the overhead lights on his face.

“Yes.” you said.

Someone else shouted for you to look back at the camera, so you did. Then, someone else thrust a script into your hands, the female co-hosts parts highlighted in yellow.

A rushed voice said, “ Read out all of her parts. We’re not on live, it’s just a run-through.”

While there was no patience for you, or consideration for the job you were meant to be doing, there was a certain importance placed on you when the camera light flickered on and all eyes in the room were on you. There was complete silence. Jaemin smiled beside you, his facial expression urging confidence within you.

So, you began to speak her parts. You read them carefully, before turning to pause for Jaemins parts. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but being beside his calmness made you feel a little more at ease.

Jaemin really was so good at his side job. He spoke with a smooth voice, one that knew exactly how to keep people listening. It was too easy to get lost in his velvety voice, in his handsome face, or in the way he made everyone feel included.

When it was time to cut to the female co-host's parts, Jaemin folded his hands in front of him and turned to you, like what you said was the most interesting piece of information in the room. You began to believe in yourself a little more, delivering the lines like your life depended on them.

You both went back and forth for the whole script, your words and timing running through so perfectly that it felt so natural to you. You began to feel like you were the co-host, not the woman running late. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but the chemistry between you and Jaemin was obvious.

“Cut!” a voice yelled. “That was great. I think we have everything set up. Thank you everyone."

People moved all around the room. The stillness in the air when the camera went on vanished in a pinch. Voices erupted everywhere, and the movement of sound made your head hurt. Someone removed the script from your hands. Someone else came up and told you that you did a good job.

“You did really well.” Jaemin agreed, squatting down so a make-up artist could powder his face. “You’re a natural.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I felt like I stuttered too much.”

“You were perfect.” he winked.

The make-up artist looked at you when Jaemin couldn’t keep his eyes from you. You weren’t paying her any attention, even though her gaze could slice you in half.

“Thank you.” you said, resisting the urge to giggle.

When the make-up artist was finished, Jaemin brought himself back up to full height. You couldn’t remember him being that tall. You felt intoxicated by him. You were drawn in so deeply that you didn’t notice the sour man from earlier asking you why you weren’t getting back to your job.

“Right.” you said. “Sorry.”

Jaemin extended his hand for you to shake. His eyes never left yours. You took his hand and held it, letting him control the way your hands moved together.

“It was nice working with you,” he said.

“Yeah, me too.” you said. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You let go of his hand and turned to walk away, mentally kicking yourself that you had said that. Before you could pick up your pace, Jaemins voice stopped you in your tracks.

“If you turned around, you could see me right now.”

You found yourself in his arms, leaning against the wall with your mouth on his, and your hands pulling out the shirt tucked into his pants. Jaemin watched you breathlessly, a dangerous smirk on his lips, and his eyes waiting for you to look up into his.

You couldn’t remember following him back into his dressing room, his hand gently pulling you from behind. You looked at the floor the whole time, too scared to meet the eyes of women you felt were more deserving of his attention. He talked to people as he passed, using his politeness to stall the crew a little while longer. His confidence was hard to turn down, even for you.

You wanted to ask yourself what you were doing. Were you crazy? Were you so blinded by him that you would risk everything? And were you really so horny for him that you couldn’t stop touching him??

Jaemin pulled away from you, his clothes haphazardly falling from his body, the half-undressed look too sexy on him to resist. Your lips were swollen and -no doubt- red from his kisses, the soreness resuming when he wasn’t kissing them, as if the act of kissing him was a salve. He plopped on the couch and patted his lap. You came over and sat on him, straddling his lap and using your hand to push his head against the back of the couch so you could kiss him deeply. He tasted irresistible, forbidden.

You tore off your sweater, your skin sticky. Jaemin's hands snaked up your sides, his thumbs moving underneath your bra. He leaned up to kiss you between your cleavage, his hot breath creating moisture on your skin. He pushed the bra up, freeing your breasts, his mouth finding them without issue. You lean back and let him devour you, knowing that if you fall this time, he will catch you.

There was a knock at the door, which Jaemin ignored, with a sigh, the first time. He had removed your bra and watched it dangle on his finger before it hit the floor. He was touching your breasts tenderly, his hands warming up your skin. When the second knock came, you could feel him tense underneath you.

“Who is it? Jaemin asked. You could feel the emotion trapped in his body, the irritation ready to bubble out. Jaemin, if anything, was a great actor. He kept his voice even and cool.

You didn’t know what you were thinking, but you slid from his lap and sat between his legs. You wanted to ease the tension for him. There was a murmur from behind the door, but you couldn’t hear the voice anymore. You unzipped his pants, your earlier mission on your mind. After seeing Jaemin’s cock in the flesh, his still-soft length making its way into your mouth, nothing else mattered at all.

Soon enough, the person on the other side of the locked door didn’t matter to Jaemin. He watched you go at his cock, licking and stroking him like it was your life's purpose. You cared about little else but having him sit in your mouth, his hardness missing the graze of your teeth. You wanted him to come, but he was so frantic with his movements, trying to stave off the orgasm for as long as possible. Before he could finish, he took your chin in his hand softly and brought your mouth up to his for a kiss. It was a distraction, and it worked.

You pushed him back against the couch and lifted up his shirt. He was amused by how eager you were to please him. He helped you remove his shirt, before continuing to watch your mouth lick and suck his body, leaving little bruises all over. Any time you would reach down to stroke his cock or give him another soft lick you knew would drive him wild, Jaemin would hold your hand to get you to stop.

“Not yet.” was all he said.

Jaemin had insisted that you remove all of your clothes. You tore them off like they were an inconvenience. With you naked, he managed to pull you all the way up the couch, until you were hovering over his face, your legs wobbling with fear. Your pussy lowering down onto Jaemin’s face and his hands against your back for support, you felt his tongue pushing your lips aside. The warmth made you suck in your breath and brace your palms against the wall, before you felt the pleasure of his tongue working its way to your clit. He tasted you everywhere, licking and sucking, pulling you down harder against him so that you were nearly suffocating him, eating you out until your legs were shaking so bad that he had to set you down again.

You wanted to make him come like he had made you come, but Jaemin had other plans. He laid you on the couch. He kissed your body, loving on it until you were begging him to be inside of you. He avoided your pussy, and you wondered if it was on purpose, if he wasn’t letting you come a second time. His mouth was on your inner thigh, the unshaved little hairs you could barely see on his face tickling your skin. He was rough with his teeth, even rougher with the way his fingers prodded and poked you. You were so wet, so ready, that you knew if he even breathed in that direction, you would come again.

“We don’t need these.” Jaemin said, ridding himself of his own pants and underwear.

It was chilly in the dressing room, but Jaemin using his body to cover you made you feel hot. His weight made the scene all too real, and you were suddenly transported out of your horny haze and back to where you were and to whom you were with

“Oh my god.” you said, looking up at him.

You could feel his hard cock on the inside of your leg. He kissed your neck. He shifted your leg so that he could get more comfortable between them.

“I haven't done anything yet.” he said quietly.

“This is going to get me fired.” you grinned from ear-to-ear

Jaemin grinned back, his handsome face making you fall silent. He had his hand on his cock and was using it to guide himself inside of you. Feeling all of him there was well worth the way you were treated by other people during the day. Jaemin’s cock erased everything from your mind, his thrusting making you feel a little bit smug that it was you and not anyone else.

With each thrust, you spoke. “Please. Don’t. Stop. I. Don’t. Care. If. Anyone. Walks. In.”

“You want it, you got it.” he said, fucking you good.

Jaemin pushed you further up the couch, until you were almost in a sitting position, your body against the arm rest. He moved up with you on his knees, holding you by your waist and using his muscles to bring your body down onto his cock. During the fun, he managed to grab fistfuls of your hair and hold on tight, while his cock drilled you, until a third knock came on the door.

"I'm coming." Jaemin called, smiling as he was getting ready to do just that.

[ahristed]

dandelion, jiwoo

      jiwoo, the spoiled spotted rabbit in dandelion, is one of the five potential love interests chosen for heejung, the heroine of the game, by the wizard. he’s a little proud but rather intelligent all the same and is also one of the three rabbit-based characters that the heroine can choose from, the other two being jihae and jieun. i spent a total of one hundred seventy-two hours on his route in order to obtain all the memories for both his good ending and his bad ending as well as all his bonus images in the special menu. i’m new to otome games and reviewing them, but i hope this post ends up being somewhat helpful nonetheless!

character voice

      jiwoo is voiced by lee seongil, who stated in his free talk that while he was never the nicest person, he rarely uses harsh words and yells like jiwoo tends to, whose brash and sometimes callous comments often rub others the wrong way. he’s a character who was modeled after the classic tsundere trope, a japanese term used to refer to someone who seems hostile at first but gradually warms up to other people over time, and i can’t help but applaud the voice actor for the amount of effort he clearly put into playing his role. although seongil playfully complained about the fact that his throat hurt due to all the shouting he had to do and wished that some lines could have been said in a softer tone, i’m impressed that he still managed to convey jiwoo’s complicated feelings for heejung without coming off as exaggerated or overdone even when the dialogue was intended to be. i’m not the biggest fan of tsundere characters, but i found myself listening to some of jiwoo’s lines more than once because i loved how the voice actor delivered them; i couldn’t find a single shortcoming in his performance throughout my numerous playthroughs of his route.

personality

      truth be told, there are merely a handful of instances i remember encountering jiwoo in jihae’s route, which i completed about two years ago and is the only other route that i’ve played in dandelion so far, but from what i can recall, he maintains his arrogant and at times downright rude persona even in the shortest interactions with heejung. similar to jihae, his loathing for the cats jiyeon and jisoo is as clear as day, but at this point, it would be reasonable to conclude that cats and rabbits just don’t get along in their world. however, he doesn’t seem to be all that fond of jihae and jieun either, often calling the two of them “snobbish,” which—now that i think about it—is a textbook example of the pot calling the kettle black. along with this, he tends to isolate himself from the other love interests but also tries to establish his social standing as higher than those of the heroine and the cats during group conversations, calling the aforementioned out on what he believes to be their inferior intelligence at any given opportunity. in addition, jiwoo is shown to be an avid fan of romance novels and soap operas, taking their excessively melodramatic scenarios as gospel truths that reflect the realities of real-life relationships in the human world. the misinformation acquired from these sources have led to more than a few quarrels with heejung.

      be that as it may, his initial disposition toward acting all high and mighty shouldn’t dissuade players from choosing his route because the more his relationship with heejung progresses, the more jiwoo exhibits the trademark roundabout, easily embarrassed characteristics of a tsundere. notwithstanding the fact that he never quite gets rid of his bickering and name-calling habit, it’s obvious that this becomes something laced with affection and endearment the closer the two of them get. there’s a certain charm that comes with witnessing his interactions with the heroine go from aggressive and borderline insensitive remarks to caring and considerate words that reveal his true nature, one that had been buried beneath the scars left behind by his childhood. i won’t sugarcoat my opinion and say that everyone will enjoy his route, but for those who prefer an understated romance that leans more toward an extremely close friendship rather than a lovey-dovey couple, this love interest leaves little to be desired. what i adore about his relationship dynamic with heejung is that there’s no awkward transition from the non-dating to dating stage, which gave me a relaxed but honestly somewhat unrealistic depiction of the beloved friends-to-lovers trope. in true tsundere fashion, the heroine becomes the sole person jiwoo is willing to let his walls down for, and though he might push her away in the beginning due to his own insecurities and self-doubt, he soon grows into someone prepared to go to great lengths just to ensure her happiness and welfare.

route

      jiwoo’s stat requirements are a lot less demanding compared to jihae’s route, so as long as players devote their time and attention to raising relationship points with him and no other love interest, it shouldn’t be all too difficult to obtain his good ending. nevertheless, it can be a chore early on in the game to raise heejung’s beauty and femininity stats while still interacting with him since his primary activities involve raising her art skill and relief ability alone, but things do get much easier later on after using the filled heart gauge to purchase “dress up,” “read harlequin novels,” and “watch soap operas.” it’s also leagues less challenging to go on dates with him and encounter him while accomplishing activities at home because he almost never goes out. since he’s a homebody, he’s available whenever players need to raise their relationship points with him. and as for selecting favorable responses on the aforementioned weekend dates, the right answers are a lot more obvious compared to jihae because contrary to the tsundere archetype that he’s modeled after, jiwoo’s rather vocal about his likes and dislikes.

heroine

      oh gosh, the real question is: what’s there not to love about heejung in jiwoo’s route? from her demure personality as jihae’s heroine, she does a full one-eighty and goes from sheepish and tender to animated and bright, creating an adorable case of “opposites attract.” not only does she become the sole person who can brush off his blatant attempts to distance himself from others, but she’s someone who encourages him to be more cheerful and optimistic as well, reining him in when his temper gets the better of him at times. although it’s mentioned more than once that she’s supposed to be the noona in the relationship, she has a child-like innocence about her that brings out his more mature and reliable side. their conversations are filled with good-natured banter that attest to their similarities and shared interests, with her coaxing him to have fun and lighten up no matter how sour his mood is. another trait i admire about heejung in this route is that she’s aware of his boundaries and knows never to push him to the point of him feeling uncomfortable, being quick to apologize and comfort him when this does happen. it’s plain to see that the heroine is someone who has a positive influence on jiwoo, who said so himself that he wants to be a better man for her, and he, in turn, gives her all the support she needs to live a life that’s for herself instead of her mother.

rating

      considering as well how much closure both the good ending and the bad ending provided, i give jiwoo’s route from dandelion a 4.5 out of 5. i would’ve given it a perfect score had it not been for his endings’ lack of closure, which shrouded his future with heejung in ambiguity. to be honest, i preferred jihae’s endings because there were no “what ifs” left behind from the heroine’s final confrontation with the wizard; that being said, i do understand the need for him to mature into a proper adult before meeting heejung again when they’re both older, so i didn’t have the heart to deduct a full point from my rating.

i’ll be doing jiyeon’s route next!

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 16 part one

(Masterpost of All the Recaps)  (Canary’s Pinboard)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes

All righty, this one is going to be a laff riot...not. Let's do it.

The first half of this episode is like a beautifully executed standalone tragedy, while also threading together all sorts of themes and paying off all sorts of relationship building that's happened in the previous episodes. My hat is off to the writers, while I also shake a fist at them for making me cry an unreasonable amount.

We’re Sailing on a Strange Boat

The episode starts right off absolutely DESTROYING me with the Yunmeng brothers holding hands, fingers interlaced, in the first of many hand-touching moments that punctuate the episode.

Jiang Cheng has to be pretty far gone to accept this degree of comfort and tenderness. I think, from their positions, he is also holding Yanli's hand out of the camera's view. 

Zidian finally lets the trio go, and they immediately turn the boat around and head back to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian gets the clever idea to turn the benches into makeshift oars but nobody gets the clever idea to use magic to push the boat like they do literally every other time they are in a boat. 

Their emotional need to go back to Lotus Pier is understandable, but they are being disobedient and irresponsible by doing it. Jiang Cheng is the future of the clan, and should not risk his life, particularly after his mother chose to sacrifice herself to protect him and after both of his parents told him to go hide with his sister and personal bodyguard brother. 

On the other hand, Jiang Fengmian, as clan leader, probably had a duty to go into hiding himself rather than go home to die romantically, so his authority is questionable at this point. Anyway, this is the Jiang Clan, they get to kind of do what they want, except when that pisses Jiang Cheng off.

Lotus Pier Massacre

Back at Lotus Pier, the Wens are kicking Jiang ass. The fight choreography is pretty good, taking full advantage of walkways, railings, pools, and other features of the environment. 

Using the set this way always makes fights feel more kinetic and real, as opposed to simply sparring in an open area. 

(more after the cut)

Yu Ziyuan is fighting adequately with a sword, having given her preferred weapon to her son.  She's clearly been at it for a while, and is tiring; the Wen soldiers are starting to land more and more sword blows but no critical hits yet.

Wen Zhuliu is kicking ass and possibly melting cores, although we don't see him do it to anybody yet. Later we'll hear from Jiang Cheng that he crushed the cores of his parents, but it's not clear when that happens.

Sixth young master replays Jiang Fengmian's entire archery lesson in his head while he waits, and waits, for Wen Zhuliu to finish strangling a dude the right moment to shoot an arrow at Wen Zhuliu. 

Homicidal tart Wang Lingjiao notices him lining up a shot, strolls over, and stabs him in the back while he's still thinking about what Jiang Fengmian said. One could wish that JFM's archery lessons weren't quite so wordy. 

Wang Linjao normally doesn't carry a sword because of her low spiritual power, but apparently can use one just fine when she's killing kids.

If you start feeling like this episode is unreasonably painful, just think of it as building up calluses so you can handle Yi City when the time comes.

Jiang Fengmian to the Rescue

Jiang Fengmian shows up very far past the nick of time, although he is not actually useful, so it's questionable whether arriving earlier would have helped. But his wife is glad to see him.

Netflix subtitles say that Jiang Fengmian calls Yu Ziyuan "My Lady!" which sounds courtly and romantic in English. His actual words are "San Niangzi" which hunxi-gullai breaks out here.  I might render this as "lady wife!" rather than "my lady" but I don't think English really has a perfect equivalent.

Jiang Fengmian sails across the courtyard, knocking down a few Wen soldiers and becoming a young, slender man in the process.

I mean, come on, that stunt double does not look like a boxy middle-aged man from any angle.

The Dying Bit

The episode splits up the big death scene for dramatic effect but I'm recapping it all together to keep things simple.

Within moments of arriving, Jiang Fengmian gets shanked by Wen Zhuliu like Scatman Crothers in The Shining (or Groundskeeper Willie in The Shinning).

Wen Zhuliu stops a Wen soldier from finishing JFM off, just so that a different Wen soldier can deliver the killing blow from the back, which is kinda harsh. With all this spin-fighting there is probably not an implication of cowardice when someone dies from a stab in the back, but still. Too rude, Wen Zhuliu.

Yu Ziyuan sees Jiang Fengmian fall, and after having a moment of sorrow and despair, she stabs herself in the heart, falls down, crawls to him and interlaces her hand with his. He revives just enough to give her hand a squeeze and say "San Niangzi" one last time before dying. 

She dies next, with a smile on her face at the end. The soundtrack plays that amazing "horribly emotional death scene" music that isn't one of the tracks available on the OST, argh. This same music appears at the end of Xue Yang's story.  

Of the many things I love about the Untamed, the complexity of all the minor characters is possibly my favorite. These two people suck at parenting, and suck at being married, and ultimately suck at protecting and leading their clan, making stupid, selfish choices at every step of the building conflict. 

And then they have this incredibly romantic death scene, in which they both face the inevitability of failure, and find comfort in failing together. Yet their death scene is totally in keeping with who we know them to be, and who they are to each other; the drama doesn't cheat by making them ideal lovers or great people at the end. But they have a great, great moment.

Jiang Yanli, waiting in the woods while her brothers are presumably running toward Lotus Pier, drops her lotus pendant, which is made of the loudest jade ever discovered, and it breaks with a crash.  

Yanli, who is a well educated young lady, knows a moment of doomy symbolism when she sees it.

Jiang Yanli: Who put a giant rock out here in the woods? What are the odds I’d drop my pendant directly on it? 

It’s all Over Except for the Crying, Running and Choking

The brothers climb up on the roof and are shocked to see nothing but Wen soldiers and piled up Jiang corpses... 

...including one child who is either about to become a zombie or who is being played by a young actor who can't control their curiosity, judging by the way this eye is sneakily opened while the camera is running.

There's a moment where Jiang Cheng is saying they must have spared his parents, they must be okay, where Wei Wuxian's face is just...wow. You can see right here the gulf in life experience between these two. 

Wen Zhuliu roams around looking troubled while searching for more people to kill. He’s an interesting villain; someone who believes his loyalty to his boss makes him a good guy, but knows his boss is a bad guy. 

Then we are treated to a hell of a camera move, where it tracks over Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian together on the floor, heroic in death and still holding hands, and then sweeps up to show their killers sitting on the lotus throne. 

The dead couple were at odds for their whole lives together, while the evil people who killed them are acting like devoted lovebirds. It's a stunning shot and a terrific thematic contrast. When Wei Wuxian eventually comes to take his vengeance, he will spend some time turning Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao against each other, before ending them. 

The camera shows us JC's reaction, then shows his mother, then WWX’s reaction, then JF; each reacting to the death of the person who loved them. Some folks may feel that Jiang Fengmian actually did love Jiang Cheng but was just bad at showing it. But Jiang Cheng doesn't think so, and I don't think it's a given that parents love their children.

Side note: Macroexpression king Wang Zhuocheng is able to open his eyes so far that a giant strip of white shows above his irises, and keep them like that, which is quite a trick. Try it yourself.

Meanwhile Wang Lingjiao and Wen Chao gossip about YZY and JFM's bad marriage. Wen Chao admires YZY's beauty, and Wang Lingjiao insults her character, and announces that she's going to stab YZY's body a few extra times. Jiang Cheng briefly faints at this, taking a page from Wei Wuxian's book, and rolls off the roof. 

Run Run Away

Both young men run, and run, and run away from Lotus Pier while Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao mistreat the bodies of Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan 

The stabbing happens off camera, because it's ok to stab a live child on camera, but not a dead adult. (As always, there are cultural reasons for "what's ok" in any country, and I'm not saying anybody's wrong about these choices). 

Wen Chao follows this up with pouring a cup of wine across their faces. He does this in the style of a libation for the dead, but as a desecration, combining mistreatment of bodies with profaning a ceremonial rite. In a world where ghosts are real and have sharp fingernails, this is deeply, deeply stupid.

Yu Ziyuan’s actress Zhang Jingtong is able to have liquid poured INTO HER EAR without flinching. Mad props.

The brothers eventually finish running and arrive in a field with an extreme purple photo filter on it. Which I've done my best to remove for these gifs, with variable results. 

Jiang Cheng wants to turn around and go back to Lotus Pier. He says he wants to retrieve his parents’ bodies and to take revenge, but he's devastated and it seems likely he just wants to die with everyone else.  

Wei Wuxian pleads with Jiang Cheng to calm down and stay safe, while Jiang Cheng gives himself over to anger and shock as the brothers shout at each other.

Punching and running ensues, and Wei Wuxian tries to hold his brother back, grabbing him around the shoulders him in a gesture that painfully echoes the many hugs he's given over the years. 

This time Jiang Cheng doesn't just push him off. He turns around and chokes his brother for nearly a full minute, while screaming at him and blaming him. 

Just as when Madame Yu beat him, Wei Wuxian doesn't fight back; he pulls on Jiang Cheng's wrists but doesn't hit him or try to break his hold.

Finally Jiang Cheng lets him go, and cries out for everyone he's lost, while Wei Wuxian weeps silently next to him. Eventually they fall asleep in the grass together, their bodies curled up in the form of a heart. 

Damn, this episode really brings it.

Side Note: during their argument, Wei Wuxian says, among other things, that "revenge is a dish best served cold," according to subtitles. It's a French saying from the 1800s so it's probably not precisely what Wei Wuxian is saying. More importantly, as a longtime Star Trek fan I can't help but hear James Kirk yelling "KHAN!!!!!" whenever I encounter that phrase.

There’s Got To Be A Morning After

When they wake up in the morning, Jiang Cheng is still in his feelings, but now his feelings have moved along to despair, from anger.

I feel bad for noticing how handsome they both look in this scene. Let's all feel bad about this together.

Jiang Cheng is free to have this level of emotional breakdown because Wei Wuxian is there keeping his own shit together and focusing on what matters.

When Jiang Cheng refuses to get up, Wei Wuxian reminds him, very, very gently, that they have a sister, who has waited all night to know what happened.

At this, Jiang Cheng gets up, but won't look at Wei Wuxian, continuing to blame him for everybody else's actions, as he walks onward to find Yanli.

Wei Wuxian follows, hurt and bereft, as he gets to work internalizing everything that he's being accused of. This is good practice for his future as a widely reviled bogeyman.

Part two will be slightly less awful! Coming soon!

