#people often mistake her for being like a russian blue but. no shes just a domestic shorthair that happens to be gray with blue eyes

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

for the ippikki au card redraws!! haruka's 'this placed ive returned to" trained? :0

this angle is impressively difficult to draw at, but i made it work! the kitty :3

[cobaltperun]

Lost (22) - So Far Away

Tara Carpenter x female Reader

Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.

Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics

Word count: 4.5k

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

-I have so much to say but you're so far away-

The room he sat in was the last place he’d associate with the woman who owned this apartment. The walls were hidden behind shelves, filled to the brim with books. Books in English, Russian and German, he guessed, ranging from classics to modern literature, from massive encyclopedia to magazines, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere near them. The last time he saw the woman she was fifteen and so stuck in her martial arts training he doubted she ever touched a book. Perhaps he was, as a twelve-year-old in awe of her, simply mistaken. The room had a vintage feel to it, with heavy table in the middle of it, and two tall armchairs on each side. The chandelier above him didn’t seem like it was often used, instead it was there more for aesthetics, instead, he believed the lamp on the table was used for reading during the nights. The woman lived alone, after a brief marriage that ended in a divorce, and he didn’t really know the details of her relationship.

There weren’t many people who intimidated him. Sidney Prescott did, with her refusal to be defeated by one of the Ghostfaces despite already being past her prime. Samantha Carpenter did as well, her brutality against Richie Kirsch and his father a year later was frightening. His cousin frightened him even more.

Anya Golubeva lost her title when she fought against you, but she regained it right away and considering you were forced to retire, she reigned supreme for the next three years, until she went and retired, now, at thirty-seven, she was still a formidable fighter. She would be the counter to you, a fighter that spent even more time training, a fighter that nearly defeated you, because that match could have gone either way. Thomas made a mistake, he made you angry, he got cocky, she wouldn’t, because she knew exactly what you were capable of.

“So, cousin, what brings you to me?” Anya walked through the door, holding a tray with two cups of coffee. “This far from home?” she sat down, at ease in her home, at ease because there truly wasn’t much that could hurt her.

Cousins… Yet he was nothing like her. Despite his admiration for her, Igor wasn’t a good fighter, he had no talent for martial arts, or sports in general, he didn’t have the dedication needed to overcome the lack of talent either. No, he wasn’t the best fighter, but he had other skills, he was a good hunter, resilient, good with knife and various guns, and, if he could say so himself, he was conventionally good looking, dark hair and blue eyes, in good shape. He could have been so many things, he could have had so many different interests, but in his youth he, much like Richie Kirsch and Amber Freeman, and many before and after them, developed a fascination with Stab franchise, and, more importantly, with Ghostface.

“I,” he hunched a bit, making himself seem smaller, trying to remind Anya of how he was as a child. She used to protect him when they were really young, before his parents moved and he had to transfer to another school, he hoped she would still have that instinct to protect her family. “got into trouble,” he spoke slowly, regretfully, just for a moment glancing up to meet her eyes and then immediately looking down. “With a cult, and now I don’t know how to get out,” there, he said it. He also believed he was an acceptable actor, capable of fooling people.

He heard Anya lowering her cup and leaning forward. “What cult?” she sounded more concerned than anything. Family was always important to her. That was why he was certain he could get her to help him and the cult. If she believed she was doing it to save him then he had a chance to convince her.

Instead of telling her anything, he pulled out the mask with a bear painted on the side. His Ghostface mask.

“Ghostface?” her eyes widened as she watched the mask. “Why? You’re neither young nor stupid?” she demanded, so forcefully he genuinely flinched at her tone.

“I didn’t realize they were serious, I swear! I thought they’d stop after Richie and Amber got killed, but they didn’t! At that point it was too late to back out, they knew me, they’d kill me!” he exclaimed, frantically grabbing the mask and shoving it back into his bag. He moved as if he was about to leave, as if he gave up on her.

“Fine, fine, settle down,” Anya calmed down first, and now she once again looked more concerned than anything else. That got him to sit back down, and he had to cover his face, pretending to clutch his head in desperation to hide the small smirk he couldn’t suppress. “What changed now?”

He dropped his hands, his expression the perfect mask of desperation. “If you can help me get rid of one person I can walk away,” knowing how it sounded he quickly raised his hands. “No one will know it was us! Please, it’s either her or me!”

She remained silent, and he just hoped this would work out, that Anya would be willing to at least hold you back enough for someone to finish you off if she didn’t want to actually kill you.

“Who is it?” she asked after several long, dreadful minutes.

“Y/N L/N,” Igor said, and her eyes narrowed. For a moment he feared she’d reject him, but instead, she nodded. Perhaps the sting of loss caused resentment toward you. Or perhaps it didn’t matter who it was, as long as she thought she was doing it to protect a member of her family.

~X~

No one knew where you were.

No one knew where you were.

No one knew where you were.

Those words repeated in Tara’s mind as she stared at the wall in front of her. She didn’t say a single word since Danny gave in and told her what he knew.

Sam being involved shook her, but somehow she decided she would deal with that later, you on the other hand… You were gone. No one knew if you were alive, or if you were hurt, or who had you. No, that was obvious. Ghostface had you. She barely registered a glass of milk and a plate filled with pancakes being set down on the coffee table next to her. They smelled nice, but the smell only reminded her of you not being by her side.

“Tara, you need to eat, for your baby if not for yourself,” Danny crouched next to her, likely trying to get her to look at him. And she did, for a brief moment she did look at him, and she saw the apology in his eyes.

Pancakes. Of course he went with that. It didn’t take long for anyone to find out how often you made them for Tara. They were her comfort meal, a meal she didn’t feel bad to ask for while you were kids, the first meal you made after you two got together, and then again and again, every time exactly how Tara loved them.

Danny knew how to cook, definitely better than Sam, but not as well as you did. You did work as a cook back in Woodsboro for almost two and a half years, so it wasn’t really fair to compare him with you. She still nodded, picking up the plate and began eating more out of obligation to your child than anything else. She barely ate two pancakes when her phone buzzed, signaling she got a message.

Tara frowned and saw it was a photo, and then her eyes widened, and she dropped her fork, and she had no idea how she didn’t immediately throw up the pancakes she managed to eat. “Danny!” she yelled, making him run back into the living room.

“What?!” he frantically looked around for an intruder, but Tara just got up and showed him the message she got. It was a photo, of a muscular woman whose face was covered by a Ghostface mask tied to a chair. “Is that Y/N?” his voice wavered a bit, as he spoke what went through Tara’s head when she saw the photo.

A moment later an address popped up and Tara grabbed her jacket ready to leave right then and there, consequences be damned she’d get to you. She needed to see you. She needed to be with you.

She needed to help you.

“Wait, we need to call Kirby,” Danny grasped Tara’s forearm just firmly enough to keep her from leaving.

“I need to get to Y/N!” she shouted, yanking her arm away from him.

“We don’t know when the photo was taken! It’s an obvious trap, Tara!” he argued back, this time choosing to step between her and the doors.

“I don’t care, she might be there!” she knew she was being unreasonable, that you’d berate her if you knew she was willing to just walk into such an obvious trap, but she knew you’d do the exact same thing. No, not only that. If the positions were switched, you would have went to Kirby demanding information so you could start looking for Tara. Even if it meant rushing into whatever location Kirby managed to connect with the cult.

Luckily, Danny understood her by now. “We’ll go, okay? But we need to call Kirby first, in case we need a back-up,” she could work with that.

So, she sent the photo to Kirby as Danny set up a Zoom call and while they waited for Kirby to join it, Tara just looked at the photo.

Finally, Kirby joined them. “Hey, Tara, Danny. Tara, I’m sorry we kept these things from you,” Kirby opened with that, but Tara shook her head, there’d be time for that conversation later. She could complain and be annoyed later, once you were back by her side, once she could make up for the time the two of you spent separated, then she could deal with her friends keeping her in the dark.

“Can you do anything?” Danny asked.

“Not much, but the address does match a warehouse near the harbor,” she said, sharing her screen and showing the map as well as some photos of the warehouse. It was old, clearly not in use anymore and abandoned until the cult decided to start using it.

“It’s not Y/N,” Tara suddenly declared. “It’s not her, I know it isn’t her,” she knew it, even if three weeks passed, this wasn’t you. Ghostface would taunt her with your face, or at least show a scar so she wouldn’t have any way to doubt it was you. And the woman wasn’t as muscular as you, she was muscular, no doubt about that, but not as much as you. So, no, it wasn’t you.

She was still going to walk right into that warehouse, because there was a chance someone there knew where you were, and she’d never forgive herself if she let this opportunity go. If she had to go alone, she would,

“Tara, listen to me, you’re pregnant, don’t get both of you killed by being reckless,” Kirby told her, but Tara was already getting up.

“Either come and help, or don’t do anything, but I’m not waiting here for someone to tell me what’s going on. You’ve already proven you won’t tell me anything anyway,” she snapped, glaring back at the screen before putting her jacket on and grabbing the biggest knife Danny had.

“Shit! Tara, wait!” she heard Danny running after her, but she didn’t slow down, she just glanced back, saw that he also had a knife and smiled appreciatively at him. “Well,” he shrugged. “I can’t let you go alone,” he said.

~X~

The warehouse was abandoned a long time ago, the windows were broken, glass was everywhere, and there was a lot of dust. So much, in fact, that Tara coughed a few times when they stepped inside. There were a few exits, through the windows, though that would likely be very painful unless they could open the window before jumping through. The doors they just came through and there were two sets of stairs leading to the first floor, that might give them a chance to maneuver if needed.

“There’s nothing here,” Danny said as the two of them looked around, for clues, for any sign of presence, for anything really. All they saw was the chair the person on the photo was tied to. The fact that the chair was whole was just another proof to Tara that you weren’t on the photo. If you were, and if you were untied, you would have fought back, and that chair would have been at least damaged if not in pieces and stained with blood of your captors.

They heard them before they saw them. The boots stepping on the shattered glass, steps indicating there were at least two people with them. Tara pulled her knife out and turned around, pointing it toward Ghostfaces.

“Where is Y/N?” she demanded, for the first time coming face to face with the redesigned Ghostface, the robes were the same, the mask was almost the same. These two had animals painted on the side of the mask. One had a bull, the other and elephant. A way to differentiate each other now that there were so many of them. At least the entire cult didn’t come to greet her.

And Sam somehow got involved with them. For how long? Why didn’t Sam just come to her? She’d get those answers eventually, she needed to focus on here and now.

The one with a bull just tilted his head to the side, as if feigning confusion. The two remained silent, slowly approaching her and Danny.

“We’d rather avoid a fight, just tell the lady what she wants to know,” Danny warned them, stepping in front of Tara and she had to admit, he did look imposing, even with two Ghostfaces coming closer and closer.

One of them lunged forward, aiming to stab Danny, but he clashed his own knife against the Ghostface’s blade and closed the distance to land a good punch to the side of Ghostface’s head. Tara’s eyes widened slightly, she knew you and Danny often sparred, but she didn’t realize Danny could hold his own outside of sparring. And he was proving he could hold his own, as he went for the neck with his knife, after all, they needed just one Ghostface alive.

But he stopped, his hand shaking as if he just realized what he was about to do. Tara jumped in, ready to finish the job he clearly couldn’t while the Ghostface was still dazed from the punch. She managed to stab the Ghostface’s chest and stomach, before the other could step in. She pulled away, knowing better than to stay in one place for long as the other Ghostface, the one with the bull painted on the mask pulled his partner back and engaged Danny in combat.

Danny deflected and dodged several stabs, but he struggled to find another opening to land a hit himself. Finally, he got an opportunity to kick the Ghostface away just as the one Tara stabbed was getting ready to jump back in.

“Run!” Danny exclaimed, ushering Tara toward the stairs. They were out in the open, and there was a good chance someone else was in the building with them, so staying in the middle of an open space wasn’t the best option for them. Not right now. And… a small part of both of them, hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were held here despite not being on the photo.

Tara took off, running for the stairs with Danny right behind her as the Ghostface duo chased after them. Though risky, the moment Ghostface duo began climbing up the stairs, Danny abruptly stopped and slammed body first into one of them, sending them down the stairs and just barely managing to stay on his feet. He grunted though, and Tara could see the handle of the knife sticking from his side.

“Shit!” she exclaimed and stopped, ready to go back down for him.

“Keep going!” he began running again, pushing through the pain and Tara could see the determination in his eyes. “I’m going to yell at Sam when she comes back. If she was here we could have easily taken these two,” he complained jokingly, mostly to reassure Tara.

Tara nodded, seeing through him, but still appreciating the gesture.

They reached the top of the stairs and realized every door was locked. The only way out was back down, and the Ghostface duo split to cover each side of the stairs.

Tara looked at Danny and then looked toward the Ghostface she stabbed. She’d handle that one. So, they waited as the Ghostface duo began slowly climbing toward them, they stood, back to back, ready to fight the two.

And it ended so quickly Tara barely registered what was happening. Danny took initiative, attacking the one with bull on the mask. He ducked under the blade, grabbed the Ghostface’s leg and pushed him down to the ground, grappling the way you usually did when you were in a rush. This time he didn’t hesitate, and stabbed his knife through the Ghostface’s chest several times.

Tara on the other hand clashed her knife against Ghostface’s, she stepped to the side, slicing quickly and managing to cut through the robe, but not through the flesh of Ghostface’s arm. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Ghostface swinging his arm toward her head and just barely managed to grab and stop it from hitting her. Thinking fast she lifted her leg, kicking Ghostface between the legs. Ghostface grunted, but didn’t fall to his knees, instead he tried to stab her again.

Tara dodged the blade, but hit the wall and in her daze she couldn’t move out of the way. She could only put her arms between her attacker and her stomach. The knife never came though, as a gasp came from Ghostface in front of her. She opened her eyes and saw a knife sticking out of the Ghostface’s neck, courtesy of Danny. Both Ghostfaces were dead, both killed by Danny.

“Damn,” he took a step back, letting the dead Ghostface fall to the ground. “Guess we’ll have to find clues some other way,” he said making Tara nod.

“Thanks, let’s get out of here,” she wasn’t any closer to finding you, but two enemies were dead.

Danny nodded and the two of them began walking to the doors, carefully watching for any movement.

A loud sound pierced the silence, pierced right through the illusion of safety and Tara’s eyes widened when she saw blood staining Danny’s shirt. She watched in horror as he looked down, shakily touching the red spot just below his chest that was growing larger with every second. “Danny!” Tara cried out, somehow managing to catch him before he fell to the ground. There was too much blood, as hard as she tried, as much as she pressed her palms against the wound, she couldn’t stop the bleeding and his breathing was getting shallow. “Stay awake, you hear me! Come on, you need to yell at Sam for leaving, remember?”

He chuckled a bit at that. “I’ll leave that to you,” he said and moved her hands away. “They hit my liver,” the blood, the bullet going through it, the stab wound, Tara just sat back, tears streaming down her face. There was nothing she could do. Even if she could call an ambulance, they likely wouldn’t make it in time.

Not that it mattered. Footsteps came from behind her, and she turned around just in time to see three Ghostfaces approaching her. Three marks, bear, fish, and monkey, and the one with bear on the mask was carrying the gun. He was the one who shot Danny, she was sure of that. No… he may have pulled the trigger, but Tara was the one who brought them there, she was the one responsible for putting them in danger.

“Don’t resist, or else,” that voice, the same voice she heard when Amber first attacked her, the same voice that so often haunted her nightmares, she heard it again and this time… instead of pointing a knife at her, the monster pointed a gun at her stomach. “I heard you played a game like this once, only there isn’t an MMA fighter to save you,” Tara narrowed her eyes, but didn’t move. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t risk it, not when there was nothing she could do to save him.

The Ghostface holding the gun motioned toward her and Danny.

“Let her leave,” Danny demanded with what little strength her had left as he tried to sit up.

“I don’t think so,” one of the other two Ghostfaces said as one grabbed Tara’s arms and pulled them behind her back. She heard the click of handcuffs, felt the cold metal around her wrists and knew there was absolutely nothing she could do.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she knew it was over, she knew exactly what would happen next, she still flinched when she heard Danny yelping as he was slammed back onto the ground and then she heard the knife slicing through his neck.

“There, just like Samantha cut Richie’s throat,” one of them said and Tara dared to look at him, dead, with blood pooling around his body. His eyes that once held so much love for her sister now stared forward, lifeless.

~X~

She knew she should have assigned someone to watch over Tara, and now she was gone and Danny was dead. Kirby sat with her head between her hands and photos laid on her table. The Ghostface she was sure was Sam, the tied-up woman she was sure was you, even if Tara denied it, and painted masks, and other photos she had painted a picture she couldn’t understand.

“Tara is right, this isn’t Y/N,” Gale Weathers being there definitely wasn’t helping.

“How are you so sure?” Kirby demanded. They couldn’t see any scars to confirm if it was really you, but there weren’t as many women as muscular as you.

“It’s not her style. If she even suspected this photo would reach Tara she would have given them hell,” Gale gave her a cheeky, though small smile. “Besides, if someone can recognize Y/N underneath all this it would be Tara.”

Kirby had to agree with that. While she wasn’t there when Richie and Amber did their killings, she was very much aware of what you did for Tara, and while she never got to see you actually hurting someone, she did get to see how protective of the younger Carpenter you were. She had the front seats experience when you came into a bar her and Sam were at once to confront Sam. It was civil, but she could feel the tension, the barely restrained anger on both sides.

It was baffling, really, watching you and Sam argue, after years of seeing the two of you getting along. Sam was never as happy as she was at your and Tara’s wedding, and she more than once expressed how much she appreciated your protectiveness over Tara. And then it was like someone snapped their fingers and the relationship fell apart along with Sam.

And now no one knew where you were, Tara was captured, Danny was dead, Chad, Mindy and Anika couldn’t come, or they would not only be in danger but would be able to kiss their careers goodbye and Sam was… likely a Ghostface. How did it all fall apart like this?

Knocking on the door brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up just as Sidney walked in. “Since when does Ghostface try to blow up cars?” she demanded, distraught, filled with panic and almost desperately looking for answers.

“What?” Gale asked, just as puzzled by the question as Kirby.

Sidney slumped into one of the chairs and leaned her head back as she dug her fingers into her hair. “He called me, said I’ll never see my family again. I managed to call Mark and get him, and my children get out of the car. Less than a minute later the car exploded,” she explained, stunning Kirby and Gale. Fury burnt in her eyes and Kirby was reminded of how formidable Sidney was. “I need to get this fucker before he harms my family.”

Gale approached her and placed a hand on Sidney’s shoulder. “We’ll get them Sid,” she promised and caught Sidney up with the situation. From suspecting Sam, to your situation, to Tara being captured and Danny being killed.

“I want Tara alive as much as you two, but how do we know she was just kidnapped? Why would they keep her alive?” Sidney asked and Kirby would be lying if she said that thought didn’t cross her mind when she first realized Tara wasn’t at the warehouse. Gale was the one that reassured her.

“It’s not their style, to take someone and kill them somewhere else, even if this Ghostface doesn’t operate the way we’re used to,” Gale told Sidney the same thing she told Kirby.

Kirby sighed, frankly, even if she agreed now that Tara was alive she still wasn’t entirely sure what the actual reason she wasn’t killed was, but she had her suspicions. “It’s either Y/N, or Sam that they are afraid of,” that was the core reason. “I don’t think they’ll kill Tara just yet.”

“If Tara is alive, they can blackmail one or both of them, if they kill Tara, those two won’t let that go,” Gale agreed and took the photo of Ghostface with dog mark. “Guard dog,” how ironic.

“Even if Sam joined them, she’d turn on them if they hurt Tara,” Sidney agreed, now seeing the logic. “We need to find Y/N.”

And that was the plan, because even if they couldn’t count on Sam being sane enough to help them, they could count on you. Especially when you learn that Tara was captured.

Kirby’s phone rang and all three of them nearly jumped out of their skin, but Kirby relaxed when she saw the name of one of her colleagues. “Yes?”

“Special Agent Reed, we identified the number the message came from. It belongs to Samantha Carpenter,” there was no doubt anymore.

Sam was Ghostface, there was no longer any doubt about that in Kirby’s mind. And either she sent the message to Tara, or someone was using her phone.

There was a chance that Sam was too far gone.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part

[yuungmenace]

* ◟ : 〔 LEWIS TAN, DEMI MAN + HE / THEY 〕 MADDOX LUO , some say you’re a THIRTY FIVE YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both EFFICIENT and COLD, one can’t help but think of WHO ARE YOU, REALLY? by MIKKY EKKO when you walk by. are you still an ACTIVE ASSASSIN, JAZZ MUSICIAN for RED EYE, THE GODFATHER HOUSE OF BLUES, even with your reputation as THE PREVARICATOR? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and THE CRUNCH OF BOOTS ON VIRGIN SNOW INTERRUPTING WINTERS SILENCE, PERMANENT IMPRINT OF CROSSHAIRS ON A GAZE, BLOOD SPLATTERED ACROSS A PAINTING OF THE HOLY SPIRIT, although we can’t help but think of ARMITAGE HUX (STAR WARS) + LOKI (MARVEL) + THEON GREYJOY (GAME OF THRONES) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

FULL NAME: UNKNOWN. Given the name XIYANG ZHOU by birth mother, legally changed to KONSTANTIN BABICHEV by his father. Currently going by MADDOX LUO. NICKNAME(S): N/A. Some people refer to them as Maddie, much to their annoyance. AGE: 35 GENDER: Demi-Man PRONOUNS: He/They BIRTHPLACE: Yatsuk, Russia OCCUPATION: Pianist at Godfather House of Blues GANG AFFILIATION: Active Red Eye assassin FC: Lewis Tan

APPEARANCE

HAIR COLOUR: Black EYE COLOUR: Brown HEIGHT: 6”1 PIERCINGS?: Left ear, former right eyebrow piercing, now a scar. TATTOOS: Barcode on the back of his head, hidden by hair.

TRAITS

POSITIVE: Efficient, Passionate, Obedient NEGATIVE: Cold, Spiteful, Reactionary

BACKGROUND

trigger warnings for animal abuse, child abuse, death, torture,

You are a mistake, it is something burned into your consciousness since birth. The circumstances surrounding your mothers pregnancy are shrouded in secret, all that is known is that you came into the world in a small bathroom in a smaller apartment. There was no extra family, just the two of you, traveling around in a beat up car as she cleaned to make a living. Your future prospects were slim, she taught you Mandarin and had hopes that the two of you would return to her birth country for safety. School was difficult, you were bookish and smart and small and weak and that was taken advantage of. Every week it seemed some fresh bruise appeared on your body, and she held you close and said that it was okay, because one day you would inherit the world while they scrubbed toilets for a living - you took comfort in that. Some would call you a mama’s boy, and they’d be right.

Idyllic simple lives are not afforded to everyone, however. You’re 12 when you come home to the apartment turned upside down, mother yelling in anger at the burley men in the apartment - one is bald, one-eyed and broad and in that moment you understand you’re looking at your father. He claims to not have known you were alive, or he would’ve come sooner to take you away from this life you don’t see anything wrong with. That day is the last time you see your mother alive, she is held down while she begs them not to take you. You’re only 12, you cannot put up a fight as you are dragged from your home to somewhere you never feel safe again.

The man, your Father, thinks you aren’t Russian enough - he changes your name. Konstantin, he says, not revealing his own name. He says you shall receive his when you earn it. Earn it how, you think, the horrors to come never occur to you. Red Eye are always looking for new ways to train, to recruit, you are going to be an experiment, to see if loyalty comes better from family than the strays they often pick up. What follows is years upon years upon years of training; you are taught to love a kitten, then asked to break its neck. You are put in a room with a hungry dog and a single bowl of food, and told only one of you may eat. That soft, bookish boy is broken, before being rebuilt in the image of the assassin, like so many others. If anything, being someone’s child meant you got it harder, so no favourtism was shown. You taste first blood at 20, and nothing ever stops you from then.

Apart from that one episode, that one little slip while you were in New York. It was an easy job, an Iranian delegate that needed eliminating for an arms deal to go through, standard stuff. How did you find out? Somebody wanted you to know, a hand grabs your arm - an elderly man, eyes wide, he calls you Zhou and asks if you remember him. Memories swirl together in your head, you are unable to distinguish between what is real and false. You nod anyway and he invites you for noodles, saying how you’ve grown. It is through this you learn he was a neighbor, you used to play Mahjong with him when your mother was working. His gaze grows distant, he apologizes for your loss. Loss? Your blood runs cold. Loss? You question and the man grows suspicious, how can a son not know his own mother has died? It is as if the world stops in that second. The only person who ever loved you is gone.

You spend months in a trance, unsure of who you are and what you do. Did they know? They had to. Your father had to, they kept it from you, knowing the emotional turmoil would be too much to bear. It resets whatever they did, you defect so suddenly and aren’t seen for nearly a year. There are others like you, it turns out, who want to protect and help. Your newfound freedom doesn’t last, for when you attach yourself to someone and they leave, it feels like there is nothing left to lose. You meet the red eye in the middle, going back as they send someone to recall you for further training. Real life leaves a bitter taste in your mouth as you are placed in a dark room for months as punishment.

New York again, years later, waiting orders. Your cover name is Maddox Luo, your accent perfectly clipped to that of an Englishman, and your talent for piano giving you an easy job at a bar, sometimes the ballet, or even a hotel foyer. You enjoy tea, cats, and working out. There is no longer a trace of Xiyang Zhou in your body. Or, that’s what you think.

OTHER

arin's roomie <3333

absolutely the spikiest bitch to ever exist

not that insane actually?

too many daddy issues to count

loves cats a LOT actually

gym bro. i feel like it's not realised as he usually covers up with his clothing but then he rolls up the sleeves or his biceps tense and its like OH ???????????

wardrobe staple is a coat

likes reading on the down low

genuinely a good pianist to the point of hearing a melody and being able to easily replicate it.

the tattoo on his head scans his initials and his birthday.

a vegetarian

[datastate]

this is such a small thing but it always wrecks me thinking about the russian roulette is just... if sara had killed anyone, there's no good way to cope with it. obviously it hurts me most to think abt her killing joe or kai, but the other two as well...

joe dies:

- that's one of her closest friends she's ever had. not so much so as ryoko, but still someone she's comfortable enough poking fun at and who knows about her stalker and who she hangs out with often after school (whether it's hanging out for karaoke or at the park or shared clubs or just walking her home...) & we already see how. poorly she deals with the guilt of feeling like she caused him pain (and eventually thinking she had hand in his *death*, even indirectly.)

- that last point hits because... in this case, she places the responsibility on herself to take on the gun (even if she's not at all confident) because she knows joe trusts her to succeed for him, for all of them. if he dies directly by her hand, it'd shatter her. she took this up for him, so he could trust her. and she failed him. utterly and completely.

- then everyone's reaction too... they're very. tense leading up until the end. (or if joe's the last target, sara might let herself collapse...)

keiji realizing he put too much pressure on her as well, probably still going to drag her forward - there's no time to mourn (...not like he really gave himself the chance to, in his own experience).

q-taro outraged, not necessarily with her, but with the game altogether; shocked at the full realization of seeing a dead body in front of all of them (he would be more forward about trying to lead the group certain directions, i'd imagine, and probably dislike keiji... maybe some of his own self-loathing for letting this happen depending on how he voted. it's irresponsible... how could they have done that? and now a kid is dead and another one's traumatized!)

maybe people expect kai to be 'i told you so'. to tell keiji (and perhaps q-taro) off. but... kai's deathly quiet. he lifts the gun from the scene. joe earned kai's own trust - the reason he wouldn't trail sara when he knew joe was there, the reason he could make the progress he did on the backdoor file, the person who meant so much to sara ever since she joined sonobeno... seeing her reaction, he can only expect as much. this was why he insisted she not handle the gun. he had faith in her, he always will, but it only takes one mistake, one lapse of judgement, for her to become a murderer. his sentiment stands: he'd rather she risk death than risk that fate. no, kai doesn't think less of her for it, certainly not, but even if they escape... she'll never be the same, and he mourns that. (and... yes. i do think he'd be frustrated with keiji's behavior. even in canon when this turns out well, i think he dislikes the pressure placed upon her when there are other adults around... and isn't that an issue, as well? kai was there, and yet he selfishly rescinded the chance to take the gun himself to keep his own conscience clear.)

and then all the other participants... they'd probably lock the blue room once the remaining four leave, but it'd cause such unease. two deaths that they know of, and they're both young kids. it's fucked.

kai dies:

- in this case, he dies without being able to clarify anything, not the data presented on the laptop, nor his own relationship with the chidouins as their guard... the participants aren't even given a chance to salvage his information

- not only that, he dies without being able to edit or extract the laptop data. no specific files pulled so the participants won't waste their time, no time to write the additional notes meant to encourage sara, the backdoor file may not be entirely finished, the laptop is easily accessible as a bargaining chip, his ID may be presented in the prize exchange if they think it's morbidly funny. just another tool, even in death, to stir unease...

- anyway, back to the present... he was the one fighting for sara to not take the burden upon herself. to the rest, he was right, and he died for it. but it's also much more personal than that too. even though she did end up as the candidate for the roulette, he still trusted her. not for a moment would he doubt her. with the gun to his forehead, he was calm and steady, never blinked or looked away, for he always held faith in the chidouins... he never wished to emburden them. he never wished for them to know the horrors written into him from such a young age. it would be bad enough for sara to have blood on her hands, but it leaves a bitter taste to think that it's his own death that'd be used against her in this...

- i also wonder what joe would do in this case... presumably, he knows kai was the 'stalker', but. sara's reaction would still be so visceral. it's not the time to tell her about this, is it? and even if he was a stalker, was it right for him to die? esp as/if more info comes to the surface... & depending on what joe heard since he wasn't as panicked as sara (though still reasonably afraid) when kai was so close + tried to warn them. aghhh...

keiji dies:

another person who, despite everything, put his faith in sara foremost. he was sketchy in his own right, sure, but he still made the first move to try to build the start of an alliance and get the group in order. and even if he killed someone before, he did seem torn up about it - wasn't that innocence enough? something to help her believe the better part of him? what he did wasn't intentional.. now she just wonders if this is how it felt... (additionally, joe would never be able to question keiji then abt his father's death... hm.)

q-taro dies:

similar reaction to keiji, where q-taro may have given it to sara (if he voted for her), but if he hadn't voted for her... then she'd feel like he's justified in that. she failed to uphold everyone's expectations. if they'd given it up to q-taro, if she wasn't so insistent with the other two backing her up, then he'd still be here. haunted by what they could've done differently... aghhh... oh this entire concept hurts.

[z-saint-box]

My Opinion on Lolirock Characters

(a request from SaraDarkees?)

So a friend of mine wants to know my opinion on Lolirock characters, so she provided this meme to me, and I am here to present it to her, as well as anyone else who is curious. I probably put too much thought into this, but at the same time, it's been over a year since I saw a Lolirock episode. It was when I did the episode reviews for season two. I also wanted to avoid duplicates; i.e. putting the same character for more than one category. Because there is no English version of it, so I will explain what each section means, starting from the top row, left to right.

Favorite character - Carissa's biggest flaw is not her character itself. Instead, it is how rarely she appears throughout the show. She appears in two episodes of season one and about five or six more times in season two. Because of this, I sometimes forget about her and end up replacing her spot (character ranking) with Praxina. Anyways, she raw energy that I find endearing, if not adorable. It's the reason why I appreciate the episode "Amaru-niverse." She also has a unique character design, with red hair, but blue eyes. More importantly, she has a youthful, passionate determination in becoming a stronger warrior, which causes her to irresponsibly sneak into the magic library and split Amaru into three different versions. She however, instantly regrets it and rectifies her mistake. If Carissa had appeared more often, I guarantee that more people will like her like I do. Also, read my fanfic on her if you want more action from her.

Character that everyone else likes, except me - My main issue with Lev is how the season one finale hints that he will play a larger role in the next season. Come season two, he only appears for two episodes. I'm surprised he has a fanbase, especially when he has less appearances than Lyna, someone that fans generally pair him with. Don't be surprised if he pops up again for season three, because it will be surprising if he doesn't.

Character that I did not like at first - Perhaps this will be my second-most controversial opinion, but I think his second episode does him some justice, which is why I wrote a positive review for it, and why this section is specifically meant for him. His debut episode set such a terrible first impression that even the writers/creators don't like it; but "Rex" did a better job of pairing someone with Talia, perhaps even better than I did.

Character that I would like to learn more about - Lyna has two major episodes in season two, and the first one doesn't really count. She might be cute as a doll, but we have virtually no info on who she is. This may be the reason why I wrote "Gareth and Leslie."

A character that I dislike - Amaru looks suspiciously similar to Kiko from Winx Club. Putting this aside, I just don't care about him. I'm sure that other Lolirock fans do, but he does not contribute all that much to the show, except for summon the arena. Even then, I have also criticized the arena.

A character with good character design, but poor personality - This one is easy. Iris is physically attractive, but terribly boring as a protagonist. Her predominant character trait is being friendly and helpful. This is all there is to her, and her very own catchphrase is the intro quotes for my reviews of season one and season two. I literally don't know anything else about Iris, and she is a Mary Su. She is the most powerful character of the show despite having less experience with magic than every single one of her friends, who have used magic for much longer than she has. While Raf from Angel's Friends might be horribly nasty as a character, she has more personality than Iris. And while people dislike Rose from Regal Academy, I guarantee you that even Rose's critics will admit she is better as a character than Iris.

A character with good personality, but bad character design - The text you see is the Russian word for "what?" I don't think any character from Lolirock  is designed badly. I was going to put Aunt Ellen in this section, but I don't think it's fair. Because she functions as Iris' legal guardian, she was purposely designed to look maternal, as in, bigger than her. Even then, despite being old, she is still cute.

A character I am similar to - Another easy choice. I have constantly been described as intelligent, much like how others describe Talia. I also share Iris' helpfulness and friendliness

A pairing (or ship) that I love - Stick around for this one. I will reveal this later in the form of an image

A pairing that I do not love - How Talisto became the most popular ship in the fandom is still a mystery. I speculate it's due to how their personalities are direct opposites; Talia is mature and smart, and Mephisto needs her to balance out his wacky, immature self. That being said, any moment they have on the show is seldom, and hostile.

A character I would be friends with in real-life - There are too many characters that I could place here, so I decided to pick the one I think would be easiest to befriend. As much as I don't think Debra should become an official member of Lolirock (as some fans have done), she is still my favorite secondary character. Aside from an eye-catching character design, she is also an artist, and I assume a decent one at that. She must also be lonely in the mansion, so I don't think she would mind teaching me how to paint. And fun fact, people like to steal her underwear, and her grandfather is dating her.

A character I would not be friends with in real-life - This is also a no-brainer, because Missy is specifically designed to be the girl bully of the show, someone who takes pleasure in mocking, taunting, and deriding others for her own amusement. Is there anything else I have to say?

[ofcrimsonenchantresses]

Pick your favorite AU and go to town!!

bestie, you already know you've handed me an open mic to talk about my his dark materials au. so the mcu but everyone has a daemon like in his dark materials (aka an animal spirit that represents their soul. is most often the opposite sex to their human counterpart but can be the same sex.)

all my headcanons

- wanda and pietro's daemons are casimir and laela respectively although it was often joked that the twins are so close, people mistake their daemons for one another. during their childhood when their daemons could change form, the pair often took similar forms or would change when the other did.

- when wanda and pietro's parents died, their daemons burrowed through the rubble as mice to try and get them help.

- wanda's daemon eventually settled as a snow leopard and pietro's as a lynx (which foreshadows his eventual superspeed). likewise when wanda's eyes glow red, so does casimir's.

- after pietro's death, casimir becomes very protective of wanda and always walks slightly ahead of her whereas before the four of them would walk in a line.

- in sokovia and eastern european countries, cold climate big cats were not unusual whereas in america, they were and so wanda had to adjust to people finding her daemon's form strange when she immigrated. her daemon also represents her true self as he refused to drop his sokovian accent when they moved.

i also have many headcanons about who i think everyone's daemons would be.

- tony's is a hummingbird because they're all over the place and represent his anxious nature. also she can fly (which inspired tony when making the iron man suit)

- steve's is an american huskey. i can't decide whether his daemon changed form again when he became captain america and was originally another breed of dog or whether everyone just teased him for having such a mismatched daemon when he was skinny.

- natasha's is a sparrow. it's a red sparrow joke. her daemon is often tucked into her hair and doesn't move or speak a lot which speaks to her spy nature.

- clint's is a labrador, obviously.

- thor's daemon can change shape at will and also go much further from thor than human's daemons can. this is an asgardian daemon quirk.

- sam's is a sparrow hawk because a falcon is too obvious.

- bruce's is an iguana. don't ask me how the hulk part works, idk.

- i imagine peter's as a little field mouse called sofie and he likes to tuck her into a little pocket in his suit when he's spider man.

- vision doesn't have a daemon because ultron didn't build one for himself, considering them a human weakness. in fact ultron constantly made snarky comments about the twins' daemons whilst they were working together. (bonus headcanon: despite it being an ultimate taboo for people to touch a daemon other than their own, wanda's daemon will occasionally let vision touch him because him and wanda find it hard to imagine life without a daemon).

- get ready for sads. bucky's daemon is a wolf but like in the book series, HYDRA separated the connection between him and his daemon when they brainwashed him as the winter soldier. the pair have to work really hard to reestablish their bond after that trauma of being separated.

- loki gang? got them covered. loki = a snake but one that gets cuter the longer you look at it, sylvie = an artic fox, mobius = a russian blue cat, ravonna = a red kite.

[thegoldielocks28]

“SO… you think I’m hot?” - Mathilda and Sergei~

Title: “you think I'm hot” Pairing: Mathilda Alster and Sergei Petrov/Spencer Petrov AN: Written for a writing challenge, for Syfien. Nothing more than a soft moment for the cute couple ~ Hopefully it makes sense ;D

The sun is bright against the almost cloudless sky on this hot summer's day. The humidity makes the heat feel hotter than it actually is, and most people out and about carry either electrical hand-fans or more traditional paddle-fans while crowding the soft drink vending machines that conveniently seem to be just about everywhere.

Japan´s summers are something else.

Mathilda has always been a spring and summer person, enjoying how good weather allows her to dress in some of her favorite clothes more comfortably. Shorts, skirts, blouses and cute tops. Even dresses at times. Today, she's even wearing a big hat, shielding her face from the direct sun. Her pale cheeks are decorated with light freckles, dots that in her case only appear in summer. The summer back home in the UK is a lot milder than those here in Asia, but she can't say she misses the wind or common and heavy rain that much.

Mathilda`s plans are a bit different today. Hence her being slightly dressed up. After several nights of little sleep, and several days when she lost her words upon just seeing him, she managed to ask her crush if he wanted to spend some time together. Just her and him.

They already have, several times, met up by coincidence in the hotel-like apartment building rented for them during a long season of blading. For example while making tea in the shared kitchen. Making small meals. Sitting on the sofa, reading. Watching the matches on TV after they happened. Together with their fellow bladers, teams and friends.

Lately, … ending up staying in the joined area late until they were almost alone, or the only ones left.

Mathilda´s freckled cheeks turn a shade pink upon thinking of her date. Looking at her wristwatch she realizes she´s early, like she always is when nervous. Being late would leave a bad impression now, wouldn't it? The pink haired woman spends about 10 minutes gazing at people, meeting the eyes of polite fans a few times. Apparently, she's quite popular in Japan.

There he is.

Sergei.

Mathilda shifts so she´s facing him. Pale, tall and handsome. Dirty blond short hair. Strong nose and jaw. The heat seems to have made the Russian have to drop the vest he is always wearing, and today he has just a pair of cargo pants, a nicely fit black t-shirt and boots. Revealing his strong chest, and arms. The man is still fully clothed but the sight of him has her skin turn hot. Many seem to assume the tallest member of the Russian team looks least good, but… Mathilda´s eyes has never strayed, even if her attraction to him also didn't start with the way he looked in the first place.

“Hello.” Mathilda can't help but smile widely, then tries to calm herself down. “Hey.” Sergei answers, his voice deep and calm. Those steel grey eyes of his move over Mathilda. Just like she is used to seeing him with his vest, and hat, he is used to her own “battle gear”. Not a soft colored summer outfit, and just a little bit more effort with her hair and make up. All thanks to Julia. It's not like Mathilda doesn't care about those things, it's that she has always been someone who enjoys being without products as well. Mathilda likes being pretty, and Julia has helped her find a style that suits her well. Not as strong as Julia´s often so red and full lips.

“Let´s…” Mathilda starts, she needs to step up since she was the one to ask him out to hang out. “Start walking, the place I mentioned, is a bit further ahead.”

It's a nice summer's day. Birds chirp. Breeze is lovely. Mathilda is so happy she gets to spend today with her crush. Happy to realize they have actually gotten that far from being strangers, to having plans together like this. For a long while she had thought she wouldn't be able to pull it off but as always she didn't let her shyness stop her from at least trying. And there by her side is Sergei. The gentle giant.

The ones who are less happy about their growing friendship are people she could worry about later.

However, things change drastically just over a few minutes. Mathilda notices mid-sentence that something is wrong. Eyes darting up at the much taller man by her side only to get that gut feeling affirmed. Sergei has a queasy look on his face, and his forehead seems damp of sweat. He's squinting against the strong rays of the sun.

“Are you ok?” She tilts her head, looking up at him.

Sergei avoids looking at her. “Hm.” He makes a sound through lips pressed together. “You look… paler than normal.” Mathilda continues. “My body feels… heavy.” Sergei grumbles. “My head… “

“Did you get something to drink before this..?” Sergei looks at her. “No.”

Mathilda´s expression turns more concerned. Especially when guilt washes over her. She had asked Sergei to hang out with her outside in this hot weather that's so unlike what he's used to. Not considerate at all. All she had done was walk ahead chatting because of her nerves, while Sergei had been feeling ill.

If Sergei fainted here, or fainted anywhere, Mathilda would not be able to catch and support him properly because of his size. The man would hit the concrete ground and get hurt no matter if she just stood there, or had him fall over her as she tried to hold him. The mental image of the Russian falling backwards and hitting his head makes Mathilda´s throat go dry. Skull cracked open. Blood. Mathilda forces herself to stop thinking about that.

She extends her hand, and even if holding hands with him would normally make her a nervous mess, she takes his bigger one in hers and tugs at it.

“There's a bench over there..”

Sergei looks at her in silence for a long moment, as if it takes longer for him to register what she is saying in this heat, before he shifts his body and allows her to pull him along. Slow steps. A low, drawn out sound leaves Sergei´s lips as he lowers himself down on the bench. In the shade, it's still hot, but a clear difference from before. Mathilda´s eyes rest on his face for one long moment before she turns away.

“I´ll be back soon, promise.”

Mathilda jogs over to the vending machine closest to them, across the street, and digs in her pockets for some Japanese yen coins. Luckily, she has enough for drinks and after a bit of struggle to understand which drinks are cold and which are hot she manages to buy cans of cold bubble water. Both for Sergei. The moment she returns to Sergei´s side she hands him one of the bottles.

Sergei accepts the bottle, unscrews it and drinks almost greedily. Water running down the side of his mouth, down his jaw and onto that black t-shirt. Mathilda sits down by his side while trying to not seem too worried, even if her emotions are easy to read on her face. Sitting is better than her walking about.

After a moment of slow silence Sergei speaks up. “I am sorry, Mathilda.” His voice is tired. “I think I won't make it to the shop in this heat.”

Mathilda can hear in his voice that he had thought about what to say for a while. Nodding her head, she agrees, she understands. “Let's rest a bit then I will walk you back.” She says, wanting to know Sergei will be alright. After a moment of silence the girl nudges Sergei at his side before she gestures to her lap.

“What..?”

Mathilda´s cheeks turn pink. “One time offer… you know?”

Sergei´s eyes soften ever so slightly as he understands just what she is offering him. The gesture seems to make him feel a bit self-conscious, but not out of dislike. Perhaps because this is a first.

“...I am sweaty.” He says, voice low, as if it is the last negative point he can find.

“I don't mind.” Mathilda says patiently with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

Even if her heart is beating really loudly in her chest she knows this isn't something to get excited for. Sergei feels sick, and needs to rest. If she can offer him some calm and comfort she´d be happy to.

Awkwardly, Sergei lowers his body onto the bench. His head soon rests in Mathilda´s lap. It's obvious this makes the man self-conscious, but after a few moments pass, he exhales deeply and his body grows heavier against her as he relaxes.

Could he have been worried about putting his weight on her?

Up this close, Mathilda notices just how grey his blue eyes really are. Almost silver, steel. His hair is on the border of being brown, dark dirty blonde. A strong jaw, big defined nose and thin pale lips. Those eyes close, as if the moment got too intimate, and Mathilda lets out a soft huff of a giggle.

He even has long eyelashes.