[oatmilkovich]

I'd really love if you made a post about Noel's acting this episode! If you still want to

hey!! <3

this episode reminded us (not that we needed the reminder, looks at the writers) what the show is missing out on when they reduce the characters and their storyline’s down to comedy with very little substance. 

this is the first time in a long while that it feels like mickey’s trauma surrounding terry has been giving the time, space and the dialogue it deserves. I’ve been waiting many, many years for this sort of resolution for mickey...

my thoughts on noel’s performance under the cut (it’s a little lengthy!)...

as always, disclaimer: this is all my opinion, but i did go to drama school and have a degree. there’s a pandemic and nothing else to do, i just like talking about it. 

firstly, something I’ve always admired about noel’s work is his ability to tell us a thousand things without saying a single word. we’ve seen it from the very first season – there’s very few other actors on the show that consistently carry that much power with their silence and noel really did the most this week. let’s look at this moment:

mickey doesn’t say anything until prompted by ian and yet because of the intensity in noel’s look and the sheer amount of tension he’s carrying, we’re completely aware of mickey’s feelings in the moment without having to hear any dialogue. his physicality tells us more than any dialogue would. his shoulders are tense, his face is fight – it’s a deep, visceral reaction to seeing his father. noel has clearly thought about mickey’s pov here – not only about terry, but about this moment in general, about the first time he sees him after coming home from the hospital, about watching the man who tortured him for years finally be met with even an ounce of the same pain he was subjected to. immediately, we’re thrown into the heavy weight of the moment and when mickey does speak, it only echoes what we already know from his physicality. the dialogue complements noel’s performance, rather than solely carrying it. he’s managed to tap into the perfect balance of allowing the lines to come from truth — they don’t feel planned out or rehearsed but delivering them in a way we can tell that mickey has thought about it – mickey’s history with terry is lengthy and incredibly complex and that’s completely embodied in how noel delivers each line. It’s important to me that we can feel the history there, but that history is left at the door when it comes to his work in the scene. he’s not displaying the history, he’s existing in it. 

my personal ‘acting theory’ (to avoid sounding like a wanker) is that you don’t act as your character, but that you exist as yourself under those circumstances. mickey’s circumstances in the scene are noel’s circumstances and he reacts — as he would — in the moment. prep work for this is key. noel has said in previous interviews that when approaching mickey in the earlier seasons, he focused on having a secret and lengths he would go to protect it. knowing this, we have a small idea on how he approaches mickey now. he clearly has taken something in his own life and used it to personalise this situation with mickey, he’s thought about how he himself would react in those circumstances, because he is himself in mickey’s circumstances — this is why it feels so personal, this is why his performance is still so consistently nuanced all these years later. this is why he can tell us so much in a simple shift of the eyes. 

take emma’s performance during this episode – in the moments she’s talking about sandy and how upset she is (eg: inside the ambulance with ian and mick) she’s very much really going for the oh my heart is so broken blah blah, but it doesn’t land because you don’t believe her heart is broken. the lines are empty. you compare that to the subtleties noel shows us throughout the episode and it’s almost unfair that they have her scenes next to his. this isn’t to roast her, but just to highlight the differences in nuance and depth. allowing dialogue to carry a performance vs actually living in the performance. 

discomfort played a huge part in noel’s performance in 11x06 too and discomfort in scenes can bring wonders. mickey is uncomfortable — he’s faced with some horribly difficult decisions. we see a stark difference from his easy going ‘just pull the plug on him’ energy vs when he’s actually given the chance to. the stakes in the scene and situation are extremely high – mickey is quite literally battling with an opportunity he’s been waiting his entire life for. the weight of those stakes are heavy on his shoulders and the highlight of the episode for me was the physical journey on noel’s face as he holds the gun to terry's chest. noel gives us mickey’s internal battle – there’s the pent up rage he clearly had been carrying with him on the ride over, then the irritation, the fear, the sadness, the frustration. you can almost see everything mickey has ever had to go through because of terry in the way he looks at him. 

this shot above in particular has really, really stuck with me. the way he doesn’t respond to ian, keeping his eyes firmly planted on terry – he’s lost in his thoughts, in his history and you can feel everything behind noel’s eyes. 

it’s such a fantastically layered performance that he makes it impossible to look away. he allows the moment to play out and live and doesn’t speed run to achieve anything in his performance. he doesn’t push. noel doesn’t walk into the scene and go ‘oh i’m gonna make mickey feel this on this line and this on this line’ – he gives the emotions their time and place to land, we see and feel mickey’s journey without a single word. it all comes from his natural reactions to the circumstances. he doesn’t try and show us what mickey is going through when faced with the option to kill terry — he lives it, he sits in it and he exists in it. 

we also had a great example of noel’s range this ep. he delivered his funny, usual one liners like he has done throughout this season but really hammered home his talent when given dramatic scenes. it was a refreshing balance. 

overall, noel’s performance in this episode is a great example of how a well acted scene doesn’t have to contain screaming or crying or overt, obvious dramatics in order to be categorised as ‘good’. similarly to what I said in my post about ian’s vows, some of the smallest and subtle moments can carry as much as a 5 minute monologue or an intense shouting match. 

this is long and probably a little boring, but I could honestly talk about his work for ages. thanks for the question (and the other anons too!) and please feel free to send me anymore – especially as we now have a 3 week break before the next episode <3

[jaz-xedarix]

The Return of the Star

Thank you so much for your patience and your nice words. I really appreciated them too much. 

So finally I have finished part II, and things are starting to get really interesting.

As I promised there’s a new coloring among the text, I really hope you like it, and I put another one, but a bit older, since I couldn’t resist to post it in this part XD

Thanks so much to @buffaloborgine​ and @trinity-blood-translations for helping me correct this text, your effort is valuable to me. Send you lots of love my friends.

Let’s get started.

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                                      II

The Istvan Opera House was located on Andrássy Street, the main avenue of the city. It was an old style building that had survived Armageddon. After the liberation battle, it was the first place restored by the archbishop, to serve as a public building for the citizens. 

The building was built in a magnificent and delicate Neo-Renaissance style. It was an imposing work that could be compared to the Scala in Milan, the Opernhaus in Vienna or the Státní in Prague. The facade had a secluded air, but once inside the decorations in gold and purple colors overwhelmed the visitor with their luxury. 

The “guest of honor” entrance that Esther passed through was no exception. In the boxes facing the wide stage, the rugs were so thick that they reached to the ankles, as if she were in a lavish palace. The walls were lined with works of art and all the furniture had been expressly imported from Rome or Florence. 

However, everything paled when compared to the beauty of the woman who was waiting for her sitting on the sofa. 

“Welcome, Sister Esther. You may be exhausted after the trip...” 

The Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan, Secretary of State of the Vatican and head of its foreign policy, gave a friendly welcome to the nun. Telling her to sit on the couch that was in front, where the two priests was already sitting, she laid her cup of tea on the table. 

“I've was told you've had a difficult time with the media at the station. I am glad that you are well.” “Nothing happened… More than anything, it was a surprise that…” 

Looking into the gray eyes that smiled at her behind the monocle, the nun awkwardly shook her head like a puppet. For Esther, the Cardinal was a person almost as sacred as the Virgin. Every time she presented herself to her, she couldn't help but get nervous and tense. She brushed off the sweat she didn't have and continued in an uneasy voice: 

“Your Eminence, the journalists called me Saint… what kind of joke is this? And why am I the protagonist of the play that is going to be performed here tonight?” “We'll talk about all that later...” Adjusting her monocle, the beautiful woman looked up at the stage, the curtain still closed, and sighed. “His Holiness will be here shortly. He is accompanied by the Minister of Information, who is the one who has organized all this. I myself know only part of the story. It will be better if he tell us all about it in person… What I want to hear now is what news you bring me from the Empire.” 

The cardinal spoke with the usual serenity. However, her voice had hardened slightly as she turned her gaze back to the nun and priest, as she crossed her legs under her habit.

“Were you able to contact the empress?” “Yes, we have to inform you about it.” Esther steadied herself and her voice changed as she began to recite the report that she had been rehearsing mentally in the way: “We were fortunate enough to have direct contact with the Empress in...” “Well, the truth is that we couldn't speak to her directly…” 

Everything Esther had prepared came to nothing when the other voice interrupted her, preventing her from speaking.

“Eh!?” She didn't even have time to stop him. As he turned to the voice, she saw that Abel was still speaking with an irrepressible verbiage, which did not leave her a space to intervene.

“We did our best to deliver Her Eminence's message in person, but, of course, meeting the Empress in person was beyond our means. Even so, you need not worry, because we asked a local noblewoman, the Marquise of Kiev, Astharoshe Asran, whom I already knew before, to serve as an intermediary. The message will have reached its destination; you can be sure of it.” “Ah? Bu... Father... Wait a minute...” But what was he saying!? Esther nervously adjusted her habit as if to signal him, but Abel did not stop chattering for an instant, gesturing exaggeratedly with his hands.  “Yes, we suffered the unspeakable to achieve it. Abroad, right? One does not know how things are done... To fulfill our mission we spend our days without stopping running up and down... tears come to my eyes just remembering it now that I tell you, and without doubt, you will cry too... Imagine, I lost three kilograms!” 

Where did all this nonsense come from? Esther managed to come to herself and resist the curiosity to see how far the priest would be able to go. 

“Wait... wait, father! Stop speaking nonsense!” She did not know what this foolishness was about, but if it continued like this, Caterina would end up thinking that they had not seen the Empress. Covering Abel's mouth with her hand, Esther yelled in the direction of the Cardinal:

“Ignore him, Your Eminence! We do…”

«We did speak directly to the Empress!» Just when Esther, red with exertion, was about to shout that phrase...

“Cardinal Sforza, I beg your pardon...” An elegant male voice echoed out as the door opened. Looking up, the Cardinal met a man who was greeting her respectfully and who was leading a group of three people. He was middle-aged and wore the purple sash on his habit that indicated his status as archbishop.

“Forgive us for interrupting your conversation, Your Eminence. His Holiness and Cardinal Borgia have arrived.” “Hello Beautiful!” The second voice would seem to have been made up of a frivolous shake spiced with kitsch. It was hard to imagine anyone less suited to wear the Cardinal habit than the young man with long dyed hair and a nasal voice who had just entered. This was Antonio Borgia, the Minister of Information. “How long, right?! Makes sooo much that I did not see how fantastic you are that seems that my aesthetic sense have atrophied, you know? How are we doing?” “Good afternoon, Cardinal Borgia. I see you are very happy. If I'm not mistaken, we met the day before yesterday in Rome, right?” 

Responding sharply to the young man, Caterina turned her gaze to the third figure in the group. Seeing the face of the teenager coming up behind the two men, her cold gaze softened. 

“Ah, Alec…! How was the flight? Are you dizzy again?” “Y..., y... yes, sister...” Dressed with beautiful white clothes, the Pope Alessandro XVIII spoke with a low voice. In addition to being extremely shy around people, to the point of bordering on autism, get out of Rome or even out of the Papal Palace supposed one horrible adventure for him. Anyways, the face of his sister seemed to calm him a bit, because he went on, stammering: 

“I..., I got dizzy a b..., a little... b... but now I'm fi... I'm fine...” “Really? But you don't have very good color. I'll make someone to prepare some medicine for you... Wait, I'll take the opportunity to make the introductions, since we're all here. This is Sister Esther from the Secretary of State. She is the Saint of Istvan” 

Exhorted by Caterina, the nun saluted respectfully. “Nice to meet you. It is an honor to be in your presence, Holiness.”All Vatican employees knew of the reserved character of the pope. In order not to startle him, Esther spoke in a calm voice as she placed a light kiss on his hand.“I am not worthy of you granting me the grace to kneel before you... “ “Ah...! N..., no...” At the touch of the young woman's lips, the pope went from pale to flushed. His breathing quickened, as if he were going to have a heart attack, and he withdrew his hand in embarrassment. ”And…, and…, I… And…, and…, I…, I…”

“Holiness, you must be tired...” said the first man who had entered, placing his hand on the shoulder of the babbling teenager. Maybe half a century of his life had already passed, but his face had manly features that surely wreaked havoc on the opposite sex when he was young. With an attentive expression, he made the young Pope sit on the sofa.

“The show will take a while to start. Get some rest here. If you allow me, I will handle the speech.” “Thank you, Archbishop D'Annunzio...” 

Before Esther's eyes, the Pope was panting hard, as if he were going to have a panic attack or something. The one who wiped the sweat from his forehead to reassure him was Caterina. 

“Forgive me for putting you through something like this, but this ceremony took so much effort that...” “Oh, does not matter! It is an honor to be able to do our bit to the work of her eminence and the Vatican.”

 Emanuele D'Annunzio, Archbishop of Istvan, smiled kindly as he took Caterina’s hand. After kissing her like a gentleman kisses a lady, he turned his serene green eyes to her beautiful face.  “I wrote the script for tonight's play myself. I am afraid that it will not be up to the refined taste of Her Eminence, but it will be my honor that you listen to it... I do not know how the representation will turn out, but...” “It'll be great, you know? Sure: super, super good.” 

The one who responded in this way to the humble words of the archbishop was not Caterina, but the other cardinal present. Antonio, adjusting his bangs, continued with a slightly annoyed voice.  “Because, hey, haven't we helped you with production from the Ministry? I mean, the stage, and the direction, and the actors... Aaaaall of it it’s super mega first class. So if it goes wrong, it will be because of the script, you know?” “We will be forever grateful for your support, Cardinal Borgia. It is an honor that you have dedicated your valuable time to our representation...”

D'Annunzio's words were kind, but there was a hint of provocation in his tone. His green gaze was fixed on the young man, like an adult lion facing the cub that wants to take his place. 

“Today's ceremony is very important to us, because our recovery will serve to show it to the world. Its success will also serve to show the power of the Vatican… We hope to continue having the support of the Ministry of Information from now on.” “...” 

Although the tone was defiant, it could not be said that there was anything really wrong from the archbishop's words. Antonio was silent, something strange in him, as if not knowing what to answer, clearly feeling the difference in maturity that existed between him and his interlocutor. 

In his fifties, Archbishop D'Annunzio was an experienced man who had played a crucial role in the Vatican since the time of the previous Pope Gregorio XXX. As the right hand of Alfonso d'Este, who was then head of the College of Cardinals, he had held important positions as Director of the Holy Inquisition and Chief Secretary of the Vatican. In his spare time he had written dozens of novels and more than two hundred plays, and was considered one of the literary geniuses of his time. However, his brilliance had provoked the envy of Alfonso, who ended up moving him away from the center. His fame was surpassed only by Cardinals Medici and Sforza, the Pope's stepsiblings. No one but a skilled politician would have gotten Istvan city reborn from its ruins just a year after the catastrophe of The Star of Sorrow.

“Ah, but I have not yet greeted the main guest...” 

After silencing the young man, the archbishop turned quickly to Esther, who was silently observing the dialectical combat between the two high religious positions.

“This is the first time we met, but I know you very well, Sister Esther. I beg your pardon for having you come from so far away.” “Ple…pleased to meet you, Your Excellency...” Esther rose, embarrassed, from the sofa at the friendly smile of the priest and lowered her head, blushing at his manly features.“I am much honored that you invited me. It is an honor to meet you personally.” “Not at all, the honor is mine for being able to greet the Saint in person. I did extensive research on you to write this script. I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time, but... the truth is that you have surprised me. I didn't think you were so beautiful...”       “I… beautiful? Not at all…” 

At the Archbishop's compliments, Esther buried her head deeply and turned even more red. Half confused, half flustered, she looked around for Abel to come to her aid. “It's the first time I've been invited to a box of honor at the opera, but hey, what a sight! Heh heh, I feel like God...” 

The priest was lost in his thoughts, observing the theater, and did not realize that the nun was looking at him. In her imagination, Esther kicked him on the back, while scratching her head, wondering how to respond to the archbishop.

“May I ask you not to call me Saint? It's a too important word that I don't deserve at all...” “You don't deserve it? You are too modest, sister… ” D'Annunzio replied, still smiling, as if enjoying the young woman's bewilderment. Extending his hand to fix her cap, the archbishop looked at her with mischievous face “You are the holy maiden who protected the people and killed the evil demon... As Archbishop of Istvan I cannot be grateful enough. Tonight's performance is my humble attempt to help your feat remain in the memory of future generations.”  “I am very grateful to you, but...” 

With a tight smile, Esther awkwardly shook her head. Her face had suddenly lost its rosy color. Saint Esther? What all that was about? 

She murmured that inside her with downcast eyes, it wasn't just because the name disgusted her.  

A year ago a man had expired in her arms. He was someone who had loved his human wife, someone who had decided to fight the world as revenge because the humans themselves had taken the woman he loved from him. 

The “evil demon” that D'Annunzio referred to was that being. Esther had been elevated to the category of Saint for the "feat" of having killed him, but there was something that did not convince her. All this seemed like a farce in which she did not want to be involved... 

“Ah, by the way, Your Eminence, what about Cardinal Medici? I thought he was also going to be present at the ceremony for the fallen...” “Unfortunately, his commitments do not allow him to leave Rome. He said he would send a representative, but… still not arrived?” 

D'Annunzio and Caterina began to talk about practical matters. Relieved that she was no longer the center of the conversation, Esther turned her eyes to the audience. 

More than a thousand spectators filled the theater. They were all famous people from the city, but Esther didn't recognize any faces. During the reconstruction of Istvan, D'Annunzio had given preferential treatment to the industrialists of Rome and Venice to install their factories and banks in the city. The attendees were all rich people of that kind. The echoes of the conversations that were heard were not in Hungarian, but mainly in the official language of Rome. 

The curtain was still down, but the actors could be seen waiting behind the scenes, probably to come out to say hello before the performance. Among them was a smiling young nun, the heroine portrayed in the flier. The hunchback next to her would be the Marquis of Hungary. The sinister makeup highlighted his monstrous appearance and showed long predator fangs. It couldn't be clearer that he was the bad guy in the story. 

The fragile and beautiful heroine would go through many difficulties, but in the end she would defeat the monster and bring peace to the city. It was such a predictable story that just by seeing the actors you could already imagine. 

But… 

«But the fight end was much more complex», thought Esther, grabbing unconsciously the rosary that hung from her neck.                                                                                                                                                                        «It’s not the urge to kill. I don't have such bad taste as to enjoy killing others. This is a fight for life» 

The man who had said those words was not a mere “evil demon”, nor had Esther fought him for strictly holy motives. There were still many things that she did not fully understand, but it was clear that this had been a struggle for survival. If she had lost, it would have been Esther and her companions who would have died. Yet the young girl couldn't get a question out of her head: «Was it really an inevitable conflict?» 

A nun like her couldn't ask such a question out loud. As long as she worked for the Vatican, a doubt like that was tantamount to questioning her own identity...

“Eh?”

Esther was lost in her thoughts for one moment, but at once came back to herself. Among the actors who had gathered in one corner of the stage, a figure that had gone out discreetly from behind the curtain of the opposite corner had called her attention. 

 It was one girl more or less of the same age of Esther, she had brown skin, an unusual color in the region, and her hair of a raven black. The combination of the daring opening of her dress with the long gloves decorated with precious stones gave her an extremely dramatical air. But what attracted the interest of Esther was neither her figure nor the clothes she wore. Those purple eyes that glowed in the well-proportioned face... she had seen them before somewhere. 

“That girl looks familiar to me...” “Is there something wrong, Esther?”

The voice that echoed behind her was of the lanky priest, who was wandering absent-mindedly around the royal box. As he devoured with his eyes the plate of tea pastries next to the young woman, he asked:

“Suddenly you were silent, doing that face… Oh, do you have a stomach ache? Do you want me to eat those pastries? I don't mind doing you that favor...” “No,” Esther replied dryly, cutting off the priest and added, pointing at the girl with her finger: “Doesn't that girl looks like someone familiar to you, father? I've seen that face already... and not long ago.” “Eh, what girl?” The priest asked in an intrigued voice, and looking where Esther was pointing, he looked confused. “I don't see any girl… Ah, you mean that actress over there?” “No, I mean, the one that has come from the other si... Huh?”  

When she looked back to the stage, Esther furrowed her brow, as well as Abel. The female figure that she had seen an instant before had disappeared. “But how strange... she was there a moment ago...” “Wow! Is that the actress who plays your role? I had seen her in the flyer, but in live she is even more beautiful!” Abel had already lost all interest in Esther and was absorbed in watching the group of actors. He made no effort to hide the drool from looking at the actress. "But what a beauty! Both in style and in attractive it is much better than the original… Ah, but don't be angry, Esther. It is undeniable that she is much more beautiful, elegant and seductive than you, but you have your special appeal. You don't have to worry.” “I have to take that as a compliment!?” 

Esther put the cup of tea on the plate, ready to answer the priest as he deserved, but...

“Ah! The representation is about to begin...” murmured the Archbishop, raising the eyes to the clock and got up to say goodbye to the Pope and the Cardinals. “Holiness, Eminences, I hope you enjoy with the performance. Excuse me, I will give the welcome the public... Come on, Sister Esther.” “What!? Me?” 

Esther was stunned, pointing her finger at herself as she blinked in surprise.Why did she have to accompany the archbishop to greet those people?Seeing the nun's confusion, the archbishop smiled and in a sweet voice, he dropped the bomb:  “Let's greet the audience together… I suppose you have prepared a little speech.” “Sa... say hello to...? A speech!?” 

At those completely unexpected words, Esther was dumbfounded. It was a joke? He couldn't expect for her to just come out on stage in front of the crowd and improvise a speech! 

“Wait ... wait! It's a bit hasty...” “But haven't you come prepared? How clueless my Saint is... Well, what can we do? As I assumed something like this could happen, I have allowed myself the freedom to prepare a small draft. You just have to read it.” “Eh…? But…” 

The archbishop seemed to be completely serious and handed her a pile of papers. Esther received them without knowing very well what to do and looked doubtfully to the priest, looking for his help...

“Ah, Esther! If you go on stage, can you ask that actress to sign an autograph for me?” Let it say,«To Father Nightroad, sweetheart» or something like that, okay? Heh heh heh...!” “!” 

Saving her killer instinct for later Esther heaved a deep breath.There was no way out of it.            

 "Ugh, I'm late!"

Although it was still early November, the winter cold had already fallen on Istvan. Gloomy clouds covered the sky, and although the building was supposed to be equipped with heating, the white breath of the people walking through the lobby of the Opera House could be seen. 

However, the male figure that rushed into the hall seemed immune to all of it. From the gigantic man who crossed the room devastating the carpet emanated a suffocating sensation of summer heat. It goes without saying that such a figure attracted all eyes, as if a monster from another world had suddenly appeared in the room; but the man seemed oblivious to it and advanced with a hard look, as if he were entering enemy territory. 

“What a misery to have suffered a setback precisely when I am representing Cardinal Medici! This mistake can be very expensive, Petros!” 

Dressed in the uniform of a secret police officer, Brother Petros looked up at the clock as if observing an ancient enemy. Although there were still twenty minutes until the start of the performance, he had committed a very serious fault by not having arrived before His Holiness made his entrance. 

Anyway, he had only arrived in the city a few minutes ago, sent by his superior, who had too many business holding him back in Rome. He had not arrived by air, like the Pope, but had taken the land route. The planned inspection of the military facilities had taken him longer than planned, and that had caused the delay. 

Although the inspection had been satisfactory, it was scandalous that the director of the Holy Inquisition arrived after the papal retinue. No doubt a severe reprimand from Francesco awaited him when he returned. If it was just a row that awaited him... There was one other thing that Petros had to worry about... 

“Where will the honor box be?  Eh…? Where the hell am I?” 

As soon as he went through the lobby, Petros stopped. He had to accept that he was lost and began to look around, but none of the doors he saw were the ones he was looking for. 

Indeed, he did not know where he was. He had stormed across the lobby, but had no idea how to get to the honor box. Resigned to search blindly, he began to scan the surroundings with a fierce grin, to see if he could find any sign, but could do nothing more than make a passing child cry.

 The issue was that the box of honor was not accessible from the general entrance but it had its own access, but Il Ruinante had no way of knowing that. He gritted his teeth and prepared to undo his way when...  

“Oh!”

Behind the intrepid warrior monk came a small cry of pain. 

Turning around, Petros had collided head-on with a girl who was walking behind him. The girl fell on her back to the carpet, dropping what she was carrying. 

“Aaah! Forgive me, sister! How clumsy you are, Petros!” 

The man tried to apologize as he picked up the papers, which had been strewn down the hall. The nun was still moaning on the floor, clutching her bonnet.

 “Excuse my ineptitude! Are you OK? Eh? You!?” As he helped the nun to stand up, Petros' face changed as he roared in surprise at his interlocutor, who was still reeling: “You are Esther Blanchett!” “Ah, brother… Petros, right?” Moved by the violence with which the inquisitor had spoken her name, the young woman stepped back, raising her tearful gaze to Il Ruinante, and bowed to him. “We haven't seen each other for a long time… Ah, thanks again for your support in Carthage.” “No, please, I'm the one who owes you... But what am I saying?!” Petros began to respond to the greeting automatically, but quickly came back to himself. This was not the time to chat! “Esther Blanchett! What are you doing here!? This is not the place for you!” 

Finally the nun straightened with surprise in her eyes. “Well, I was getting ready for the speech. Archbishop D'Annunzio has ordered me to greet the audience with a few words and was reviewing the script...” “Has the archbishop ordered it? Impossible. How can it be that...?” Laughing like if he was talking to a little girl, Petros glanced at the script, his expression suddenly turning from skepticism to surprise. Topping the sheets was… the archbishop's seal!? The inquisitor began hastily reading the text. “Wha... but what...?! «Before all of you gathered here I want to raise my voice to denounce...»”

«Before all of you gathered here, I want to raise my voice to denounce that there is pure Evil in the world. I want to raise my voice to say that as long as that Evil is not exterminated, we will have no future. We must unite to fight and defend everything we love, everything we respect. It will be a difficult and tough fight, but all united in our Faith we must face…».

 It was unbelievable, but it seemed to be, indeed, the script of a speech. And it took up almost fifty pages. The tone was a bit affected and overly dramatic, but the closing archbishop's signature seemed authentic. 

“Hmmm! And the archbishop signed it... But I can't believe it! Why did he ask you to…!?” He said, looking at the nun with suspicious eyes. “Are you plotting against me!? Tell me the truth or you will regret it!” “Eh? The truth is that I have no idea what you are talking about for a while now...”

The young woman scratched her head, honestly confused. It was like talking to a drunk who did nothing but repeat the same story. 

“It's not that I don't find it strange to be here, really. First I receive a notice from the Duchess of Milan to come to Istvan, then they ask me to give a speech... The truth is that the...” “The Duchess of Milan… Cardinal Sforza!?” Petros reacted quickly to the young woman's words. The Cardinal... what was that viper up to? 

Actually, Petros was most concerned about what the Pope's stepsister might do during the visit. Taking advantage of the absence of Cardinal Medici, she could try to manipulate His Holiness or do some strange maneuver... He had to be prepared for anything, and the facts gave him reasons to suspect. So the viper had already set off... But he would not trip over the same stone of Carthage again. This time they would not escape from him! 

Staring at the nun, who was staring at him in bewilderment, Petros clenched his fist. That witch had played with him in Carthage. Just when he was about to uncover her plot, all evidence had been destroyed. He knew with certainty that she had had contact with the vampires, although it had escaped him at the last moment. But this time he would catch her. He would discover what is she plotting around the Pope and would denounce it to the world!

 “Ah, there you are, Sister Esther...” 

A cold voice roused the inquisitor from his inflamed musings. It was an elegant male voice, interrupting him as if to protect the nun. 

“I've been looking for you for a while. Eh? I think we've met before… What brings the Inquisition here, Brother Pietro Orsini?” “Yo... Your Excellence!” Hearing his secular name after so long, Petros turned as if an electric current had passed through his body. Seeing the archbishop approaching, he gave a forced salute. “How long! What a joy to see you again!” “Yes, a long time, Orsini. The last time we saw each other was when I left my charge as Director of the Inquisition, right? You were just a kid and look at you now. How time flies!” “I will never be grateful enough for your advice and your attention back then!” Said Petros, bowing deeply, as if he were a spring doll. 

Il Ruinante’s sword was feared inside and outside the Vatican, but there were four people he bowed his head to. One of them was Archbishop D'Annunzio. 

“Please excuse my delay. The review of the troops has taken me longer than I had calculated and the roads were collapsed...” “You can tell me that later...” the archbishop cut him immediately, turning around and say with sweet voice to Esther, who was watching them in astonishment. “Sister Esther, have you had a chance to read the script? It’s almost time for your speech. Let's go up on stage.”  “Yes, I have read the text…” replied the nun, embarrassed, taking the papers that the inquisitor had returned to her with an impetuous gesture. “But, Your Excellence, am I really supposed to read that speech?” “Eh? What do you mean, sister?” 

The archbishop was surprised to see the dark light that had covered the young woman's eyes, and asked with a cautious expression: “You don't like the parliament I have prepared for you? Does it not meet your literary expectations?” “No, is not that. It is wonderfully written and conveys the ideas very well… But the message…” The nun choked with her words… After hesitating and stammering for a few seconds, she looked up, determined. “Why make such a clear call to war? A year ago we fought the Marquis of Hungary, it is true. But it was a pure struggle for survival. We did not think of pretty phrases like «divine glory» or «security of human society»...” “Ah, that's what you mean...” D'Annunzio interrupted the young woman's fiery voice with great serenity. The archbishop's smile keep its charm, but his tone had a certain inhuman echo. “You don't have to take it so seriously, Sister Esther. The public gathered here tonight have not come to hear the truth. What they expect is a dramatic and exciting story… They want the story of the heroic maiden who struck down the evil vampire. Isn't it our obligation to meet those expectations?” “B... but...” “Listen to me, Saint...” D'Annunzio silenced Esther with a gesture and shook his head. The hallway had begun to fill up, and the archbishop lowered his voice, returning greetings to passing guests. “You are a very sweet girl, Esther. I fully understand that you don't like harsh words. But think about it for a moment. Although it has recovered a lot this year, Istvan is still going through difficult times. The life of the citizens, your compatriots, is still very hard. Think how important it would be for them to have a heroine...” 

The archbishop placed a very white hand on her shoulder as he looked deeply into her eyes. “Esther Blanchett, you must be their Saint. You must be the image that encourage their hearts. You must be the strength and the hope of all those you love, of all humanity. I will show you how.” “...”

Esther was doubtful at the powerful words of the archbishop, after opening and closing her lips as if not knowing what to say, the girl sighed deeply.

“Good. I'll try.” “Good girl.” Nodding with satisfaction, D'Annunzio opened the door that led to the stage.“Sister Esther, it's time to go on stage. The public awaits you.” “OK…”

«The public awaits you». She would have felt joyful, but the worried expression of the girl did not changed. Even it could be said that the suffering is evident in her face. Anyways, Esther began to walk dragging her feet. She went through the door the archbishop had opened for her and disappeared down the dark corridor. 

 After closing the door, D'Annunzio made a sarcastic face. 

“What a difficult Saint to handle... one breaks one's back to turn her it into a star, and she, in return, complains...” “Ah?”  At the archbishop's cold laugh, Petros looked up in surprise. Opening the door again, D'Annunzio said in a clear voice, to the surprise of his former subordinate: “I never know how to treat smart ass girls. It's so boring having to lecture them like that… The tools should be quiet and just do what they are asked to do…” “A tool...? Your Excellence, when you say «tool» do you mean that girl? And what does it mean to «turn her into a star»?” 

Petros asked in astonishment. So he didn't really think she was a Saint? 

“Ah! So the director of the Inquisition is still there...” 

The Archbishop of Istvan turned as if he was seeing a stranger and responded with the tone of someone who had just discovered a stain on his clothing.

“You heard me perfectly. Saint Esther is nothing more than an image created by the Vatican. It is a huge fiction promoted through the management of the media and the investment of large amounts of money...”

 The bishop spoke confidently in the dark corridor, as if explaining everything to a tough-minded subordinate.  “As you know, the Vatican is losing power over the secular states. To stop this trend, it is necessary to regain the center of social attention. Creating a Saint is part of that project. Esther Blanchett is nothing more than a tool for our plans...” 

«You shall not worship idols», the Bible made it very clear. Didn't the archbishop know? D'Annunzio spoke as if he did not feel any apprehension or guilt for playing with the life of a girl and the faith of millions of people like that. “Besides, as a tool, it's first class. Her past is impeccable, and it doesn't hurt that she's so pretty… She has a very cute face, don't you think, Orsini?” “Eh? Well, I wouldn't know...”  At the knight's embarrassment, the archbishop looked at him with mocking eyes. “You don't know about that? Well, it doesn't matter… I have to introduce my Saint to the public. Orsini, you can go to the box of honor. Then we will talk about your delay. Get ready.”  

D'Annunzio turned, dropping those cold words, and reached for the door that led to the stage.

“Ah!?”

Frightened, Petros started to run away from his former superior, but just as he was about to give a farewell bow, he remembered that he still had something to ask him about. “Your Excellence... I really have a question to ask you before I present myself before His Holiness.”  Half-closing the door, the archbishop turned with an annoyed gesture at the voice of his exasperating interlocutor.  “What?”

D'Annunzio's voice was reminiscent of a teacher announcing to a student that he had failed. Petros barely repressed his desire to flee and ran from the archbishop just to ask: “I have just reviewed the City Guard, but… Your Excellence, what does this deployment mean? I have seen a complete division or even more. What about those tanks and aircraft!?” D'Annunzio continued walking as if he was unaware of the alarm that echoed in Il Ruinante's words.  “I admire how you have managed to reform in just one year an organization that had been completely destroyed. But for a public order force it is a bit out of proportion. Is there something going wrong?” “Eh? What is going to go wrong?” The archbishop stopped for the first time.

 Twisting his mouth, he answered coldly to Petros’ puzzled gaze. “Certainly the Guard's strength now exceeds what it was a year ago. Nobody hides it. But if the situation of the city is taken into consideration, it cannot be said that they are sufficient. After all, Istvan is the central column of the Vatican's eastern defense line. Their defensive potential has to be as great as possible... don't you think?” “If you will allow me to speak frankly, I think there is a problem of magnitude! The Second Division of the Vatican Army is deployed in this area, which is responsible of the defense work. The City Guard should only perform police functions. What is the point of equipping the police as if it were an army?”

The only response Petros' fiery speech got was a cold smile.  “Well, well, I see that you still don't understand anything, Orsini...” 

The archbishop made no effort to hide the malice and contempt on his face. As if he felt sorry for the stupidity of his interlocutor, he made a face, laughing through his nose. “Yes, there is an army division stationed here. But in the event of war, those troops will leave the region. Won't Istvan have to defend itself, then? That is why we have increased the strength of the Guard... Of course it costs us a lot of resources, but that is why we can’t afford to reduce it.” “But that dismantles all the plans of Rome and Cardinal Medici! Also, you speak of war, but now that the region has stabilized, where is the risk of war going to come from? Neighboring countries respect the authority of the Vatican and there is no sign of any disturbance to happen so...” “Brother Petros!!!” 

The scream echoed like an ice whip. Throwing a defiant look at the inquisitor, the archbishop harshly carved his words into the dark air of the hall.  “Are you the Director of the Holy Inquisition and you don't understand something like that!? Have you forgotten who the mortal enemy of humanity is!? Have you forgotten that this Empire of terrible devils is next to us!? If you've forgotten, I'll remind you. Never forget: this is Istvan, the front line of the battle against vampires!” “Ah…? But...” 

Anyone who had attended their dialogue would have been frozen in surprise.Il Ruinante, known as the most implacable man in the Vatican, had fallen silent. 

When he noticed Petros is not going to reply, the archbishop softened his expression. “Well, I don't want to lecture you anymore. Go back to the lobby. Didn't you come to escort His Holiness? That's all you're worth for. At least accomplish the mission you've been given.” “Y... yes! With your permission...” Gritting his teeth, Petros bowed. 

He was not at all convinced by the reasons given by his former superior, but he had no proper reply at the time. He didn't have time either. He turned towards the exit when... Just then the door closed in front of him. And, as if they were waiting for that moment, the guards locked the door from outside.

“Hey…”

Had they locked him up!? Petros looked around him, bewildered. The doors that led to the stalls were all closed with bolt. The lighting in the hall began to dim as the lighting on the stage took hold. The warrior priest then heard the sound of the presenter's voice through the microphone: 

“Ladies and gentleman, welcome to the Istvan Opera House! In a few moments the Star of Sorrow will begin before all of you.”

“Petros, you are so clumsy!” 

The inquisitor began to get nervous. He had to find a way to get to the Pope's box as soon as possible! However, as much as he searched everywhere he was not able to find an open door. Apparently the security measures were meant to keep the public effectively locked inside the theater. 

He actually couldn’t make someone to open one of the doors invoking his authority as head of the Inquisition, if he did it, that would divert the attention of the speech that was about to start on the stage, and when they found out, the archbishop would scold him again some more. 

“Before we start, the author of the script will say a few words of welcome… His Excellene the Archbishop of Istvan, Emanuele D'Annunzio!” “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” 

While Il Ruinante was sweating while desperately looking for a way out, the welcome speech had begun on stage. Taking the microphone, the Archbishop smiled with all his virile charm. However, the voice that began to echo through the room had the serenity of a servant of God. 

“Welcome everyone. It has been a year since I received my appointment as Archbishop of this city. The road has not been easy, but with the help of the Lord and the collaboration of all of you, we have managed to happily overcome all the difficulties that have been presented to us so far. During this year we have defended in Istvan the glory of the Lord, who brought us a girl. I think we can be proud of it.” 

After uttering those phrases almost without breathing, the archbishop was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes as if he were remembering all the efforts of that year and raised his face to the ceiling. Petros realized that this was not more than a theatrical gesture, but the audience seemed to understand it as one reaction of sincere religious piety. Some mature women even began to sob quietly in the excitement.  Then, after checking that the entire room had gone completely silent, the archbishop opened his eyes again. Still smiling serenely, he raised his right arm to point to the small figure waiting at the base of the stage. 

“Tonight I am moved to have the opportunity to express our appreciation to the person who made the rebirth of this city possible. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce you to the heroine who freed Istvan from the evil monster! Our hope before the devils that threaten us! Sister Esther Blanchett, Saint of Istvan!”

As thunderous applause rose, the hesitant figure of the nun appeared, equipped with a microphone. Blinking because of the bright spotlights and shrugging, the girl looked tiny in the middle of the huge stage, as if she were just a child.

 «She's just a poor kid…» Petros thought as he watched Esther walk across the stage. Come to think of it, the poor girl deserved his compassion for many reasons.First, because she belonged to the Ministry of Vatican Foreign Affairs, which was the lair of that witch, Caterina Sforza. Besides, she had to work with those agents, who had a horrible reputation of being sacrilegious. He couldn't imagine how she could lead a pious life as a nun between them. 

Above all, the entire show that night had not been sought by her, but had been implicated by the surroundings of D'Annunzio. At her young age, being worshiped as a Saint and being commissioned to make a speech to such an audience could only be considered a misfortune. 

“Uh... uh... Go... good night to every... Oh, no...! Good evening, la… ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor to introduce myself to you. I am Esther Blanchett. I do not have words to express my gratitude for this opera to be performed in my honor...”

  While Il Ruinante looked at her with compassionate eyes, the nun had started babbling. The inquisitor’s heart cringed just to see how her forehead was beaded in sweat and how her blue eyes were moving full of insecurity. Trying to smile faintly, the young lady put on the table the script that the archbishop had given to her before. Just when she deployed the first pages and prepared to start reading... the tragedy happened. 

“Ah!?”

The first thing that echoed through the speakers was a small groan. The pages of the script Esther was going to read flew across the stage. 

“No!” Cried Petros, as the papers fluttered like leaves blown up in the wind.Had she forgotten to re-tie the rope that held the pages together? The nun was trying to pick them up in haste, but many had already fallen off the stage. The girl's tensed face had lost all traces of color. But Petros and the rest of the audience didn't have to hold their breath for long. 

At first, the nun was so stunned that she couldn't even speak, it was natural.

 Having to improvise a speech in front of such a crowd, and also being people of such power in society… Even a veteran politician would have found it difficult. How could it cost to a girl who had just turned eighteen? 

In view of the events, no one would have criticized her if she had fled the stage. But the Saint did not.Biting her lip as if she had made up her mind, she rose to her feet, adjusting the hem of her habit. She was still a little pale, but a powerful light shone in her blue eyes. As if attracted by that look, the audience's attention was concentrated on the girl's face when she began to speak... 

“I beg your pardon for my clumsiness… The fear of speaking in front of so many people has left me a little stunned…” Esther began in a vigorous, almost savage voice. “A play will be performed in my honor tonight and I want to express my enormous gratitude to you for taking the time to attend the performance”.

Was this the same nervous nun who had trembled a few minutes earlier? Esther addressed the audience with her head up, as if all the perplexity of before had disappeared. 

“Well, to be improvising she does it very well...” Petros said to himself with admiration, as he looked for the archbishop with his eyes. At the backstage, D'Annunzio seemed to be more tense than before, but he was still looking at the young woman with a satisfied smile. As the nun had read the script before, a few as she remembered, things would go more or less as he had planned. Petros expected the same when he looked back at the girl. She would probably invoke God and the Vatican, would praise the courage of the combatants a year ago and call those present to remain united. If she said that, nothing would be noticed... 

“Thank you all. That was my intention... But now I have changed my mind...”

It would take a long time for Petros to forget how the atmosphere in the room changed with just that short sentence.What she’s going to tell them!? Glancing to the backstage, he saw how the archbishop had stiffened, staring at the nun in amazement, as if observing a ceramic doll that had suddenly begun to speak. 

Esther was not looking at the archbishop, but at the room full of spectators. In her pupils were reflected the innumerable puzzled faces that had been nailed to her. The audience seemed hypnotized by the words of the Saint, who whispered slowly:  “I have come to pray with all of you for the souls of those who shed their blood in battle a year ago. For that I have returned here, to my city.”  The voice was not overly powerful, but it completely dominated the room, where not a cough was heard. Without being too high or too low, it filled the air with a clean and serene feeling. It was the perfect example of a pleasant voice. As proof of this, when hearing her, Petros had completely forgotten that he had to go to the royal box, nothing further from his mind at the moment than to get away from there.

Il Ruinante had been lost in thought, listening to the flow of that voice.

“A year ago, we got a lot of blood flowing. Blood of our comrades, blood of our enemies… It was a horrible battle. But then I thought there was no other option. To survive you had to fight. We couldn't help but spilling that blood. In those moments it seemed that we were at a crossroads between life and death. Yes, that was really the situation. That's why we took up the sword... But now, a year later, I have the feeling that «there was no other option» is not a sufficient explanation for that fight...”

Esther was silent for a moment after the long speech. At the view of the girl closing briefly her eyelids to soak in those memories, Petros thought that this nun did not seem at all like the girl that he knew. More than someone alive, it recalled to the images of Saints that appeared in the murals and religious paintings of the cathedrals.  When she opened her eyes again, a sweet but intense light shone on them. Looking at the audience, which was in absolute silence, she continued with a calm voice. 

“During that battle I met one person... one person who back then was my enemy. He was the man I was trying to kill. But he also believed he had to kill to me to survive.” 

Her expression could not be said to be very refined, nor the sound of the words to be very beautiful. In spite of this, there was nobody in the room that was not captivated by the voice of the Saint. None of those celebrities and distinguished people uttered a single word. They were all focused, listening to the girl, who kept talking as if this was the most normal thing in the world.  

“But it wasn't true, no one should have died; However, due to a misunderstanding, at first, both he and I thought that we had to kill ourselves to survive… And not only him. I believe that among those we killed and who killed us there were many like him. Many who laughed like us, cried like us. Many who we hated. All possibilities were destroyed by a misunderstanding.” 

Perhaps it was the memory of that man that made a trace of suffering appear in the serene voice of the girl. The audience also felt the sting of that painful memory in their chest. Looking ahead, Esther spoke without hurrying, without forcing the words, penetrating every corner of the hearts of the attendees.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distrust yourselves. Be suspicious of justice. Maybe we are too simple. Be suspicious of your ideas about justice in the world. Are they really correct? Aren't they often just what we want to believe? Don't we impose them on our neighbor many times? Be suspicious. Mistrusting these issues is not bad.” 

«Be suspicious of justice».

Hearing those words, the audience felt a slight shudder. Since the nun had started her speech, that was the first moment of doubt. The audience had been rapt with her until then, but little by little the audience began to come to their senses. Esther was not flustered by the change in the audience, so she pushed herself even harder in her speech, expressively moving her arms.

“It may be that these words make you sad. You may think that everything is false and that nothing is certain. God and justice are nothing more than mirages… But they are not. We can distrust, distrust and distrust, but something will always remain. There is always something that cannot be denied… For example, on a winter night like this, meeting with the whole family in front of the stove and feeling the warmth in the heart…” The families in the audience exchanged glances, as if encouraged by the girl's words.“Or look at the starry sky from a deserted meadow and feel how precious our little existence is...” 

As to embrace to all those present, the nun extended the arms and continued talking, pretending this time caress the soul with the voice. 

“Love of oneself and of neighbor ... that's what remains in the end. That is what makes me believe in God. Because God loves us and has given us these gifts. So let's pray together. Let us pray for all the blood that was shed and the souls of all the fallen… Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.” “Amen.”

 Although they had wanted to rehearse it before, the response of those present would not have come out more conjoined. It seemed they had coordinated not only the breathing, but even the pulse. The echo of those words had scarcely been consumed when a thunderous round of applause went up. The ovation did not diminish after the nun finished bowing in thanks. After the archbishop's speech, the audience had remained seated, but Esther's words made everyone in attendance stand up to cheer her on. Even Petros, seeing the reaction from the room, was unable to suppress a cry of admiration.

“And she's just a little girl… What a charisma!” 

 N: A very old Petros’s coloring ;) 

Just with the dubious name of Saint, the girl had managed to move more than a thousand people. This was not normal. Thinking ahead, Petros felt a slight concern.  

If the artificial Saint that D'Annunzio and Borgia wanted to make was added that ability to attract the public, the potential of the girl was not negligible. If she developed her career under Sforza's guidance, she would be a formidable opponent for Cardinal Medici and his followers...

“Hey you! Where do you think you are going!? This is not the time for that yet!” 

Those reproachful words that came from the base of the stage brought the warrior monk to his senses. Turning, he saw a Guard soldier in his gray-blue uniform arguing with someone carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. Probably wanted to give it to the Saint. The one who carried the bouquet was a young adolescent. From the daring evening dress she was wearing, she seemed to be the daughter of one of the attendees. However, her dark skin and pronounced features were a rare combination in these lands. Her eyes were slanted and her pupils a stunning amethyst color.The soldier holding her in the gray gloves began to speak in an increasingly harsh voice.

“Didn't you hear me? If you want to give the Saint a bouquet of flowers, you have to wait for her to come down from the stage. Go back to your seat and stay still.” “Stand aside,Terran!” 

The young woman slightly moved the arm that the other was holding, It seemed a only symbolic gesture, but what happened then was anything but that. 

The soldier, who was six feet tall and weighed a hundred kilos, flew off incredibly and slammed his face against the wall. The impact must have made him pass out. The horrible noise of his nose breaking was the only thing that accompanied his collapse to the ground. 

The scene did not go unnoticed. Muffled shouts of astonishment began to be heard from the audience, and in the box of honor the cardinals had risen with tense faces. However, Petros wasted no time in observing the reactions of the attendees, because he had noticed that the young woman had too long canines between her lips...

“No! Get away from her you all!” Shouted Il Ruinante, wielding with each hand the screamers that he wore on his waist. “She is not human! Is a…!”  “Nice to meet you, Terrans. My name is Shahrazad and I come from the True Human Empire…” said the girl, with a voice as beautiful as a bell, but at the same time full of defiant force.  

As the bouquet of flowers was dropped, the long jeweled gloves she wore began to glow. Leaning them against the wall, the girl, or rather the vampire, looked directly at Esther, who made no sign of wanting to flee. 

“This evening I come to see the killer who you call the Saint... and to kill her!”

 With a thud, the wall began to crumble, looking like a spiderweb. 

                           ════════════╠☆╣════════════

And this is it my dear friends, I hope you have enjoyed this and the new Petros’ coloring I added. I tried hard not to include personal notes in the translation, because I love Petros so much and I was like reacting to everything that happened to him.  Maybe that’s the reason I love this arc so much XD  I want to thank you a lot for your patience, for those who still support this and help me out with it, and to those who share the love by rebloging and liking this. I truly apreciate that.  See you soon on the next part, stay tunned because the best part is next to come. Please stay safe and healthy <3 

[dc41896]

Inside Jokes

Happy New Year guys🎊☺️!! I hope it’s filled with much happiness and positivity! So this was another idea I was gonna do for Christmas, but I already had other stuff and the holiday had then passed so I figured hey why not do it for New Years🤷🏽‍♀️? Hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluffy feels☺️!

Sounding the bright charm of the doorbell, a smile spreads on your lips hearing the familiar excited barks from Dodger as he scurries to the front door.

“I know bubba, I’m coming. I heard it too,” you hear Chris’ muffled chuckles as his footsteps lightly thud against the hardwood the closer he came. He doesn’t have time to properly greet you before brown and white fur dashes past him circling around your legs before peering up at you with soft brown eyes as his front paws push on your abdomen making you laugh.

“Dodge let her come in the house first bud.”

“It’s okay. I know I haven’t visit you in a while, I promise I’ll do better,” you smile scratching behind his ears as he drops to all fours helping his dad guide you in the warm, faintly pine scented home. Pulling you into his chest, your arms wrap around each other in the most comforting hug you’ve received in a while. His lips against your temple after his low “hi sweetheart,” makes you giddy with stomach doing tiny flips before quickly trying to push those feelings away.

“Y/N!,” Scott shouts.

“Scott!” Pulling away, you meet him halfway for a hug as he spins you around causing an eruption of giggles.

“I didn’t know you were back in town, how are you? I haven’t seen you in...what? A year?!”

“And what are you doing bringing us gifts on your birthday?,” Chris adds taking the respective snowman and reindeer covered gift bags from your hand.

“That’s right, Happy birthday! Have anything special planned?”

“No, I’m just gonna stay in and watch a few movies until I probably fall asleep. And the gifts are late Christmas presents since I couldn’t get them to you sooner.”

“Aww you didn’t have to do that, thank you so much,” Scott smiles hugging you again. “And you hear that Chris? She’s not doing anything tonight.” There’s a brief silence as the two brothers peer at each other as if telepathically speaking some secret language.

You weren’t quite sure what was going on, but from Chris’ pleading yet serious eyes and Scott fluttering his lashes with innocent smile on his face you thought maybe it might be your cue to leave.

“Well um I don’t want to take up too much of your time-,”

“You’re not!,” Chris interrupts, a bit too enthusiastic for his liking from his growing blush. “Um in fact if you want to stay and hang out here, that’s completely fine. We’re having a few friends over later for a last minute New Year’s Eve party, which you’re more than welcome to join.”

Your heart screamed yes, wanting you to kick off your shoes and get comfy on his sectional couch. However, your brain kept picturing you sitting off to yourself for the majority of the night with drink in hand as they laughed and mingled with their childhood friends.

“Thanks, but I uh think I’m gonna just head home.”

“You sure? I know this dud is gonna be there, but I promise it’ll be fun!,” Scott says, soon receiving an arm smack from his brother that makes it hard to hide your laugh.

“Yea, I’m sure. Maybe we can all meet up later sometime and do something?”

“Of course, and if you change your mind just give us a call or come over.”

Giving you a final hug and happy birthday, you squat down saying your goodbyes to Dodger who had yet to leave your side since you walked through the door. Being the gentleman he was, Chris insisted on walking you to your car even though you tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary since it was still light out and that you’d be fine.

“Thanks again for the gifts. That was really sweet.”

“You’re welcome. Sorry if it’s something you already have, I tried to think of things you guys might like.”

“Anything you get, we’ll appreciate,” he smiles. You could tell there was something more he wanted to say as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. And it was as if you could see with your own eyes the conflict in his brain trying to figure out how to say whatever he was attempting.

“Hey, you okay? You kinda seem in your head a bit.”

“Yea, yea I’m fine. Just uh, thinking about how you shouldn’t be alone on your birthday. Not trying to pressure you or anything, but seriously we don’t mind you staying.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” you wave him off dismissively giving him a sure smile. “And if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

“Alright, and call if you need anything at all okay?”

“Okay,” you giggle, feeling his arms bring you closer again in one of his famous hugs.

———

“Why didn’t you stay?! It would’ve been better than being alone. Plus you’ve said before how fun they are, so I’m sure you would’ve enjoyed yourself,” your mom states, clearly in the kitchen from the pots and silverware clanking in the back.

“I don’t know, I didn’t want to be the odd one out I guess. The one person majority of people didn’t know and end up by myself.”

“Well being the stranger shouldn’t stop you from going to a party that you’re invited to by your friend. And if those boys are really your friends, I’m sure they would’ve tried to include you in stuff and made sure you were comfortable.”

“Yea that’s true. I also wondered if it was a pity invite too, you know? Like being invited because it accidentally slipped?,” you admit fiddling with the string on your pajama shorts.

“No I don’t think so. Chris himself told you about it when he could’ve just kept quiet. I think you’re overthinking a bit honey.”

“You’re probably right about that too,” you sigh watching the scene currently playing on the screen in front of you.

“And I know you’re upset about not being able to come home like you planned, but don’t let that stop you from having a good time. Live your life, we’ll all still be here the next time you can come.” Although you had a tear rolling down your face, a soft laugh escapes your mouth surprised by her words hitting the nail on the head. Why you’d think your own mother wouldn’t be able to tell how you were feeling even over the phone miles away, you didn’t know.

Just as you set your mouth for your reply, a knock on your door slightly startles you diverting your attention to the door across the room.

“Hey, I’ll call you back. Someone’s at the door.”

“Okay, well be safe and remember what I said! Love you.”

“I will, and love you too.” Hanging up, you peek out the peephole to see Chris switching from one leg to the other as he looks down at his phone waiting for your answer.

“Chris, what are you doing here?”

Dark jeans and white sneakers below his forest green crewneck sweatshirt, a build a bear box comes into view from behind his back to rest on your kitchen counter.

“I too came to give you a present,” he smiles hands showcasing the box.

“T-Thank you. You didn’t need to go out and get me something, especially with everyone being out for New Years.”