Mathilda is unaware of the slight wetness moving down the side of her face as they sit together so closely. She's getting a bit sweaty as well.

“You're hot.” His words are low, deep.

The way Sergei´s voice breaks the silence has her flinch, just a little bit. Mathilda feels a hot wave of emotion wash over her as she realizes what he just told her. Sergei´s cold, steel gray eyes, looks a bit confused at Mathilda´s reaction. Meeting his eyes, she realizes he wasn't trying to hit on her.

Maybe he had meant to say “warm.”

Mathilda blinks, luckily not feeling too bad about the mistake, and decides to lighten the mood. “So… I am hot..?” She chuckles quietly, reaching for the second bottle of water to help herself to some. Being a native speaker of English, she can understand how some would mistake words like that, having a second meaning appear out of mistake. The way Sergei looks at her was out of concern, not out of something else. “Hot” and “warm” can mean similar things, yet have different meanings in different situations.

“I mean…” Sergei must have realized his mistake. “You look… very warm too.”

At that, Mathilda can't help but let her smile grow wider and warmer as she looks down at the man resting in her lap. Her painted nails softly move into his short hair as she strokes him. Trying her best to make him relax, and feel better. How lovely it´d be if… they could do this in different circumstances. Resting together. Mathilda´s smile fades a little, and her lips turn playful.

“...I'd be ok with you thinking I'm hot.”

[ecofinisher]

Stuff I noticed at Snow Queen Fire & Ice and Miraculous Ladybug 😀

I just had to. Even if it is a waste of time. 😅I've done one a long while ago between Miraculous and Monster Buster Club. This one had to be done as well, all just because of those small, little spirits 🥺😥

To be clear, I’m not comparing it to what is better and whatnot. I’m comparing the similarities between the two. The spirits there made me think of the kwamis? Funny I didn't pay attention to it at first xD But then the fun part came......Three times I have watched the movie and I suddenly began to think......Hmm Gerda has the creation powers like Ladybug and Rollan destruction......Holy brick! They could be the lovesquare as well if they had added more romance into it 😂 How did I not see? (It's because you saw Kristanna mixed with Hansanna you nut)

So where do I start? Well just to summarize the shows for those who don’t know one/both of them:

Short info about both, if unfamiliar:

Miraculous Ladybug is a French animated TV show, that debuted in 2015 and is set in the modern metropole Paris and is focused on the lives of the clumsy Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the famous teeny-model Adrien Agreste. Both wield special magical jewelry, which is called a “Miraculous” which they use to transform into the superheroes “Ladybug and Cat Noir”  The two don’t know each other’s identity, but funnily Adrien has a huge crush on Ladybug and in the civilian life he sees her as just a friend, while Marinette is obsessed with Adrien and sees Cat Noir only as his trustful crime-fight partner. Both students are around 14 years old in the show.

As superheroes they fight villains, that were akumatized by Hawk Moth. (He owns the butterfly miraculous, with which he can create supervillains by sending an akuma (Butterfly jinxed by Hawk Moth’s magic) and Hawk Moth’s miraculous sends people’s negative feelings such as anger, sadness and disappointment and uses his akumas to follow them and akumatize them and they’re transformed by Hawk Moth into a specific-themed supervillain.

Snow Queen 3: Fire and Ice (Release year: 2016)

Snow Queen 3: Fire and Ice is the third installment of the Russian franchise "The Snow Queen" It consisted currently out of 4 movies, an upcoming 5th installment, and a pre-school TV show. The first movie came out in 2012 and was also the studio's very first movie.

Resume from the first two movies is the young girl Gerda, which lost her parents to the Snow Queen makes her way through the entire snow lands to find her younger brother Kai, which was kidnapped y the north wind. With help of Orm, Snow Queen's servant she makes her way up to the Palast and defeats her, saving her brother and waking up Orm's eyes to a "better world" The sequel is focused on Orm's continuation, which makes a promise to never lie again and this promise made a reflection of himself come to life and appear near him, when he had no idea, what to do with life issues. The more he began to create white lies and bigger lies, the more life his reflection gained until he was able to get out to the real world. The reflection, which calls itself "The Snow King" tricks Orm and leads a fight against Troll warriors by sending his ice-made minions. Gerda was the last warrior to enter and make it to the main hall of the palace to miss Orm, which was fading away due to Snow King's existence and he pretends to be an injured Orm, which is warmly embraced by the girl, but then gets frozen by him, not realizing she had fallen into a trap. When things were over for everyone and the bad guys had won, Orm figured out how he would make everything okay by confessing his mistakes, which erased Snow King from existence and unfroze all warriors and friends again, which were angered at the naive troll.

This is lowkey spoiler-free. I didn't want to go into much detail here, but I would suggest you watch these movies, mostly no. 2 and 3, which are really worth seeing. As well you can see the first and see how much the studio had improved since the first up to the 2 and 3 one.

The Fire and Ice one, I'm supposed to be talking about happens a few years later, Gerda and Kai left the orphanage to go live on their own and make money to be able to at least be able to eat. Their last visit didn't make any profit and they took a ride with an old friend of theirs Alfida (The Robber girl) to pass the night by Orm, their troll friend, which had matured and was responsible to babysit the triplets of his cousin. On said night, a Spanish boy named Rollan shows up by his doorstep and is introduced to the visitors as a friend he met shortly. After the dinner ended in a disaster Kai and Gerda split and Rollan followed Gerda to give her rights, then bonded with her from being looking for his mother as well and introduces her to a map with an artifact called "The Wishing Stone" which grants any wish. Gerda agrees in tagging along and together they make it to survive the dangerous tomb encountering the wishing stone. Fact is the wishing stone was something else and this is where the powers of the Snow Queen and the Fire Demon were kept and due to Gerda and Rollan's touch on the stone, it had awakened the spirits, getting the two infected with the powers of said villains. Soon as they find out with Orm what happened, they need to get back to the tomb to retrieve the powers before the north star rises and makes their transformation complete, which means both would lose their soul/bodies to the villain. .

Random info:

1. The most popular franchise of the studio aka knowns for:

Miraculous is mostly know to be addressed as a ZAG animation product, but other known studios have worked on it as well such as SAMG Animation, TOEI and Method Animation.

Currently, the most popular series produced in France.

The Snow Queen 3 is the overall fifth movie released by Wizart Animation and was on its release the studio's best-grossing movie so far. Currently, the studio's filmography contains about 8 released movies (Counting with Secret Magic Control Agency in 2021), Two televisions shows and at the moment three movies are announced to be released.

Currently, the franchise is the most popular one in Russia, which is also where it was produced.

The similarities I noticed:

The spirits

Coal (Up) and Snowflake (Down) (Left Side)

Plagg (Up) and Tikki (Down)(Right Side)

Tikki and Snowflake have female pronouns. Both are shown to be "feminine", kind, lovable, and correct. They're a spirit of creation.

Plagg and Coal have male pronouns. Both are shown to be "male". cunning and curious. They're a spirit of destruction.

All four are able to use their powers on their own. They don't need to be with their holder to be capable of.

Differences:

- Plagg and Tikki are able to communicate verbally with each other and with humans.

-Coal and Snowflake can't speak, they usually use body language and mimic. Also, they do noises like laughing, groaning, speaking, and such.

- According to Tikki, her species (Kwami) don't fall in love/can't fall in love.

- Snowflake and Coal are shown to be romantically interested in each other. They're shown flirting and having little date-like moments, as they're away from their "owners"

- Coal is able to multiplicate. It's unknown if he's able to do it in command or only if he falls or is hit.

The "Alter egos"

Marinette is the face behind Ladybug and Adrien wears the mask of Cat Noir.

Gerda is possessed with the ice-powers of the Snow Queen and Rollan wields the fire-power of the Fire Demon.

Gerda and Marinette share the creation ability, while Adrien and Rollan are responsible for the destruction. They're each other's opposites.

Differences: Gerda and Rollan are aware of each other's identity and recognize each other's faces, despite small differences. Adrien and Marinette don't know each other's hero identity and weirdly have minor differences in their looks.

Marinette and Adrien's personality as heroes is quite different from their civilian ones, while Gerda and Rollan's don't seem any different.

It's unknown if, during the time Rollan and Gerda are under possession, their personalities are slightly altered by the villains or not. Rollan is shown to get quickly tempered with Gerda's friend, when it comes to their mishap, which usually turns into arguments.

The Yin-Yang effect

Power of creation and destruction

Marinette = Ladybug miraculous, the red earrings / Power of Luck (Creation)

Adrien = Black Cat Miraculous, the black ring / Power of Misfortune (Destruction)

Gerda = Ice (Creation) (The ice-blue shape on the crystal)

Rollan = Fire (Destruction) (The red shape on the crystal)

Character A bickers often with character B.

Ladybug with Cat Noir. Most of the moments Ladybug feels annoyed at Cat Noir's puns and flirt attempts during their missions. She had her rude moments, but deep inside her, she adores him. With Adrien's she's currently befriended, but has a huge crush, nearly an obsession with the blonde, which sometimes makes her double life harder and under pressure, she has taken choices, which led to ungood consequences.

Gerda with Rollan. Rollan's seems more relaxed with pressuring into retrieving the powers back, unlike Gerda. Rollan's easy tempter with Orm, when he's blamed for his issues annoys her as well. Gerda has shown interest in Rollan since the night she has met him and they bonded over the night when heading to the forbidden Tomb. Rollan has shown interest in her as well, but not as much as her.

"Buttmonkey Sidekick"

Cat Noir and Rollan.

Cat Noir - Thrown around by villains at billboards, yeeted by his own dad at the fricking Eiffel tower, sometimes risked his life to protect Ladybug and get wrapped up into odd situations.

Rollan suffered a few nutshots (One by himself as well), survived a very dangerous tomb, had his head frozen by Gerda accidentally, managed to step-dance in the middle of a shoot-out without getting hit by a bullet, accidentally (Or not) uses firepower with help of his butt. (Sounds ridiculous? There' the picture 😂) Press R for respect.

Naturally handsome boys.

Cat Noir and Rollan.

With and without "masks".

Don't think before acting

Cat Noir and Rollan.

Characters look the same

Gerda and Ladybug

Gerda has additional makeup on her face.

Characters look differently with their alter egos

Cat Noir and Rollan

Cat Noir has a wilder hairstyle and has cat-like eyes.

Rollan has a different skin tone, a fire-like shaped hairstyle, which he can put on fire and his eyes are slightly red-brownish.

The brains

Ladybug and Gerda.

The muscle

Cat Noir and Rollan.

Falling into the darkness

Cat Noir and Rollan

Cat Noir lets an akuma take over him and turn him into Chat Blanc, which destroys the entire world in an alternate universe.

Rollan lets the Fire Demon take over his body at the retrieval of the power and nearly commits genocide of entire kingdom.

Tall boy, smoll girl

Cat Noir to Ladybug

Rollan to Gerda

"Lovesquare"

Cat Noir has a crush on Ladybug. Ladybug doesn't. She has a crush on Adrien, which is Cat Noir's alter ego, which she's not aware of. Adrien sees Marinette as a friend only and has no idea, she and Ladybug are the same person although they look the same.

Gerda is attracted to Rollan since the first time she saw him. Rollan begins to feel attracted to Gerda with the time she's around him.

Rollan and Gerda are aware of each other because they were given the powers in the same place.

Marinette and Adrien were confirmed to be canon and should end up in the 5th season, eventually.

Rollan and Gerda should be considered canon at the end of the 4th part, due to the ending credits showing them share a kiss.

Power font:

Ladybug & Cat Noir: "Magic jewelry" (Miraculouses)

Rollan & Gerda: The wishing stone

Difference:

The wishing stone takes away after 24 hours of control over the power wielders and turns them into the slave of Snow Queen and the Fire Demon. The characters' real person is gone for good.

[moonknightly]

Mistakes and Sour Grapes : Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader (Two)

Word Count: 2.5k

Excerpt: “It felt fucking perfect, he felt fucking perfect. But he was also your boss, and you both had been drinking. You didn’t know about him, but you definitely had a nice little buzz going. It wasn’t right.”

Warnings: Alcohol, I swore again.

[SERIES MASTERLIST]

Training with Finn was an absolute breeze. It didn’t take much, really, given how much of your free time had been spent up there. You were familiar with both the drink and dinner menu, and you knew where most things behind the bar could be found. Your biggest challenge was learning how to use the POS system, and even that came easy enough.

Monday night he had you watch for the most part, and after last call, he spent over an hour showing you step by step how to make the brewery’s signature cocktails. You had always been fast when it came to making drinks, something that you hadn’t exactly realized until Poe wandered down from upstairs, doublechecking that you had never bartended before. He had been impressed, and so had Finn, and that night when the three of you found yourselves the only ones left in the building again, you celebrated with more shots.

Tuesday, Finn did most of the watching. Same for Wednesday. Thursday was the first night you had the bar to yourself, and it went so smoothly, even you were impressed with yourself.

That had been a few weeks ago now, and you were only improving. It came so naturally, you thought you might be able to make a White Russian and recite the dinner specials in your sleep.

Working with Finn proved to be as fun as he had promised. He was enjoying being out in the beer garden, and on busier nights, inside with you.

You didn’t see Poe very often. He usually arrived before you, staying upstairs for most of the night, letting the managers do their jobs and supervise, and the nights he did leave before you, he would simply nod and give you a small smile.

He kind of kept to himself, you noticed, and while part of you wanted to get to know him, become closer with him, the other half of you appreciated his reclusive behavior. He was your boss, and there was no way for you to deny the fact that you found him extremely attractive. Spending more time with him would only complicate things, if only for yourself.

You couldn’t like him. A man like that would never return your affections.

You shook your head, as if the action would clear the thoughts from your mind. You refused to give into self pity, especially when you were on the clock.

It was a Saturday night, and while the dinner rush was over, the bar was still busy, only a couple of seats open, a few people standing off to the side, seeking to take advantage of the city’s open container policy.

Finn had been there earlier in the night to help with the steady flow of customers, but he’d been called outside after your coworker tending the beer garden had to leave for the night. You had been good at keeping a steady pace, getting drinks and putting in orders quickly and efficiently, but it didn’t seem to be slowing down. Not that you exactly minded, it kept you busy. Kept the wallowing and the want from bubbling up deep in the pit of your stomach.

But then you turned and came face to face with the source of that desire, only stopping for a second as you looked him over, leaning against the bar with his arms folded across his chest and a look on his face that you couldn’t quite place. Something close to uncomfortable, maybe just a tad nervous? You didn’t know, didn’t have time to figure it out. You smiled at him quickly, glancing down towards Bee who was standing attentively at his side in her orange vest. She was working, but so were you. Neither of you had the time for a quick scratch behind the ears.

“You doing okay?” you asked, turning your attention back to the selection of alcohol in front of you. You hesitated, for just a second, trying to remember which vodka your customer had requested. Tito’s? Grey Goose? You went with Tito’s.

Poe hummed, and you missed the way his eyes scanned the crowded bar before settling back on you, watching you work on a Bloody Mary. “Figured I’d come and help you.”

“You don’t have to.” You still didn’t look up.

He was already moving to wash his hands, his beloved dog following him closely — the two always in sync. “Tell me who you need me to grab.”

You glanced towards him, shaker in your hand as you finished the drink, pouring it into a glass and garnishing it before delivering it to the customer. “If you wanna take the to-go orders?”

“On it,” he said, nudging your hip with his as you passed.

The two of you worked quietly, and together, you quickly brought the bar back down from its hectic state to something that one person could easily manage, but even then, Poe didn’t sneak back upstairs. He stayed, taking over one side of the bar while you worked the other, the two of you brushing hands every now and again when you would reach for the same bottle or pass a glass off.

Even after last call, he stayed with you, helping you clean and tend to your closing duties until you were the only two left in the building — Finn had snuck out after shooting you a quick thumbs up that had you blushing.

You still didn’t talk much, only making a small comment here or there, but he seemed a lot more relaxed than he had been earlier in the night, when the bar was still busy.

Poe sighed, stretching his arms above his head before rounding the bar and finding a stool to plop into. He had let Bee out of her vest, and she had almost immediately taken off, presumably to find somewhere warm to curl up and take a nap.

You finally allowed yourself a second to relax, taking a sip from your water, running a hand through your hair, a soft sigh leaving your lips. Your feet were starting to ache — something you never realized until you finally slowed down for the night.

“Come sit,” Poe said, scooting out the seat beside him as if he could read your mind. “Don’t worry about clocking out yet.”

You didn’t hesitate to take him up on his offer.

His eyes followed your form as you took your seat, taking another long sip from your water, hoping your hair was in your face enough to cover how your face flushed. Maybe you could blame it on your constant movement rather than the fact that he was making you nervous.

“You’re doing really well,” he said after a moment or two spent in silence. “I’m impressed.”

You smiled gently, glancing towards him for only a second before turning your attention back to the bottle in your hand. “I work well under pressure.”

If you had been actually looking at him, you would’ve noticed the way he shifted in his seat, and the way he bit his bottom lip, not being able to stop his mind wandering towards another possible implication of your words.

“Good,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. “That’s good.”

More silence — not exactly comfortable, not exactly awkward. Just silence.

You were the first to break it again.

“How long have you owned the brewery?”

“Only like, three years now,” Poe shrugged. “Bought it when the last owner didn’t want it anymore. Got it for a fuckin’ steal.”

“What’d you do before this?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated for just a split second, looking almost conflicted with himself. “I was in the military,” he said finally, shrugging again.

Both his tone and his facial expression made it obvious that he didn’t want to talk about it, so you didn’t push it further. You quickly searched for something, anything else to talk about. You turned towards him.

“Did you like, have a dream of owning a bar or did it just kind of happen?”

He looked thankful for the change of subject, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as some of the tension left his body.

“I just kind of saw the opportunity and jumped on it,” he explained, turning in his own seat to better face you. “I used to hang up here like you did, got to know the old owner and shit. I think he cut me a deal when he sold it to me, honestly. Knew I’d take care of the place.”

“I’d say you’d make him pretty damn proud.”

He smiled gently, nudging your knee with his, just once.

“What about you?” he asked after a couple of seconds. “Any dreams?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what I wanna do,” you admitted, looking almost a little sheepish. “I tried a couple of things out in college and just...none of them fit, y’know?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

His face was sincere, eyes regarding you carefully, and for once, you didn’t feel embarrassed to admit that you had dropped out of college. That you had no idea what you wanted to do in the long run. It made you smile.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, nudging him gently.

He only smiled, nodding his head once before sighing, his hands hitting the counter as he stood. “Wanna take a couple of shots with me?”

You quirked an eyebrow, a soft chuckle falling from your lips. “You take shots with all of your employees often?”

“Nope.”

He was already heading back behind the bar, snagging two shot glasses before setting to work. You watched him quietly, your gaze fluttering between his hands and his face, thankful that he seemed to be oblivious to your blatant staring.

He was quick, and in just a few seconds you had a bright blue shot being pushed towards you.

“Blue kamikaze?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckled, holding his glass out to you.

You knocked yours against his before you both took your shots, wiping at a stray drop that dribbled down your chin. You sucked it off your finger afterwards, and now Poe was the one blatantly staring, and you caught him, your cheeks turning warm as heat flooded your skin.

He didn’t look ashamed in the least, simply grabbing a few bottles and making his way back to his seat, starting on a second round.

A second turned into a third, and a third into a fourth.

And pretty soon, the two of you were giggling together, talking about anything that came to mind, seats huddled closer together. Did his hand brush against your thigh? You couldn’t tell. You were too busy staring at his face again.

“Is the building really haunted?” you asked through a small laugh, tilting your head to the side.

He hummed, nodding his head. “I didn’t believe in that sort of thing until I bought the place. Being upstairs by myself is fucking creepy, and I hate the basement. I dunno how Bee sleeps down there.”

“I’ll admit, I’ve watched all of the stupid ghost shows and shit,” you chuckled, biting on your bottom lip.

“Oh, so you’re into that kind of stuff?”

You nodded, swiveling gently in your chair, still gnawing on your lip. Poe looked at you closely, tilting his head to the side as he seemed to be considering something for just a moment or two.

“Did you wanna walk around with me?”

Of course you fucking wanted to walk around with him, but you hummed, pretending to think about it for a moment or two. “Are you gonna let me hold your hand if I get scared?” You blamed your new boost in confidence on the alcohol swirling through your veins.

He snorted. “I might grab your hand first.”

“Then duh.”

You both stood, only a little wobbly on your legs, making your way upstairs first, letting him lead but staying close behind.

His office was on the second floor, but other than that, nothing else had been touched. The third and fourth floor were completely unrenovated, and he was absolutely right — it was very creepy. He quietly told you the history of the building, how it had once been the only hotel in the city, and later a makeshift hospital during the Yellow Fever epidemic. He went on to share the different stories he had acquired during his time there as you moved through the different floors, and you were sure you could have listened to him talk for hours. His tone was passionate, and it was obvious in how he spoke with his hands that he was actually interested in sharing this with you. His voice was almost enchanting.

You saved the basement for last, scratching Bee behind her ears once you both reached the bottom of the stairs where she was fast asleep. Unlike the upper levels, it had been renovated into a space that could be booked for private events. You’d been down there before plenty, had tended to the bar during one of those said events just a few days before, but it still sent a shiver down your spine as you walked around, continuing to listen to Poe talk.

He stopped by the bar, leaning up against it, a playful yet mischievous smile on his lips. “Is the offer to hold your hand still on the table?”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you started to gnaw on your bottom lip again before extending your hand out towards him, letting him take it. You were unprepared for him to tug on it, causing you to crash into his chest, your free hand shooting out to brace yourself against his body. Poe quirked an eyebrow.

“Is this okay?”

You had to think about it. Actually had to think about it.

It felt fucking perfect, he felt fucking perfect. But he was also your boss, and you both had been drinking. You didn’t know about him, but you definitely had a nice little buzz going. It wasn’t right. Even if you were sober, it wouldn’t be right.

But that buzz was probably the reason you nodded your head, your eyes flickering from his eyes to his lips.

“Good.”

Poe flipped your positions suddenly, pinning you up against the bar with his hips flush against yours, trapping you between his arms, his lips dangerously close to yours.

You wanted them closer, wanted him closer.

“You can do more than hold my hand. If you want.”

He chuckled lowly, his eyes full of amusement as he let them trace as far down your body as he could given the position before finding yours again, his head tilting to the side. “That was sort of my plan.”

And as the last word left his mouth, you got what you wanted.

His lips were so close they were touching yours, kissing yours.

And you kissed him back.