“What makes you think I just bought this?,” he smirks.

“Because if you had it earlier, then you would’ve handed it over when I came by.”

“What if I held onto it so I could deliver it myself?”

Eyeing him suspiciously, a grin breaks your expression as your hands begin to roam the box beginning to open it. “Then I’d ask what about your party? The host really isn’t supposed to leave.”

“Well that’s why it’s good to have your brother as your other host so he can watch over everything. And the host can leave if it’s for an important reason.”

“Fair point, but still-,”

“Y/N, open your present please?,” he grins as you hold up your hands in surrender before finally pulling the stuffed brown teddy bear with jeans and a pullover hoodie from the box making you gasp as a soft “aww” leaves your lips. You read the card attached that says “a new friend to be independent together with” instantly causing a rush of memories and you to smile.

It was an inside joke between the two of you ever since your first week of meeting each other. You were his makeup artist while on set of his last project, and noticing that you seemed bored sitting outside the makeup trailer one day, invited you to get lunch with him.

Conversation came surprisingly easy as you walked side by side to a nearby cafe. Not that you expected him to be the snobby, stuck up type to look at everyone on set who wasn’t a fellow actor as less than and undeserving of his time. You’d heard before how nice he was ultimately being loved by those who had the chance to interact with him. As a fellow introvert though, you could tell from your first couple of talks how it took a while for him to warm up to someone.

And from your experience, typically with two introverts together, there could be a bit more silence than talking.

You can’t remember exactly what the both of you laughed about standing near the front of the line, but that was cut short when the older lady behind you complimented on how cute of a couple you were.

“Oh no, we’re not together,” he corrected with a light chuckle, before quickly feeling guilty that you might take offense. “I mean not that I’m not attracted or anything because you are pretty. Beautiful in fact. A-And not that I’ve thought about it or that’s why I invited you because I promise it didn’t cross my mind! Not that it would be a bad thought either! I just..um..”

At this point both you, the lady behind you, the waiting barista, and everyone within earshot of his rambling were watching making up from his neck to his ears tint red.

“...we’re just coworkers getting lunch,” you smile trying to ease any further embarrassment. Or confusion at this point.

“Yea together, but independently. Independently together,” he adds as she nods, a light laugh leaving her lips.

“Words weren’t really your strong suit today huh?,” you giggle making it back to the lot as he shakes his head silently laughing at himself.

“I-I was trying to correct her without potentially offending you.”

“Thank you for thinking about my feelings, but I was fine, you didn’t have to worry. Now if you were like utterly disgusted and started gagging or something-,”

“Noo, no I’d never do that. And if I did, I’d definitely understand if you punched me in the face repeatedly. Honestly probably encourage it.”

Both of your laughters dying down, it’s the first moment of silence you’ve experienced with him today. It’s doesn’t feel awkward at all though, and you may just be strolling along with the summer sun on your skin, but you don’t want to leave.

Little did you know he didn’t want to either.

“Um well I guess I’ll see you later then,” you shyly smile reaching the steps of the makeup trailer with Chris’ hand resting on the railing.

“See you later Y/N.”

“Oh, and be sure to get your words together when you’re in front of the camera. That’s kinda important.”

“I’ll try my best,” he deeply chuckles with hand over his chest. “If you don’t see me tomorrow though you know what happened.”

“Oh man, then who’d I get lunch independently together with?”

“You’re not gonna let me live that down are you?”

“Maybe. Eventually.”

His lips slightly part for his next remark, but the director calling his name steals his attention, yelling about changes to the script. Turning back to you, you both said a quick goodbye before he jogs off.

Not before thanking you for walking ‘independently together’ with him and flashing you his gorgeous smile.

“I know it’s kinda kiddish, but-,”

“No it’s perfect Chris. Thank you.” Arms wrapped around his middle, a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as his arms seem to naturally fit around your body. You can’t help but to feel those flips and tingles from earlier, this time though opting to bask a bit in the feeling versus ridding it away.

“You’re welcome.”

Soon you’re both startled from the sound of poppers and party horns coming through your walls from the surrounding apartments as voices shouted “Happy New Year!,” and cheered.

“I didn’t realize it was already midnight. You should uh probably head back to your party,” you speak pulling away to set down your new, smaller friend.

“Yea you’re right,” he states following behind as you unlock your front door seeing the hall littered with confetti and glitter. Nearly stepping over the threshold, he pauses before turning back around to meet your eyes, which were now scanning outside wondering why he stopped.

“What is it?”

“N-Nothing, I just...uh, t-there’s actually another reason why I came by.”

“Um...okay. What’s up?”

Inching closer and closer until you could smell the mint from his gum, his larger hand finds your cheek and thumb grazes along the bone briefly looking down at your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m guessing this is the other reason?,” you whisper, nervously tucking part of your bottom lip between your teeth.

“It is. If there’s someone, or you say no that’s fine though. I-I jus-,”

Your lips on his muffle his next couple words as his other hand gently grabs your side pulling you as close as you both could be. His soft lips paired with their equally forceful yet careful movement leave your head dizzy, in the best way, and hands clasping onto his sweatshirt to steady your now wobbly legs. Separating to catch your breath, your swollen lips stay hovering anticipating a repeat.

“There’s no one, and I think I just gave you a definite yes.”

“Looks like no more independent together then,” you both chuckle before your lips resume their previous actions.

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[echo-bleu]

straight through the smoke (4/5)

Summary: After Magnus breaks up with Alec and chooses to align with the Seelie Queen, pulling the Downworld Cabinet with him, Alec is arrested  by the Clave for high treason. Will Magnus find out in time to save him from a death sentence?

This chapter takes on right where we left Alec in the previous chapter, standing on the immolation rune waiting for Imogen to light it.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

On AO3

“Wait!”

Alec opens his eyes. Imogen has frozen with the end of her staff just inches from the fire rune. He looks around to see who has spoken, but he already knows. He feels it. It’s Jace.

“Not now, Jace,” Imogen scolds him, keeping her staff close to the rune. “This can’t be interrupted.”

Jace resolutely steps inside the safety circle, and Imogen immediately lifts up her staff. Alec locks eyes with him. What are you doing? he tries to ask silently. His whole body is coiled and almost trembling in anticipation of pain that isn’t coming. He can almost feel phantom flames lick at his feet, but there’s nothing.

The faces around them are expectant and apprehensive, but not shocked. No one tries to stop Jace, and they look at him with something like pride.

“You’re about to execute my parabatai!” Jace shouts. “I can’t let you do it.”

“He had a trial and pleaded guilty,” Imogen frowns at him in anger. “It’s over. I’m sorry Jace, but it’s done.”

“No, it’s not,” Jace breathes as he reaches Alec, grasping his hand. “Be ready,” he murmurs.

Ready for what? Alec wants to ask. But he doesn’t get the chance. Izzy joins them in the center of the circle, and Alec’s heart goes up to his throat, as much in pride as in dread. They’re going to get themselves killed, or arrested. But he can’t help the way his body vibrates at the feel of his siblings’ hands in his, when he’d thought he’d never feel them again.

“Get out of the circle, Jace,” Imogen’s tone turns threatening as she lowers her staff once again.

“If you ignite this rune,” Jace gestures at the carved rune under their feet, “then you burn me, too. Are you ready to kill your grandson? Your only family?”

“Why are you doing this?”

Jace looks at Alec for a fraction of a second before turning back to Imogen. “Because he’s my parabatai and my brother. And he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Being bound to him weakens you,” Imogen sneers. “You forget your place. You’re a Herondale, and you deserve better than a traitor for a parabatai.”

Jace swallows, and Alec squeezes his hand. Through their bond, he feels the last of his brother’s hesitation, his hope for a reconciliation, fade away. “If there’s one thing I learned about family, living with the Lightwoods, it’s that it’s not just a name,” Jace says. “Alec is my family more than you ever will be.”

“And he’s not a traitor,” Izzy adds. “Just a good man who did his best to avoid a war.”

“Guys, you can’t do this,” Alec murmurs, too low for anyone but his siblings to hear. “You’ve got to go, or she’ll punish you too.”

“It’s okay, Alec,” Izzy whispers back. “Luke is waiting for us outside. Just be ready to run.”

Alec closes his eyes. This can’t end well. They’re surrounded by several hundred Shadowhunters, even if no one seems to be in a hurry to stop them. They won’t make it out of here, and even if they did, the consequences of this…

“I will have you removed,” Imogen warns. When neither Jace nor Izzy makes a move to get out of the Circle, she signals her guards to grab them. Jace and Izzy look at each other and let Alec’s hands go, stepping in front of him.

Jace delivers the first blow, in front of a silent, unmoving audience. Imogen gasps in disbelief as the first of her two guards takes a step back, then attacks Jace. He doesn’t last more than thirty seconds and crumbles under Jace’s well placed right hook.

Izzy slips a stele in Alec’s hand before she goes to dig her heel into the second Shadowhunter’s stomach with a kick-flip. Alec quickly activates his strength and accuracy runes. As Izzy finishes off the guard, he adds his stamina rune as well. He hasn’t slept in almost three days, and he’s really feeling the strain.

His mind still hasn’t really registered that he’s not dead, but he falls into a fighting stance all the same.

“Shadowhunters!” Imogen calls out when she sees her second guard go down. “Arrest them!”

For a moment, nothing happens. There’s a lull, the Shadowhunters around the courtyard staring at Jace and Izzy inside the rune circle. Staring at Alec. Jace and Izzy fall back closer to Alec, but they don’t look tense, like they don’t expect the other Shadowhunters to do it.

Then Kara steps forward, weaponless, her hand on her Institute insignia. “I refuse to obey,” she calls out, her voice trembling but resolute. She breaches the safety circle and joins them inside.

Imogen stares at her, gobsmacked. Alec feels a rush of pride, but closes his eyes in dismay. The last thing he wants is to put her at risk.

“I stand with you,” Jens declares before Imogen can recover from her surprise. He joins Kara inside the circle with no hesitation.

One by one, the Shadowhunters around them step into the circle. Underhill. Laura. Raj. Lindsay. Stunned, Alec stares as they all refuse Imogen’s order and declare their loyalty. In a minute, a good third of the Shadowhunters present have made their move, and none of the others seem prepared to go against them.

Alec bows his head under their stares, a tear running down his cheek, overwhelmed by pride and gratefulness. Shadowhunters learn to lay down their life for their comrades without hesitation in battle, but he would never ask them to do that in such a situation. This is more than a show of support – they’re proclaiming their loyalty in a way that leaves no room for ambiguity. They’re putting themselves on the line for him.

Jace pats his shoulder and looks Imogen in the eyes, through the crowd now separating them. “You can’t execute all of us.”

“This is an insurrection,” Imogen seethes. “Do you know what you all risk?”

“This is our Institute,” Izzy opposes. “Our turf.”

“Alec’s Institute!” Underhill proclaims.

“You still answer to the Law!”

“Valentine is dead,” Jace murmurs in Alec’s ear as voices of protestation rise across the courtyard.

“Magnus and Clary?” Alec asks.

Jace opens his mouth, but in a twist of fate, that’s the exact moment when a commotion starts at the edge of the courtyard, by the door that leads back into the Institute’s ops center. Alec and his siblings turn to look as the Shadowhunters move to let through two people. The first has Clary’s unmistakable red hair, though it’s dirty and tangled. The second takes Alec’s breath away as he always does.

Magnus looks perfectly composed, aside from the bloody cut just above his left eyebrow. By contrast, Clary is covered in dirt and blood. But they both look alright, if exhausted, and Alec lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

Magnus meets his eyes across the courtyard, and almost staggers in relief. “Alexander,” he mouths, moving in long strides to Alec before anyone can try to stop him. He reaches out and stops just before touching Alec, suddenly unsure.

Alec takes his hand and leans forward, letting their brows meet for the briefest moment. He can feel the gazes on them, the curiosity and the impatience there, and he doesn’t dare do more. He doesn’t know where he stands with Magnus, and now is not the time to find out.

“You’re both okay?” he asks.

“Yes,” Magnus breathes.

“Valentine is dead!” Clary announces loudly. “His body has been retrieved by the Council. The wards around the city are now down.”

“Malachi is dead too,” Jace whispers to Alec. “We’ve got proof that he was in the Circle.”

Alec lets out a sigh of relief, closing his eyes briefly. Valentine is dead. The threat against the Downworld is gone. Magnus is safe.

Now it’s time to fight for his Institute. His people. He lets go of Magnus’ hands.

Kara taps his wrist, and Alec looks back at her. She slips her Institute insignia in his hand with a small smile. “Your Institute,” she murmurs.

Alec nods at her proudly, briefly squeezing her hand before he pins the insignia on his dark red shirt – the closest thing Imogen’s guards could find to the traditional red of execution in the Institute. He makes his way to Imogen and the edge of the circle, his people parting respectfully before him and standing at attention.

He keeps his movements purposefully slow as Imogen watches him approach, and stops a few steps away from her, holding her gaze.

“We answer to the Law,” he says. He feels Izzy slip a phone into his hand and he looks down briefly to check the screen. “But not to a corrupt Clave. Did you know, Inquisitor Herondale, that your Consul was a Circle member?”

“Excuse me?” Imogen bellows. Her surprise looks genuine, though she might simply be a very good actor. But Alec doesn’t think that she’s working for Valentine, not with her history. Not when she very nearly executed Magnus in Valentine’s body herself.

He forbids himself from thinking about Magnus, who is standing at his left shoulder, any more than that and he extends his arm to show Imogen the photo on Izzy’s phone’s screen, which shows Consul Malachi Dieudonné with a Circle rune on his neck. She brings a hand to her mouth in shock.

Alec takes a deep breath. “I declare a state of emergency over the New York Institute and invoke the right of Separation under the Laws of Governance,” he announces. “From this moment and until the matter of the Consul’s treason has been investigated and resolved, this Institute stands outside of the Clave’s jurisdiction and will answer directly to the Angel.”

Imogen still looks too stunned to answer, but one of the other Clave officials steps in front of her. “You can’t do that!” he shouts. “You’re not Head of the Institute anymore!”

Alec calmly stares him down. “I believe that both an execution order and a demotion from the position of Head are required to be signed by the Inquisitor’s hand and filed officially at the Council Hall. Since no Nephilim has been able to pass the wards around the city since yesterday morning, they haven’t been filed yet. I’m still the Head of the Institute, and within my rights to declare our Separation.”

“This is wrong,” Imogen pushes past her colleague to stand tall in front of Alec. She’s almost two heads shorter than him, but another time, he would have bowed down to her. Not today. “Where did you find that?” she gestures to the phone still in Alec’s hand. “It’s a fake. Warlock!” she points at Magnus. “You did this!”

Magnus stares at her for a moment, letting a slow smirk spread on his face. “That depends on what you’re trying to accuse me of,” he tilts his head dramatically. “Did I kill the Consul? No. That was Clarissa’s admirable work.” He ignores the gasps of surprise around them. “Did I take this picture? Also no. Did I, while you were here trying to execute my boyfriend, defend my people and yours against a terrorist and kill Valentine Morgenstern? Now that I can answer affirmatively.”

Alec would laugh at Magnus’ poise if he wasn’t so tense. He tries not to let his mind linger on boyfriend.

“Downworlders have been banned from this Institute,” Imogen spits out. “You’re here to declare war.”

“No,” Magnus sobers. “You already have. I’m only here to stop an injustice and protect my family. I should probably warn you that the Institute is surrounded by vampires, werewolves and warlocks as we speak.”

“The Institute’s wards have been raised against all Downworlders. They can’t enter!”

Magnus laughs blandly. “And who do you think built those wards? I can bring them down in seconds. In fact,” he waves his hands, blue sparks moving around him, “I already have.”

Alec nods at Izzy, who slips away discreetly as Imogen gets even more agitated. “The wards are down and Downworlders are assaulting this Institute!” she shouts, her voice echoing around the courtyard. “This warlock just admitted it! Why are you all still standing there? We are under attack!”

A number of Shadowhunters look hesitantly between her and Alec, wondering who to obey. A few – Alec makes note of their faces – start taking out their weapons, but they stall when they realize that the rest of the crowd isn’t following.

“There is no attack,” Alec opposes coldly. “Downworlders are welcome in my Institute.”

Izzy slips back in at that moment with Raphael and Luke in tow. They step behind Alec, a wall of loyal Shadowhunters automatically forming around them for protection. Alec makes sure that the symbol of it all is abundantly clear to Imogen.

“You, however, are not,” he continues. “Magnus, will you open a portal? It’s time for the Inquisitor to go back to Alicante. Anyone here who’s loyalty goes to the Clave above this Institute is welcome to follow her.”

Imogen’s face looks constipated, but before she can answer, Underhill signals for Alec’s attention by the door leading to the ops center. “The portal won’t be necessary, warlock Bane,” comes a loud voice. Alec recognizes Jia Penhallow, who walks into the courtyard briskly, followed by Aline and five Shadowhunters in Council Guard uniforms, as well as another warlock. “We have our own.”

Alec straightens and stands at attention as Jia reaches him, but he keeps the Downworlders safe behind him. “Councilor Penhallow,” he says formally.

“I apologize for not taking the time to warn you of my visit,” Jia tells him. Aline smiles at Alec from behind her and he relaxes a fraction. “The Council called for an emergency meeting and had to make some executive decisions in the wake of Consul Dieudonné’s death.”

“I should inform you before anything that I have invoked the right of Separation,” Alec speaks up. “The Downworld representatives are here under the New York Institute’s protection.”

Jia’s surprise is only betrayed by a minute halt before she nods. “Noted,” she says. “But I am not here to arrest them, nor any of your Shadowhunters. The Council has obtained proof that Consul Malachi Dieudonné has been working with Valentine Morgernstern. He has been declared a traitor and his entire staff will be reviewed.” She turns to Imogen, who is still standing frozen at the edge of the rune circle. “Inquisitor Herondale, you are hereby suspended from your functions, pending investigation. All your current cases will be reinvestigated. Any ongoing sentence you have dealt is revoked and will be reviewed.”

There’s a general sigh of relief around Alec, and Izzy squeezes his arm.

“Lightwood,” Jia goes back to Alec. “Your actions will be re-examined in the light of the recent event. As you cannot be tried by the Clave under Separation, your case will be reviewed by a jury of your Peers.”

“I understand,” Alec bows his head.

“In the meantime, you will remain Head of the Separated New York Institute. You have a period of thirty days to dissolve the Separation or have your Institute vote for permanent Detachment by referendum.”

“I intend to dissolve as soon as a new Consul is elected, unless something else happens,” Alec promises. Detachment would incapacitate his Institute too much to be reasonable, even if the thought of parting with the Clave is sometimes tempting. That part of the Laws of Governance was written for times of war, when dire situations arise that need to be resolved faster than the Council can make decisions. Separation makes Alec the sole authority over the Institute, and he’s in a good place to know how dangerous that can be.

Jia softens imperceptibly. “That should happen within a few days,” she says. “There will be other matters to resolve, but for now, I will escort Mrs Herondale back to the Guard and go back to the Council. Your Institute and your friends have been through a lot. Take your time to regroup. And don’t worry too much about the trial,” she adds. “I’m confident that your peers will see that you acted like any good Head would have.”

“Thank you,” Alec nods, allowing himself a small smile of gratitude.

“Given the threat that Valentine Morgenstern put on the Downworld, there will be no repercussion for the warlocks’ actions of the last few days,” Jia nods toward Magnus. “The Council is grateful for your help in stopping Valentine.”

Magnus nods back without a word.

Jia signals to the warlock who came with her and he opens a portal. The entire crowd watches Imogen, defeated and silent, walk the length of the courtyard and disappear, followed by the two Clave officials who joined her for the trial. Underhill and Jens help the two half-conscious guards through the portal under Jace and Izzy’s smug gazes. None of the Institute’s Shadowhunters choose to leave. Jia and her own guards bring up the rear, leaving Aline behind.

“Alec! By the Angel, that was amazing!” Izzy exclaims as soon as the portal closes, jumping into his arms.

Alec laughs, suddenly exhausted. “Thank you,” he says tearfully, not quite capable of holding in his emotions any longer. “It was all thanks to you.” He makes a gesture to encompass Jace and all the others.

Everyone starts talking at the same time, and he gives up on understanding anything that is said. He’s tired and overwhelmed and swaying on his feet as his siblings and his friends all try to hug him in their relief.

He takes Kara’s Institute insignia off his shirt and pins it back on her chest, cupping her neck to make sure she knows how proud he is. She smiles back widely, her eyes full of tears. Alec tries to have a word for each of the Shadowhunters who approach him, even though their faces quickly start to blur in his head. They all stood for him, today. They saved his life. His parabatai bond pulses with reliefpridejoy and Alec wants nothing more than lie down and let that overtake him.

But he has something to do first. He scans the crowd for Magnus and finds him right beside him, hovering without quite touching him, his face unsure.

“Can we talk?” Alec asks.

Magnus nods with a small smile. “How about we sleep first, and talk later?”

“Yeah,” Alec laughs weakly. “That’s probably best.”

[mandadoration]

know your place

summary: Mando catches you with intentions to turn you in for your bounty, but you’ve been in the game long enough to know how to deal with someone like him. You’re determined to make the Mandalorian beg. 

word count: 5, 128

pairing: mandalorian x smuggler!reader

warnings: slight dub-con elements (aphrodisiac), non-consenual drug use, smut, handjob, sub!mando, use of bondage, mentions of drugs, praise kink, thigh riding, dirty talking, teeny tiny pain kink, explicit sex 

a/n: I guess I really have a thing for his cuffs? Also, don’t ask me where this fic is in terms of timeline- I have no idea. 

“She’s dangerous,” Greef Karga warns. “You aren’t the first bounty to have gone after her, but I trust you’ll be the last.” He slides a fob and puck over the table. 

“What is it that makes her so dangerous?” Mando asks. He views your puck. You aren’t particularly threatening. Hell, you’re even smiling brightly as the hologram of your face spins around. If he’s being honest, Mando wouldn’t have pegged you for a criminal. A farmgirl, maybe, or some handmaiden to some nobility in the Core Worlds. “She’s just a spice runner, right?”

“All spice variants. And death sticks, snuff, sweetblossom, rissle stick, slick,” Karga adds on. “That’s not even all of it. If you can smuggle it, she’s got it.” His tone is unusually serious. It’s no wonder why; this bounty is definitely one of the higher ones. The price tag on her head was lucrative. It’s enough for a month or two’s worth of rations, and then some. 

“Really? That many?” Mando asks. “Sounds dangerous.” Most smugglers only chose to smuggle one or two things at a time. It was much too risky to try and transport so much across the galaxy. And by the sounds of it, this bounty sounds like she’s practically supplying half the galaxy. Maker knows how many other criminals she knows. “How’d she survive this long?” Karga shrugs. 

“The other hunters refuse to talk,” he explains. “And those are the ones that have come back.” Mando watches your hologram bust rotate, your dazzling smile making you look deceptively innocent. He takes you puck and the tracking fob. 

“I’ll bring her back,” he says. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

--

Of course you knew that at some point, the infamous Mandalorian would be coming after you. Several people from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had tried to cash you in, but you wouldn’t let them. So when you had caught word that he had your puck, you had been on guard immediately. You make far too good of a living to give it up. 

But the Mandalorian?

That’s going to be a challenge. 

You’ve heard about him in your little (well, not little) criminal circles, watching as some of your clients have been picked up by him. You’re always quick to leave at any sign of trouble. You didn’t become a major supplier of drugs by being careless, stars, no. That’s why when you’re supplying high quality spice to some big wig, you’re swathed in layers of servant’s robes as you stealth through the town, scarf over the lower half of your face. 

You make sure that as you go through the city, you keep an eye out for any shiny piece of armor, making sure you bat your eyelashes at vendors and practically sashay through town, keeping a hand under your clothes, where your package was disguised as a pregnant belly. An old trick, but more effective than people would think, especially if you were in a less-fortunate part of town. You’ve even gotten some credits from sympathetic nannies who coo about your faux-baby in the past. You aren’t going to complain. You guess it does look weird when you go to a club to meet your client though. 

The guard at the door recognizes you, of course, and you nod at him as you slip through the back door. “Slythmonger,” he grunts. Just because you knew each other doesn’t mean he thought that you were lowly, especially when he eyes your fake belly. 

The club is filled with barely-clothed aliens and humans alike, all sickly sweet smiles and big eyes. You stick out like a sore thumb even more, but your clothes blend in with the dark. As you walk through the club, sticking close to the walls, you slip deathsticks to familiar customers who slip you credits in return. You get to a closed off room, knock three times, and slide in, squeezing your belly as you do. 

And you stop.

Because your client is staring at you with wide eyes as the Mandalorian sits across from him. If you thought you were out of place, the Mando looks like it even more, shiny beskar stark against the velvet cushions. You immediately slide your expression into one of anger, narrowing your eyes.

“Honey,” you grit out, glaring at your client who gives you a look of confusion. You huff and put a hand on your belly, rubbing it as if you were really with child. “What did you do this time?” You motion to the Mandalorian. At this point, you can hope that your scarf covers your face well enough, and that your client will be smart enough to catch on. 

“What?” he asks stupidly. Apparently not. 

You slowly stick your hand into a side pouch containing magic powder as you advance to your client. 

“You obviously did something, sweetie,” you say, voice low, “if a Mandalorian is here.” You see the Mando tilt his head as he looks at you. You eye him from the side. “Are you with the guild?” you ask him, voice dripping with false fear, protectively covering the package. He gets up, and you tense, but he pulls out a puck and activates it, showing your face. And suddenly you’re glad for the loud, pulsing music because if it had been quiet, the tracking fob you’re sure he holds would be beeping loud and clear.

“I’m looking for her,” Mando says. “She delivers spice to your… husband here,” he says. “Have you seen her?” Either he’s a really good actor, or you’re a better one than him and have him fooled. You gasp and whirl to face your client.

“Spice?” you hiss at him, who honestly looks more scared at you than he did at the Mandalorian. “You’re doing spice?” 

“Um, yes?” he stammers out. You sob dramatically, turning away as you try to scan for more exits. Looks like the door you came in is the only one, unless you can somehow fly up and go through the vents before the bounty hunter can snag you. 