[winterromanov]

AU idea- college athlete Bucky and he’s really popular and all that but very sweet and he meets this girl who’s sweet and a little quiet in one of his classes and he just keeps trying to be around her, study with her, buy her coffee and she likes him but she’s just like.... why is this cute popular boy paying attention to me lol

pairing: bucky x reader (also SUPER tempted to do a part two of this, let me know if you’re interested)

You recognise the guy staring at you from across the table in your Russian lit tutorial. You recognise him because everyone knows Bucky Barnes, the football star, certified big name on campus and best friend of fellow football star Steve Rogers. He’s the guy that every girl on your corridor gossips about, the one all the professors love, the one who gets hundreds of likes on his Instagram pictures.

(You don’t follow him but you have to admit, you’ve scrolled through his feed a few times. Just to see what the fuss is all about, you know. And you know. Boy, you know.)

You’ve never actually interacted with him before because your circles aren’t the kind that usually interlink, but now you’re sat in a seminar on Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, and Bucky Barnes is definitely staring at you.

When your eyes eventually flicker up from your laptop--just to double check you’re not making it all up, that he’s not looking at the much prettier girl next to you--he grins, pen between his teeth. Your cheeks involuntarily catch fire and you deliberately snap away. Because this is Bucky Barnes you’re talking about, who dated Natasha Romanoff in his freshman year before it all very publically...fell apart. Who could have literally any girl he wanted worshiping at his high-tops. Who would never look at a girl like you because, well. 

You’re you.

-

You’re trying to buy coffee in the campus shop next to the library when he actually speaks to you directly for the first time. Emphasis on the word trying, because you left your damn purse at home and Apple Pay is not being your friend and you can feel yourself getting more and more embarrassed the longer the cashier has to wait. You eventually resort to rummaging round your backpack for loose change in order to pay the poor guy, but an arm with a contactless debit card reaches out and beeps the payment through for you.

“I’ll get a latte to go, please, Mario.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Mr Barnes.”

It’s Bucky Barnes. Of course it’s Bucky Barnes--only someone like him would take the time to know the server by name. He’s wearing his faded red Columbia jersery and a baseball cap. His grin is kinda crooked and yes, yes you know it’s one of the many reasons all the girls go wild for him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say, stepping aside so he can go to the front of the queue. He merely shrugs. “Here--let me pay you back, I know I’ve got a couple of dollars in here somewhere...”

He shakes his head as he taps his card once again, the server handing him his latte in a reusable mug with a wink. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, your idea about interior monologue in Anna Karenina in Ivan’s class the other day actually inspired my paper, so I do owe you one.”

You blink, kinda dumbstruck at the thought of Bucky Barnes remembering any input you’d given in class. Or anyone remembering any input you’d given in class. “You liked my point?”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky sips his coffee, grimacing slightly as the liquid burns his lips. “Tolstoy finding humour in death. It’s so dark and beautiful. All your points, actually--you see a lot in literature than I’ve never picked up on in a first reading.”

“I...Uh. Well. Thank you.” You’ve always been quite reserved in class, scared to say anything in case it’s stupid or outlandish and the other students laugh at you. In reality you know it’s you being paranoid, but old habits die hard. 

Bucky looks at his watch before hissing a profanity under his breath. “Gotta run. Cold War study group across campus in three minutes. Catch you later?”

He phrases it like a question rather than a generic add on, a necessity of politeness. His blue eyes look at you expectantly, actively waiting for you to reply.

(They’re so blue, his eyes. Blue like the sky in the summer back home, bright and cloudless and stared at from a meadow.)

“Yeah, of course! See you in class.” You raise your coffee cup sheepishly in his eyeline. “And thanks for the coffee.”

And like that he vanishes, bustling out the door and stepping purposefully in the opposite direction as the sun blazes on his back.

-

You see his backpack before you see him, slammed down on the bench next to you in the lecture hall. He sits down with a long exhale of breath, like he’s ran here--this time he’s dressed in sportswear so you assume he’s been to the gym. Veins ripple and flex up his ridiculously toned arms. Being a football hero probably does that to you.

“Crime and Punishment,” he says, instead of a greeting. “What did you think?”

You smile, spreading your hand across the heavily annotated and dog-eared copy you have in front of you. “Long, dark, often psychologically challenging, but ultimately an interesting perspective on nihilism. And you?”

“Oh.” He nods in faux seriousness. “I thought much the same. Reckon I’d like to go for a beer with Dostoevsky.”

“That would be an interesting encounter.”

Bucky rests his laptop and his copy of the book on the bench and looks as though he might say something else until the professor enters the room, hushing the hall to silence. When the lights dim so you can see the projector, you wonder if Bucky can hear how furiously your heart beats in your chest.

-

After than, some sort of unspoken agreement develops wherein every Russian literature class, his place is a spot next to you. You always seem to arrive first--he’s always rushing from somewhere--but he clocks you and instinctively walks over, sliding into a chair adjacent to your own. The conversation is usually the same. Always about the books.

You’re not sure what any of it means but you’ve somehow found a friend in the famous Bucky Barnes, and people start to notice.

“Since when have you and Bucky been so close?” Wanda Maximoff asks as you queue for the canteen lasagna, the flourescent bar lights doing nothing for the food presentation. “My brother is in your lit class and he says you two sit together a lot.”

You shrug, spooning lasagna onto your plate. “We just sit together.”

“You don’t just sit together with Bucky Barnes, (Y/N). That’s not a thing that happens.”

“Honestly, Wanda, we just talk about books.”

Wanda narrows her eyes, swiping her meal card at the end of the belt. “Sure, okay. I believe you. For now.”

She has to believe you, because you know what she’s insinuating. And when you look across the canteen and see Bucky laughing with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson and his ex girlfriend Natasha Romanoff, you know this cute, handsome boy and his often insightful observations of Russian texts are so far out of your league that it’s kind of embarrassing.

-

so, (y/n). what did you think of the master and margarita?

i think pilate suffering for his sins for two thousand years is pretty rough tbh

but he deserves it?

i mean. probably. his suffering is necessary for the redemption arc

just what i was going to say. obviously.

see you tomorrow :)

-

“Do you want to come to a party?” 

Bucky asks you this as you come out of your seminar on Chekov’s Uncle Vanya and, admittedly, it kind of knocks you off guard. When you lamely blink back at him blankly, he decides to elaborate.

“It’s my friend Sam’s birthday. It’s just at our dorm--should be fun. Although we’re very competitive when it comes to beer pong, so beware.” His smile is wistful but he quickly comes back to earth, falling in step with you as you walk along the hall. “So what do you say? You interested?”

“You’re inviting me to a party?” you reply, as this is a very big step in your friendship. This is assuming he’d happily see you outside of class amongst his equally popular and attractive friends.

“Yeah, I think so,” he laughs bemusedly, pausing at the door that leads to the quad. He has his Cold War class across campus. “(Y/N), I’d really like you to come.”

You look at him and expect him to reveal this--him--as a joke, but he’s earnest and certain and honest, with an almost shy smile on his face. His eyes are hidden by his usual cap but you know the colour of blue so well by now. And not just because you’d zoomed in on his Facebook photo in a moment of ridiculous late-night longing.

(You follow him on Instagram now, too, but only because he followed you first. You were still too uncertain to initiate it, worried that he’d ignore you.)

“Okay,” you say, swallowing nervously. Wondering if this might be a mistake. That you’d turn up and no-one there would like you. “Who else will be there?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll introduce you.” He pauses, chewing his lip for a second, before gesturing at the door. “I’ve got class, so I’ll...I’ll see you later.”

Your hands tighten round the straps of your backpack. “See you later, Bucky.”

-

Bucky shares a floor with Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers at a block about a ten minute walk from your own, and you use the walk in the chill New York air to calm your jangling nerves. You’re wearing your favourite navy blue dress and have braided your hair and made an effort with your makeup--and you’re not totally sure what for, what you’re expecting. You’re just the quiet girl in Bucky Barnes’ literature class. You don’t know how it got to this.

You’re too awkward to press the buzzer so you message Bucky to let him know you’re outside. Scrolling through your Facebook inbox, your messages have become...quite frequent. Especially at night. You lie on your bed and frantically type until the early hours, only realising it’s 3am before it’s too late.

That’s what friends do, right? Friends. 

(God, you’re so fucking in love with him, aren’t you?)

Bucky’s on the edge of a laugh when he answers the door, but his expression falters into muted surprise as soon as he lays eyes on you on his doorstep. A silly gold party hat is positioned at an angle over his head.

“(Y/N),” he says, and you flush, because the way he says your damn name. He steps aside so you can step in under his arm. “I’m glad you came. Finished The Idiot yet?”

“Onto the last fifty pages.” His house is decked out with balloons and paper chains and the loud pumping of a bass stereo carries from the lounge, alongside the chatter of laughing of guests. You recognise Columbia’s only archer and Olympic hopeful Clint Barton rush up the stairs, holding the hand of a brown haired girl. Bucky rolls his eyes at him and yells already? “I think it might be one of my favourites on the module.”

He leads you through to the kitchen which is empty other than various bottles of alcohol on the table and Natasha Romanoff sitting on the counter. Her red hair hangs effortlessly across her shoulders, lips painted scarlet, wearing a classy black jumpsuit. Natasha Romanoff makes you feel nervous because a) she’s the kind of girl you could never be and b) she’s the kind of girl Bucky Barnes dates. She’s sipping rose out of a wine glass, her eyes discretely looking you up and down.

“Is this the famous (Y/N)?” Natasha asks, her tone intrigued, her lips curved. Bucky laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his head. “Honestly, this guy doesn’t stop talking about you.”

“Sorry?” you gape, looking between her and him. Bucky sends Natasha a glare that signals for her to shut up which only makes her more amused by the situation, leaning back casually. “Uh, I don’t know--”

“Ignore her. She’s insatiable.” Bucky quickly swerves, pressing a glass into your hand. “Would you like a drink? We have pretty much everything imaginable. Natasha has plenty of wine she’d love to share.”

Natasha is totally unaffected, already looking at her mobile phone. She flicks a hand at a line of bottles next to the microwave. “Feel free, honey.”

You’re not a big drinker as you don’t often frequent cool college parties and you’ve been drunk a grand total of one time after one too many glasses of champagne on new year’s eve. Bucky seems to see this in your face.

“You don’t have to drink, obviously,” he says kindly, “But if you mix a bit of soda with rose it actually tastes kinda nice. Much better than beer, anyway.”

“Okay,” you nod, letting him mix the drink for you. He’s remarkably careful, pouring the tiniest amount from one of Natasha’s bottles and topping it up with sprite. He grabs a beer for himself, cracking off the lid with his teeth.

“You know you’re not impressive when you do that,” Natasha says drolly, even though she hasn’t looked up from her phone.

“(Y/N) was impressed,” Bucky says with a wink. You try and keep straight-faced but yeah, come on. You were.

“Of course she was impressed,” Natasha interjects, “You’re both stupidly in love with each other but too polite to make a move.”

Bucky flips her off before pressing a gentle hand in the small of your back, ushering you away from her. “She’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!”

You sip your drink, wondering if your palms will ever stop sweating. Natasha can’t be right. She isn’t right. Or is she? No, she can’t be, because this is Bucky Barnes and you’re you.

-

Bucky’s friends are actually kinda nice. Really nice, in fact. You’ve always been intimidated by Steve Rogers’ reputation on campus but he might be one of the sweetest guys you’ve ever met, instantly welcoming and eager to get you involved with the games he’s beginning to set up. Sam Wilson is bold and blunt, but he grins mischievously and gives Bucky a pointed look when he introduces you and snaps a party hat to your head. In various corners of the apartment you see people you vaguely recognise from school, names burning at the edges of your memory but ultimately escaping you. 

Steve sets up the table for beer pong and Bucky clutches your wrist, beckoning you over to play (and cutting short your conversation with a very interesting business major called Pepper). Steve and Sam are on one side while you and Bucky are apparently on the other--Steve’s positioned himself so he’s directly in view of a British exchange student with big eyes on the other side of the room. 

(Aside from your own, you’re actually pretty observant when it comes to potential romantic encounters.)

“Just so you know,” Sam stares hard at the two of you, pointing with two fingers, “It’s my birthday, so I have to win. It’s the rules.”

“I don’t think you have to worry,” you reply, looking up at Bucky. His expression is warm, his arms desperately close to yours. “I’m probably going to be pretty rubbish at this.”

“Buck’s a good teacher,” Steve says, grabbing a ping-pong ball and handing it over to Sam. He rolls it between his fingers, his face scrunched in mock seriousness. “But we’ve all had plenty of practice.”

“Too much practice, arguably,” Bucky drawls. “And Wilson, don’t you think for one second that (Y/N) and I are going to let you win under any circumstances.”

“I don’t need you to let me win,” Sam says, before perfectly throwing the ball into one of the cups near the front. He stands back smugly, crossing his arms over his chest, as the rest of the room whoops. “I think you’ll find I possess the skills for victory, fair and square.”

You laugh as Bucky rolls his eyes, picking up the plastic cup filled halfway with lukewarm beer. He keeps eye contact as he knocks the whole thing back, wiping his lip emphatically once he’s done. “That’s it. The game is on.”

-

Admittedly, it get’s to a point where it’s pretty close. You almost visibly bristle as Bucky tries to show you the ropes, positioning your hips with his hands and following your aim as you try (and often fail) to pit the ball in one of the opposite team’s plastic cups. Whenever you score he yelps dramatically, high-fiving you, and his grin is borderline magical.

(Natasha watches bemusedly from the sidelines, making dry comments here and there. It’s like she’s checking you out for herself. Assessing you.)

It get’s to the point where there is only one cup left on either side and the tension is palpable. Limbs are floppier from downing liquor, the aim repeatedly more off--your stomach is warm and your feet feel light--and Bucky’s palms ghost your waist as you concentrate on what could be the winning put. Sam and Steve try and distract you by dancing ridiculously to an ABBA track playing out the speakers, but Bucky’s words of encouragement are what filter through. You take a deep breath and throw, only exhaling when your ball lands with a triumphant plop in the central solo cup.

Bucky throws his fist in the air before grabbing you and spinning you round, his laugh ecstatic in your ear. You cling onto his neck, your fingers barely millimeters from entangling in his hair, before he plants you down on the ground again. Well. You think you’re on the ground. You might as well be in the clouds.

“A round of applause for the winning shot,” Bucky says, holding your hand and lifting your arm so you can take your bow (which you do with pleasure). Steve and Sam pretend to be reluctant, but they clap anyway.

“I’ll allow it, this once, (Y/N),” Sam answers bemusedly, coming round to the other side of the table. “But if you try and upstage me on my birthday again there will be consequences.”

You feel more confident now, more like these people are your friends. So you grin, feeling the magnetic pull of Bucky to his side from next to you. “I’ll try not to. Promise.”

Sam hums, before clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Come on, Barnes. You can go mix me a drink.”

Bucky shrugs, asking if you want anything from the kitchen while he’s on his way there, but you shake your head. You’re happy right now with what you have.

-

Natasha approaches you while you’re waiting outside the bathroom. Someone--you think he’s called Rhodey--emerges and offers you a salute and you’re about to go in, but Natasha grabs your hand and pulls you in with her and locks the door behind you.

You’re so astonished you’re not sure what to say. She brushes the hair away from her neck, back facing you.

“I need someone to unzip me,” she declares like it’s obvious, indicating towards the zipper halfway down her back. “Do you mind?”

“No,” you blink, hand nimbly reaching forward to drag the zipper down her back. Even her back is flawless, like porcelain, a tattoo of what looks like a spider curling up from her waist. “Of course not, no.”

She sits on the toilet unabashedly and doesn’t ask you to look away but of course, you do, because this whole situation feels very strange indeed. The wall is plain and blue and spotted with mildew, probably damp from the shower. Like all student accommodation. It feels weird looking at damp while Natasha Romanoff, beautiful as she is, literally pees behind you.

“I care about Bucky a lot,” she says suddenly, “I’ve known him a long time. Way before college, way before we--dated. I love him, but not in the way you think. And I know what he’s like, what the signs are.”

You shift your feet uncomfortably. “The signs of what?”

She audibly sighs out of frustration. “Honestly, it sounds like you’re both as bad as each other. I know--I know when he’s falling for somebody. You’d think, I know you think, that somebody like him...he’d have no problem with it. And maybe if he cared a little less and felt less intensely he wouldn’t.”

“I’m not sure...”

The toilet flushes. Natasha rises and turns back to you and you dutifully zip her back up while she washes her hands, looking at your reflection in the mirror. When you’re stood side by side like this it really does emphasise the differences between you, but also the similarities. She’s a girl. So are you. Girls, despite what every atom of her being exudes. 

“You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N).” She smiles crookedly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Just--treasure him, yeah? He deserves it. I get a feeling you both do.”

She doesn’t look back at you as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

-

Bucky gives you one of his old football jerseys to walk home in because it’s past midnight and you didn’t bring your own. He also insists on walking you home. And you feel nervous, not just because you’re alone with him for the first time this evening, but also because Natasha’s words circle the back of your mind like a tape cassette stuck on loop. You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N).

“Can I ask you something?” you question, arms crossed as your steps echo on the sidewalk. The street is surprisingly deserted--it’s usually crowded with students, all sorts. Tonight, it is quiet.

Bucky looks over at you quizzically, but intrigued. “Yeah. Shoot.”

“Why me?” When he looks perplexed, you laugh awkwardly and continue on. “Connie Taylor is in our Russian lit class, too, and she’s way prettier than me and like...she’s been trying to get you to notice her all semester and yet.” You scrunch your nose as you look up at him, examining his features. His jawline. The hair that falls into his eyes. His naturally flushed cheeks. The party hat he’s yet to take off. Him. Him him him. “You always come to me.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “Connie Taylor seems perfectly nice. But Connie isn’t you. I like you.” You arrive at the door of your block and he pauses, shoes scuffing into the ground. “She’s not prettier than you, or smarter than you, or any of the reasons you’ve inevitably thought in your head as to why you think she’s more deserving of anything than you. And I find it vaguely insulting that because...I don’t know, play football, that I could only be interested in one kind of person.”

You look away. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“No, I know.” He steps closer so that the toes of your shoes are almost touching. His hand searches in the darkness for your own. Squeezing your small fingers between his, scarred and scraped from football practice. “(Y/N), I like you because you’re funny and kind and intelligent. I like it when you message me about books, I like it when you save me a seat in lectures, I like it when you explain every single point you make so everyone in the class can understand it. I like so many things about you, and you need to get it out your head that because you’re not Connie Taylor that this can’t be true.”

“No-one ever notices me, Bucky,” you murmur quietly, “And I don’t say that for sympathy, or whatever. I say that because that’s how it’s always been.”

You both stare into each other and for one agonising, aching moment you think he might let go of your hand, snuff every spark out like a candle. But instead--instead he ducks in, covering your lips in a soft post-midnight kiss, his mouth warm and tasting faintly like beer. He snatches the breath from your lungs.

“Do you believe me now?” he whispers, hands curving round your jaw. You want to close your eyes, remember this feeling forever. Trap it all in a polaroid. “You are so fucking special. Everyone but you can see it, and it’s so frustrating.”

You kiss his palm, letting your lips linger on his skin for a moment longer. “Thank you for inviting me tonight. I had a really great time.”

His smile is faint but there, nonetheless. “I knew you would. I hope this means you’ll be willing to come out with me again sometime.”

“I think I would like that.”

He unravels from you, not before ducking in for one last sweet, beautiful kiss. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“‘Night, Bucky.”

Your hands remain clasped together until he’s far enough away from you, dropping your hand and grinning as he’s eventually lost in darkness. You have to hover for a second with your keycard in your hand, trying to gather your thoughts, process the events of the evening. Bucky Barnes like you. He likes you, not in spite of you, but because you’re you.

When you collapse on your bed you map the constellations of cracks on your ceiling, your heart thumping and your mind almost one hundred percent him.

-

“you and i, it’s as though we have been taught to kiss in heaven and sent down to Earth together, to see if we know what we were taught.”

y/n. it’s 2am and doctor zhivago is making me cry.

also sam has made me drink sambuca

i wish i was crying over russian books with you

even though ur probably asleep

that’s cool

hope ur having sweet dreams

:)

miss you

-

my masterlist

send me a request

[merlivystories]

not over, never over (trixya)

Just a short fic about one particular friendship that overcomes the struggles of addiction created with help of my humble imagination and inspired by Trixie & Katya. Enjoy! xx

Trixie’s life has been pretty much the same for the past few months. He would go on tour, do shows, perform his music on stage, make instagram posts and tweet from time to time, receiving nothing but waves of admiration and love from the fans. His life has been the same, except for one piece missing. It felt like he had one piece of a puzzle gone and it’s absence spoiled the ability to fully enjoy the process since he wasn’t able to see the whole picture anymore. That would cause him to forget words to his own songs, cry in almost every dressing room in every city on the tour, constantly make spelling mistakes or leave out words on social media. The craving was slowly ruining him from the inside, sucking out his energy, keeping his mood down and his heart aching. That missing piece was, of course, one particular russian high-class whore - Katya, also known as his madly insane but utterly amazing best friend - Brian McCook. Or as Trixie was quite sure of lately, his former best friend.

No one ever said being close to Katya was a piece of cake, it was, actually, the opposite of that most of the times. The man was unstable, had an addictive personality and an endless amount of terrifying stories from his past he just had to share with Trixie. He could be loud one minute and then suddenly quiet the next one, he hardly ever allowed himself to talk about his real feelings, trying to disguise truth as jokes. But Trixie couldn’t help but loved him. They were naturally drawn to each other, sharing the same sense of humor and feeling comfortable while spending time together. Trixie often wondered if Katya could see all the things he loved him for, he was sure though, Katys was aware of all the things he loved him despite of. Their friendship was Trixie’s greatest strength and biggest weakness at the same time. People around them would say they were joined at the hip, and that has been absolutely true for a few years post season 7 of Drag Race. It was almost perfect, till it wasn’t anymore.

The first time Trixie learned about Katya’s multiplе addictions was when the two of them were working together with Pearl and Fame on one of the earliest episodes of RPDR. Trixie saw something small and round falling out of his pocket when he was pulling the jeans on. Katya followed his glance and hurried to pick it up, but Trixie knew for sure what that thing was. Sobriety chip. His mother’s boyfriend had a lot of those. 

- Alcohol? Drugs? - He wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to ask, if the two of them were close enough to share real stuff, but he did anyways. 

- Both, actually. It’s been a year and a half. I’m better now. - Katya smiled at him weakly, shoving the chip back inside. 