“I cannot believe this!” you cry out. “I’m due in a month! A month! And you’re out here doing drugs.” Your wailing makes Mando wince. “Where’s the money?” you demand. Your client scrambles to dump out the credits onto a nearby table and you scoop them out and count quickly. “So this is where it goes?” you screech. You tuck them away. The most he could do was pay you for the horrific acting you had to do, pretending that he was your husband. “I was reluctant for you to even start up this… this harem!” you say, motioning to the dark room and the door. “But I draw the line here!” You turn to slap your client, but in the middle of your theatrics, your fake belly drops down and out under your skirt, spilling carefully measured bags of spice all over the floor. The room falls silent as you stare, and turn back to look at the Mandalorian. 

“Oh dear,” you say weakly, “the baby.” And you blow a handful of powder into his face, ripping off your servant garb and dumping it over his helmet. Although it wouldn’t as potent with the helmet on, you can disorient him. You burst through the door and sprint out of the club and side door, ignoring a very disgruntled guard as you dash into the streets.

“Get back here!” you hear him shout. Shit, he got out that faster than you thought, but at least the powder worked somewhat. He ran straight into a cart as he left the alley. But you have no time to gloat.

You dart through the annoyed crowd, and you can track where the Mandalorian is from how fast the people part behind you. As you run, you dig in your pockets for anything you can use. You curse when you realize that your only syringe was empty, and you didn’t have a replacement medshot. And you really didn’t want to waste your last vial of love-wallop. That shit was expensive on the market right now. You skid into another alley way, but you go cold as you realize it’s a dead end. You don’t stop running, even as the wall gets closer. At the end, you can see a door on the left. If you got there in time, you did have--

You trip when something tangles around your legs. You yelp as you go down, palms scraping against the dirt. Scrambling back, it tugs on you, and the Mando drags you closer to him. 

“Nice acting,” he says, his voice rough behind the modulator. He’s out of breath and taking deep inhales. “Almost had me.” You scowl, and he throws cuffs at your feet, keeping his blaster trained on you. “Cuff yourself.”

Glaring at him, you untangle your legs from the wire he used and snatch the cuffs up. There’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught without a fight. He’s watching you carefully, but you’re fast, faster than him at least, and you chuck the cuffs at him and blow another handful of powder in his face. As he doubles over in pain and disoriented from another dose, you kick his blaster out of his hand and expertly dump your vial into the syringe, and tackle him, climbing on his back as you grit your teeth and try to find a patch of skin. He tries to buck you off, but you stab your needle into his neck before he can. Mando yells in alarm and does eventually manage to throw you off, but it’s working fast, and soon he’s swaying on his feet. 

“What... what did you--” he slurs, but he tips over before he can finish. You huff as you toss the empty vial and syringe aside. It shatters as it hits the wall and you crouch down next to him. Mando reaches up, but you simply push his hand back down. He’s too weak to fight back. “What’d you put in me?” You purse your lips. 

“Love-Wallop serum,” you answer. “That was expensive, Mando. That’s gonna cost you.” You admire his get-up. If that was really beskar he was wearing, you could afford to hide out for months while you gather more supplies and lie low. “It’s not usually meant to be injected,” you hum, grasping his helmet and tilting it as it glints in the sunlight. “Although, maybe I can change the formula a teensy bit.” You peer at the injection site. It’s a little irritated from the rough jab, but it fades away as a flush creeps up his neck. 

“I thought…” Maker, his mouth is dry, and he feels floaty as the serum works through his system. “I thought you were just a slythmonger.” You chuckle. 

“When you’re in this trade for as long as I have,” you say, leaning in close, “you learn a thing or two.” You watch as he moans and attempts to get up. A simple nudge discourages him as he plops back on the ground with a soft thud.“Now, how am I gonna get you out of here?” you murmur. 

The last thing he sees is your frowning face as you get up to pat the dust off of you. 

--

When Mando finally comes to, his head his aching, and he’s burning up, an ache deep and low in his gut. He’s sees you lounging casually across from him with a watchful eye. Mando jerks and tries to reach for his blaster, but his hands are tied above his head. With his own cuffs, magnetized and stuck to the wall. 

This is what they call irony, he supposes. 

A quick glance tells him that he’s in some kind of hideout, junk and trinkets lining the wall, and a pile of crates pushed up against another. It’s dim, the only source of light being a lamp next to a cot and what little sunlight that’s being mostly blocked by curtains. He shifts, and realizes all his gear has been stripped from him, including his vambraces and armor so that he’s left in his shirt and pants. Not even his boots are on him. He worries for a quick second in this moment of disorientation that his helmet’s been taken off when you speak up. 

“Your helmet is still on, don’t worry,” you say, shifting legs so that one is crossed over the other. You’re not stupid, after all. “What’s your name?” Mando doesn’t speak, but instead scans the room for anything that could help him get out of this situation. There’s a door or some kind of hatch in the far left corner, and another to what he thinks is the refresher, but everything surrounding him is moved far out of his reach in every direction. “Let me ask you again,” you say cooly. You get up, and run your boot up his leg, sending tingles up it and up his spine as he lets out a soft groan. “Tell me your name,” you say, sweetly.

“Din. Din Djarin,” he gasps out before he can stop himself. It’s hot. Much too hot in here even though he sees that you’re wearing a leather jacket to protect yourself from the slight chill. He’s aching, and he wants to dig his hands into your soft flesh. 

Where did that thought come from?

“Well, Din Djarin,” you say, and it should be illegal how sinful his name sounds coming from you. “You’re gonna be my little experiment. How about that?” you murmur. You crouch down next to his and rub your thumb on his upper thigh. He bucks up into the air, and you hum when you notice the bulge in his pants. 

“What did you put in me?” he grits out, straining against his cuffs. You remove your hand and get back up, and Mando has to bite back the whine that threatens to leave him at the loss of contact. You take off your jacket, sling it over a chair, and pick up a vial of shimmering pink liquid. 

“Love-Wallop,” you answer. “It’s usually in a pill form, but my customers complained it took too long to dissolve, so I made it into a serum.” You glance at it and then to him, rolling the vial in your fingers. “Although I am starting to wonder if I can safely make it for injection.”

“You roofied me?” he asks. You make a face. 

“No!” you protest. You huff and roll your eyes. “What it’s supposed to do is make you more… susceptible to suggestion and seduction,” you continue. You place the vial down on a table and squat down next to him, and run a warm hand up his shirt. “Enhance what’s already there,” you continue. “You’re burning up,” you note, and use your other hand to palm him through his pants. He lets out a low moan, grinding up against your hand. 

“Yeah?” he groans, “That’s what happens when-- stars -- you get drugged.” You laugh, and pull your hands away, laughing harder when he struggls against his bonds to follow you.

“I guess you’re right,” you say amusedly. You reach for your jacket. “Shall I leave you here?” you ask coquettishly. “Let you ride out this little drug trip? Mind you, I don’t know how long it lasts or what happens when you don’t deal with... this,” you warn. You dig the heel of your boot on his erection, just barely enough pressure, but enough to tease him, to make your point. But a moan drags itself from his mouth. His head rolls back, and you’re willing to bet your entire stash of alderaanian snuff that his eyes are rolling back as well. You kneel down to unbuckle his pants and slide them over his hips, grinning when he subconsciously lifts his hips to help you. Maker, you wish you could just snatch that helmet off of him, see who it was and stick your fingers in his mouth. You think that he must have the softest lips, judging from how sweet every sound he makes is. 

But you aren’t that cruel. 

You are, however, cruel enough to pull his cock from his underclothes and let it go, watching it as it bounces up and leans against his belly. The trail of hair that leads up his hair only fuels your desire to see if the curtain matches the drapes. You absentmindedly rub the tip of cock with a single finger, smearing precum around as it twitches under your touch. You sigh dramatically and wipe your finger on his stomach before getting up, knees cracking as you turn away. 

“But you’re right!” you say. “You’re drugged, and I shouldn’t help you anyways, Din Djarin.” You voice drops to a whisper. “Even though I would very much love to help you and your little problem.” 

“You can’t- You can’t leave me here,” Mando protests, voice raspy and thick with desire as he eyes your figure. He feels hotter than ever, and sweat is dripping down his neck. You swing your leather jacket back on and turn to face him with hands on your hips. 

“Of course I can,” you say. You lick your lips as you drink in how desperate he looks. If it were anyone else, you would leave them, but this Mandalorian intrigues you. Maybe you can… Just this once… “But I will reconsider,” you propose, “if you ask nicely.” 

“You expect me to beg?”

“I expect you to ask nicely,” you correct, but your face splits into a feral grin. “But begging would be nice.” Mando doesn’t speak. He’s mulling it over, considering the pros and cons of ‘asking you’ to help him. The need is bubbling in his belly, and his cock is painfully hard. And you know it. Even if you can’t feel what he’s going through, he’s telegraphing his thoughts as he’s clenching and unclenching his fists, squirming where he’s sitting on the ground of wherever he is and canting his hips towards you. “What do you say?” you ask, the smile on your face reminiscent of the one on the puck, bright, but with an edge that screams predatory. He wants to, Maker knows how much he feels like he needs you, but his pride--

“No.”

-- gets the better of him. 

As soon as he says it, as soon as he sees your face drop and harden, he regrets it, he wants so desperately to please you, but he bites his tongue and keep quiet, even as his breath comes in pants as he’s thrusting into the air. You tilt your head, frowning. You want to ruin him, make him come apart under your hands; you probably want this as much as he does, but instead you shrug. 

“Okay.” And you sit down back in your seat in front of him, legs spread as you watch him. 

“Aren’t you going to leave?” Mando asks. He burns with shame under your gaze, and his cock twitches again. You shake your head. 

“No,” you say. “I said that you were going to be my little experiment,” you remind him. “I make good on promises, Din Djarin” and give him a sly wink. Mando grits his teeth, and directs his gaze somewhere else, anywhere but your piercing eyes and searching gaze. You hum and lean back. You can wait this out. You’re patient. 

This will be interesting.

--

The sun has set far below the horizon, and Mando’s cock is still hard by the time he finally speaks up. 

“Can you…” He clears his throat. He’s absolutely parched, and swallows, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Can you let me go?” he asks. You look up from where you have been mindlessly scrolling through your data pad. 

“Hm?”

“Can you let me go?” he repeats. You furrow your eyebrows. 

“And why would I do that?” you ask. You put your data pad on the table next to you and get up to stand next to him, looking down. Mando scrambles for an excuse in his rattled brain. He’s pretty sure with the way his temperature is soaring his brain is fried by now. 

“I’m sure you’re busy,” he says, and cringes with how unconvincing it sounds, even to him. “And have other things to do.” He doesn’t think too long on that, though, because you take a seat next to him and he catches a whiff of your scent, and he’s yearning for your touch again. He wants you so bad, or your hand, at this point he’ll take anything. 

“I am doing something,” you say simply, and lean forward so that you’re leaning against your hand. “Watching you.” You trail a finger up his side. “Waiting. Thinking.”

“Waiting for what?” he breathes. 

“Something,” you say with a sigh. 

“Thinking about what?” 

“How much I would love to wrap my hands around your cock,” you say bluntly, and you scratch your nails down his side. “How I would make you beg for it,” you continue, leaning in close so that you’re right by where his ear would be. “How you would beg for me to fuck you, or beg for my mouth or anything to let you cum.” You slide your hands up his shirt again, palms smooth across his scarred torso, and you tweak a nipple before pulling them back out again, and give his cock one, two, three pumps before you let him go. The lust makes his head cloudy, and at this point, he would let you do anything to him. You lean away from him. 

You tease, he thinks. And he can’t take it anymore. His resolve breaks. 

“Please,” he whines, and you freeze. 

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he mutters, but your grin is hungry as you lean back in. 

“Say it again,” you command, and once again, he feels the inexplicable need to tell you everything as you scent fills his nose again. 

“Please.” 

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Again.”

“Please.”

“Oh Din Djarin,” you whisper, and the effect your voice has is devastating, “all you had to do was ask.”

Mando nearly cums right then and there when your unyielding grip wraps around his cock, stroking him in long, tight motions as you swing your leg over him to get a better angle. The pleasure is overwhelming. You reach over him, somewhere he can’t see, and you pull out a vibroblade and point it at the base of his throat. His pulse quickens, thinking that you’re about to slit his throat, but instead you catch the top of his shirt and slice it off. You throw the blade over your shoulder and you run your free hand all over his tanned skin. He growls when you twist your hand, and he bucks up. 

“You’re doing so good,” you moan, grinding against his muscled thigh as it flexes. “So good, Din Djarin,” and it’s true. Although you can’t see his face, you see how his chest is flushed and warm, the blush crawling up his neck, and the way he moans is beautiful. “I wish I could keep you,” you mutter, and hiss when you rub your clit just right against him. “Stars, you’d let me do anything to you, hm?” You kiss his chest and start peppering little nips and bites up his neck, sucking a particularly dark mark right on his pulse point. “Answer me.” You cup his balls and stare at him. 

“Yes,” Mando gasps. He’s nearly sobbing from the pleasure, the relief of finally having his cock touched overwhelmingly good, and preening under your murmured praises. “A-anything, fuck, just don’t-don’t stop please--!” His words are choked out as he suddenly cums all over your hand, thick, white ropes coating it and splashing onto your jacket. You don’t stop stroking him, grinding against him as he cums, and the sound he makes is pitiful. It’s only when you cum, white-hot pleasure making your ears ring as you finally stop moving against his thigh, and you’re both heaving in breaths. You pull away, and wipe your cum covered hands in the scraps of his ruined shirt, and you get up to leave, but then you stop when your eyes trail down. 

“Are you still hard?” you ask him incredulously. He came so much, but yes, there it is, his cock is still hard and nearly purple at the tip. As if you didn’t do anything at all. The little noise he makes only further confirms it. You gnaw at your bottom lip, staring at his marked chest and neck, and you think that you have another one in you. 

Definitely. 

And so now you’re shucking off your jacket and unbuckling your belt, slick with desire. Mando is watching you, following your movements and watching as your deft hands push down your pants and kicking off your boots. As you sink down, taking his cock in one fluid motion, and the scientist in you vaguely wonders if the dose of love-wallop you gave him could be transferred via bodily fluids. 

That thought is kicked out of your brain as he snaps his hips up and hits that spot inside of you, going deep and so wonderful and it feels like he’s punched the breath out of you. You gasp out a breathy moan. 

“Holy shit,” Mando hisses. He manages to get his feet under him, giving him better leverage to thrust into your pussy, watching as you bounce on top of him. 

“Yes, yes,” you moan. You hold onto his shoulder, all hard muscle and tensed with how he’s pulling at his cuffs to make sure he doesn’t slip. Mando wishes that he could wind his hand through your hair and pull your head back, to bare your neck and mark you, but his hands are still above his head, and he’s sure he’s rubbed his wrists raw. Your toes curl as he fucks you, eyes glazing over as you spy your reflection in his helmet, and your eyes widen when you see how debauched you look. “Din Djarin, I am never letting you leave,” you groan, rubbing your clit. “Stars, your- your cock,” you yelp at a particularly hard thrust, “fuck!” With your free hand, the one not preoccupied with playing with your clit, you dig your nails into his shoulder for leverage, and dig harder still when he moans in response. 

“Do you- Do you do this to all the hunters?” he manages to gasp out, and you shake your head. “Do you let them, let them do this to you? Fuck you?”

“Just you,” you say. “Only you.”

The squelching that fills the otherwise silent room is absolutely disgusting, his hips slapping up against yours, your shirt still covered in his cum. You’re beautiful like this, he thinks, or at least tries to, but all he can do is try and commit the image of you, flushed and hair messy, as you bounce up and down to meet his thrusts halfway, rolling your hips now and then, his mind too jumbled to form worthwhile thoughts. 

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts. “Soon, shit, if you keep doing that I’m--” 

“Cum,” you breath out, face twisted up in pleasure. There’s coil deep in your core that’s been winding up, and you know you’re close to making it snap. “Cum in me.” And he’s consumed with the desire to listen and hang on to your every word, and he cums. That does it for you too, the feeling of him filling you up, and you grind against him as you nearly wail with pleasure as you orgasm, rubbing your clit in fast, small circles, pleasure rolling through you in waves. 

When you finally come down, Mando is gasping for breath as he slumps back down, and you pry your iron grip from him and get up, his soft cock slipping out of you, but you think you see it twitch again as cum drips out of you. As you pad to the refresher, Mando is overcome with sleepiness and exhaustion. He’s been wound up for hours, he sure, that when he finally got his release, his energy is spent. Mando nearly dozes off when you come back with a warm, wet rag, and wipe your cum and his from his body. You wipe the sweat around his neck, running it gently over the crescent-shaped marks from where you had dug your nails in, and he’s taken aback from how tender and gentle you are with him. There’s a soft look to your face as you’re focused on cleaning him up to the best of your abilities, and he thinks that you’re not even aware he’s looking at you. When you pull away, he yearns for your touch, but in a different way this time, and you give him a small smile. 

“Sleep,” you command him, and he tries to commit this image in his mind, not the one before, of you in the warm light of the lamp in the corner, glowing with the drips of moonlight filtering in, and once again he listens to what you say, and closes his eyes. 

--

Mando wakes up with a start, neck sore, and he scrambles up when he realizes he’s no longer cuffed, and remembers the events of the night before, dropping the blanket that had been placed over him.

The hot desire that had consumed him is gone now, and instead his legs and arms are aching, wrists raw and irritated like he knew it would be, and he looks around for you.

But any trace that you were there before are gone. 

The crates of drugs, your leather jacket and pants, hell, even the furniture and lamp that was in the corner are gone. All that’s left is his armor and a replacement shirt next to him. When he bends down to pick up the shirt, a little jar tumbles out. He reads the label. 

Salve, it reads, in what he presumes is your handwriting. For Din Djarin. Compensation for partaking in my experiment. He cracks a grin and puts it back on the floor, pulling the shirt over his head and starts the process of buckling his armor on again, trying to ignore how disappointment rises in him when the tracking fob linked to your chain code doesn’t even let out a single blip. Before he puts on his gloves and vambrace, he smears the salve over his wrists, and watches as the irritation almost immediately disappears. It works better than most commercial brands, he notes, and much better than the one in his medpack, so he tucks it away for future use, then freezes as he pats his pockets. He curses when he realizes. 

You had taken all his credits.

[heyyyharry]

Chapter 6: Rooftop and Champagne

(from the My Girl Trilogy: Stay Mine)

…in which Harry gets nominated for an Oscar, but he wants to celebrate Y/N’s good news instead.

Word count: 5k

AU: actor!Harry, older!Harry, younger!Y/N, (4-year age gap).

Wattpad link

Let me know what you think!!!

The song Harry sang to Bambi: Come Here by Kat Bloom

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Y/N returned to her flat the next morning and ran into Blake. He had just come back from his morning run, was about to open his door when he saw her, and his expression closed up as he pressed his lips into a small smile.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She smiled back and pulled out her key. It was hard to act normal after their conversation a few nights ago. They hadn’t spoken since, and she had stopped expecting the good news from him. Laura Hilfgard had probably thrown her manuscript in the trash, and the sad part was she wasn’t even upset as she was already used to rejections.

“Can we talk?” Blake spoke as she opened her door.

She turned around, holding her breath. “S-Sure. What is it?”

A corner of his mouth turned up as a way to tell her, “you know what it is,” but she was too embarrassed, she breathed out a laugh and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t stop thinking about how she had overreacted the other night, and she’d rather have him never speak to her again than talk about it now.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, to her surprise. “I hope you’re not mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” She licked her lip and let out a soft breath. “And I’m not moving in with Harry either.” Seeing his eyes go round, she didn’t want to give him the wrong idea so she had to add, “we’ve decided that this isn’t the right time, but it’s definitely something we both want in the future.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy.” He jammed his hands in his pockets as she took a deep breath with a beam on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, noticing his reluctance.

He cleared his throat, raising a finger like he finally remembered something and patting his pockets to look for his phone. She had a feeling that she knew what he was about to show her. She just didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Staring at his fingers, Y/N didn’t realise she wasn’t breathing properly as she saw him unlock his phone and open his messages.

“Here. Read it yourself.” He gave the phone to her. She hesitantly took it and saw the text delivered at 8 PM last night when she was at dinner with Harry.

Loved your friend’s story. Will contact her soon! :)

Her heart skipped a beat as she gasped and covered her mouth. Blake let out a chuckle while she was still speechless. “I already gave Laura your number so don’t turn off your pho--”

Y/N didn’t let him finish as she gave him a full bear hug, the first one they had shared in three years. It startled him at first but he hugged her back in less than a second. If she hadn’t pulled away, he probably wouldn’t either. But she did let go of him to grip his phone with both hands, and while she was smiling at the message, he was smiling at her.

“I have to tell Harry!” she said, turning his smile into a frown. “Should I tell Harry now or should I wait until Laura contacts me?”

Blake was about to answer when she cut him off, “you’re right! I should wait until it’s official! She could change her mind at the last minute.” She breathed through her mouth, clutching the phone to her chest. “Oh God, I’m so happy!”

“I could tell.” He chuckled.

“Thank you so much! Just tell me what you want and I’ll buy it for you as a gift.”

“You don’t have to buy me anything.”

“Nonsense!” She scoffed as her face screwed up. “I have to repay you somehow!”

“Well, you could buy me dinner?”

“Deal!”

“Really?” He furrowed his eyebrows, half surprised, half elated.

“I’m gonna tell Celine and Amala now. See you later!”

“Y/N, wait! My phone.”

“Oh, sorry!” Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing nervously as she returned his phone and rushed into her flat. The door was shut, and Blake was left in the hallway with a large grin on his face.

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With all the crazy things happening lately, Harry had completely forgotten the day of the big announcement he’d been waiting for since months ago. He had been in the shower when he received the news and almost ignored the call, but thankfully his manager had kept blowing up his phone.

When he heard his name, ‘Oscar nomination’, and ‘Best Actor’ in the same sentence, his heart almost exploded. He shouted and jumped on the bed and started bouncing in his bathrobe like a little boy. He wouldn’t have cared if someone had seen him like that. For fuck’s sake, he just got his first Oscar nomination at twenty-five!

He was over the moon, and the first person he decided to call was his mum. It would’ve been Gemma if they hadn’t just argued the previous night, but he decided to shake it off and not be sad on this wonderful day. He talked to his mum for almost an hour and could have gone on for much longer than that, but he must hang up to break the news to his girlfriend in person.

He was eager to leave the house and almost hit a street lamp when his Ferrari swerved around a slower car. The driver cursed at him, and he just burst out laughing like a crazy person.

He parked his car on the side of the road, adrenaline pumping in his veins as he ran into the building and climbed to the fifth floor without breaking a sweat. He was panting heavily, yet still smiling from ear to ear as he banged on her door, shouting, “Bambi! Bambi!”

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“Bambi! Bambi!”

“What? What is it?” The little girl looked up as Harry tackled her to the floor, almost suffocating her with his violent hug.

“I got it, Bambi, I got it!”

“Got what?!” She pushed him off, annoyed and curious at the same time.

“The lead in the school play! I’m Romeo in Romeo and Juliet!” His face lit up as he took her hands and held them against his chest. “Oh, Juliet, I love you so much, let’s die together!”

“That’s not--”

“I know, I’m just messing with you.” He laughed and gently knocked on her forehead.

She pulled away, rubbing the spot and raising an eyebrow questioningly. “Who’s gonna be Juliet?”

“Some girl I don’t know, but who cares? Isn’t this great?”

“I care!” Y/N got up to sit on her heels, fingers pinching her thighs. “Romeo and Juliet kiss! You’re gonna lose your first kiss to some girl you don’t know, Harry!”

Her reaction was priceless. Harry didn’t know how she managed to look angry and sad and embarrassed at the same time, but he thought it was adorable as he cupped her cheeks and pinched them together, making her lips pucker up.

“I’m not kissing any girl, Bambi,” he said as she pushed him away. “We’re not gonna do the kissing scene because our drama teacher thinks it’s inappropriate. I have no idea why.”

“I agree with your drama teacher!” she said as her eyes lit up and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Congratulations, Harry! You got your first acting role!”

“Aww, Bambi.” He shut his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. “What would I do without you?”

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“Har--”

Harry grabbed Y/N’s face before she could finish his name and silenced her with a passionate kiss. She was still startled when he let her go, but he didn’t want to break the news immediately, he wanted her to guess. It only took a second for her eyes to go wide.

“They told you, didn’t they?!” she asked, making him brighten.

“Yeah, I just got the phone call!”

“Oh God, I told them not to tell you before I do!”

Wait, what?

Y/N let out a heavy breath as she held his hands. “Fuck Cece and Amala for ruining the surprise, but it’s official, babe.”

What is official? Wait, what is happening?

“Laura Hilfgard called and...I’m her new client!”

“Shit, babe, really?!” His mouth fell open, he was laughing uncontrollably. “That’s great! So it’s official?!”

“It’s official!” She squealed, hugging his neck.

For a second, Harry was too happy to think about his big news, but as soon as they pulled apart, he instantly remembered the reason he was there in the first place. Half of him wanted to tell her, the other half didn’t. But on second thought, he received stupid awards all the time; an Oscar nomination wouldn’t change his life, but a book deal would definitely change hers.

“You know what? Let’s celebrate!” he said and opened his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“Just give me your phone.”

Though confused, Y/N still pulled out her phone and placed it on his palm. He turned it off and she frantically tried to grab it but he was quick to put it in his pocket.

“What are you doing?! I need to call my dad.”

“I’ll let you call your dad after our date.” Because he couldn’t let her find out about his nomination online.

“We’re going on a date?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Y/N chuckled as he circled his arms around her waist, playfully biting his lips. “I may or may not have brought a bottle of champagne to take you to a rooftop so we could celebrate your good news.”

“You’re joking.”

“Do I not seem like the most romantic boyfriend in the world?” He leaned in and smeared his mouth over hers, making her giggle and push him back a bit to hold his face.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I love you more,” he said back before kissing her passionately.

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“Stand tall! Romeo doesn’t slouch!”

Harry straightened as Y/N walked around him with her hands behind her back like a military commander observing her subordinate. “Now I wanna hear you say your lines. You have to convince me that you’re Romeo, all right?”

Harry cleared his throat so he could fully transform into the famous lovesick character. With a deep breath, he began, “see how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand. That I might touch that cheek! “

He playfully touched her cheek and she slapped his fingers away, trying not to guffaw.