- You know you can talk to me if you feel like it. Anytime, I’m there for you. - Trixie said in a serious tone. He caught Katya’s wandering gaze, trying his best to let the older queen know he wasn’t kidding, not this time. Katya just grabbed his palm and squeezed it in response. He knew and he appreciated that.

Afterwards they got closer and Trixie spent hours of his life listening to stories about Katya’s addictive past. He would listen to them over the phone, in a cafe while eating eggs with a salad on the side, while applying his makeup before the gig and in a dark alley filled with cigarette smoke he could barely stand after a gig, also in hotel rooms, on WOW Presents set, on buses and on airplanes. Simply put: he would listen to those stories everywhere. But he never got tired of it. On the contrary, Trixie was completely fascinated. Katya managed to make it all sound amusing, he has always been amazing at turning tragedy into comedy. However, from time to time Trixie looked at Katya’s face for a little too long and wondered how he’s still alive and breathing. This is what should be called the eighth wonder of the world. At first, right after the both of them just started working together post Drag Race, Trixie would catch himself being worried about Katya’s well-being and wondering whether he could take all the pressure without breaking down. But it has been a few years and Katya always rose up to every occasion, ready and totally able to entertain. And just as Trixie was about to let it go and finally breath out, everything exploded right in his face.

To be honest, it wasn’t that horrible. The older queen has seemed erratic and distant for a couple of weeks. Trixie tried to talk about it but got nothing more than irritated «I’m fine-fine, stop huffing around me, Tracy!» out of him. One day Katya just didn’t show up on the set of their «Trixie & Katya» tv-show and didn’t pick up his phone (Trixie called like fifty times, all in vain). On his way to the hotel where Katya was staying, he texted that he was going to come see him. And finally got a reply: «Don’t you dare coming over. I quit. I don’t want to see you ever again.» Trixie came over anyway, he has never been much of a listener. Katya was gone, checked out of his room a few hours ago. But he left a note on the reception: just a small piece of paper. It said «to Brian F» on one side and «Trixya is over!» on the other side. Well, maybe it was horrible.It definitely hurt like hell. Trixie felt confused, betrayed, disappointed and mad. As soon as he managed to pull himself together, he called Patricia, searching for any reasonable explanation: she told him Brian was using again, she said he came home a total mess, she apologized over and over, promised it was all going to get better after rehab and begged not to call quits on her son. Trixie had no intentions to do so. Katya wasn’t the enemy here, his addiction, on the other hand, was.

Since that moment the younger queen stepped back from the situation, put it all on pause. Their relationships, their dreams and his feelings as well. Katya stopped returning his calls for good. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Katya unfollowed him on every social media he could. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Katya’s first text to him after a long silence was about how much he hated him on the first episode of All Stars 3. Trixie blamed it on addiction. He heard rumors about Katya talking shit about their friendship behind his back. Trixie blamed it on addiction. Never blaming any of it on Katya. He kept shoving his feelings into the farthest, darkest corner of his soul the way Katya shoved that sobriety chip into the pocked of his jeans. Mostly, he could get by days just fine: not to take spelling mistakes, forgotten lyrics on stage and tearing up in dressing rooms into account. But not a single night was spent without missing his best friend, not being able to dial his number and just babble about his life, going on and on about the troubles, feeling “the weight of existing” being lifted off his shoulders slowly. He reminded himself constantly that the whole situation was way worse for Katya, that he is the one who should be strong and patient, that all of it (all of them) was going to be back one day. Could he say the last one for sure? Not at all. Making attempts at predicting things that depended on him only partially seemed stupid, but he simply couldn’t deny himself that whatsoever fleeting tranquility.

It’s been more than half of the year and Trixie’s heart started to heal. He knew no one could ever replace Katya, people don’t really get so lucky in life as to meet soulmates every few years. Nothing depended on him anyway, it was all about Katya fighting his demons and probably winning. Deep down Trixie knew he was going to be alright as long as his friend got to feel better. Thought it wasn’t easy to pretend like it didn’t bother him at all that his next show was in Boston, in a theater just an hour away from McCook’s family house. Nothing else mattered as long as he had the chance to put all his worries aside and do what he loved doing the most: dressing up and putting on makeup, creating a full country-Barbie fantasy and singing his own songs from the stage. How lucky he was to only spot two painfully familiar piercing blue eyes staring at him from the audience right before closing the show? Extremely lucky. Trixie didn’t trust his vision at first, but the truth was - Katya, out of drag, sitting in the audience, wearing skinny black jeans and a plain grey t-shirt, showing his arms all covered in newly done tattoos. Their eyes met and the younger queen felt himself being on the verge of heart-attack. Katya got up from his place, pointing backstage with a silent question in his eyes. Trixie nodded almost invisibly and rushed from the stage.

Just a couple of minutes after getting into his dressing room, Trixie heard knocking on the door. His heard was racing so fast it could totally fall out of his chest any second now. He turned the knob with a shaking hand, pulled it and there was Katya standing on the other side with a paper bag in his also shaking hand, visibly  sweating and looking extremely uncomfortable. 

- Can I come in, please? - Katya asked in a low voice. Trixie stepped to the back of the room, letting him in. - I brought you brownies. I figured you would be hungry after the show. - Trixie suppressed a smile. Mixed feelings were tearing him apart from the inside. It wasn’t right to be in that much pain and so relieved at the same time. Katya seemed normal, he seemed himself. But this fact didn’t erase all those months spent in darkness and total abandonment, without his best friend. He took the bag and thanked the older man. Katya came close to a mirror, looking at the younger queen standing behind him through it. Then there was silence, usually comfortable between the two of them, but this time it seemed unbearable. Trixie couldn’t help but wondered if things would ever be the same again, if the damage this falling out caused their friendship was irreversible or not. 

- I like your tattoos. - Trixie finally spoke up, carefully trying to defuse the situation. He caught Katya’s eyes in the reflection. The older queen was smiling.

- Thank you, Tracy. - Katya replied softly and turned around, facing Trixie and leaning on the dressing table with his legs crossed. - I’m glad you let me in here today. I would be even more glad if you agreed to hear me out. Can you grant me some of your time? - Trixie had never even once in his life heard Katya speaking in such way: calmly, steadily and confidently.

- Sure, I’m all years. - The younger queen nodded. He sat on the little white leather coach in the corner of the room and streached out his lean legs. He was still in drag and his feet were killing him from jumping around the stage in high-heals for the past couple of hours. Katya probably noticed the glimpse of discomfort on his face.

- Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have let you get out of drag first. So fucking inconsiderate of me. We can meet in the alley behind the theater in 30. Is that okay with you? - He looked genuinely worried and Trixie was secretly relieved to postpone this conversation, even for half an hour. Definitely wasn’t going to be an easy one.

- That would be great, thanks. - It came out a little cold. He didn’t aspire to sound this way, but it did. Katya retired immediately, leaving Trixie alone with his thoughts.

It exactly 28 minutes Trixie in his boy-clothes went out the back door and found himself in a pretty dark alley. Katya was standing under the only streetlight in sight, looking down intently and tracing lines with his right feet.

- Hey. - Trixie called out and the older guy lifted his head, smiling.

- How are you never late? - He asked, staring at the watch on his hand. Katya was that type of an “old person” that barely ever had his phone around, but this simple black-strap watch was literally glued to his wrist all the time he was out of drag.

- The same way you are always late! No logical way to explain this. - Katya wheezle-laughed and it hit Trixie how much he missed the sound of that awful, stupid, infectious and painfully familiar laughter.

- Well, I guess you can hear me out now. - Katya said quietly, not a trace of a smile on his face, when the younger queen came closer. Trixie nodded, feeling the heartbeat fastening. Come what may, he thought. - I came to talk to you today because I’ve been told I was ready. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like “ready” to me. - Katya shook his head and took a deep breath. He was staring at the ground intensively while Trixie was dying to look him in the eyes. - However, I believe I will never feel ready enough for this. I’m not good at sincere and emotional conversations, you know that better than anyone, Tracy. - Trixie could feel tears coming up, oh, how much he hated being this vulnerable in front of Katya in that moment. - I came to apologize, - the older man finally found a courage to look up and their eyes met, - there are not enough words in the world to express how sorry I am for hurting you, for ruining what we’ve had. I understand it’s bold of me to just show up out of the blue and expect you to forgive me instantaneously. - His voice was shaking and Trixie noticed the way he digged his nails into his own hip. - If I’m being completely honest, I can’t even promise you not to go nuts ever again. Most of the times I can control it, but sometimes those voices in my head get too loud and I feel like I don’t even know who I am anymore. Though I can ensure you, as long as I am myself, I will always consider you my best friend. So I kind of came here to ask you for something I knew I didn’t deserve at the first place. For you to be a part of my life again. - At that point, Trixie was dead-ass ugly crying, his cheeks all wet from tears and his nose running. The older man was crying, too. The way he somehow always managed to look beautiful when he cried happened to be an unsolved mystery. - I can’t promise you perfection, I won’t promise that. But I for sure will try my best to be a better person, a better friend to you, if you let me. - Katya reached out and stroked Trixie’s shoulder just once, obviously doubting whether it was a good idea to do so. - Also, nothing drag-related. I’m aware you can’t rely on me career-wise and with a lot of done work and money on stake, there’s no reason you should trust me again. I wrote it myself: Trixya is over. - He went silent and froze like a convict who has said his final words, waiting for the verdict of the judge. Trixie was overwhelmed with the emotions, struggling to speak back. So instead he grabbed the older man’s arm and pulled him into the embrace. Katya wrapped his both arms around the younger queen lightly, not quite sure about what exactly was going on.

- I don’t need perfection, - Trixie finally whispered, - I just need you. - Katya breathed out loudly into his shoulder, feeling relaxed and excited at the same time. - Also, - Trixie pulled back a little so he could see the older guy’s face, still holding his forearms in his hands, - Trixya is not over. We both know, it is never over. - Katya only smiled and nodded, not even trying to figure out anymore how he got so fucking lucky to call the guy in front of him a friend. 

[fourteenaway]

Little Lion Man | The Story of Cary / Part III

tw: rape, infidelity, pregnancy, stepcest

Exactly at seven-thirty that night, the door chimes sounded, punched by an impatient finger, forcing Caren to hurry lest the man waken Cary who hadn't liked being put to bed at such an early hour.

If she had taken pains to look her best, so had Harry. He strode in as if he already owned the place and her. He left behind a drift of shaving lotion with a piney forest scent, and every hair on his head was carefully in place, making her wonder if he had a thinning spot. She figured she’d find out for herself sooner or later.

She took his coat and hung it in the hall closet, then sashayed over to the bar where she busied herself as he sat down before the log fire she had burning nothing had been overlooked; She even had soft music playing.

By this time Caren knew enough about men and the ways of pleasing them best. There wasn't a man alive who wasn't charmed by a lovely woman bustling about, eager to wait on him, pamper and wine and dine him, if you asked her.

“Name your weakness, Harry."

"Scotch."

"On the rocks?"

"Neat."

He watched her every movement, which was deliberately graceful and deft. Then, turning her back she mixed a fruity drink for myself, lacing it lightly with vodka. And with her two little stemmed goblets on a silver tray, Caren seductively ambled his way, leaning to give him an enticing view of her braless bosom. She sat across from him and swung one leg over the other to allow the long slit of her rose-colored dress to open and expose one leg from silver sandal midway to the hip. He couldn't take his eyes off it. 

"Sorry about the glasses,” Caren said smoothly, well pleased with his expression, "I don't have room in this cottage to unpack everything I own. Most of my crystal is in storage and I have here only wine glasses and water goblets."

"Scotch is scotch no matter how it's served. And what in the world is that thing you're sipping?" By this time he'd shifted his gaze to the low V of her gown.

"Well, you take orange juice freshly squeezed, a dab of lemon juice a dash of vodka, bit of coconut oil, and drop in a cherry to dive after. I call it A Maiden's Delight."

After a few minutes of conversation, they drifted to the dining table, not so far from the fireplace, to eat by candlelight. Every so often he'd drop his fork, or spoon, or she would, and both of them would go for it, then laugh to see who was fastest. Caren was, every time. He was much too distracted to spot a missing fork or spoon when a neckline opened up so obligingly.

"This is delicious chicken," he said after demolishing five hours of hard labor in about ten minutes. "Usually I don't like chicken-where'd you learn to prepare this dish?"

Caren told him the truth, “A Russian dancer taught me, she was on tour over here, and we liked each other. She and her husband stayed with Leeland and me, and we'd cook together whenever we weren't dancing or shopping or touring. It took four chickens to feed four people. Now you know the nasty truth about dancers; when it comes to eating we are not in the least dainty. That is, after a performance. Before we go on we have to eat very lightly."

He smiled and leaned across the small drop-leaf table. Candlelight was in his eyes, sparkling them devilishly.

"Caren, tell me honestly why you came to live in this hick town and why you've got your heart set on me for a lover."

"You flatter yourself," Caren said in her most aloof manner, thinking she was very successful in appearing cool on the outside while inside she was a web of conflicting emotions. It was almost as if she had stage fright and was in the wings waiting to go on. And this was the most important performance of her life. Then almost magically she felt she was on stage. She didn't have to think of how to act or what to say to charm him and make him forever hers. The script had been written a long time ago when she was hidden and first found out her mother had married him. 

"You're not being honest with yourself," Harry said softly, "You know better than anyone where that missing piece is, or I wouldn't be here."

His voice was so low and seductive as he stood and took her into his arms to dance.

Caren put her head on his shoulder as they went on dancing, "You're wrong, Harry, I don't know why you're here. I don't know how to fill my days. When I'm teaching class and when I'm with my son, then I'm alive-but when he's in bed and I'm alone, I don't know what to do with myself. I know Cary needs a father, and when I think of his father I realize I've always managed to do the wrong thing. I've read my reviews that rave about the potential I had... but in my personal life I've made only mistakes, so what I accomplished professionally doesn't matter at all." 

Caren stopped moving her feet and sniffled, then tried to hide her face, but he tilted it upward, then dried my tears and held his handkerchief so she could blow her nose. Then came the silence. The long, long silence. Their eyes met and clung and her heart started a faster thumping.

"Your problems are all so simple, Caren," he began, "all you need is someone like me, who needs someone like you. If Cary needs a father, then I need a son. See how simply all complicated matters are solved?"

Too simply, she thought, when he had a wife and she was discerning and cynical enough to know he couldn't possibly care for her enough. 

“You have a wife you love," Caren said bitterly. 

Caren shoved him away. She didn't want to get him too easily, but only after long and difficult struggles against her mother, and she wasn't here to know.

"Men are liars too," he said flatly, with some of the zest gone from his eyes. "I have a wife and occasionally we sleep together, but the fire has gone out. I don't know her. I don't think anyone knows her. She's a bundle of secrets, wound up tight, and she won't let me inside. It's gone on so long I don't care to be let in now. She can keep her secrets and her tears, and eat her way out of her anxieties and whatever it is that makes her wake up in the night and go and look in that damned blue album! Now she's overweight and she's written she's just had plastic surgery, a face lift, and I won't know her when she comes back. As if I ever really knew her!"

Caren panicked inside, he had to care! How could she break up a marriage that was already coming apart? She needed to feel she'd accomplished this against overwhelming odds! 

“Go home!" Caren said, pushing at him. "Get out of my house! I don't know you well enough to even listen to your problems, and I don't believe you. I don't trust you!"

He laughed, mocking her, aroused by her puny efforts to push him away. His libido was fired and it flamed in his eyes as he grabbed her upper arms and drew her hard against him. 

“Now you come off it! Look at the way you're dressed. You had me come here for a reason. So here I am, ready to be seduced. You seduced me the first time I saw you, and for the life of me it seems I've known you much longer than I actually have. Nobody plays games with me, then calls it a draw. You win or I win, but if we go to bed together we might wake up in the morning and find out we've both won."

Red lights flashed, Stop! Resist! Fight! Caren did none of those things. Caren beat on his chest with ineffectual small fists as he laughed and picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. 

With one hand he gripped both of her legs to keep them from kicking, and with the other he turned out the lamps. In the dark, with her still beating on his back, he carried her into her bedroom and threw her down on the comforter. She scrambled to get up, but he came at her fast!

There wasn't a chance to use the knee she had ready. He sensed her dancer's ability could defeat him so he lunged, caught her about the waist so they both tumbled to the floor! Caren opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped his hand upon her open lips, then pinioned her arms with his iron strength and sat on the legs that tried to kick herself free.

“Caren, my lovely seductress, you went to such a lot of trouble. You seduced me long ago, ballerina. Until the week before Christmas you are mine, and then my wife will be home-and I won't need you."

His hand eased away from her lips and she thought she would scream, but instead she bit out, “At least I didn't have to buy you with my father's millions!" 

That did it. He crushed his lips brutally hard down on hers before she realized what was happening. This wasn't the way she wanted it! Caren wanted to tempt him, set him on fire, make him chase her, and give in only after a long and arduous pursuit that her mother could watch and suffer through, knowing she could do nothing or she'd talk. And yet he was taking her heartlessly, more ruthless than Leeland at his worst! 

Savagely he bore down on her. He squirmed and writhed to grind in, even as his hands ripped and tore off her clinging rose dress. All she had on then was pantyhose, and soon he had those pulled down so her silver slippers came off and stayed inside of them.

With his lips still crushed brutally hard on hers, he carried her resisting hand to his zipper and squeezed until her knuckles cracked. It was either tug it down or have her fingers broken! How he managed to wiggle out of his clothes, even as he held her naked beneath him, she’d never know. 

When he was naked, but for his socks, she kept on wiggling, writhing, squirming, butting and trying to scratch or bite while he kissed, fondled and explored. Caren had her chance to scream several times—but she too was breathing fast and hard, and jerking upward to force him off. But he took this as a welcoming arch of invitation. He entered, and had his too quick satisfaction, then pulled out before she had any.

"Get out of here." Caren screamed. “I'm calling the police! I'll have you thrown in jail, charged with assault and rape!"

He laughed scornfully, chucked her under the chin playfully, then stood up to pull on his clothes. 

“Oh," he said, mocking her with an imitation of her own voice, “I am so frightened.” Then his voice was deeply earnest.“You aren't happy, are you? It didn't work out the way you planned it, but don't you worry, tomorrow night I'll be back, and maybe then you can please me enough, so I'll feel like taking the time to please you."

"I've got a gun!" She declared thought she didn't, “And if you dare set foot in this house again you're a dead man! Not that you are a man. You are more brute than human!"

“My wife often says the same thing," he said casually, zipping up his trousers shamelessly, without the decency to even turn his back. “But she likes it just the same, just as you did. Beef Wellington, you can have that tomorrow night, plus a tossed salad and a chocolate mousse for dessert. If you make me fat, we can burn off the calories in the most pleasant way possible,and I don't mean jogging." 

He grinned, saluted her, put one foot behind the other to turn in a smartly, military fashion, then paused at the doorway as Caren sat up and clutched the remnants of her gown to her breasts. 

“Same time tomorrow night, and I'll stay the night-that is, if you treat me right."

He left, and slammed the front door behind him.

Caren began to cry, not from pity for herself. It was frustration so huge she could have torn him limb from limb!

She’d lace the beef wellington with arsenic. 

A small timid sound came from outside her door then.

“Mommy... I'm scared. Are you cryin', Mommy?" Came Cary’s soft voice.

Hastily she pulled on a robe and called him in, then held him close in her arms. “Darling, darling, Mommy is all right. You had a bad dream. Mommy isn't crying... see?"

Cary peered into her face worriedly, he heard too much, not that he understood it all. Cowering in his bed scared, before he finally got up and got to his mother’s door.

Caren brushed away the tears, for she'd get even.

Three dozen red roses arrived while Cary and she were eating breakfast, he long-stemmed variety from the florist. 

A small white card read: I'm sending you a big bouquet of roses, One for every night you'll have my heart.

No name. And what the devil was she supposed to do with three dozen roses in a matchbox house? She couldn't send them to a children's ward; the hospital was miles and miles away. 

Cary decided what to do with them, "Oh, Mommy, how pretty! Uncle William's roses!"

For Cary she kept the roses instead of throwing them out, and in many vases she scattered them throughout the house.

He was delighted, and when she took him with her to dancing school he told all the students, roses were all over his home-even in the bathroom.

After lunch Caren drove Cary to the nursery school he so loved. It was a Montessori school that was inspiring him to want to learn by appealing to his senses. 

Already he could print his name, and he was only three! He was like Daniel, Caren told herself, brilliant, handsome, talented, oh, her Cary had everything—but a father. 

From his bright blue eyes shone the quick intelligence of someone who would have a lifetime curiosity about everything. 

“Cary, I love you."

"I know that, Mommy. I love you too," he said before he waved good-bye as she drove off.

Caren was there to meet him when he came from his school, his small face flushed and troubled. 

"Mommy," he said as soon as he was beside her in the car, "Victor Harding, he said his mommy slapped him when he touched her there." 

And he shyly pointed at her breast, “You don't slap me when I touch you there,” Cary whispered.

"But you don't touch me there, not since you were a little baby and Mommy nursed you for a short while."

"Did you slap me then?" He asked, looking so worried. 

"No, of course not. Babies are meant to suckle their mother's breasts, and I would never slap you for touching there, so if you want to try me, go ahead and touch,” Caren said.

Cary lifted his small hand and reached out tentatively while he watched his mother’s face to see if she'd be shocked. 

Oh, how fast the young learned all the taboos, Caren thought. 

And when he'd touched and God's lightning hadn't struck him down, he smiled, very relieved. 

"Oh, it's just a soft place," he laughed at the pleasant discovery he made before he threw his arms his mothers neck, “I love you, Mommy. Cause you love me even when I'm bad."

"I'll always love you, Cary. And if you're bad sometimes, I'll try and understand." 

Yes, she was not going to be like her mother. She was going to be the perfect mother, and someday he'd have a father too. 

How was it that little children, such young ones, would already be talking of sin and being slapped for only touching? 

Caren stopped to buy stamps before she reached home, and left Cary dozing on the front seat. 

Harry was in the post office, which was no larger than her living room, buying stamps too. 

Charmingly he smiled at her, as if nothing untoward had happened between them the night before. 

He even had the nerve to follow her to her car so he could ask how she liked the roses. 

"Not your kind of roses," she snapped, then got primly into her car and slammed the door in his face. She left him staring after her without a smile-in fact, he looked rather miserable.