“Was I good?”

“Very good.” She nodded proudly. “But you have to be serious and stop fooling around like that.”

The boy gave a shrug. “Well, I’m only fooling around with you. I’m always serious at the actual rehearsals.”

“Oh, do you prefer the actual Juliet then.” She rolled her eyes and looked away, pouting in annoyance. He wasn’t sure if she was really jealous or just simply upset because he wasn’t serious with her; either way, it was so funny.

He took a deep breath and got down on one knee, extending his hand, leaving her confused. “May I dance with you, lady Juliet?”

“That line is not in the play.”

“Shh!” He put a finger to her lips. “Don’t speak, my lady. Dance with me!”

“Harry!” Y/N burst out laughing as the boy grabbed her hands and started swaying her around the treehouse. They kept stepping on each other’s feet, but at least they were having fun.

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Harry was breathless as he raced Y/N up the stairs, shouting at her to slow down and wait for him but she was too excited to listen. The last time they were there for her twentieth birthday, the building had been under construction, and now it was a residential building where actual people lived. They would have gone insane if they had found out they were in the same building with Harry Styles. However, since Niall’s uncle owned the whole place, Harry managed to sneak her in without anyone knowing, and the building management had even allowed them to have the entire rooftop for themselves.

Y/N pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped outside, meeting a cold breeze which blew right through her thin shirt. She waited for Harry to catch up, took his hand and pulled him with her.

“This is so cool!” she screamed at the pedestrians below. They looked like ants from where she stood. Seeing the look of elation of her face with wind blowing in her hair made Harry’s heart feel a little jumpy.

They spotted an old couch someone had discarded and moved it to the perfect spot to sit and watch the sunset together. Last time, it was already dark when they came up. They had never watched the sun go down from a rooftop before so both were as thrilled as little children going to the movie for the first time.

They admired the fiery red horizon lit by the blood-poured sun and imagined themselves being ten years younger and watching the same scenery from their little treehouse. Now the view below them was an enormous city with wide-stretched and never-ending roads instead of their own backyards and the roofs of their neighbours’ houses.

They sat in silence until the warm bronze sunlight was swallowed by the horizon. The sky was finally engulfed in darkness. A beautiful and calming darkness that seemed to be made just for them. They popped the bottle and sat side by side, with her head on his shoulder as they enjoyed good champagne and the breathtaking view of London after sundown.

“We’ve gone so far since our first date on this roof, haven’t we?” he asked, making her pull away.

“That wasn’t our first date.”

“It was to me.” He put a hand on her neck, smiling softly. “I was falling for you then.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Her eyelids fluttered as she leaned in closer, brushing her lips against his before kissing him lightly.

“You kissed me for the first time that night,” she whispered while holding his affectionate gaze.

He nodded. “I did.”

“And I stayed awake all night thinking about it.”

“You did?”

“I did.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder and looked up. “I was afraid that if I fell asleep and woke up, it would all be a dream, and I would never get to kiss you again.”

“Well, here we are.”

“Here we are.”

Giving a small smile, Harry grabbed her face and leaned in for a full-on, opened-mouthed kiss. He slid his tongue against hers, smirking as she fisted his shirt and whimpered his name which sounded so heavenly.

He cupped her neck to deepen the kiss before grabbing her waist and pulling her to his lap, but she refused to straddle him and got up, leaving him gasping for air. He shoved his fingers into his hair and groaned loudly as she laughed and took his other hand, pulling him up.

He got on his feet, letting her guide his hands to her waist but as she started searching in his pockets for their phones, he snatched her wrist, clicking his tongue. “Nuh-uh, I don’t think so, kid.”

“I’m not gonna check my phone. I just want to put on some music!”

“I can sing for us. I’m a great singer.” He snorted and started swaying them slowly. “Any requests?”

She giggled, her head resting on his chest. “How about a song that reminds you of me?”

“I have a whole playlist. How do I choose only one?”

As she only gave him a shrug, he inhaled deeply and pulled her back in. He liked how close they were and made sure to leave no space between them as they slow-danced to the sound of the wind, and soon to his gentle singing voice.

“There's a wind that blows in from the north. And it says that loving takes this course. Come here. Come here.”

She moved quietly in his arms as the champagne pulsated through their veins, casting a warm glow upon them as if they were dancing in an empty ballroom without a roof.

“No, I'm not impossible to touch. I have never wanted you so much. Come here. Come here,” he continued signing, allowing her to feel the urgent rhythm of his heart as he drew her even closer. “Have I never laid down by your side. Baby, let's forget about this pride. Come here. Come here.”

In no hurry, he took pleasure in being close to her and knowing they had no boundaries between them during or after this dance. He held her chin and gently lifted her face up to see her eyes in the soft glow of the night city. He loved the smell of her hair and the way her cool skin grew warm under his touch.

“Well, I'm in no hurry. You don't have to run away this time. I know you're timid. But it's gonna be all right this time.”

Their foreheads rested against each other as their bodies swayed slowly 'round and 'round. He found himself falling again for her mesmerising eyes.

“There's a wind that blows in from the north. And it says that loving takes this course. Come here. Come here.”

All he could think about at that moment was that he loved her. And he thought--No, he knew. He knew he wanted to marry her. One day. One day he would.

“Another song, please?” Her voice pulled him back to reality. He didn’t answer and also stopped dancing as he squeezed her hands against his chest.

“Can I just say I’m very proud of you?” he uttered, making her smile. “You’re one of the most hard-working people I’ve known. You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“Aww.” She sighed and tiptoed to peck his lips. “I wouldn’t have any of this if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s not true. You’ve done this all by yourself, kid.”

She shook her head, smiling. “The first story I wrote was about you. And all the stories I’ve written since were inspired by you. I didn’t have friends before I met you, and I became friends with Cece thanks to you, so...” She chuckled, chewing on the corner of her lips. “You are, by far, the worst and the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Oh God.” He tossed his head back and laughed. “Why did you tell me that? Now I’m sad and happy at the same time.”

“As you should be.” She wrinkled her nose and draped her arms over his shoulders.

He sucked his lips into his mouth, staring at her intensely as he tried to decide on what to say next. Knowing him too well, she didn’t break their eye contact and stayed patient. What she didn’t expect was him pulling away and getting down on one knee. Her face was pale as she turned paralysed. “Harry?”

“Bambi, will you...” He took in a long breath for suspense, knowing she would kill him afterwards but it’d be worth it. “Will you be my date to the Oscars?”

“W-What?”

“I got nominated for Best Act--”

“HOLY SHIT!” She jumped right on top of him. He landed on his back, groaning in pain while laughing hysterically as she sat on his stomach and showered his face with hurried kisses.

“I can’t believe it! When--When did you find out?”

The funny look on his face made her gasp, “you lying motherfuc--”

He shut her up with a kiss that left her breathless when he finally pulled away.

“I’m gonna have to punish you later,” she said against his mouth, making him whine.

“Noooo! Why later?”

“I mean, I would suck your dick now if you weren’t famous, babe.”

“Didn’t stop you many times before.”

She scoffed and swatted his chest for the joke. “Well, you’re an Oscar nominee now. Time has changed!”

“So, will I get my dick sucked after the party then?”

“What party?” Y/N froze, her fingers tightened in his hair as he gave a suppressed laugh at the look on her face.

“I forgot to tell you there’s a party happening at my house right now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She got up quickly and kicked his leg. “Pick up your glass and the bottle. We have to get there now!”

“Bambi, hold on!”

“People are expecting you! I won’t suck your dick if you don’t hurry up!”

“Okay, okay, coming!”

Harry was in hysterics as he chased her back to the door. God, he loved her. He really loved her.

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Harry ignored the looks the others were giving him as he walked around in his Romeo costume just three minutes before showtime. He found Y/N standing by herself at the entrance and called out, “Bambi!”

“Harry!” She rushed up to him. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m so glad you made it.” He hugged her tightly and pulled back, holding her shoulders. “I thought you were grounded.”

“Well, I am but my parents didn’t see me sneak out.” She gave a shrug and changed the subject, “I’m so sorry that your family cannot make it.”

“Don’t be.” He shrugged. “I mean, it sucks that Gemma broke her arm but I understand that mum has to be in the hospital with her.”

“Well, I’m here now so you must do your best because I’m gonna be judging you, and that girl who plays your love interest.”

Harry chuckled and stroked her head one last time before running backstage so the play could begin.

This is just like one of those rehearsals, he told himself, but instead of acting in front of empty rows of chairs, there’s a real audience watching you.

His heart was beating like a drum as the teacher announced he was up next.

Your Bambi is here, he sucked in a breath, she’s here, and everything is fine...

The audience applauded as a spotlight followed Harry to the centre of the stage. He started exchanging lines with the kid who played Romeo’s cousin Benvolio. Even that kid could tell Harry was nervous, so he purposely said his lines slower to give Harry more time to relax and get used to being on stage.

Harry was sweating through his costume, thinking everyone could see what a terrible choice he was for Romeo and would start booing him soon enough.

Confidence, Styles! said the voice inside his head as he remembered Bambi’s words and stood straight, because ‘Romeo doesn’t slouch.’

Harry was so nervous he could hear his blood pumping through his veins. He stole a quick glance at where Y/N sat in the audience, hoping to see her smile which he knew would make him feel much better.

But she wasn’t the only one he saw. There was also his mum and his sister with her arm in a white cast. Gemma gave him a thumb up and Anne looked so proud of him. The boy was so elated he was glued to the spot until his Bambi waved her hand to remind him to concentrate.

“In love?” his co-star asked.

“Out.”

“Of love?”

“Out of her favour, where I am in love.” Harry’s face showed genuine distress that made the audience clap and cheer.

Though the boy managed to stay in character, he was smiling so wide inside. He didn’t care if he would pull this off or be the worst Romeo to ever been on stage; he just knew that he was having fun and his family was all there to see it.

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Harry arrived at the party in his nice car, holding hands with the love of his life, and was welcomed with thunderous applause by the people he’d admired his whole life. He felt as if he’d achieved every single goal in his life in one day, and yet, something was still missing.

Fuck it, he thought as he poured another drink down his throat. It was supposed to be the best night of his life, and nothing could stop him from drinking and dancing until morning. He would have a good time at his party, with or without his sister’s presence.

Y/N handed him a glass of water which he accepted but put on a table and put his arm around her. She asked what he was doing when he suddenly pulled her to the spiral staircase and climbed a few steps to stand taller than everyone else.

He whistled to get everyone’s attention, and the music stopped, all eyes fell on him. At this point, he was somewhat tipsy so all the guests, including his girl, expected him to give a silly speech to thank everyone for coming.

“Thank you for coming, everyone!” he said drunkenly, making Y/N snort and bury her face into her palm. Still holding her hand, he lifted the invisible glass in his other hand and began his toast, “I just wanna let you know that my girlfriend is about to be a best-selling author and I’m very proud of her! Her name is Bambi--I mean, Y/Ndora!”

“Get down!” Y/N laughed with her mouth and eyes wide open as she pulled him back to her side while everyone was clapping for them. She waited for the guests to start minding their own business and turned back to him. Though annoyed, she was looking at him fondly. “What the hell was that?”

“They need to know this is your night!”

“Jesus,” she muttered into her palm. “You’re lucky I love you, dumbass.”

“Yes, it’s me. Your dumbass.” He giggled like a little boy and tucked his flushed face into her neck. “Hmm...You smell so good. Let’s find a room.”

“Hold on.” She gripped his shoulders to push him away, not letting him whine about it. “Wait here for me, I’ll be right back.”

“No, Bambi, stay.”

“Be a good boy and I’ll be right back, I promise,” she said before kissing his forehead and making him sit on the bottom stair. He didn’t know where she’d gone, but he wanted to be her good boy so he stayed there like a little puppy and waited for her to come back.

As he was getting bored, he started counting his fingers and recounted them as if new ones had grown when he wasn’t paying attention. When a person towered over him, he almost didn’t notice until he heard her voice.

“Are you missing me?”

He lifted his face, his red eyes widened. “Gemma!”

Gemma rolled her eyes as her brother stood up and held her tightly in his arms. Still, she cracked a smirk and rested her hands on his back, her chin on his shoulder.

“I’m only here for the party. I’ll be mad at you again tomorrow,” she said, making him chuckle.

“I know, I know.” He nodded fast. “I’m just happy that you’re here.”

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The first person Isaac saw when he arrived at the party was Y/N. They made eye contact from across the room, and her smile slipped at once. He expected nothing but trouble when she left Harry on the staircase and made her way towards him, but he had to keep his cool otherwise he would screw up again.

He sucked in a deep breath, trying to recall the things he wanted to say which he’d prepared in the car, but his head was completely empty as she approached.

“Hey, congrat--”

“Be honest!” She pointed a finger to his face. “Did you give Emilia Gemma’s number?”

“Y-Yes.” He swallowed hard. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course not! Why did you do that, Isaac?!”

“I’m--I’m sorry. Emilia told me she wanted to call Gemma herself. She thought it’d be a better idea if she was the one who reached out instead of Harry.”

Y/N let out a sharp breath as she put both hands on her hips. “Well, thanks to you both now Gemma is angry at Harry.”

Isaac stuck out his bottom lip, pointing over her shoulder. “She doesn’t look very angry to me.”

Y/N turned around, tongue-tied when she saw Gemma and Harry sharing a hug. She quickly turned back to Isaac, completely baffled. “Did you bring her here?!”

“I wish I had.” He lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. “Maybe if I had you wouldn’t be mad at me.”

“You’re damn right!” She huffed and shot him a glare. “Just stay out of their family drama next time, please. I know you have feelings for Emilia--”

“I don’t.”

“--but stop trying to be her hero. You’re going to ruin everything and I don’t--” She slapped a hand on her forehead, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want you and Harry to fight again.”

“So you’d rather have you and me fight instead?”

She rolled his eyes at the joke and punched his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, giving a smirk. “I won’t do that again. I promise. Anything else?”

“Actually…” Y/N trailed off and bit her fingertip. He waited for her to say something, but she only shook her head. “Never mind. Just...stay out of their family drama.”

“Got it.” He gave a firm nod and exchanged another smile with Y/N before she went back to Harry. Once she was gone, he let out the longest sigh as if he’d been holding his breath since she came up to him. He watched Y/N start a conversation with Gemma and pulled out his phone to send a text.

I spoke to Y/N, everything’s good

A reply came in less than five seconds.

Emi: THANK YOU SO MUCH!

He rolled his eyes and walked into a corner to text her back.

Isaac had helped Emilia the first time by giving her the address of the studio Harry was doing his photoshoot at. He just wanted Harry to hear Winton’s side of the story. He’d witnessed how devastated Y/N had been when she discovered the secret about her parents, so he didn’t want Harry to go through the same thing.

What he had not intended to do was lie to his friends by admitting something he hadn’t done.

I feel terrible for lying to them, please don’t do that again

This time, Emilia took more time to send three messages in a row.

Emi: I'm very sorry

Emi: But if Harry knew I asked his assistant for Gemma’s number, he would be so angry

Emi: I just wanted to help, I thought if I was the one who reached out to Gemma then she would know I sincerely wanted to know her

Isaac swallowed hard and typed down a quick reply to end their conversation.

Just don’t do that again, okay?

Emi: Yes, I promise

Taking a deep breath, he put his phone away and went to find Harry.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 8

Blurred shapes danced above her, drifting from side to side. With a rhythm, her vision winked in and out of the darkness. It took Cara moments to realize the shapes were by her eyelashes and the tree branches above. She did her best to blink the blurriness away, but it wasn't much of an improvement.

Realizing where she was and how her body laid on the ground amongst the dried leaves, Cara struggled to sit up. A heavy weight on her chest held her down, smothering the rise of her chest. She gasped for breath, clawing at the hands forcing her down. Tiny sharp rocks drilled into her back, but she could not move away.

A hard slap lashed across her cheek, flinging her head to the side. Her vision blurred while tears washed down her mud stained cheeks. The muscles of her neck cried from the sudden movement, promising at least a week of misery if she were to survive. Cara hissed, turning her neck in agony to stare at her attacker. With legs on either side of her stomach, Rick straddled her. One of his hands clutched her wrists, holding them above her head and against the ground aggressively.

"Great, you're awake. I wouldn't want you to miss out on anything. I'm not into playing with unconscious chicks. That's too boring. Now all your attention is going to be mine." Rick touch her exposed stomach where her shirt had ridden up. Cara pressed herself harder into the earth when his hand delved lower, but she could not escape his hands. Wherever his hands touched, she felt as if maggots wiggled beneath her skin.

"Fuck you!" Cara spat at his face, catching him in the corner of the mouth. His tongue swiped across his lips, and he made a growl in approval, savoring the taste. Cara felt her stomach churn and all the blood drain from her face. This couldn't be happening.

"Do you know how many times I've jerked off thinking about you? And now, the real thing is all mine," his breath blew in her face as he drew closer. All Cara could do was turn her head away as his tongue lapped a wet trail across her cheek. His skin was beginning to sweat in his excitement, skin growing hot and clammy as his hand held hers down.

His fingers gripped the waistband of her jeans before unclasping the button with ease. Cara couldn't free her hands and instead bucked her hips to throw him off. He was too heavy, barely shifting to the side.

Kicking her legs apart, Rick slid himself down her body, pressing his pelvic against her. She felt him hardening and breathing heavily as he began rocking into her. Cara screamed, struggling with more intensity. It earned her another slap.

That's when she saw the rocks laid on the ground, sharp peaks pointed at the sky as if in worship. With an idea forming, Cara struggled, wriggling her wrists in the sweaty hands that began slipping in their hold. She fought as hard as she could without pause, even as her muscles cried, begging for her to simply give up. A hand came free, and that's all she needed, digging her nails right into his hungry eyes. She felt their moistness before he jerked back, shutting his eyes tightly as they filled with tears. "You fucking-"

Not wasting a second, Cara grabbed the sharpest rock in her reach and struck him in the head as hard as she could. He shouted, falling to the side. She took advantage of his disorientation to reverse their position, straddling him.

Clutching the rock as a lifeline, Cara raised it above her head before striking his head one more. She did not flinch as she heard cracking bones or when blood spattered her face. It only spurred on her attack, hammering his head into a mushy pile of brain matter. She felt powerful, in control, and out of control all at once. She felt as if she was on fire but cold as ice.

Too disoriented by the first strike, Rick couldn't shield himself, couldn't lift a finger in defense. He had long since gone limp, his skull deformed and caving in. Not even his own mother would be able to identify him now. Blood soaked her hands, trickling down her arms as she raised the rock one last time to deliver a half-hearted strike.

Then it was over. All strength left Cara's body. The exhilaration was over. She felt nothing, her emotions depleted.

She let the rock slip out of her hands, falling with a clack to the ground beside her. Cara stared and stared, unable to process what happened. All she knew was that her muscles were sore.

Slowly Cara stood up, feeling as though she was floating over the scene, a spectator. She stared down at her hands, noticing the warm wetness for the first time against her flesh. She couldn't think of a reason why her hands were dirty or why she was here in the first place. She walked through the forest in circles, feeling lost. There was no one around, no danger, yet she couldn't explain why her heart pounded so hard.

She turned in a circle, seeing only the trees. All sound was muted. The leaves crunching under her sneakers produced no sound, her breathing muted. It was all too quiet, a maddening silence. She wanted to scream, and so she did. She screamed until her voice grew hoarse before wandering once again.

She spotted a shoe lying in the dirt and picked it up. She became excited. Perhaps there was someone else here who could explain what was happening and why she was here. Cara's eyes could make out two legs protruding on the ground behind a tree. As she neared, the legs led up to a torso of a person laying on their back. When she looked closer, a scream surged out of her throat. What she saw was a broken skull of a man. Jaws barely held together by the string of a muscle, his skull caved in, seeping out its contents like a hallow around the head. This was a murder scene.

Her knees buckled, and she fell to her knees, lurching her stomach contents without control. The acidity burned her throat, but she couldn't stop retching.

"How could someone do this?" Cara whispered, wiping her mouth with a hand leaving a smear of wetness. She frowned and looked down to examine her hands.

Her eyes darted from the body to her blood-soaked hands, a painful reality sinking in. Cara shook her head violently, franticly wiping her bloody hands on her jeans. "No... no. I didn't touch him. I didn't." Her eyes found the blood-soaked rock sitting next to the body.

"No, No, no!" Cara wailed, franticly crawling backward. A thick tree halted her retreat, and she could crawl no further. The tree must have felt her sobs as they racked through every cell in her body.

No matter how many times she shut her eyes and opened them, the body did not move, save for the clothes rustling in the breeze. Cara hugged herself, feeling a chill from within, Rick's body stealing all the warmth in revenge. She chewed her nails, paving a path into the nailbeds.

"I did this," the fog in her mind cleared up, the curtains drew back to reveal the main actor of the play. All she could do was replay the scene over and over, feeling the blood becoming dry and sticky against her skin.

Not knowing who to call or what to do, Cara couldn't hold back the cries. Each breath was harder than the last, depriving her reeling mind of oxygen. She took away someone's son, someone's friend. How could she explain why she couldn't stop long after Rick had stopped moving? She could have run away after he was knocked out, but she continued beating him. There was no way she could get away with this by pleading self-defence. What Cara did borderline mutilation, many towns away from self-defence. It was pure carnage.

"Why did you have to do that?" Cara whimpered. She didn't know if the question was directed at Rick for trying to rape her or at herself for mercilessly murdering another person. Why didn't she just run? Why did she even agree to meet him today? She should have just stayed home.

Despite everything, Cara knew she couldn't leave the body here. Claire knew about their meeting and would suspect something if anyone came across him on a hike. They were way off the path, but that did not stop seasoned hikers from making the venture out here.

There was only one person who could help her, and Cara prayed he doesn't decide to kill her too. But maybe she deserved to die. She will accept that fate. Fumbling for her cellphone, Cara sighed in relief as she felt its outlined form in her back pockets. Surprisingly, it was in one piece. Cara wanted to laugh, having only hours before wished to smash the thing into a thousand pieces. Now it was the only thing that could get her help.

"Wesker speaking," He answered after the second ring, his voice monotone and professional with an undertone of annoyance. He likely wasn't alone wherever he was, his company repulsive.

"I-I did... I-" Cara panted, gasping for breath. She felt lightheaded as the words refused to fall in place.

"Are you hurt? What happened? Where are you?" Wesker shot her with questions, his voice growing louder.

"I was out with a friend...and then he...I... we were-"

"Did he touch you?" Wesker's voice sank into a low growl. Cara could hear his breathing pick up and what might have been the grinding of teeth.

"I-"

"Breath," he ordered, but Cara was unsure if he was still speaking to her.

"I killed someone," Cara confessed in one flutter of a breath, her knuckles blanched white as she gripped the phone so tight it could shatter with more ease than the skull she beat into a paste. There was a long pause on the other end of the line, stretching for several minutes. Cara's lungs refused another breath, anticipating the man to speak again, to set her behind bars. She likely deserved it.

"I'm coming, don't talk to anyone else." He hung up abruptly, leaving Cara alone with her raging thoughts. She frowned, wondering how he would find her without knowing her location. Perhaps the phone carried a tracker. It sounds like something he would do.

Hugging her knees close to her chest, Cara stared at the body blankly. She could still remember Rick fixing his hair in front of his car window, smiling at her boyishly. Now it all seemed so far away. If only he hadn't...No, she shouldn't have gone this far.

She didn't know how much time passed, but the sun was beginning to dip beneath the Arkley mountains, taking away whatever warm remained.

Cara didn't lift her head as she heard crunching leaves and a twig snap. She hoped maybe it was a pack of wolves ready to put her out of her misery. A pair of shiny leather shoes came to rest in her line of vision.

"Are you hurt?" Wesker asked, reaching down to hold her chin before turning her head to each side. He inspected her, looking over her bruises and muddied clothes. His fingers were gentle, warm against her chilled skin. Cara couldn't help but sniff and lean into the warmth.

"I'm...fine," She sighed, leaning out of his reach just as fast as she moved towards it. His gentle behavior was strange to her. He showed no empathy nor concern for the body laying several feet away, leaking brain matter onto the earth. Several crows were already circling above, making a dinner reservation.

"That boy did a number on you, but you did an even better one on him. Look at the mess you've made." Wesker whistled, sparing a glance at the body. Walking closer to it, he circled the scene before kicking the leg.

"I've been looking at him for hours." Cara rose uneasily to her feet, taking small steps to stand beside Wesker. She stared at the body and held her breath.

"This will need cleaning up," He stated the obvious, looking deep in thought.

"What should I do?" Cara's voice was small as she reached to touch Wesker's sleeve. He jerked his hand out of her reach, and Cara realized her mistake. She was about to rub blood onto his uniform. He must’ve been at the station when she called.

"Remove your clothes," He ordered, turning on his heel and walking towards a large duffel bag sitting on the ground she hadn't notice before.

"What?" Cara choked on her spit; her eyes full-blown as they followed him. She wasn't sure if she heard him correctly.

"You will do exactly as I tell you, down to every last word if you want my help. Understand? Now strip," Wesker looked at her, his eyes regarding her with a steady glare, daring her to protest. He threw a trash bag at her feet before rummaging in the duffel bag again.

"...fine." Cara swallowed, begrudgingly pulling her shirt off with trembling hands. The cold air nipped her skin as it was exposed, leaving her a shivering mess. Thankfully, she did not feel his eyes on her as she slid her pants down her legs. As she stood there in her underwear, she finally noticed how soaked her clothes had been. She tossed her shoes and clothes into the trash bag, wanting nothing to do with them ever again. Too bad it was her nicer pair of jeans.

"I hope this was a lesson for you. You should have informed me of your activities for the day. I could have had someone look up the boy rather than you being his extracurricular activity."

Cara stood shivering, glaring at her feet. Sure he was going to help her, but he did not have to rub it in. He never explicitly said she couldn't skip school, and neither did he say she had to tell him what she spent that time on. But Cara bit her tongue to hold back. He was willing to help her. The least she could do is keep her mouth shut. She wanted to put this horrid night behind her. Forget all that happened and never again set foot into the Arkley mountains.

"Who else knows about your little date?" His question sent the hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead despite the chill.