At five-thirty a special-delivery man brought a small package to her front door. It was certified so she had to sign for it. Inside a larger box was another box, and inside of that was a velvet jewelry case which she quickly opened while Cary watched, all eyes. On black velvet lay a single rose composed of many diamonds. Also a card with a note that read, ‘Perhaps this kind of rose is more to your liking.’ She put the thing away as a trifle bought with her mother’s money, so it wasn't really from him, no more than the real roses.

He had the nerve to come that night at seven-thirty just as he'd said he would. Nevertheless, she readily let him in, then led him silently to the dining table with no to do about cocktails or other niceties. The table was set even more elaborately than the night before. She'd hauled out some boxes and done some unpacking, and on the table were her best lace mats and covered silver serving dishes.

Neither of them had as yet spoken. All his forgive-me roses she'd gathered together and they were in the box near his plate. On his empty plate was the jeweler's velvet container with the diamond rose brooch inside. She sat to watch his expression as he put the jewelry box aside casually, and just as casually moved the flower box out of his way. 

He reached for the domed silver lid, ostensibly hiding the Beef Wellington underneath. His gaze lowered to stare at the huge platter that held one hot dog and a small dab of cold canned beans. 

The disbelief in his eyes, his utter offended shock gave her so much satisfaction she almost liked him.

"You are now gazing upon Cary's favorite menu," she said, gloating. “It is exactly what he and I ate tonight for dinner, and since it was good enough for us, I thought it was good enough for you, so I saved some. Since I've already eaten, all of that is yours alone, and you may help yourself."

Scowling, he flashed her a burning, hard look, then savagely bit down into the hot dog which she’d sure had grown cold as the beans. But he gobbled down everything and drank his glass of milk, and for dessert she handed him a box of animal crackers. 

First he stared at the box in another expression of dumbfounded amazement, then ripped it open, seized up a lion and snapped off the head in one bite.

"I take it you are one of those despicable liberated women who refuses to do anything to please a man!"

"Wrong. I am liberated only with some men. Others I can worship, adore and wait on happily.”

"You made me do what I did!” he objected strongly. “Do you think I planned it that way? I wanted us to find our relationship on an equal basis. Why did you wear that kind of dress?"

"It's the kind all chauvinist men prefer!"

"I am not a chauvinist, and I hate that kind of dress!"

"You like what I've got on better?” Caren sat up straighter to give him a better view of the old nappy sweater she had on. With it she wore faded blue jeans, with dirty sneakers on her feet, and her hair was skinned back and fastened in a granny's knot. Deliberately she'd pulled long strands free so they hung loose about her face, slovenly fringes to make her look more appealing. And no makeup prettied her face. 

He was dressed to kill.

"At least you look honest and ready to let me do the pursuing. If there is one thing I despise, it's women who come on strong, like you did last night. I expected better from you than that kind of sleazy dress that showed everything to take the thrill from discovering for myself.”

He knitted his brows and mumbled, “From a damned harlot's red dress to blue jeans. In the course of one day, she changes into a teenybopper."

"It was rose-colored, not red! And besides, Harry, strong men like you always adore weak and passive stupid women, because basically you're meek yourself and afraid of an aggressive woman!"

"I am not weak or meek or anything but a man who likes to feel a man, not to be used for your own purposes. And as for passive women I despise them as much as I do aggressive ones. I just don't like the feeling of being the victim of a huntress leading me into a trap. What the hell are you trying to do to me? Why dislike me so much? I sent you rose and diamonds, and you can't even comb your hair and take the shine from your nose."

"You are looking at the natural me, and now that you've seen, you can leave."

Caren got up and walked to the front door and swung it open. “We are wrong for each other. Go back to your wife. She can have you, for I don't want you."

He came quickly, as if to obey, then seized her in his arms and kicked the door closed. “I love you, God knows why I do, but it seems I've always loved you."

Caren stared up in his face, disbelieving him, even as he took the pins from her hair and let it spill down. Out of long habit she tossed it about so it fluffed out and arranged itself, and smiling a little he tilted her face to his. 

“May I kiss your natural lips? They are very beautiful lips." 

Without waiting for permission he brushed his lips gently over hers.

Why didn't all men know that was the right way to start? She wondered. What woman wanted to be eaten alive, choked by a thrusting tongue? Not her, she wanted to be played like a violin, strummed pianissimo, in largo timing, fingered into legato, and let it grow into crescendo. 

Deliciously she wanted to head toward the ecstatic heights that could only happen for her when the right words were spoken and the right kind of kisses, given before his hands came into play.

If he'd done for her only a little last night, this night he used all the skills he had. This time he took her to the stars where they both exploded, still holding tight to each other, and doomed to do it again, and then again.

He was hairy all over. Leeland had been hairless but for one thatch that grew in a thin line up to his navel. 

She turned off her mind, and gave in to her senses and to this man who was now treating her like a lover.

But he didn't love her, she knew that. Harry was using her as a substitute for his wife, and when she came back she'd never see him again. She knew it, but still she took and she gave until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

When she slept, she dreamed. Leeland was in the silver music box her father had given her when she was six. Round and round he spun, his face ever turning toward her, accusing her with his jet eyes, and then he grew a mustache and was William, who only looked sad.

She ran fast to set him free from death in a music box when it turned into a coffin-and then it was Daniel inside, his eyes closed, his hands folded one over the other on his chest. Dead, dead.

‘DANIEL’, she shouted.

She awoke to find Harry gone and her pillow wet with tears.

Why did her mother start this, perhaps had she not, maybe she would have found Daniel right away, and before anyone else. She would have fallen in love with him with no revenge to carry out or repayments to deliver. But then she wouldn’t have Cary. But perhaps she still would have found Leeland and maybe he would have been what she wanted had she not had so many other priorities and he would have been good to her too.

Holding tight to her son's small hand she led him out into the cold morning air on her way to work. 

Faint and far away she heard someone calling her name, and with it came the scent of an ocean breeze. 

‘Why don't you come, Daniel, and save me from myself? Why only call in your thoughts?’ She thought.

Part one was done. Part two would begin when her mother knew she had Harry's child.

Harry and her didn't have to sneak around furtively to meet.

The houses where he lived were far apart and no one could see them when he came to her through the back door that opened out into a yard with a fence. In back of that was a country lane, shrubbed, and made private by many trees. Sometimes they met in a distant town and their lovemaking in a motel room was wild, sweet, tender, erotic and altogether satisfying, and yet she froze when he told her at lunch, “She called this morning, Caren. She'll be home before Christmas."

"That's nice," Caren said and went right on eating her salad and anticipating the Beef Wellington that would show up soon. 

He frowned and his fork loaded with salad hesitated on the way to his mouth. “It means we won't be able to see as much of each other. Aren't you sorry?"

"We'll find ways."

"If you aren't the damndest woman!"

"Don't get so worked up over nothing. All women are monsters to men, and maybe to ourselves. We are our own worst enemies. You don't have to divorce her and give up your chance to inherit her fortune. Though she could outlive you and have the chance to buy another younger husband."

"Sometimes you are just as bitchy as she is! She did not buy me! I loved her! She loved me! I was crazy about her, as crazy for her as I am for you now. But she changed. When I met her she was sweet, charming, everything I wanted in a woman and wife, but she changed." 

He stabbed the salad fork toward his mouth and chewed viciously, “She's always been a mystery-like you."

“Harry, my love," she said, “very soon all mystery walls will crumble."

He went on, as if she hadn't interrupted, “That father of hers, he too was a mystery; you'd look at him and see a fine old gentleman, but underneath was a heart of steel. I thought I was his only attorney, but he had six others, each of us assigned to different tasks. Mine was to make out his wills. He changed them dozens of times, putting this family member in, and writing another out, and adding codicils like a mad man, though he was sane enough right up until the very end. The last codicil was the worst."

Of course, no children for him, ever, she knew.

"Then you really were a practicing lawyer?" Caren asked.

He smiled bitterly, then answered, “Of course I was. And now I am again. A man needs something meaningful to do. How many times can anyone tour Europe before boredom sets in? You see the same old faces, doing the same old things, laughing at the same jokes. The Beautiful People what a laugh! Too much money buys everything but health, so they have no dreams left to purchase, and no aspirations, so in the end they are only bored."

"Why don't you divorce her and do something meaningful with your life?"

"She loves me.” That's the way he said it. Short. Sweet. He stayed because she loved him, forcing Caren to say, "You told me when we first met that you loved her, and then you say you don't which is it?"

He thought about it for a long time.

"Honestly, ballerina, I'm ambivalent and resentful. I love her, I hate her. I thought she was what you seem to be now. So please, smother that bitchy side that reminds me of her and don't try and do to me what she did. You are putting a wall between us because you know something I don't. I don't fall in love easily, and I wish I didn't love you."

He seemed suddenly a small boy, wistful, as if his pet dog might betray him and life would never be good again.

Caren was touched and dared to say, “Harry, I swear there will come a day when you know all my secrets and all of hers, but until that time comes say you love me, even if you don't mean it, for I can't enjoy being with you if I don't feel you love me just a little."

"A little? It seems I've loved you all my life. Even when I kissed you the first time it seemed I'd kissed you before, why is that?"

“Karma," she replied and smiled at his baffled expression.

Harry spent more time at her small home than at his huge one. He piled her with as many gifts, as he did Cary. 

He ate his breakfast, lunch and dinner with them on the days he didn't spend in his office, which she privately believed was more a facade for appearing useful than a functioning law office.

Her dancing school suffered from his attention, but it didn't matter. She was now a kept woman. Paid to be his mistress.

And Cary was delighted with the little leather boots Harry gave him. 

“Are you my daddy?" asked Cary, who would be four in February, "No. but I sure wish I was and I could be,” Harry answered.

It was only second before Cary was out in the yard, tromping around and staring down at his feet that fascinated him now that they wore cowboy boots.

Caren and Harry lay entwined after their lovemaking, listening to the wind blending with Cary's shrill laughter, racing after the poodle, Rainbow, that Harry had given him. 

A few snow flurries were beginning to fall. She knew she had to get up soon so Cary wouldn't run in and catch them,  just to tell them it was snowing.

He couldn't remember other snows, and barely would the ground be sugar-coated than he'd want to make a snowman. Sighing first, she kissed Harry, then reluctantly pulled from his embrace. She turned her back to pull on bikini panties as he propped up on an elbow and watched.

"You've got a lovely behind," he said. She said thanks, "What about my front?" He said it wasn't bad and she threw a shoe at him.

"Caren, why don't you say you love me?"

Caren whirled about, startled. "Have you ever said it to me and meant it?" She asked as she snapped on a bra.

"How do you know I don't mean it?" he asked with anger.

"Let me tell you how I know. When you love, you want that person with you all of the time. When you avoid the subject of divorce, that alone is an indication of how much you care for me and just where I belong in your life."

“Caren, you've been hurt, haven't you? I don't want to hurt you more. You play games with me. I've always known that. What does it matter if it is only sex and not love? And tell me how to know where one ends and the other begins?"

His teasing words were a knife in her heart, for somehow, without meaning to let it happen, she'd fallen madly, idiotically in love with him.

According to Harry's enthusiastic report, his long gone wife came home from her rejuvenation trip looking smashingly young and beautiful. 

“She's lost twenty pounds. I swear, that face lift has done wonders! She looks sensational, and damn it, so unbelievably like you!"

It was easy to see how impressed he was with his new, younger-looking wife, and if he was only trying to take the wind from her too confident sails, Caren didn't let it show.

Then he was telling her she was just as necessary to him as before in a tone that said she was not. 

“Caren, while she was in Texas she changed. She's like she used to be, the sweet, loving woman I married."

Men! How gullible they were! Of course her mother was sweeter and nicer to him now that she knew he had a mistress who was very accessible, and that the other woman was her own daughter. She'd have to know, for it was whispered all about how much Harry’s mistress looked like a younger version of his wife.

"So, why are you here with me when your wife is back and so like me? Why don't you put your clothes on and say goodbye and never come back? Say it was sweet while it lasted, but it's all over now, and I'll say thank you for a wonderful time before I kiss you farewell."

"Well," he drawled, pulling her hard against his naked body, “I didn't say she was that sensational looking. And then again, there is something special about you. I can't name it. I can't understand it. But I don't know if I can live without you now." 

He said it seriously, truth in his dark eyes.

So she'd won.

Quite by accident her mother and her met in the post office one day. She saw her and shivered. Her lovely head lifted higher as she turned it slightly away, pretending she didn't know her. 

She would deny her as she'd denied Cassidy, even though it was so obvious that they were mother and daughter and not strangers.

But Caren wasn't Cassidy. So she treated her as she treated her, indifferently, as if she were nobody special and never would be again. 

Yet, as she waited impatiently for her roll of stamps, she saw her mother dart her eyes to follow the restless prowl of her young son who had to stare at everything and everyone. 

He was a handsome, graceful, and charming boy who drew the eyes of everyone, who had to stop and admire him and pat his head. 

Cary moved with innate style, unstudied and relaxed, at ease wherever he was, because he thought the whole world was his, and he was loved by everyone. 

He turned to catch her mother's long stare and he smiled.

"Hello," he greeted. “You're pretty-like my mommy,” he told her.

Oh, the things children say! What innocent knowledge they had to see so readily what others instinctively refused to acknowledge. 

He stepped closer to reach out and tentatively touch her fur coat. “My mommy's got a fur coat. My mommy is a dancer. Do you dance?"

She sighed, and Caren held her breath and thought, ‘See, Momma, there is the grandson your arms will never hold. You'll never hear him say your name. Never!’

"No," she whispered, “I'm not a dancer,” and tears filmed her eyes.

"My mommy can teach you how,” Cary smiled.

"I'm too old to learn," she whispered, backing off.

"No, you're not," said Cary, reaching for her hand as if he'd show her the way, but she pulled back and glanced at Caren reddened, then fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.

Cary frowned slightly and went on unperturbed, “Do you have a little boy I can play with?" He questioned concerned to see her tears, as if having a son would make up for not knowing how to dance.

"No," she said in a quivering weak whisper, “I don't have any children.”

That's when Caren moved in to say in a cold, harsh voice, "Some women don't deserve to have children." 

She paid for her roll of stamps and dropped them in her purse, “Some women like you, Mrs. Walters, would rather have money than the bother of children who might get in the way of good times. Time itself will sooner or later let you know if you made the right decision."

She turned her back and shivered again as if all her furs couldn't keep her warm enough. Then she strode from the post office and headed toward a chauffeur-driven, black limousine. 

Like a queen she rode off, head held high, leaving Cary to ask, “Mommy, why don't you like that pretty lady? I like her a lot. She's like you, only not so pretty."

Caren didn't comment, though it was on the tip of her tongue to say something so ugly he would never forget it.

In the twilight of that evening Caren sat near the windows, staring toward her mothers house and wondering what Harry and her mother were doing. Her hands were on her abdomen which was still flat, but soon it would be swelling with the child that might be started. 

One missed period didn't prove anything except she wanted Harry's baby, and little things made her feel sure there was a baby.

She let depression come and take her though. He wouldn't leave her and her money to marry her and she'd have another fatherless child. 

What a fool to start all of this, but she'd always been a fool.

And then she saw a man slipping through the woods, coming to her, and she laughed, made confident again.

He loved her! He did and as soon as she knew for certain, she would tell him he was to be a father.

“Caren, you told me there was no need for precautions!"

"There was no need. I want your baby.”

"You want my baby? What the hell do you think I can do, marry you?"

"No. I did my own assuming. I presumed you'd have your fun with me and when it was over you'd go back to your wife and find yourself another playmate. And I'd have just what I set out to get, your baby. Now I can leave. So kiss me off, Harry, as just another of your little extramarital dalliances."

He looked furious. They were in my living room, while a fierce blizzard raged outside. Snow heaped in mounds window-high, and she was before the fireplace, knitting a baby bunting before she began a bootie. She was getting ready to slip a stitch then knit two together when Harry seized her knitting from my hands and hurled it away. 

“It's unraveling!” Caren cried in dismay.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me, Caren? You know I can't marry you! I never lied and said I would. You're playing a game with me." 

He choked and covered his face with his hands, then took them down and pleaded, "I love you. God help me but I do. I want you near me always, and I want my child too. What kind of game are you playing now?"

“Just a woman's game. The only game she can play and be sure of winning."

“Look," he said, trying to regain his control of the situation, “explain what you mean, don't double talk. Nothing has to change because my wife is back. You'll always have a place in my life/"

"In your life? Don't you mean more correctly, on the fringes of your life?"

For the first time she heard humility in his voice, "Caren, be reasonable. I love you, and I love my wife too. Sometimes I can't separate you from her. She came back different, as I told you, and now she is like she was when we first met. Maybe a more youthful figure and face has given her back some confidence she lost, and because of it she can be sweeter. Whatever the cause. I'm grateful. Even when I disliked her, I loved her. When she was hateful, I'd try and strike back by going to other women, but still I loved her. The one big issue we fight over is her unwillingness to have a child, even an adopted one. Of course she's too old to have one now. Please, Caren, stay! Don't leave! Don't take my child away so I will never know what happens to him, or to her...or to you."

Caren laid it out flat, “All right, I will stay on one condition. If you divorce her and marry me, only then will you have the child you always wanted. Otherwise, I'm taking myself, and that means your child too, far away. Maybe I'll write to let you know if you have a son or a daughter, and maybe I won't. Either way, once I leave, you are out of my life for good.” 

Before the fireplace he stood with his arm up on the mantel, then he rested his forehead on that and stared down at the fire. His free hand was behind his back and clenched into a fist. His confused thoughts were so deep they reached out and touched Caren with pity. He turned then to face her, staring deep into her eyes. 

“My God," he said, shocked by his discovery. "You planned this all along, didn't you? You came here to accomplish what you have, but why? Why should you choose me to hurt? What have I ever done to you, Caren, but love you? True, it started with sex, and sex only was what I wanted it to stay. But it has grown into something much more than that. I like being with you, just sitting and talking, or walking in the woods. I feel comfortable with you. I like the way you wait on me, and touch my cheek when you pass, and rumple my hair and kiss my neck, and the sweet, shy way you wake up and smile when you see me beside you. I like the clever games you play, keeping me always guessing, and always amused. I feel I have ten women in one, so now I feel I can't live without you. But I can't abandon my wife and marry you. She needs me!"

"You should have been an actor, Harry. Your words move me to tears."

"Damn you for taking this so lightly!” He bellowed. "You've got me on a rack and you're twisting the screws! Don't make me hate you and ruin the best months of my life!

With that he stormed out of her home, and she was left alone, ruefully regretting that she always talked too much, for she would stay as long as he needed her.

[shadowcodexx]

What if— Billy Hargrove

(Edited/added on)

As soon as his body died, the real billy wakes up in the upside down, connected like will had been. The mind flayer made contingencies this time and billy was his most prized puppet.

Hopper had jumped through the portal in the underground lab in hopes of having some chance of getting back to Joyce and El someday. He didn’t expect to find a scared billy Hargrove trying to hide from the monsters.

They bond and hopper tries to help this traumatized kid deal with all of this. They share hoppers remains pack of cigarettes and he realizes this kid has gone through much more than being possessed by an evil entity. His dad is beating him. He only knows this because billy jolts awake from a nightmare and makes a comment. Hopper pieces it together.

“Your dad again?” “He’s not my dad.”

Then they start to see the Demogorgons getting attracted to something. It’s a new portal. They take their chances. They get through the portal and they’re in a Russian base in Siberia. Better than that place.

Somehow, they get out and they’re both scarred. The Russians had figured out that the creatures reacted to Billy’s presence and experimented on him. They put him in fighting rings and whatever was left in him from the mind flayer gave him extra strength. They tested that too. Made him take on some Demogorgons themselves. He had won. Every time.

They find themselves back in Hawkins for whatever reason—idk how they get there—but it’s Christmas and yknow snow. When max sees billy stumbling up their driveway she runs and hugs him. She’s wearing his leather jacket. El runs out a moment later with his denim jacket on like they had been reminiscing. The sleeves are all rolled up. Then she sees hopper. She starts crying and he has just enough strength to hug her. Joyce, will and Jonathan has come up so they could celebrate Christmas and see some of their old friend. They ended up getting one of the best Christmas presents yet.

The people that had been in change of Hawkins lab come back when there’s news of the chief of police and a young man presumed dead, are found. They’re so worn out from the journey and strain they’re passed out for days.

When hopper wakes, mostly everyone is around his bed. Steve has been up from college, so he decided to visit. They all did. He hugged and greeted all of them and they told him of everything that had happened and so forth.

When billy woke up, max was asleep next to him. No one else was there. Hopper made the nurses move him into Billy’s room with him. Billy quietly appreciated that. Steve patted him on the shoulder and el sat on his other side and he educated her on the vending machine snacks.

“What’s....a powerbar?” Billy raise and eyebrow. He looks over at hopper who’s smoking a cig even thought he’s not supposed to—“you have not done this kid justice.” He grabs the bar and opens it while saying, “it’s quick meal—“ Steve walks in saying, “no it’s not Hargrove.” He glares halfheartedly and responds looking at el, “yes, it is.”

Billy father barges in with Susan one afternoon and stands silent and angry. Susan asks how he’s doing and tries to grab his hand, but Neil won’t let her. Then he goes on, very menacingly, how Billy’s a no good son who just decided to up and leave—“with a whore no doubt”—and that all this Russian business is a coverup mean to put him in a good spotlight so he’ll get sympathy etc and hopper just, yeets the curtain separating them away and in his ‘hopper’ voice goes “you ever talk like that again to him, I’m going to have an officer remove you indefinitely from this room.” And Neil leaves in a fit dragging Susan, and trying to force max. But of course she doesn’t budge. He raises his hand and sees hopper in the background. He turns it into a pointing-in-her-face gesture and leaves.

After they get to leave from the special wing of the hospital, billy had to move back in with his dad and Susan. Hopper and Joyce are going steady. She rents back their old place and they all live there for the time being. By then Billy’s missed half the school year, and goes to Nancy’s (who won’t ask questions because she knows) and gets help with tutoring.

Mrs wheeler opens the door and has a look of shock on her face. He gives her a half smirk and says, “this time, I’m looking for Nancy.” She has him wait in the kitchen, asking how he’s doing, she heard they found him and hopper in he woods and that everyone who knew them were overjoyed. But she notices Billy’s not quite himself. He’s not giving her innuendos and his shirt isn’t as unbuttoned. He looks like he just got a haircut. His mullet is shorter now. He’s got a quiet sort of contemplation like he’s grown up too fast. Nancy comes in and is surprised to see him. She agrees to help him.