"N-no one-" she stuttered, licking her chapped lips as her breathing picked up. She refused to give away her friend. Wesker was beyond dangerous.

"Do not lie to me. I can and will bury you alive with this fucker's shriveled cock shoved down your throat. Then, I will find the person you're trying to cover for. It's all a matter of time, and I do have the resources and the means," Wesker growled, grabbing Cara by her hair.

"I... please don't hurt her," Cara pleaded, her eyes welling with tears. She couldn't meet the intense hostility in his eyes, turning her head away. Her neck complained, having had enough battery for one day.

"That will depend on your acting skills. Now answer, who else knows?" Wesker gripped her hair harder, forcing her to look at him. His face was mere inches from hers. They were almost nose to nose, and she shivered as his breath fanned her skin.

"C-Claire," One word poured out of her mouth, and she shut her eyes tightly. The grip on her hair was gone as Wesker let go of the locks he held. Instead, his hand stroked her hair as one would do to a pet.

"Ah, Redfield's little sister. How troublesome. Chris will likely delve into an investigation if she were to go missing. But his intelligence only stretches so far. I can easily throw him off her trail," Wesker tilted his head as he looked at Cara, tracing down the bridge of her nose with a finger.

"She won't find out, I promise, please don't do anything to her. Please,"

Wesker didn't answer and walked back to the duffel bag. "Please!" She cried. Her eyes burned holes into his back, yet her voice broke in desperation.

Cara jumped back as something was thrown by her feet. she stared at the yellow container of disinfectant wipes with narrowed eyes. "Why are you just standing there? Do you want someone to find us?"

"What are you going to do to Claire?" Cara refused to move until he agreed to refrain from going after her friend.

"Do you want me to kill her?"

"No!"

"Then get moving. Remove the rest of your clothes, throw everything in the trash bag and then clean your body with the wipes." He ordered, pulling on a rubber glove before picking up the bloody rock. He placed the rock into a clear evidence bag before tossing it into the duffel bag. Seeing Cara standing there, staring at him dumbly, he smirked. "Do you want me to do it for you, dearheart? All you need is to ask."

"N-no! Just...turn around," Cara spoke softly, fidgeting with her fingers.

"Why so shy? Do you have something worth looking at?" Wesker's voice mocked her. His eyes glinted with something dark as they swept over her shivering form.

"Y-you bastard!" The heat bloomed across her face, her cheeks vibrant red.

Wesker laughed as he walked away, pulling a cellphone out of his pocket before dialing a number. As the other person picked up the phone, his laughter dissolved, and he spoke in a business-like tone.

"I need you to clean something up. Yes, do bring a saw. "

[too-much-sunshine]

Fangs for the Hospitality

Chapter 1

Summary: After Remus goes a bit too far during a family reunion bet, Roman finds himself alone and near freezing outside in an early winter storm. His car broke down, and he's in the middle of nowhere with no phone. He cant seem to catch a break. Deciding his life cant much worse, Roman decides to head into the woods looking for help. His luck may be turning when the man who opens the door is a lot more charming than he should be. His kids are fascinated by the new face appearing from the woods. And man this guy has some sharp teeth... Maybe Roman bit off a bit more than he can chew with this one.

A/N: My self-indulgent magic/vampire fic! Let me know if I need to tag something or you wanna be tagged!

Pairings: Familial DAM, Creavtivitwins, Eventual Roceit, Eventual Intrulogical

Warnings: (Done per chapter) Car trouble, mention of bets, gossip, mentions of bad family relations

Word Count: 1466

Read on AO3!

“God Dammit! No no nonono please! Don’t do this to me!” Roman whined at his car from behind the wheel from the driver's seat.

Despite his pleading, the car continued to sputter even louder than previously. Finally starting to slow down, leaving Roman no choice other than to pull his car off to the side of the road.

He continued to lament his plight to no one except the empty seat beside him, leaning over to place his forehead on the steering wheel.  At this point he couldn't even try to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks landing on his lap.

There was no one else on the empty, countryside road making it easy to do so.

“Why does this always happen to me!?” He whined as he turned the key finally giving the engine a much needed break. “I can’t do this anymore! The world hates meee!”

Earlier that day the passenger seat was filled by his overly excitable twin brother, Remus, on their way to the yearly family reunion. Roman has always hated these reunions with a burning passion. He only went because he was expected to at this point.

There was always too much expectation from everyone at the reunions. Since his family was quite well off they were the one to host every year. Inviting everyone to their too grand, too big victorian style home.

Remus, on the other hand, had always liked the family reunions. He too was asked those questions (well not the one about his career, they were all quite proud of him becoming a doctor. Specifically an obstetrician and gynecologist. Remus said it was because delivering babies was gross and dealing with people who have female reproductive systems health could be horrifying, but he can never deny how much he liked helping the people he did. He has a counter on his fridge of how many babies he has brought into the world and sometimes he even looks at it and smiles, not that Remus knew that Roman saw him do that.) but Remus let the other questions roll straight off his back in a way Roman never could.

He was holding on hope that this year, like every year, would be different. Maybe his mother would stop asking if he had chosen a more suitable career path like Remus. Maybe his grandmother would stop asking if he found a pretty girl yet. Maybe his grandfather would be anything more than dismissive toward him.   Maybe...maybe his dad might show up to this one.

Not to mention that they also just made him wildly uncomfortable. Too many people really. All those people being fake and backhanded. He alway felt like they were looking specifically at him as he walked by. Just a bad time for him all around.

Remus really liked the reunions because of the gossip and chaos of it all. Every year as soon as they arrived he would immediately go and find their cousin Remy to lay down the new hot tea about the family. Then after all that was settled they would place bets on who could get the most outrageous rumor started. Remy would typically win because of his talent for making such believable lies. Remus always went too far off the deep end and the family didn't usually believe what they were being told. Which was completely fair because “what do you mean Jill isn't here because she suddenly decided to take a trip to West Virginia to look for Mothman? Remus Jill is 89 years old. And who is Mothman?”

That stupid rumor game is what started this whole mess anyway. Roman always tried to stay out of it. He wasn't very good at the game, though he was a good actor he was very bad at lying. So for the past few years he'd skip out on playing. He'd just go to his corner, and wait for the night to be over.

This year Remus and Remy decided to up the ante as it were. There was going to be a whole $50 bill on the line this time (though that was trump change compared to how much money his family actually made). Remus is never one to back down from a challenge and though he's a doctor, he doesn't tend to think ahead of his actions all that well. Especially when he got a bit too excited. That being said, he really messed things up for Roman this time.

That stupid game had made everyones eyes turn to him for an explanation that he didn’t have. Forced him to run from the house and flee in his car without Remus behind him.

Roman didn't take time to dwell on the fact he was his brother's ride.

With his head still on the steering wheel he closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He didn't know how he was going to get out of this one, so he continued to sit a wallow a bit. Maybe he’ll just wait a bit and his car will start back up…

~~~

Roman pulled the car into the last spot left open in the large parking lot outside of their parents mansion.

He pulled in between what looked to be his Aunt Clara and Uncle Jim's red corvette, and his Grandmother dark blue rolls-royce. He took extra care parking in between the two very expensive cars. Making sure to leave plenty of room around them and his own, significantly crappier car. He knew from experience that if he didn't leave the room he would be getting an earful later from said family members.

As he turned the key he let out a nervous breath looking over to Remus who was almost bouncing in his seat.

“You ready?” Roman asked with a slight smile. As much as he was worried to be here, he was glad his brother would have a good time.

“I can’t wait! I can’t wait to beat Remy's ass this year! I have such a good rumor that the whole family is going to believe for years to come. That 50 dollars is mine!” Remus smiled bright and pumped his fist in the air.

Roman couldn’t help but feel excited for him. Remus even seemed more excited now, if the bouncing and fidgeting said anything.

“I’m sure you’ll get it out of him one way or another. Come on, let's go.” Roman started for his car door when Remus’ arm shot out and stopped him. Roman looked back to Remus to see he had stopped bouncing, seeming somewhat sobered. Looking more serious, and to be contemplating something tilting his head back and forth. Then he finally spoke.

“Listen...I know this isn't your kind of thing since dad left... But I’m with you okay? Stick with me if you need to. Those old assholes don't know what they're talking about with you, okay?” Remus looked slightly shy as he spoke, not looking directly at Roman.

Still, Roman smiled softly at his twin, both a bit confused and touched. Remus didn't typically try and make Roman feel better; he wasn't very good with words. But he did appreciate the sentiment.

“Thank you Remus. I’ll try to enjoy myself. Might even try to leave my corner if I feel so inclined.” Roman smiled. “Maybe dable in a little bit conversion. Just try to keep your hijinks somewhat clean and manageable.”

“Well that's no fun!” And Remus was back to his normal self, seeming grateful for the topic change. “My only reason to be here is to cause chaos and you know it! Now let's go! There is supposed to be a really big storm coming and if we're lucky the snow will distract everyone from when I plan to steal the bust of great Aunt Kathy!” Remus cackled as he exited the car, way more excited then he should be for a man who admitted to planning theft.

Roman took the moment alone to take a stealing breath. He looked out the window at the huge family house where he grew up. It was much too big, too grand for children to grow up in. It didn't feel like home anymore. Looking back it never really did to Roman.

He hated coming here and he hated the feelings associated here. But if it makes Remus happy to come here together, and it keeps the rest of his family off his back, he’ll keep trying. A knock on the window made him jump out of his thoughts.

“You fucking ready!? I’m freezing my tits off out here ya know!” Remus shouted too loud for how close he was to the window.

“As I’ll ever be…” he muttered to himself, smiling a bit at Remus being Remus as he unbuckled his seatbelt and left the car.

~~~

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@primaveradoodles

[josie-effortposts]

The Woman Who Fell to Earth

I stopped watching Doctor Who in 2013 after the 50th anniversary special. Up to then I was deeply obsessed by its reams of stories, hidden subspaces and detailed production histories. It wasn’t just entertainment, it was a case study in a massive shared universe, and a direct function of the times and places it had been written. 

It’s never been very controversial to anyone I know to dislike Moffat’s run of the show, and as it drew to a close everything that followed seemed pretty well-telegraphed: Chris Chibnall would become the head of the show, it wouldn’t be very good, reactionaries would blame bad writing on a female Doctor while plenty of others would just lost interest, the ratings would drop and the whole show would become less culturally relevant. It was a Cassandra truth.

But that said, I still wanted to try it. I watched a bit of the Twelfth Doctor and had mixed feelings, and when I watched the first episode of the Thirteenth I found myself taking notes on it. So, without a lot of structure, here are my thoughts.

1. New Who treats first episodes as very important, the first moments that we see new Doctors and their statements to the world. Call it a modern tradition - where “Robot” and “Time and the Rani” play the change for comedy before jumping into the week’s adventures, “The Christmas Invasion” and “The Eleventh Hour” are primarily statements of continuity. By Twelve’s first outing the villains themselves become metaphors for change, and now Thirteen delivers a brief speech about deciding to become different while paying respect to the past.

2. Speaking of that speech, I feel like there must have been an earlier draft that connected the plot to these metaphors a lot better. The villain of the story keeps pieces of his past triumphs with him at all times, but these trophies are body parts taken from the dead, and they disgust the Doctor. At least Twelve’s flesh robots were stumbling towards eternity.

The villain as a whole is just what you’d expect from a low-grade Doctor Who monster, I guess. He’s supposed to be on a hunt, which sounds really cool, but this consists entirely of him walking places and murdering random bystanders by touch. He’s not keeping the masquerade up or succeeding in his goals by doing this, and the rest of the story implies that he’s at least shrewd about getting what he wants. The Doctor’s complaints against him center on him being a cheat who can’t do the hunt fair and square and on his desecrating corpses, but she never seems very angry at him over murdering people. 

The idea of the Doctor stopping a proper hunt actually sounds interesting to me, especially as someone who sat through all of DWAD’s The Most Dangerous Game. There’s a lot of suspense in dealing with an intelligent, directed killer with a small number of targets, be it in Predator or Day of the Jackal, and a villain that stalks, hides or sets up ambushes could be easier on the budget. Or you could keep the villain the same but add a second member of his species to the setting and have them in competition, conflict on conflict. (That sounds like it’d make a good module for TIMELORD, actually...)

3. The Doctor feels simplified. I don’t mean the new personality of this incarnation, although I think the slight amnesia-until-climax is a bit forced. There’s just stuff that comes off wrong. For instance, things are outlawed in “every civilized galaxy” and the villains traveled from “five thousand galaxies away”. Despite ostensibly going anywhere and anywhen, the show’s always respected some species of distance, in that going far enough away or leaving the universe itself is a pretty big deal (especially since so much of it sticks to Earth). This line could’ve been any distance and nothing else would’ve changed, but it kills the idea of space - how can galaxies be civilized? It feels like the setting is shrinking - the word just sounds big and spacey, and this is the part where the Doctor says that something’s out of place, so big, spacey words go there.

This probably sounds nitpicky, but it feels lazy. Where Davies and Moffat both repeatedly made the Doctor or companions into the Most Important People in History, Chibnall seems to take it as read that the Doctor can just do stuff as the plot demands it. The climax involves her making a jump over a dangerous drop to the gasps of all assembled, but her first appearance is after an even longer fall where she breaks through the ceiling of a train car and isn’t even scratched. She "reformats” a phone into some kind of tracking gadget with six seconds of thumb typing and builds a new sonic screwdriver out of random scrap, which then solves basically every issue in the story. And, naturally, she can pinpoint things from a billion light-years away.

My favorite Moffat story is probably “The Eleventh Hour” because it presents the Doctor with a genuine challenge at his most vulnerable. If he had his regular tools handy then it would’ve been a much more straightforward Doctor Who story, but there’s no time to stop and build a new sonic screwdriver, because people are going to die by the time he’s finished. I wish more modern stories had that.

4. I can’t tell how I should feel about the side characters here. Not the companions, although it feels like Chibnall looked at RTD’s companions and thought “why not bring the entire family along?” There’s just this odd tension in characterization between comedy and drama for them, and without a very detailed soundtrack it’s hard to tell what emotions the script’s trying to go for.

One of the hunter’s victims has spent years trying to find his missing sister after another hunter abducting her. Instead of any resolution coming to that story he just gets murdered without ever knowing what happened to her and then the Doctor commandeers his workshop. (It’s even made clear that these human trophies are all still alive, just “in stasis”, so there’s no reason to think they couldn’t save her and presumably several others.) Meanwhile one of the main characters suffers a short fall and dies, taking up most of the final act with a funeral despite us hardly knowing her.

Other victims are worse. A man throws pieces of his salad at the monster for no discernible reason - he doesn’t even seem drunk, and then he dies as the hunter crushes that salad underfoot. A security officer gives a heartfelt goodbye to his family and tells them what a lucky granddad he is, then walks offscreen to be murdered. Neither of these scenes had to happen, and both together don’t even fill a minute of the runtime, so what was the motivation? The first is at least charmingly odd, but both of them feel like bizarre, extremely cheap set-pieces.

The soon-to-be-trophy himself listens to positive affirmations in a crane, then shouts them as he’s being chased. “I’m important! I matter!” The implication would seem to be that this is goofy behavior, and yet the things he shouts are in some ways the themes of the show. Is this self-critical deconstruction, unabashed humanism poorly delivered, a running gag?

5. The other half of a new Doctor, classic or modern, is this shedding of old things. Not always in terms of showrunners, but sometimes in attitudes or fans. The change from Six to Seven was motivated by a desire to change the tone of the show, for instance. Nowadays this is reflected a lot by the fandom - every Doctor has newcomers who jump back out because they don’t want their hero to be replaced, but the jump to Eleven confronted a lot of younger fans with this for the first time. Then Twelve culled some fans who couldn’t stand the Doctor being old and unkissable, and now Thirteen’s wiped out her own contingent of grognards who think the Doctor being a woman is a radical idea invented in the last three years.

That said, I’m not a fan yet. Some Doctors I don’t like as much for aspects of their characters, particularly Five, but Thirteen just doesn’t feel Doctorly. (To be clear, neither did Twelve.) I grew to enjoy Matt Smith’s performance where I thought I wouldn’t, and I’ve found a lot to like in every Doctor, but for some reason both of them still feel like actors playing the role to me, where Unbound Doctors and Mark Kalita have captured whatever the core is.

6. I feel like I’m getting old. So much of the beauty of Doctor Who just feels transparent now. After Moffat the maximalist decades of worldbuilding can never convincingly pretend to add up to a coherent universe and they can’t escape into the freedom of canon-indeterminacy any more than they already have. Even Big Finish, which I used to adore, feels strangled by a mandate to realize and box-set every possible combination of whatever actors they can summon from the show, no matter how many tedious hours they have to fill with cardboard characters and back-of-the-napkin monsters.

There’s no excitement in the adventure for me, because I know the route and the destination. And I don’t know if that’s Doctor Who being formulaic or disenchantment from seeing the patterns too much, or some personal lack of spark and imagination. I feel like there must be some drive I don’t have, one that would re-energize my own perspective in the face of concrete understanding, that would see it as a good thing that I understand another layer of what I enjoyed so much without sacrificing that enjoyment. But if it’s there, I just don’t see it.

But hey. While there’s life, there’s...

[moonlightreal]

Deep Dive: Diaspro! Season three

When things really heat up for our favorite bad girl!

We meet Disa late in episode seven, she’s on Eraklyon and looking out a window at the happy people below, with an evil expression on her face.  Her maid brought her this slinky red dress for the Millennium Party. But Diaspro is super grumpy!  She knows her ex will be there with Bloom and she can’t stand it!

Poor Disa!  Why does she have to be at the party?  I assume royal obligations.  Y’know, it occurs to me that we never hear anything about her royal parents trying to set her up with someone else.  I mean, it’s been at least a year since Sky officially broke the engagement in season one but Disa’s not on the market for a new prince.  Maybe her folks are waiting for her to get over Sky a little.

Diaspro walks over to a mirror.  Rai Disa says “Sky thinks Bloom is prettier than me?  Ridiculous!” while 4kids Disa makes a wish to get rid of Bloom.  And here’s Valtor! Stepping out of the mirror. Both Diaspros threaten to call the guards, but Valtor says he’s here to help, and gives Diaspro a potion.  

It’s a love potion but Valtor doesn’t actually say that.  And even if he did, he could be lying.  When Sky drinks the potion later Valtor’s mark appears in his eyes suggesting the potion puts Sky in Valtor’s power, not Diaspro’s.  Not Diaspro’s smartest moment, giving her sweetie a potion from a villain!  But maybe she magically tested it later, if you want to think of her as smarter than is shown on screen.

Right there Diaspro goes from victim to villainess by being willing to mess with Sky’s free will to get him and by dealing with shady characters.  Later on we see that Rai Diaspro knows that was Valtor and 4kids Diaspro at least knows who Valtor is, so it seems Disa worked with a major villain of her own free will!

In the next episode the Winx arrive at the Millennium Party.  Diaspro’s hiding in the bushes with her potion.  Sky asks Bloom for a dance, after which he’ll announce to the world that they’re a couple!  But before he can, here comes Diaspro with a drink!  Both Skys say, “Oh.  Hi, Diaspro.” without any enthusiasm.  Diaspro says that’s no way to greet an old friend, and more than a friend!  Sky says all that is in the past but Diaspro requests one last toast.  And makes an evil lil smirk.

Ok, in a world where potions exist… Sky, you bonehead! He gets up and announces he’s gonna marry Diaspro.  She runs to him and hugs him.  With an evil smirk.  Rai Diaspro thinks, “Valtor’s potion worked; you’re finally mine!” so at least one Diaspro knew who Valtor was.

And… an evil smirk.  Gloating.  NOT bone-deep relief that her life was finally right again after falling so far off track, not desperate joy that she could hug the man she loves again.  

Bloom immediately goes, “He must’ve realized he loves her!” while Stella is the one to suspect foul play.  The Winx charge in to demand answers!  Diaspro tells her honey, “Those girls are out to get us, they’re dangerous!  They’re witches working for Valtor!”  She gets Sky to call the guards on the Winx.  Run awaaaay!  

In cloudy evil land 4kidsValtor praises Diaspro’s “ruthlessness, her looks and her witchy temper” and wants her to join team evil!  The Trix are not in favor.  Rai Valtor just explains that his potion started all this, but he also thinks Disa would make a good fourth Trix then says he was just teasing.  Were the writers considering that?!  

There’s more running and shouting and Sky comes after the girls on a dragon, with Rai Sky delivering a chilling, “In the olden days witches were punished with fire, and that’s what I’ve got in store for you.” The voice actor just nails this line, he’s terrifying.  So, Disa’s turned her sweetie into a terrifying murderbot!

Some days pass, Bloom goes back to Gardenia like she does when bad stuff happens, the Winx and the boys try to figure out what’s up with Sky.  The boys can tell Sky’s under a spell but Sky’s parents don’t seem to realize it, and they don’t let Brandon in to SEE Sky.  Erendor’s kinda a bonehead but really, no suspicions?

Sky announces he and Diaspro are getting married as soon as possible. Diaspro smirks evilly. Rai Erendor actually announces the engagement. The people of Eraklyon cheer.

We jump ahead to the engagement party where Diaspro is complaining about Sky’s clothes even though she’s the one who chose them.  Sky repeats her words in a super hypnotized fashion.  4Kids Diaspro even says it’s nice having an obedient boyfriend.

The girls break in, Bloom confronts Sky, he calls them witches and attacks! He gets all crazy-eyes and says he wants Bloom out of his life for good, but Stella Enchantix-magics him out of the game.  When he goes down the girls see he’s got Valtor’s mark on his shoulder!  It’s a spell, but fairy dust takes care of that!

Diaspro sics the guards on everybody and the girls run away but Diaspro’s plan is ruined.  Rai Diaspro leaves them with, “You haven’t heard the last of me, Bloom! Sky will be mine!” but we don’t see her again.  The wiki says we hear from Sky later that guards caught her and exiled her, but I watched that episode and didn’t hear the line.  Maybe it’s only in whichever version I didn’t watch.

So!

In this season Diaspro jumps from mean girl to criminal.  And it… doesn’t make a huge amount of sense, really.  We know she “wants Sky to be hers” but she doesn’t care if he really likes her or is just mind-controlled to like her.  She doesn’t care if he’s himself or a hypnotized zombie.  She doesn’t care if she has to work with the big bad or risk giving her ‘true love’ an unknown potion.  And then she’s happy to put the Winx’s lives in danger.  So she’s happy to do things she knows Sky would never forgive her for.  

But she doesn’t tell us what she’s thinking when she does these things, so even though she does a lot of stuff this season’s Diaspro appearance doesn’t give us much to go on!

How can we make this character make sense?  From where we’re standing as watchers of the show it’s clear the writers just went, “Let’s do this plot with Diaspro!” and it’s a good plot but it confuses Diaspro’s character between mean girl and actual baddie. But from within the story, what can we say?  Maybe she’s under a spell.  In a later episode Valtor needs an invitation to enter Cloud Tower, so maybe when Diaspro accepted the potion it let Valtor get his magical hooks into her and his evil influence twisted her feelings for Sky into evil.

The only other explanation I can think of is Diaspro just fell into obsession.  After being raised with marriage to Sky as the point of her life she just can’t change direction, even to look for another suitable prince.  Her obsession replaced her love for Sky, since she was happy to have a hypnotized zombie boyfriend.  All of Sky’s personality was gone so he barely even counts as Sky.  And her parents either agree that no other prince will do or just don’t realize how out of control their daughter is getting.  We don’t see much of Diaspro’s parents so maybe she lives at the palace and her folks live elsewhere.

And I can only imagine Sky doesn’t know what’s up with his ex.  I get the impression that Sky was the center of Diaspro’s life but Diaspro was never the center of Sky’s.  She he just didn’t realize what he was doing to Diaspro when he dumped her.  Of course he still should have; marrying someone to save them doesn’t work. But he could have talked to Diaspro’s parents to make sure they helped her recover and get a new life plan and maybe some professional counseling.  

But instead of help Diaspro gets left off screen for all of season four and returns in season five for more  mean girl/villain antics.  Which we’ll look into… eventually.

[citoyenneangele]

Les Mis in Bernese (Swiss Les Mis part 3)

The most interesting finding I had during my research at the library was a script of Les Mis in Bernese German (Bärndütsch), a Swiss German dialect, my native language kind of.

I found this extremely fascinating, to read a story that means so much to me, in particular a version of it that is very close to the original in many quotes, in my local language. It was without a doubt a very particular experience for me, enriching in many ways.

This script was written by Ueli Bichsel in the occasion of a open air theatre production in the Bernese old town in 2011.

Sadly it was pretty hard to find actual footage of the show after 9 years, since many of the things are no longer available on the internet after such a long time. This sadly also includes the photos that the theatre company uploaded.

Here is a partly reconstructed version of the website, that does include some aspects of it, like the introduction to the play and the cast, but sadly no photos :(

Here is one of the few pictures I found on the internet a few months ago, featuring probably Javert and Gavroche

here is a little exctact of the play featuring Valjean’s dispair, a fair in Montreuil, the Thenardiers, Cosette and the other 2 kids, possibly Fantine...

The way this video is arranged makes me suspect there would be a whole recording, to which I sadly don’t have access, but this video just focuses on the woman who plays the accordeon.

Besides that the only file I have access too is a a few scenes that were featured in a christian tv show which you can find here. It is a portrait of the woman who did the co-direction of the production. The portrait starts at about 5mins in. It features besides the portait of Nathalie Trachsel also some behind the scenes clips from the rehearsals, also some scenes from the actual play: Javert upon Valjean’s release, Valjean and the Bishop, Fantine dying, Javert confronting; then after a break The Amis shouting “to the barricades!” (in particular Combeferre, Feuilly, and Enjolras (the guy with the red cravat), them building the barricade, the first attack, Gavroche shooting the sergeant and Gavroche dying, Valjean releasing Javert.

Now let me tell you about the particularities of this play and its adaptional choices:

The language: as I already said, this is the first time I hear and read Les Mis in my native dialect. It is a very poetic form of it using many specific Bernese terms of vocabulary, that I would probably not use on everyday basis.

The script is specifically designed for the square in the old town where it was realised in 2011. Multiple references concerning the nearby streets are being made. Also the actual cathedral of Bern, giving the square its name, is being integrated, as the seat of the Bishop of Digne. I think they invested also some part of the introduction to the play by stating that all of this could also have happened right here, in these streets, which is a pretty powerful message.