Christmas Day, billy is beat up again by his father. He hadn’t even said anything. He had just grabbed the remote and Neil slammed him into the wall. And it had to be the worst possible time, too. The doorbell rang. Neil opened it and sees the re-appointed sherif Jim Hopper and his daughter, El. He says they brought a gift for billy and max. Neil tried to take them but el says she wants to give it to them. Max comes out and hugs eleven and whispers one word— “help.”

El looks at Neil and shoves her way past with max leading the way. Hopper notices the blood on his knuckles. He follows. He walks in slowly, surveying the area. Max leads el Into the kitchen, where billy sits, his face bleeding. El grabs his face and makes him look at her. Max grabs some ice and he accepts it. Hopper comes in a few seconds later. “What happened?” Neil answers. “He got in a fight with a kid a few hours ago. Disgraceful to do it on Christmas Day if you ask me.” “I didn’t.” Hopper walls closer. The bruises are fresh. Billy just looks at him.

“See the funny thing about that mr. Hagrove is that your knuckles are bleeding.” Hopper steps closer to Neil, towering over him. “Billy if I take him in will you testify?” Billy looks at him. “Yes.” Neil trues to lunge at him, cursing him out but hopper catches him. He calls it in and shoves Neil into his car.

It turns into a news story and Billy’s at the station a lot. Susan won’t testify, of course. She’s too nervous. Neil tries to use all of Billy’s mistakes against him like his poor school conduct and the speeding tickets. Hopper knows better. He’s stuck with that kid for half a year and he knows him better than anyone. Reminds him of himself in some ways. They tell billy they have to call his mother bc he needs a legal guardian to finish high school. He argues he doesn’t but a little part of him wants to see her. Hopper says he’s sorry, he knows it’s soft spot but it’s good to mend old wounds. Susan tries to take max with her but max refuses. She wants to stay with billy, el and hopper. They have an argument and max throws out, “Your not stupid mom your just a push over! You’ve watched him get beat up every week and didn’t do a thing. I’m staying with him until all this blows over. If you need me I’ll be staying with Hopper and Joyce.”

Billy also lives with hopper and Joyce for the time being. School starts up and he dreads it. Hopper tells him his mother was contacted and she’s coming up from California to see him. Billy starts to lash out because he doesn’t know what else to do and Joyce calms him down. They have a cigarette out on the porch and she talks to him and he starts to break down and she just holds him. And he can’t remember the last time a mother held him like this.

He often gets up in the middle of the night because of nightmares and he finds will in the kitchen. They talk about it and eventually talk about their crappy dads and billy tells him he likes wills mother and that he’s got a good mom. Will mentions he saw some bands that billy had on vinyl and tape and says he likes them. They talk about music until will falls asleep on Billy’s shoulder. Joyce listened to the whole thing from the living room and couldn’t help but smile.

Billy find that his life is much more peaceful in the hopper-Byers household. In the morning, Joyce makes them all breakfast. Max and el share a room so they’re usually the last ones to the table. Billy and hopper both drink black coffee. Billy and Jonathan have a silent respect for each other after Lonny tried to visit one day out of the blue. Billy helped Jonathan get him to leave. Will sits next to billy because there’s always something on his plate he doesn’t eat that billy silently takes after he’s done. The two Hargrove kids have practically moved in. Hopper got two extra beds and max eventually brought everything she owns to the house via the window to her room. Billy moved everything out weeks ago. Jonathan and will share a room and el and max share one. Billy is the only one who doesn’t share a room.

The first day of school, billy takes el and max to school. By now everyone heard of billy Hargrove, the kid who came back to life. Or was captured by the Russians. The facts were a little fuzzy. His cronies and fake friends hound him pretending they were affected by his disappearance. Billy’s tired of high school. He understands why Steve stopped being king. It didn’t really matter anymore. Life has hit him straight in the face and it was time to grow up. And now he had some people who were gonna be there for him. By the end of the day he had so much makeup work, he had to find Nancy. By then, they were easy acquaintances. Not friends per se, just bonded experiences. Tommy started making fun of him, acting as if he were trying to get in Nancy’s pants but he ends up slamming him into a locker.

Tommy and carol and all the other jerks hang around billy as usual, but there’s an air of wariness like they’re waiting for him to do something. And honestly, if it weren’t for max or el, he would have. El understands what makes him, him and she can tell when he’s about to snap. Max is like a similar version of him. Not quite the same, and less corrupted. The middle schoolers have a field trip, or something that causes the high schools to have the same lunch as them. When they come running in, everyone gives a collective grumble. Most of the gang sit with Nancy and Jonathan + Robin. El taps billy on the shoulder and his friends sneer at her. But el asks one question. “What’s a Hershey?” Carol starts laughing but billy silenced her with a look. He looks over at max, a little ways behind and smiles. He jumps up and pulls out a few cents. They follow him to the vending machine and he buys one. This leads to many days of el quietly sitting down and whispering s question in his ear. Billy would then answer.

By the end of the week he was sitting with Nancy and returning student, Jonathan because he was so tired of all the bull. One day he was walking into the middle school to check max and el out early , (because he wanted Mexican and he knew el didn’t know what that was, and he figured he could give her some world experience) he saw max beating up some kid. He shoves in and pulls her off. The kid had called will and el a freak and other slurs she wouldn’t repeat. Susan has to be called in, and it was a mess. She blamed billy but max said the truth and she didn’t seem to want to accept that. Neil had already been put in jail for 20 years so Susan was considerably panicking. Joyce came by after being called and calmed her down. The rest of the gang had been involved bc they wouldn’t stand by either so all of the mothers were called. The ended up supporting Susan and helping her find a place for her and max and finding her a good job she liked and all that.

Billy’s tired of sleeping around. Part of him did it to show that he could and prove he was top dog. But now all the girls except Nancy and robin annoyed him. They always tried to fix him, get him to meet their parents, etc. now it was oh poor billy and pity pity pity. he didn’t get as drunk at parties. He didn’t like not being aware of everything around him anymore. If he were wasted he wouldn’t be as alert. Can’t stand the sound of fireworks anymore.

The next day billy gets called out of class. He’s told his mom is here to pick him up. He kind of freezes up and numbly asks if it’s Joyce and the secretary says no. He refuses to go up and instead leaves and goes to the sheriffs station and barges into hoppers office. “She’s here.”

Hopper calms him down and offers to be there with him. Billy says no he can do this. He walks out and she’s sitting in the waiting room. He hurriedly looks away and sits down near her. She nervously looks at him and asks what he’s here for. He says something about seeing hopper. She says the same thing. She’s looking for her son who moved here with his dad. She says she’s here to see her little boy again. He looks at her and says, “that little boy is gone. He died when you left.” She’s shocked and follows him out and begs him to listen. He turns around and yells “you left me with him!” Tears are streaming down both of their faces. She hugs him and he buries his face in her blond hair.

She rents a place in town and gets to watch him graduate high school. He passed with good grades thanks to Nancy. After the graduation ceremony he picks up Nancy and spins her around, thanking her for the help. He pats Jonathan on the back and messes with wills hair. He and Steve do a fist bump handshake thing. Dustin can be hheard muttering, “not as cool as ours.”

He goes to Cali and brings max and el with him. He teaches them how to surf. Hopper and Joyce come, because, reasons and the entire gang ends up coming. On a completely random chance, their buying snow cones on the pier and he hears his name. It’s his mom. He awkwardly hugs her and she invites them to dinner. She’s married. He’s not too happy about it. The guys nice though and he can’t blame her. He’s just wished she’d taken him with her. Then maybe he’d have had a better father figure, like John. (The guy)

On the beach, he crashed into a girl carrying an icebox. (Courtesy of max) he helps her pick up the spilled drinks and the breath is stolen from his lungs. She’s a knockout. He smooth talks her and she see through the bull. His charm—king billy Hargrove’s charm turned off a girl. He’s internally yelling at himself. She picks up her board and walks to her friends. He asks if she surfs—“duh” and holds up her board. Max is quietly laughing behind him. He asks is they wanna catch some waves. She gives him a long look and says sure.

Her name is Avaline, or ava. She mentions her and her friends are road tripping and she mentions their route. Their going through Hawkins. He tells her they live there and that she should visit. She gives him a brilliant smile and agrees. Max and el love her.

Joyce and hopper ended up buying a house together and Susan got a house coincidentally, near them. It was a street or two over from will and Lucas and a straight shot to Dustin’s. The entire club was back together.

Aveline visits at the most inopportune time. She knocks on the house at the address billy gave her. No response. A crashing sound echoes through the house and she jumps. She tucks her beach blond hair behind her ear and leans in to listen. A beat of silence. She gets thrown backwards with the door. A Demogorgon has flown through the door due to elevens telekinesis.

They all rush out fighting a pack of demodogs. Aveline groans as she touches the blood running down her head. Billy calls her name and hits a demo dog with Steve nail bat. He throws it back to him and Nancy throws him a shotgun. He loads it and shoots one coming behind her. He helps her up and she asks if their being invaded by aliens. Robin comments that she likes how this girl thinks.

Joyce nurses her wound and and they all explain. Ava knew billy was some kind of trouble but she didn’t know he was trouble with a capital T. They load up and try to lead the creatures away from Hawkins. Joyce has to hurriedly call all the kids parents saying their staying with will for a sleepover and she’s sorry about the inconvenience.

“I knew it.” Aveline says holding the ice pack up to her head. “Knew what?” Billy asks, while Duran Duran plays, his hand tapping along to the beat. “You’ve slept with every girl at you high school, haven’t you?” He huffs a laugh and looks at her. “Not all.” She shakes her head. “You can let me out.” “What?” She repeats. She tells him she’s not about to get in a relationship with a guy who has a rep. He says he’s not the person he was when he came to Hawkins. They’re out of the car at this point yelling and arguing and he kisses her. She melts. She hits his chest and jolts back. “Sorry” he says breathless. She pulls him back and hugs him. “You’re frustrating.” He huffs. “That’s a first.”

Of course the Russians weaponized the Demogorgons and all that jazzy stuff and they go on this big adventure and cue a scene where they all end up at s gas station to restock and get a game plan. the cashier just looks at hopper and all the teenagers behind him and raises and eyebrow. Him and Joyce look at each other and Joyce says “our kids” gesturing weakly begins her. He shrugs because he’s not paid enough for this and checks out the tons of stuff they buy.

Steve and billy bond over trying to babysit insane children and Steve is trying to keep them from doing dumb stuff and billy is yelling at them not get killed. Much betting is involved. Robin and billy actually become buddies and it freaks Steve out. Aveline just watches it all.

And after all the fiasco stuff is over, everyone is royally freaks out when Steve Harrington shows up to bring lunch to all these kids and then sits with billy freaking Hagrove and they start chatting like their old buddies.

Billy gets a job at the sheriffs station because he actually has a good head for telling people what not to do and just generally bossing people around. Hopper takes him under his wing and they patrol and keep the weirdness of the town under control. He regularly takes el and max to eat at different restaurants because he’s determined to give el some ‘worldly knowledge’

His relationship with ava is one of his longest they’re going steady. She moves in with him and they go back to Cali every summer to see her parents and his mom. They get married on the beach. Lucas makes a comment on how they’re going to have kids and when el asks billy how they have kids it’s the one question he won’t answer. Hopper was standing next to him when she asked and he gave her the Look. Billy re-evaluated his answer.

The kids think billy is kinda cool now and he keeps them in line while Harrington is off getting a degree. Billy finally has some peace when Harrington gets back and takes them off his hands.

And most importantly billy is happy.

[demxninyourdrexms]

Pacific Rim FF: As Above, So Below

“A Jaeger may only be as good as their pilots, but their roots stem from their creators. “

{Hannibal Chau X OC}

Word Count:  2,872

Rating: 18+ (M)

WARNINGS: Cursing/strong language,  adult activities (smoking,drinking, smut, kinks, etc), angst, death.

The streets of Hong Kong were bustling as usual, the rain turned into a slight mist off and on throughout the day. Most people were off going home after the long day of work, but a blacked out car was headed the opposite direction of the normal. It headed towards the Bone Slums, careful about which building it was looking for, or who to look for. Deep in the middle of the district, the car stopped outside of a building built up around a kaiju hand and claw. The neon lights shining in the puddles of rain on the pavement as the back door opened. 

Stacker had been trying to track her down since before the Jaeger program had been given a set date for discontinuation. They were losing Jaegers right and left, and the longer he tried to keep the program going, the worse the Kaiju force kept coming. Scientists were in a constant state of upheaval trying to predict the attacks and gain whatever they could on the Kaiju. But the Jaeger program was slipping, and to find a good engineer who knew each Jaeger top to bottom, was a task in itself. 

The first was Cherno Alpha, with her parents  being the ones to spearhead the project and construct the massive tank of a machine. Having been raised around nothing but Russian military and slept to the sounds of welding metal, she was the best out of them all to bring back. 

Stacker headed into the building, which was obvious it was a bar or club of sorts, with glasses lining the wall above the cabinet of various liquors. Tables and chairs scattered across the open space and various signs and pool tables there. On the other side of the bar was a staircase that led up to the VIP area and office. A few employees scattered amongst the utilities preparing to open soon. Stacker looked at the bartender, who nodded and pointed at the staircase. They all knew why he was there, it wasn’t often they had military in. And when they did, it was always for their boss somehow.

Stacker made his way up the stairs, looking around the ornate decor as he reached the door. The guard nodded and left him in. The office was far different than the rest of the building. The walls were lifted with newspaper clippings and awards. Prototype models of the famous Russian machine on the desk beside a glass of what looked like whiskey. 

A woman stood on the other side of the desk, looking out the window across the city. Her long, jet black hair pulled into a ponytail that trailed down over her shoulder and formed curls at the bottom. Her slim figure casting a shadow over the wall adjacent from the fireplace on the other wall. Dark brown lips and soft pale skin lit up by the glow of the fire as she glanced over her shoulder.

“Pentecost….”

A small smile formed across his lips. His stance was open, yet professional as he stood across from her at the desk.

“Talia Draider, you probably already know why I’m here.”

She smirked and crossed her arms, turning to fully face him. Her eyes are bright blue, lined with elegant winged liner and dark shadows. The way she dressed was like the kaidanovskys merged. Aleksis and Sasha practically raised this woman, so it’s no surprise she’s taken after them. A long sleeve, black shirt with a corseted laced bodice, and black sleek pants to match with laces up boots.

“Let me guess, they want me back.”

Stacker glanced around the room before looking her in the eyes. It’s obvious he wasn’t here for a simple visit to check in on her or catch up.

“How’d you know…”

“Because you’ve lost four Jaegers in a matter of months. The attacks are getting closer together and you can’t keep decent engineers who are competent enough to build or maintain them properly. You have a working one sitting there collecting dust with no compatible drivers and the wall is doing jack all shit to prevent anything.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her. She knew too well for her own good. Cherno Alpha had its picky drivers, only wanting the best on their team. But the government was even pickier, and they realized cutting their best asset for optimal operations was the biggest mistake. With years under her belt and exposure to the Jaegers since she was a kid, Talia knew the procedure inside and out. 

“Yeah, they’re asking me to get you back on board. But...uh, they’re not the only ones.” Stacker set his hat on the desk and her mood shifted. 

“The Jaeger program is being discontinued. PPDC believes the wall is doing what it’s supposed to do so far, so there’s no point in keeping a program that costs more than steel and concrete.”

Talia watched him, her mood changing instantly at the mention of the program being shut down. Her eyes sparkling slightly and looking up at him.

“We have six months, last stand here in Hong Kong. We’re stationed in the shatterdome and moving all the units in as we speak, and Cherno wants her girl back.”

She shook slightly as she looked over at the mannequin that had her coat. It was lined with fur trim, and donned Cherno Alpha’s name in Russian with the symbol on the back, just like Aleksis and Sasha had. She reached over and grabbed a cigarette and her lighter and lit it as she looked back over at him. Stacker smiled slightly and shook his head.

“Those things will kill you.”

“So will radiation exposure from a Jaeger, you of all people know that just as much as we do.” She smiled back at him, which made him straighten up and take his hat off the desk and put it back on. He looked at her with a slight fondness, Mako meant to him what she did to the Kaidonovskys.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then….” “Sir, yes sir.” She teased and punched his arm playfully as he turned to leave.

Hannibal and his men were preparing to close up shop for the night. With all the recent kaiju attacks, they have been out harvesting double the amounts of what they usually have been. Hannibal had his crew going double time to catch up with inventory before closing. Two of them stood outside the back door waiting for him as he exited, looking down the street he saw Talia exiting her bar after locking up. She pulled the collar of her coat up to shield her neck, the other coat folded and put in her messenger bag with the rest of her stuff. She looked both ways along the empty street, looking his way last and catching his eye. She smirked at him before turning her back and heading down the other side of the street.

“Boss…” the smaller one of the two guards went to speak to him when he spun around and grabbed him by the collar of his suit.

“We’re you about to try and tell me what to do? Last time I checked I was the one running this show.”

He let go and the man staggered back slightly. Hannibal looked back down the street to watch and make sure Tania was still there...still safe.

“I want you two to watch that woman. Make sure no one messes with her, got it?” He turned back to them and adjusted his suit jacket. 

“Yes sir.” They said in unison and headed down the direction she went. 

What was this, and why was he suddenly so concerned with someone he barely knows? Someone he only ever saw in passing when going out on site or just to get a drink and seeing her briefly at the bar. Hannibal shoved a hand in his pocket before going back into the building, another guard on the inside locking it behind him. He headed into his office and pulled at one of the jars on the case, revealing another room that looked to be a living quarters. 

“Who the hell are you…” he mumbled to himself, looking at what looked to be a photo taken of the woman by one of his men during an outing at the bar when she was coming out of her office. He thought he had seen her before somewhere aside from when she’s at her little establishment. 

He racked his brain for hours, going through the process of unwinding and getting ready for bed. He had picked up his glass of whiskey off the table when his phone rang. He scoffed and set the glass back down on the table and answered it.

“This better be fuckin good…”

“That woman you wanted us to watch? Name’s Talia Draider. Parents were dual engineers on the Jaeger program before they got killed by a kaiju attack on their way home. She was adopted by friends of the family and continued the work until she was dismissed.”

Hannibal sat on the edge of his bed as he listened. His brows furrowing.

“How the hell she end up in Hong Kong? And how the hell you find all this out in less than a few hours?”

The man half chuckled, he stood outside the apartment building he saw her go into and looked up at the window where she stood.

“She told us herself. Didn’t have to dig.”

“What do you mean she told you?! You let her see you?!”

“This one, sir, she’s not stupid. She knew you sent us after her. She said she appreciates the concern, but if you wanted to talk to just...ask. Also, whoever her folks are now, made sure she didn’t go without. Owns a bar in the slums yet has a nice place at the edge of the district.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle softly. It looks like he wasn’t going to be so cagey with this one if he wanted her, which he did. He wanted her, but not like he wanted black market items from kaijus. Not for display in his shop, or as a ‘trophy’. No, this one had meaning and he couldn’t figure out why. 

“She uh- she left her number too on a piece of paper. In case uh- in case you wanted it. This chick, she’s different.”

He wanted her safe at all costs, sending his men to watch over her walks at night or pop in at the bar to keep an eye on things. He wanted her close, with him at the shop or at the bar, in his arms, her company. He wanted to hear her opinions, her thoughts and about her past.

He shook his head as he hung up the phone, laying back in bed staring at the ceiling. He was brash and cold at times. Only looking into the business and not much else for the well-being or care for others. So, why is he all of a sudden concerned about a woman who is clearly out of his range of possible suitors. And he was too busy to even put that much effort into anything to do with it. Now he’s caught some sort of interest or feelings for this woman and he’s just as perplexed about it as his men at the sudden change. He eventually drifted off to sleep after almost an hour of pondering, eventually rising to the sun the next morning.

Talia had risen before the sun, racing around getting a shower and packing her messenger bag with everything she would need. She pulled the coat up over her shoulders as she heard a horn honk out on the street. Grabbing her bag, she headed down the stairs and put onto the street where the car waited. The driver held the door open for her with a small smile. She smiled back and quickly got in the car and they headed out.

She looked out the window at the passing people and cars. It wasn’t long before they made it to the gates of the Shatterdome and the car came to a stop. The driver helped her out before getting her two bags out of the trunk. Tania looked around at the many military trucks and personnel running around, some staring and pointing at her in surprise. They would dash around to groups of people near them and talking, drawing attention towards her as she headed into the shatterdome. 

Pentecost stood with two of his main technicians in the control room, going over schematics and regular calibration check ups on the Jaegers. One of his men came over and whispered in his ear, peaking his interest as he turned to see Talia. A grin spread across his face as he greeted her with a warm hug.

“You ready for this?” He asked softly as the technicians left to go about their usual business. Talia glanced around the room at all the equipment before out of the glass windows towards the main floor. Her eyes scanning each Jaeger, evaluating and taking in their upkeep and progression in development. She looked back up at him with a sly smirk.

“You didn’t tell them, did you.” she already knew that this wasn’t brought up to the Kaidonovskys. Pentecost was a soft one for reunions, and it wasn’t just the jaeger drivers that didn’t exactly know just yet. Their maintenance crew knew beforehand so they could assist with keeping the secret until otherwise. A small yet mischievous smile spread across his lips, which in turn made her do the same.

“Not exactly, but it wouldn’t hurt them to have a little bit of a surprise now would it?”

Talia shook her head and laughed before he led her out of the control room and down towards the main hanger. As they walked, he ordered one of his higher ranking officers to call everyone together for a brief announcement. Everyone started slowly coming together as they stopped what they were doing. Some of the Cherno crew wrapped around the back behind Pentecost, shielding Talia from any possible view of their drive team as they approached the front beside Striker’s team.

“Everyone, I know you all have been concerned about the recent termination notice by the PPDC of the Jaeger program. It is with a heavy heart that this is true, and we have been given a last chance to defend ourselves here in Hong Kong, which will not go unnoticed or without valor. I have called each and every one of you here for your bravery and relentlessness towards this war. Striker Eureka, Crimson Typhoon, and Cherno Alpha.”

Pentcost gestured towards each Jaeger and their set of drivers before looking around the room, his eyes falling on the drive teams, the Kaidonovskys last, He took a deep breath and smiled wide before going back to addressing the room.

“This is our last stand, so why not go out with full force. As stated, only the top candidates have been pulled for this final mission. With that being said, a Jaeger may only be as good as their pilots, but their roots stem from their creators. Each being individually crafted with care by only the top engineers, and I promised them both that their work will continue as long as this program stays active.” Pentecost started to smile as he spoke, seeing the blonde pilots start to perk up the more they heard his words.