The play includes multiple dreamlike sequences, that also explain multiple cast of Valjean. The first dream is kind of a nightmare that Valjean has during his first night after prison where he sleeps on the stone bench which resumes the ordeal he experienced since his conviction for stealing bread (featuring various Valjean-actors at different stages of his life). The next one is the one where everyone surrounds Fantine and wants money from her after her dismissal. Another dreamscene is the internal debate that Valjean experiences after learing about the “trial of the applethief”, where multiple actors represent the different voices in Valjean’s head (Madeleine’s self who doesn’t want to give up his freedom and doesn’t want to give his town up and do good there instead, even if this means breaking with the past, Fantine who insists that he has to save her daughter and thus can’t go in prison, the apple thief who doesn’t want to go to prison for life in his place, the Bishop who wants him to stay with the truth...). The last dreamscene is the near-death experience Marius has after the barricade which is very similar to the finale of the 2012 film which it predates, except that they are actually not singing the finale but the regular Do You Hear The People Sing in (standard) German.

Another particularity is the insert of Javert as some sort of narrator that comments basically the entire story from his point of view. This is particularly interesting because this Javert seems to me more omniscient than I expect actual Hugolian Javert to be. And since there is no story without a narrator, this play ends with Javert’s suicide.

Generally the book seems to have been an important source of information, many of the dialogues are directly taken from Hugo

The influence of the musical is there and reaches also to the point of the already anticipated inclusion of a song into the play. But there are some part of influences that also make me think of other versions, in particular some dialogue seems to be directly taken from 2000 Les Mis (conversation about the cause from Marius and Enjolras)

Marius is a Republican (and sadly partially rude to Gavroche)

Javert tries to hire Gavroche to spy on the Musain, and the latter takes the money, but later uses this against Javert

Gavroche kills the artillery sergeant and not Enjolras, and gets killed while rejoicing his success

preparation for the barricade is featured

In general I have to say that I enjoyed reading this very much as it was really a well done adaptation from how I can tell this. Very detailed.

I am gonna keep a copy of this script. So if you have questions or would have to see something more in detail, just ask ;)

Click on read more to see the detailed summary.

Before the actual script several interesting documents are included

So the very first page is a letter that the director wrote to one of the actors in the play (he plays Le Noir, a elderly revolutionary, who gets a few lines of one of the unnamed workers of the Faubourg that Hugo quotes). He makes an excuse that it took so long, but they had to edit some things because there were not enough male actors for all the roles, so they had to change a few male roles into female roles, and they are also considering where someone may take over multiple roles.

Then we have a list of all the roles with the respective actors who played them. Some roles are still open, and marked with a question mark, as this list was made before the rehearsals actually took place

Next up we have a plan of the rehearsals, with days and hours and everything... interestingly enough they took place at a location that I personally know, so that is very meaningful for me.

Then follows the actual script. The title is Les Misérables - fate, death and love. The translation is by Ueli Bichel, last edited by Marlise Oberli-Schoch, in 2010.

Prologue

Valjean enters from one of the side streads, is poorly clothed, unshaved, lies on a stone bench and sleeps.

Valjean has a nightmare. so there is a scene within the scene. Which explains the quantity of Valjeans that are employed. Like the Madeleine's self, they appear to the actual Valjean actor in the dreams. In this particular dream sequence Valjean is sentenced to 5 years galleys. While both Valjean and his sister Jeanne beg for mercy (because he tried to work but that was not enough to feed all 8 of them, and parents are dead and so on...)  the judge has none of this because the LAW.

Valjean2 is sentenced to more prison and other... corrective measures

Valjean 3 and 4 are sentenced to more prison and other unhuman treatment. Javert appears and lets the prisoners to be chained together. They go away

Javert has a monologue about Valjean. Basically he knows that we will say that this sentence is inhuman and that arresting people like JVJ causes more misery since he is the breadwinner of his family etc. But the law is clear and shall not be questioned. He is not in the position to judge the law, and he is also not responsible for the existence of criminals. His duty is it to find out about crimes and to fight them and to deliver criminals to their rightful punishment. He also gives Valjean his passport and tells him what he has to do and what happens if he breaks is parole...and then Javert speaks to the public and talks about how Valjean cried after his first conviction, and how he now doesn't show any feelings anymore. Wonders what happened to his soul.

A woman called Delacroix wakes Valjean up and asks him what he is doing here, why he sleeps on a stone bench and why he is not going to a inn. He says he was rejected everywhere. She gives him a tip and indicates... the actual cathedral that is on that square in Bern where the theatre takes place.

Image/Act 1

Valjean knocks at the cathedral door. First Magloire with Baptistine, then the Bishop come out. While the women are scared the Bishop approaches Valjean without fear  and calmly. greets him with a blessing. Valjean tells him who he is and that he has nowhere to stay, that they didn't let him in even in the prison and so on.... Bishop invites him. JVJ continues to talk about his yellow passport. and is surprised that he wants to take him in ... more conversation of this kind. Bishop says it is not his home, it is the home of jesus, that the door ask not how the one is called who comes in, that is asks if one has hunger or thirst.... Says Valjean come sfrom a place where lots of sad things exists, a place full of hatred and anger against the peple, you have the right to mercy. When you go from here with a benevolence, and thoughts of freedom, a penitent sinner and a peaceful man, then you are worth more than anyone of us. Lets him sleep there.[

Magloire has a panic attack because the silver is missing and what else terrible could have happened. The gendarmes bring the arrested Valjean back.The entire conversation about how the bishop exonerates Valjean, by saying he gave him the silver and why didn't he take the candlesticks... And tells him to become a honest man, that he no longer belongs to evil...Javert as narrator again comments the whole scenery and does not believe that Valjean can become a good person in such a short time. Because once a prisoner, always a  prisoner.

almost to prove Javert's judgement  the next scene is Petit Gervais, but with a girl called Odette, Valjean tears his ticket

Image/Act 2

there is some kind of fair with music and dancing and market, and all kinds of shows. Javert is there, Thenardier is in his inn, Mme T. is there too... Thenardier boasts about how he, sergeant Thenardier, saved a General in Waterloo with lots of overdramatic details People in the audience have mixed feelings about his narration. While someone is totally impressed, someone else has heard other things about this "ghoul". The Thenardiers have first names (Justin and Rose) They have a discussion about their newest visitor and how they can rip him off the best. Make some remarks about his job as a innkeeper that remind me distantly of Master of the house in the musical. Javert has a conversation with Mme T. about Cosette. Then a conversation about Javert, who is new in town. and once they know where he wants to go (the police prefecture) they suddenly ask lower prizes.

So apparently the Thenardiers are in the same place here as Javert, and thus probably also Fantine and Valjean..

Javert arrives at the police. there is a captain Bovet, who is currently ridiculously eating a sandwich and is not bothered by Javert's arrival until he says who he is, i.e. the new police inspector, and he keep telling him that he is not behaving the way he is supposed to according to the official instructions. He wants to see the mayor immediately. On the way, Javert has a conversation with Bovet about how much more clean it is here and how much less crimes there will be here than in Paris. Bovet says that is due to the glass manufacture that the life in Montreuil has never been better. He asks him if he wants to see it. He says, first the mayor. Whom does the factory belong to? To the mayor. He first worked as worker, but after the bankruptcy of the former owner he bought the entire factory six years ago. Javert thinks then it is even better if they first go and see the mayor, when he seems to be the driving force in this town. Bovet says, yes, but also that he is kinda extraordinary, eccentric, well very shy. He lives like an eremit, retired and alone. He even did not want to be elected, he had rejected to be mayor at first. The people think he is abit crazy, but Bovet thinks he is sympathetic and yet he has a bit of pity for him because he is so lonely. A very short, very formal visit at Madeleine's house, where for some reason a soldier is watching, and asking the mayor to come. The scene concludes with Javert-narrator wondering from where he knows this man, finds it weird that this man does not show any interest in the prefect of police (excuse me what are you now, Javert, prefect, inspector, officer? I have lost the overview in this play), wonders if he has something to hide, himself, his face, his voice, a movement, his language....

a woman called Ducret approaches Madeleine, and tells her about one of the girls at the factory, that she has not spoken to ehr yet, but everything indicates that she has a child. Madeleine asks if she is a whore. He only does not want that his workers are captured by moral disintegration. Ducret then suggests to dismiss her. Madeleine trust upon her judgement, and says in this case she shall give her 50 francs and send her away. Ducret has a conversation with Fantine which starts with innocent smalltalk and ends with her being dismissed. 

basically Fantine is in a state of powerlessness and everyone wants money from her and threatens her.  (The Thenardiers, the landlord the renter of furniture, the letter writer...) Fantine breaks down.

a woman called Françoise who offers haircuts, wigs and teeth, buys Fantine's hair. 

Whores in front of the Thenardier's inn and apparently Mme T. is there too, singing (apparently not being a whore). and Javert and Bovet are there too, about how they are being more and more... Two guys called Rambone and Savioni are harassing Fantine who looks worse than the other whores, and Fantine defends herself  tries to kick one of them in the eggs ^^ When Javert comes the men disappear... 

Javert arrests Fantine and as a narrator he makes a comment in which he says very clearly what he thinks about her (I am not gonna repeat that here though), but basically she is very criminal and is treating good and honorful citizens of this town badly and this can not be tolerated. She breaks down and asks him for mercy because Cosette, you know, but of course Javert doesn't care. So she breaks down and coughs even more...

 Madeleine intervenes, Fantine attacks Madeleine, who only wants Javert to release her, but Fantine thinks Madeleine is responsable for all her misery and spits at him. Madeleine says he know what happened, the men are at fault and should be punished, not she. But she insulted the mayor. But the mayor says that this is his business and not the justice's. The whole Javert-Valjean argument about Law and who has what competences Fantine is free. Madeleine wants to pay her debts and bring her daughter back and make that she can live a worthy life again. Fantine faints, and Valjean says to the soldiers to bring her to the hospital

Fauchelevent's incident with the cart. Involves various inhabitants of the town called Toutou, Zidane, Josephine, Fabienne, and Rahel Javert is there too, and in the end of the chapter he is sure that Madeleine has to be 24601

Fantine is deadly ill, Madeleine wants to bring Cosette before she dies 

Javert demands to be dismissed, featuring detailed description by Javert on the points where he thought to have recognized Valjean (and reading this script in its entirety makes me realise mistakes that they didn't. For instance here he still stole from a boy (i.e. Petit Gervais and not Odette). Equally detailed description of the apple thief, and who recognized him as Valjean. Mention about the trial the next day. Madeleine says he can leave. Javert insists to be dismissed. Madeleine says, rather than dismissed he'd need to be promoted, he appreciates him as the dutifuly man of honor that he is. Javert has another monologue that how each time when he arrested someone and mercilessly judged him, he told himself "help me god that you will never stumble", And now he stumbled and needs to accuse himelf. It is about justice, the law asks for an example. Valjean just says we'll see. 

dreamlike sequence. Features different actors that represent the different voices in Valjean's head.

Bishop: tells him to go his way. And stand to his identity, to lie would be very wrong, he promised to do no wrong anymore.

Apple thief: blames him for making him his substitute, the one who needs to suffer in his place

Madeleine's self: is relieved that Javert is no longer going after him. Valjean no longer exists. This was god's will. God wants me to do more good here, to be an example for others, everything else is destiny. And for that I need to stay the mayor who gives food to the ppor and makes that the orphans get good education. He shall break the candlesticks as he shall break with the past. He shall forget about the bishop. And also this apple thief is a criminal, he shall be in prison.

Fantine: asks when she will finally see Cosette, he owes her a lot for all the injustice she has suffered because of him. She doesn't think the apple thief wil be a better person but he will be an example for her child. He shall save Cosette who is suffering because she is mistreated by the Thenardiers

Valjean wakes up and tells Arnaud to leave for Arras.

Image/Act 3

again no trial scene, just a summary of a very angry Javert who wants to go after Valjean NOW, as he humiliated him

Fantine dying. Javert confronting Valjean and making respectless remarks to both Valjean and Fantine. Valjean in turn accuses Javert of having killed Fantine. Valjean attacks Javert with a chair so that he can pay his last respect to the dead Fantine. Then says to Javert that now he is at his command. Javert makes another extremely unnecessary stupid comment. Valjean approaches Javert and stretches out his hands, as Javert wands to bond them, he knocks Javert down and escapes 

Valjean sees Cosette and wants to help her carry the bucket of water home to ther mother. Cosette says she has no mother, thinks she never had one, that she brought her and never picked her up again. Valjean asks if she lives alone. She says, almost, Monsieur and Madame are only beating her. Realizes she is Cosette, says he wants to stay in the inn for the night, she shall show her the way. They talk about the two other children, Popine and Zelma, who never have to work and have beautiful dolls, and always are allowed to play, while she has to work all day and is not allowed to play as the two other kids don't let her. Only sometimes she is allowed to play, when she is done. But she has nothing to play with. She once played with one of the dolls but then Madam beat her. But she has a small sabre of tin with which she dissects leaves and rainworms

Usual Thenardier-inn conversations, in particular the one about the missing bread, the lost money, that Valjean miraculously finds, Valjean buying the work she'd have to do,  (socks), he buys her a doll in a nearby shop, the whole negotiation about Cosette, including Thenardier insisting to see a passport. Valjean saying he doesn't have any, it is not required here. If he takes Cosette with him they won't know his name or his address, they will break down all the bridges behind them . However he has the letter of Fantine. They leave quickly.

Here the Thenardiers don't go after him, they just regret that they didn't make more money

another Javert-narrator monologue, about the dangerous criminal that escaped him and that now also has an innocent girl in his hands. He searched with 36 men and 6 dogs but he is like disappeared from this world. He felt so bad wehn he told the police minister about this development. But the latter did not seem to be that interested, talked about social misery, about shortcomings in the health system. Told him about the beggars, the neglected, from the small criminals who kill another man for bread, about big criminals who in hordes rob reputable citizens, he shall not chase a phantom. But our dear Javert is obsessed with said phantom and doesn't want him to escape. He wants to follow his trace until he has him on (no, not under) the guillotine. He is coming to Paris, not for the miserables, for whom he does not care that much, but for Valjean!

Image/Act 4

Gavroche singing a song about Paris in the time text, yet missing

a coin falls on the square (no idea from where), an entire bunch of poor children and teenagers fight upon it. Gavroche, the most streetwise/smart/crafty of them takes it, and escapes, the other children behind him, he gets caught by Javert, the other children disappear Javert treats him badly and takes the money away from him. When he asks Gavroche for his name, he asks Javert back, but he doesn't seem to be interested in reavealing his identity.  But then Gavroche tells him his name, because he told him that there are many like him. And he insists that he, gavroche is unique. So basically Javert recruits Gavroche to spy on the Café Musain "because there are things happening that are of big significance for the state and the city", and Gavroche says yes, because he gave him money. Javert wants to know who is there, what they speak about and what they intend to do.

The students and workers in the Café Musain discuss the situation and Javert spies on them. The people is agitated, one fears that there will be a revolution, a uprising of the miserables Grantaire (who is absent in an older version of the script) declares that he only wants to drink and forget about life, a stupid invention without purpose. Bahorel and Joly have a conversation about Bahorel's lover Feuilly talks about Roman Gods (apparently we now have a Jehan Feuilly or is that a Feuilly Prouvaire or whatever?) Grantaire has a monologue about what they consume in different cities, and harrasses the waitress. Courfeyrac doesn't want any kings anymore and does not like the charter, thinks she belongs to the fire. Enjolras comes in with Marius, presents the latter as a friend of his who want to join them. Marius is a republican and declares that he wants to fight for the republic with all his force, however he hopes it won't get that far that he'll need to give is life. But he prefers to do so rather than life under a tyran (suspicously similar to 2000 dialogue if you ask me) They sing the Marseillaise until Louison tells them to stop, because she does not want the police to shut down her pub. Yes, apparently she now is an innkeeper too.

Outside the café: chaingang. Valjean with Cosette watching. The conversation between the two that ends with Cosette saying "If one of them would cross my way, I think I would die... Dad, what are galleys?" Valjean wants to leave. Marius sees her and wants to follow her, but loses her in the crowd. Goes after Gavroche instead and handles him pretty rudely  (Sorry Marius, but this is not how you do it). Basically he tells him to find an angel. Gavroche then is just like "but does this angel have white wings?" Marius instead gives him a detailed description of Cosette and her goldbrown hair and white dress, and how velvet her look is and how silky smooth her lips ar and everything... 

They are back to the Musain Combeferre says all the workers have to swear that they go to the streets at the first alarm and fight Feuilly says he can be sure, they fight. But the students have to pave the way. We workers fight, and even if there are as many enemies, we'll fight Feuilly says they are 300 already (oukei, now I am really impressed) Bahorel is convinced that in 14 days they will be as strong as the government i.e. 25000 Bossuet declares he doesn't go to bed, he makes cartridges. Feuilly wants to fight. now. Enjolras says first they need to have weapons Courfeyrac insists that the soldiers do have weapons. Le Noir has the "either for the people or against the people speech" that is more or less an exact translation of the speech that one of the revolutionaries in the Faubourg has in the preparations chapter. Gavroche comes, announces Lamarque's death Combeferre: what? Lamarque? The courageous freedomfighter, our advocate? Now we have resist on our own! Away with the government! Feuilly: we overturn the government! To the barricades! Enjolras: it is about us! now its about everything! at his funeral - to the barricade!

Valjean and Cosette in the garden. They are considering to move again. Cosette: we are changing houses like we are changing names. Valjean is like "I know that must be weird for you, but one day you will understand". Valjean goes inside. Marius is with Cosette (Gavroche led him here, for money), lots of poetic blablabla, and <3<3<3, and you know, Marius shows her handkerchief and ask if it is hers, she says yes. In the end Valjean calls her. Says he keeps the handkerchief as a pledge 

The "Thenardier Gang" (yes that is how they are called nowadays) sets out to rob Valjean's house. Eponine tries everything that they don't. In the end she succeeds.. Claquesous blames not only her but also the sight of 2 fighting sparrows and a black cat during the day. Cosette tells Marius they are leaving for England and probably won't come back. Cosette says Marius he should follow them, but Marius says he has no money. He says e won't come tomorrow, only the day after, and also he dies if she leaves. Marius says they have to renounce on each other for 1 day, but maybe they'll win life. Marius tells her the address. or more precisely he graves it into the wall, says he lives with Courfeyrac. when he is gone, Valjean decides they need to leave immediately, he has seen people that don't please him and Paris is bubbling, they have no choice...

Image/Act 5 (named the revolution)

So basically Lamarque's funeral has already happened. And many of the poor have paid him their last respects. Then the subversive slogans suddenly caused the troops of the king to attack people. People are kinda angry and meet up in front of the Musain. Courfeyrac finds a group of workers who come from the funeral, but luckily have not been among those who were attacked by the dragoons (ah, they are not called dragons, good to know :)), but are very angry, Courfeyrac tells them to go inside they can use people like them. Bossuet speaks with a worker from another group, who has a grazing shot in the arm, but doesn't care, they discuss about their weapons Feuilly asks a working woman what she wants. She says: to fight. Show them up there that they push back against that. Feuilly approves. Another worker has no weapon but would fight if he had one. Bossuet tells him he should provide himself one. Worker sets out to pillage a armorer. Everyone in the crowd shares rumors about what happened, and the Thenardier and Claquesous are awaiting happy times. And Babet also. Extraordinary mention to Combeferre declaring this is the best day of his life. They start building a barricade and undercover Javert has made his appearance.

Eponine tells Marius Cosette has left, apparently without leaving a sign. Marius is heartbroken and wants to die on the barricade at any cost. Which again upsets Eponine because she loves him 

Inside Musain. Enjolras wants to know what is happening. Courfeyrac says the rumors are very contradictory and it is hard to tell what is truth and what is a lie. Lots of army, people is building barricades everywhere. Barricade is growing and more people are there. Gavroche comes over the barricade. Asks a worker who has the command. One who's called Enjolras. He wants to know if he is a general. Worker says no, the generals are on the other side. We are only brothers. Gavroche says Enjolras he wants to volunteer. Wants to send him to the ambulance. But Gavroche wants a gun. But Enjolras wants to arm first the men, then the women and only then the children. Gavroche leaves and comes back. Tells Courfeyrac and Enjolras there is a problem and draws their attention on Javert, and tells them how he offered him money to spy on them. For some reason he now knows his name. They arrest Javert  and by binding him on the post at the entrance they want to show a warning to anyone who dares to betray them 

they are awaiting the 1st attack Combeferre sees someone approaching. Enjolras says don't shoot, we know who it is. Bossuet says it's Gavroche. Gavroche wants his gun. who's there- french revolution. The whole Mabeuf thing except that they really present him as an ancient assemblyman who was "at the convent" (which is here not meant the place where nuns are, but the convention, which is apparently called convent in german for some reason). Javert gets another weird narrator-monologue where he denounces the stupidity of the students who throw their lives away and those of the workers because they always think you can change the world all of a sudden. And how they don't have a chance as badly equipped as they are against so many more well trained soldiers. That has to end badly. Either they die in the hail of bullets or "they are beheaded on the guillotine" (ok apparently this Javert has a guillotine obsession but doesn't know how such a thing works ) Javert goes back into the scenery where Joly reminds him that he will be next... The whole first attack plus Marius wants to blow the barricade up, and thus saves it, and asks for the leader, and Enjolras says its Marius. But all Marius wants is to be alone for a moment

Eponine dies and Marius discovers that Cosette still is in Paris 

they sing and women bring food, they reprepare the weapons, basically drink with me mode I guess... Marius writes his letter to Cosette and asks Gavroche to bring it. Gavroche doesn't want to miss the next attack and thinks he shall wait... Marius insists that he has to leave now, that they won't attack until tomorrow. And then it will be too late to go because all the streets are closed. Gavroche goes. 

It is night and they are trying to rest. One starts to sing the "Song of the Revolution (Musical)" and then the others join in. Combeferre and Gavroche come back. Gavroche has a bag of cartridges with him. Gavroche asks what is going on with them. Here no one sleeps anymore. The whole army of Paris is around etc. (basically what Enjolras says in the book divided between Gavroche and Combeferre) The whole we'll stay and build the barricade higher, conversation, and the uniform conversation, except it is reduced to the essential and Combeferre doesn't get to say anything, it is all Enjolras, in between Marius asks Gavroche who told him to come back. He says he delivered the letter "to the gatekeeper" Valjean comes with the 5th uniform, the 5 leave. Enjolras cares for Javert. Javert recognizes Valjean and says he's gonna have it easy now. Gavroche announces their arrival. A cannon is being heard, like it being rolled there. Cannon attack. 2 people die. Enjolras says this was a grapeshot, and that they needs to stop this cannon, i.e. that it needs to be "fireworker"'s turn. Gavroche says he takes that over. Before anyone can prevent him from doing so, he is up on the barricade and shooting. he hit his target, and is all excited and rejoicing about how he "blew out his lamp", that he evidently forgot that he is standying on a freaking barricade. This causes him to be also shot, of course, and he falls down dead right into the arms of Combeferre.

Enjolras says to all that the last one alive shall shoot the spy. Valjean asks Enjolras if he can crush this man's skull with his own hands, and since no one has objectsions he lets him. Final attack is announced by both Marius and horns. (yes another Hernani flashback for Autumn  ) . Everyone goes to the barricade Valjean and Javert alone. Valjean frees Javert with the mention of the promise he made to the bishop of Digne to never do anything unjust. And killing him because he did his duty as a policman here today, or because he followed him his entire life would be wrong. And if he against the expectance should make it out of here alive he can find him in Rue de l'homme armé. Javert says he hates this kind of games, he shall rather kill him. Valjean tells him to leave. He shoots in the air and goes back to the others where he says he is done. Heavy shooting happens. One after the other the defendants of the barricade die. Valjean does stay at the background and doesn't shoot on the soldiers, yet he supports the defendants of the barricade. he realizes that Marius was hit and falls from the barricade. Valjean goes to him. And whereever he looks there are just dying or dead "revoluzzers" (yes, this is the word he uses in the script, not revolutionaries or something like that). During the very last attack on the barricade he carries Marius away from the barricade and can escape with him  to the sewers. The soldiers pull the flags of the revolution out and plant the flag of the monarchy (whatever "the flag of the monarchy" may be)

Image/Act 6

We are in the sewers now. Barely conscious Valjean falls down on a sleeping Thenardier at the gate that leads out of the sewers who thinks he has made the great gain. and of course wants to steal from them. and comments this in a monologue this is observed by Javert. And of course now Thenardier is all about helping these people, if they aren't dead yet etc. Javert says him just to back off, calling him by his name. Thenardier insists to help, but he says he shall just leave. Valjean gets back his conscience and checks if Marius is still alive, wants to lift him up again, then sees Javert and lets him down again. But Javert just asked him if he needs help. Valjean says to Javert he hasn't given him the address , so that je can escape. Javert wants to know who that man is. And reminds Valjean what happened to those who were on the barricade. Valjean says he survives if he gets help quickly. He is a daredevil, an idealist, but a good person and he can do many good things yet for our country. Please let for once in your life reign mercy before law. Javert insists that he is dead Valjean says not yet. Insists that he needs to save Marius and then he says he'll come back They arrange a meeting at the same place at the same hour the next day.

Marius lies in the middle of the open square between Barricade and inn scenery. There is only the bed and Toussaint that cares ffor him and Cosette that is looking over him. Marius has a fever dream and is near death when they sees all the friends including Gavroche and eponing with the revolutionary flags and singing "The song of the barricade" climbing on the barricades. It is the german DYHTPS (Lied des Volkes), arranged kinda like the finale in the movie that came out notabene after this thing here. Basically Marius is convinced that they came to lead him to heaven, but in the end they get fainter again and in the end of the scene Marius is alive and awake  and with cosette.

Javert derailed made by Javert-narrator which linguistically resembles the confusion of Javert Valjean comes in in the middle of that and says "here I am" Javert halfway awakens from his trance, makes a step towards Valjean, holds his pistol agains Valjean for 2 seconds, then he turns around makes two steps back and holds it against his head. Light goes out. Shot. 

THE END.