“Everyone, please welcome back combat engineer Talia Draider, daughter of the late Amaree and Nicholai Draider, and now Aleksis and Sasha Kaidonovsky.”

Pentecost moved to the side of where he stood, the crew of Cherno following suit to reveal Talia standing in the middle of them. The last person barely got to move out of the way before Aleksis was already rushing over and picking her up in a tight hug. The echo of applause and cheering were drowned out at this point to the three of them as Sasha came up beside them with tears in her eyes as Aleksis set Talia back down on her feet and got a hug of her own.

The crowd dispersed after a few minutes, giving them more space as they talked quietly. Talia looked over at Pentecost with a wide smile on her face as he came over. 

“I’ll give you three some time to catch up. Just keep an eye and ear out in case. Welcome home, kid.” He smiled back at her before leaving them be. 

Talia watched him go before she was gently tugged by Sasha taking her hand and leading her off to a more quiet space. It was true, she was home again. Back with what she knew best, with the people who cared for her so much and gave her everything to live a good life. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, in the street where she saw him. It was like a magnet, drawing her in more and more and she couldn’t understand any of it. 

She wanted to know who he was, to know more about him. And why he had an interest in her...

[anne-lister-adventures]

Tuesday, 11 March 1840

8 25/’’

2 3/4

Fine morning another thorough wash in spite of circumstances – Had piled all portmanteaus against one door and set our table against the other and made a screen of 2 chairs with our clothes just beginning to dress when their curiosity could hold out no longer and they gently opened our folding doors and peeped in at these and the windows till we sat down to breakfast at 8 55/’’ and afterwards at intervals – Reaumur 10 1/4º in our room at 8 50/’’ a.m. – In fact, children or grown people stood looking at us all the time we staid – 

Seeing the master of the house among the gazers asked him in – George had brought us some brick-tea to look at – It is (said the Master) in a cake one half archine (i.e. 14 in.[inches]) square = 4/80 – It seemed about 1/2 in.[inch] or more thick – Made up in China – Cheaper than the other tea ∴[therefore] the Cossacks here have lately began to drink it – They boil it up with milk, and salt, and butter – A piece about 2 in.[inches] long and not an in.[inch] broad he said would be enough to make 30 tasses – But they cannot take it now – It is their grand Carême – Encore 7 weeks of Carême and they are not allowed to take milk or butter - ∴[therefore] their fish is cooked with oil – 

Chinese brick tea (Image source).

2 Traineaux de Poste à 3 chevaux – A smallish Kibitka-body with merely a seat for the driver – And hay in the bottom on which A-[Ann] and I had one of our mattresses to sit on – Our Courier and George followed in the other Traineau – 

Off at 10 10/’’ – We put on our Chalats (Shubes) over our fur cloaks – My Sarepta night-cap under my dark blue cloth waddled Jupp travelling cap, and my fur cloak collar pulled up to my eyes, and over all this my black satin much waddled pink satin lined Moscow bonnet tied tight down – After setting off, tied my pocket handkerchief over the bonnet to keep all tighter and pulled up my Shube collar which came up as high as the top of my head – A sheaf of hay to cover our feet – I had had hardly a peep-hole – But it was no loss – So thick, we could scarce see a dozen yards ahead – My eyes being still tender were still not sufficiently guaranteed from the piercing north wind – (Or wind in our teeth but rather to the left for I have yet to learn whether we went North or South) pulled up the great pelerine of my Shube and throwing it up over my head against the wind, the wind kept it in its place, and I was comfortable afterwards – The wind was very cold and searching yet Gross tells me that at 10 1/2 (on our being gone) Reaumur stood only at -8º and the same at 6 this evening – It is always cold on the river and there seems to be an extra force of wind – Tho’ it is strong enough on the Steppes – I should think the village is not seen at any great distance nor even the church? 

At 11 40/’’ (in 1 1/2 hour) alighted at the Palace of the Prince – A comfortable 2 story high wood (board) Russian House in form of

each front having in the centre a 2 story 4 style portico or balcony the top finished in a pediment – And each end ditto ditto ditto – A row of tallish pyramidal poplars all trees I noticed near the house – 

8 or 10 steps up to the centre room in which a large green cloth covered billiard table – On the left a goodish dining room right the salon in which we sat, and then a room hung round with Circassian and other guns, pistols (so very handsome) and side arms, and a broad 4 or 5 ft.[feet] wide carpet-covered divan the whole breadth of the room under the 2 windows – 2 armoires with some China and cups and saucers, and a carpeted bench and this, if I mistake not, all the furniture – The salon carpeted – Sofa and large mahogany table in front of it, and chairs &c. 1/2 length picture in oil of the Emperor and Empress over the sofa – Poêle – Print of Temirazoff Governor General of Astrakhan – 

The belle soeur of the Prince and her daughter received us at the door – She in a green satin wadded Chalat with red chemise &c. underneath – And handsome high 4 cornered sable rimmed hat, the top full of waddling like the Moscow coachmen’s caps and girdled round with gold brocade – The daughter’s cap not bordered round the face with fur and rather different and she had a light printed cotton or muslin Chelat on – The lady very civil – Could not speak a word even of Russian but of the 4 men servants 2 could speak Russian that with George we got on very well – 

The Prince was at his prayers in the little chapel in the garden close behind the house – Prays from 5 to 9 a.m. and from 5 to 9 p.m. every day) – Not obliged by his religion to do so – But does it from inclination – Prays alone – Query – Is he studying? For he seems an intelligent man – According to their religion they should pray 3 times a day – Fast occasionally but then allowed milk and butter – No regular Sunday – But service 3 times a month – Every ten days – 

Perhaps it was 1/4 hour before he came – They say here he is 70 – If so, he is one of youngest looking men of his age I have ever seen – Remarkably good countenance – Good teeth – An agreeable good looking stoutish gentlemanly man – His manners easy and prepossessing – Moderately Mogul as to features – Might pass unremarked among Europeans – i.e. not remarked as one of another race – 

Prince Serebjab (right) with his brothers.

The lady decidedly the very type of mogul features – Very high broad cheek-bones – Very small eyes &c. complexion very difficult to express – Slightly copperish? The Prince more so – The girl Æt [aetatis] 14 less decidedly of mogul feature – The boy Æt [aetatis] 13 more so than his sister and was he slightly marked with small pox? Perhaps we shall see him again at Astrakhan – He has an older brother studying at Kazan where the Lord is a Mongol who is professor of Mongol – Coffee excellent 2 cups each soon after our arrival – Asked if we would not take something before going away and it was settled we were to dine – Had George all the while as interpreter – 

A Mongol Bible that is book of their religion – Their Bible – From Kazan brought for us to look at, on my inquiring about books in Mongol – Partly in Thibetan (the language of Thibet) and partly in Mongol – The latter read from top to bottom – And lines from left to right – The Thibetan in horizontal lines read from right to left – The grand Lamas (he pronounced it Lammās, with an S) the head of their religion – Buddist – Same as in China – And Chinese language same as Mongol, or the Mongols and Chinese understand one another – Mongol books to be bought at Kazan – But not at Astrakhan – 

The Prince descended from Tchinghis Khâna (Tchin-ghis Khâ-nah) in the 20th generation – 20 generations since – If George interpreted rightly but either his French or Russian or both serve him badly for he has apparently difficulty very often in understanding what is said as well as in translating it – Asked why his nephew was not called Ghinghis or if there was no one of this name – No! It would be a sin to call anyone after this great man – He was too great to have his name given unworthily – 

The Prince quite independent – Pays no tribute to the Emperor, but if called upon furnishes a regiment and defends the frontier – Is Colonel in the Russian Service – Commanded his regiment at Leipzig against Napoleon in 1813 – Wounded by a ball – Did not feel it much at the time – Soon healed and was well – But felt it (began to feel it) 2 years ago and now cannot bear to sit for long together on this account – Lost 1/2 his men at Leipzig – He had some archers there – No archers now – All armed now with gun, pistols, and pike à la Cossaque and clothed the same – He pronounced it Kassak – Find their own horses &c. &c. and the Emperor allowed pay during the campaign – Mongol for quiver = Cōlt-Tchăh and Noonoon = archer Pnash noonoon = archer – 

The Prince is very well with the people at the Cavcase but not with the Tartars of Boukharah, or others (It stuck me that Cōlt-Tchăh resembled Xoλxis the ancient name of the Valley of Koutais …..) about 200,000 Calmucks, the Prince a relation of our Prince here, went some time since to China – No news of them – perhaps they are taken as serfs? But I cannot depend upon George – 

The Emperor of China has an allowance made to him, and cannot do as he likes – Our Prince here much better off – Independent – Can do as he likes – Never stirs out of the house in winter – always lives in it but travels in summer – His brothers live in tents in summer – His brother for he has but one left – He about an hour from our arrival all ready (arrived at 11 40/’’) and we were off to the church – 

The Prince never quitting the house, his belle soeur took charge of us and a nice lively Russian window widow of an employé of the princes and he keeps her – The lady took me by the arm and seated herself by me in the small Traineau, and a larger with A-[Ann] and the widow and George followed – The Lady put her arm round me to hold me safe if there was any little jolt ∴[therefore] I regularly afterwards attached myself to her – Gave her my arm each time afterwards – Covered her gloveless hands (the Prince had a pair of nice light gloves lying on the table in the house) with my cloak, and we were very good speechless friends – The church may be about 1/4 mile from the house and near it and between it and the house the village – Partly Kibitkas partly goodish Russian wood (board) cottages – I could count about 100 Kibitkas (going and returning) – I observed 2 or 3 instances of their being smeared over with mud plaster and one or 2 instances of 2 tents joined by a sort of passage -  

As if these luxurious Calmucs wanted more room than their neighbours – In fact they are Russianizing – The Prince has a Russian Cuisinier – One of his people who has served an apprenticeship I suppose to a Russian – And George said he had one who had learnt cooking in Paris served an apprenticeship there (George said) – The church built 15 years ago – The only Buddhist church in Russia – Planned by his brother who was killed at Warsaw – Brick, white plastered over – After the model of a Thibet temple – Looks exactly like Chinese –

The outer line a low brick wall with brick pillars and wood palisading – Right on entering a handsome new building not quite finished for priests to live in and for a clocher or its equivalent – No bells – Call to prays by one of the large and one of the small trumpets, Kengree-ga and Bēw-ě-răh – Left on entering a wooden (board, unpainted) house where the priests now live – The 2 circles on each side 2 tent-temples – With each its altar and appurtenances – Circular open 6 style A-[Ann] says 7 style wing portico on each (like Kazan church at St. P-[Petersburg]) wooden steps, several up to the large square tower, equivalent of clocher – 

The main temple. (Image Source)

The ground floor forming a vestibule the great and only entrance into the church and here our Princess left her hat, (the handsome cap before noticed) her black hair parted down the middle of her head and made into one long, case-enclosed braid on each side – The thundering music, the din of drum and trumpet commenced as we reached the steps – Vestibule – Nave – A side aisle of 3 arcades on each side – Over the end of nave a lower square tower to give light – And the apse, the sacrum sacrorum for the altar and its appurtenances – 

Khusheutovsky Khurul. Kalmyk temple. Astrakhan, South Russia city on Volga River (Image Source)

The Prince had ordered a grand service (their high mass) for us – 9 priests (left on entering) on one side and 7 on the other on their hams on carpets, and on the same side as the 9 at this end the 2 blowers of the big trumpets – Beginning at the top end (nearest the altar) vis à vis 2 priests with each a curious little bell besides him

Then 2 more priests the one on the right with a little wheat in a little silver cup (about the size of a lotus flower) standing before him – And the one left with a bell that he constantly rang – The head priest – Giving the lead to all the rest – the 2 little dots at the top the bells –

R.2 the chief priest – He and his neighbour next below him had each a pair of big cymbals and the 2d.[2nd] below him and the 2d.2nd from the top on the other side had each a pair of lesser cymbals – Then the 2 bottom men had each a lesser trumpet (with hautboy red) and the 4 on each side above them had each a drum – And the 2 outside R. had each a big trumpet – 8 drums, an 8 in.[inch] long segment of 20 in.[inches] diameter? cylinder called Keng-rēē-găh. 2 big trumpets 5 or 6 ft.[feet] long, Bew-ě-rah 2 little ditto Bish-Kŏor with a red mouth-piece like a hautboy – 2 great cymbals Tzong (Tzong) the hollow parts like little basins 2 lesser ditto Tzêanzin the hollow parts merely like soup plates –

The chief priest rang his bell, muttered a few words (prayers) then struck his cymbals loud and then laid them down ant struck them together on the cushion before him so that the sound was deadened as he did so did the other 3 cymbal men, and all the other instruments played all the time he played – The service lasted 1/2 hour – Besides the 16 + 2 big trumpeters, one man with pointed cap and lappeted in yellow stood at the bottom at a little distance facing the middle of the 2 rows of priests, and 2 other men in yellow with base clean shaved heads stood one on each side – In all 16 + 2 + 3 = 21 priests – 

The 18 musicians all in in a sort of robe de chambre like dress silk embroidered – Flowed rich silk – much worn – With pelerine shaped as if in remembrance of the lotus leaf?

Each wore a cap of long flowing 1/2 way down the back black silk tied at the top that is the cap finished tied up in 3 diminishing balls terminated in a little crown like ornament crown of 4 rays –

Reminding me of a flower – Whence also the fleur de lis of the Bourbons – And a Tiara, as it were of 5 petals surrounding the cap – Every cap had the same no.[number] of petals the white lily – the lotus has 5 petals – The dresses painted with lilies, lotuses, marigolds, (geums?), everything has reference to the lotus – 

At the annunciation the angel is generally painted with a white lily in his hand – The sticks that struck the drums, curious the shaft like a sceptre (constable’s staff a little sceptre) i.e. both ends top and bottom reminding one of a flower and something else – The symbol of power – The handle like a ceinture tho’ rather disguised winged idol – The head of the church and particularly near the altar hung round with Chinese like drawings of Indian deities – I carefully examined them but found the Budhist deity too much disguised to be traceable to an inexperienced eye – Yet it is at the bottom of all – 

The priests here draw – Paint – Do all the pictures – They understand – Our Princess and her nephew equally ignorant of the meaning of pictures – The people not admitted into the church – Stand outside – We were allowed to examine altar little brass images – All – Nothing evident – Little silver cup, (like lotus cups) of wheat and barley and oats mixed – And little cup of ice (eau benite – As if milk and water frozen) – And silver on tinsel flowers – Went into all the 7 tent-chapels 4 in the court and 3 rather larger outside it – An altar in each – The quantities of little brass or nice like Chinese images and pictures – A square pedestal stand on one side of 2 of their altars that the idol ought to be upon and a sort of sceptre in front of 2 of the altars, with a protuberance made to receive something – Inquired – George said a plate to hold the offering – Or what the priests ate – This column and its proper Budhist companion ought to be one on each side of each altar – 

At the doors of the 3 tents outside was a cylindrical bundle of reeds one on each side the door – This paganism is a curious remain of Antiquity – The exterior of the church is very Chinese –

The clocher is square and then 4 retiring squares up to the ball on which rests the needle and above that a little ball and crescent and a point springing from middle of crescent I have inadvertently put the black-painted crescent work at the top of the retiring grade instead of the bottom? The cornice under the roof is every where triangular, in diminishing –

A very pretty cornice ‘4 grades square to ball and sceptre and top and crescent and ball – 6 columns’ (2 rows of) in each circular colonnade on returning to the palace our Prince ready to receive us – Gave me a Mongol Grammar printed at Kazan in 1835 and wrote his name in it – He had before given me his name and the names of his 2 brothers and that of the wife (our Princess) of his 2d.[2nd] brother all the brothers equally Princes and Sovereign Princes – Our Prince Cerbedjab de Tumen his tribe Tumen, and calls his village here Tumen, had 50,000 sheep when winter began – Has lost 20,000 – Ten years since such a severe winter – Last year at this time there was grass for the cattle – 

Arrzha and liqueur glasses the precursor of dinner – The spirit tasted exactly like good Noyau – 1/2 and 1/2 mare’s and cow’s milk that of today sourish already (in 4 days, fermented and give once distilled yields the common Arrzha that we tasted and that still has sufficiently left of milk derived taste to let one find out its origin – This distilled 3 times and prepared with almonds yields the Arrzha like Noyau – Tchez-gan the Mongol name of Koumis – One may call Arrzha esprit du lait – 

Dinner 1st Eesh-Kessen (looking like a Russian shredded reddish cabbage) a plat of shredded mutton – Shredded like on cabbage salad at Sarepta – Very good – Next little beef olives à la Russe with gravy good – Then Sabac fish cutlets like those the other day en route but better cooked – Then blinnys in little rolls 2 in.[inches] long and 2 in.[inches] diameter and several folds – Rather too hard and not hot enough – 2 preserve orange peel in shreds and white currants – Declined Medoc and some other French wine drank a glass made from the grapes of his own garden (4 v.[versts] off) this year – A weak white odd tasted but not disagreeable wine – The water excellent – Tasted dessert of Persian almonds, 2 sorts – Then coffee – Excellent now and in the morning – From Astrakhan but from Moscow or St. P-[Petersburg] then tea – 2 cups each – excellent – The best I have tasted in Russia – 

Admired the lady’s cap – The Prince asked how long we should stay at A-[Astrakhan] if long enough would get me a cap made, and send it to me there – Said we should only stay 5 day glad to be handsomely off putting him to so much trouble &c. – He had asked for our name I wrote as under 

‘Madame Lister de Shibden Hall dans la Conté de York d’Angleterre, et Mademoiselle Walker de Cliff Hill das la même Conté, rendent mille graces à Monsieur le Prince Cerbedjab, Prince Souverain des Calmoucs de Tumen, - de son hospitalité et de touts ses politesses – Elles desirent pour lui et pour toute sa famille le plus grand bonheur – Mardi. 11 Mars (Nouveau Style) 1840’

George explained and the Prince seemed pleased – I had asked if anyone had sketched his church &c. – Yes! An Officer (a Serjeant said George) chez Colonel Balájaefski at Astrakhan, has sketched the Prince and his people and temple – Much pleased with our day chez le Prince – 

Thanked him thro’ George as well as we could – He had ordered a Traineau and pair and a Cossak mounted en courier to take us home because we should by this means go much quicker – True – The wild screams of our Cossack and his whipping on our Courier’s post horses (spite of the driver) and seizing them by the tail and thus urging them on and our driver, too, screaming and delighted at my laughing aloud – That us over the river like magic – At the Prince’s door and at our own at 6 21/’’ in 1 6/’’ hour! Gave the men each a Silver Rouble, and then on their asking for a written assurance that I was satisfied I told the Courier to write thanks and that we had come in 1 6/’’ and I then signed                  

A Lister de Shibden Hall

Tuesday 11 March 1840

And set aside this my arms – Tea – And we drank Sackville’s health &c. on his 8th birthday – All this over at 8 - Then till now 1 25/’’ wrote all the above of today – A-[Ann] writing by me – Very fine day but bitter cold wind to the left nearly in our faces, going – At our backs in returning and besides abated since morning – the ice often sounded as if the river would not be safe very much longer – Lay down at 2 3/4 a.m. –

[in the side of the page:]      Brick Tea

[in the side of the page:]      Cerdebjab Prince of Tumen

[in the side of the page:]      Grand Lamās

[in the side of the page:]      Chinese and Mongol languages nearly the same

[in the side of the page:]      Calmuck (Mongol, Buddhist) Temple at Tumen      

[in the side of the page:]      Buddhist priests’ caps &c.

[in the side of the page:]      Tumen from Soroglazinskaya                        13 versts

[in the side of the page:]      S-[Soroglazinskaya] from Astrakhan . .        90 1/2

 Page References: SH:7/ML/E/24/0040 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0041 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0042 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0043

[nagasanis]

i can't belieb i have no self control... here, take my daughter. she is sneaky. she is pretty. she will not bark but she will bite. i luv her. // im basic so her intro is p much her app

✧ ━━ the courts of switzerland present NAGASANI BEGUM of HINDUSTAN, the TSAREVNA of RUSSIA. the TWENTY-FOUR year old has been QUIET and LOGICAL before the break of war but have now become SCHEMING and STUBBORN. SHE is often remembered by their likeness to ANYA CHALOTRA and FAITHFUL KNEES TURNED TO KA'BAH, HIDDEN FROM ALL CURIOUS EYES ; GOOSEBUMPS FROM THE COLD, ARMS SWAYING A SMALL CHILD ; BEAUTIFUL BLUE AND GOLDEN ROBES STUDDED WITH STONES WAITING TO BE WORN AGAIN. the rumour mills of europe claim that his allegiance lies with HERSELF/HER DAUGHTER and that she is for WAR.

headcanons ;

i ; daydreamer - living under the roof of sultan humayun was no easy feat. however a failure in his political position, humayun was a strict parent. he showed love, yes, but not affection. he drowned his children in expectations to be met from the moment they were born, and nagasani was no different. his father expected her to become a graceful, picture perfect poster child of hindustan - beautiful, skilled in the feminine arts and a devout wife to her husband, as her mother had become. the granddaughter of a german settler turned important merchant, her mother had converted, changed her name, made herself truly hindustani. as she grew, nagasani could never truly understand how her mother could leave behind her whole history and culture for a husband, and do it so flawlessly and easily. however, she was a happy child. in the company of her many siblings she found comfort. in her sisters, of course, she found confidantes and true friends, spending most of her time around them. in akbar, however, she found a mentor, almost. their age difference would not allow for a closer, more horizontal relationship, and her brother's claim to the sultanate left him with little time for his little sister. however the challenges may have been, nagasani had in akbar someone to give her advice, make her stronger. together, they saw their father make mistakes, and together, they would see akbar fix them in his reign. 

ii ; cold shoulder - her brother murad was never a mystery to nagasani. he was trustworthy and an all around loyal man to the sultanate, unlike many of her half-brothers. his opinion came as a surprise. how could he think that selling his little sister off to a russian man was the right choice? most of all, how could akbar keep her from weighing in on the decision? it was final, however. nagasani was to be married to tsarevich yuri, a man known for his promiscuity. she was, after all, a trading coin, she should have known. the decision drives her and her older brother apart, not only geographically as she moves to moscow, but emotionally as she becomes resentful of akbar, and murad much the same. 

iii ; tired - her distaste for the circumstances of her marriage, combined with her husband's reputation, makes nagasani weary of the betrothal from the start. the cultural shift doesn't help, and she becomes rather expressive on her opinions about her move to russian territory. she instantly dislikes the people she's surrounded by, not allowing them a chance, as well as the country itself. she sees no point in trying to love a man who is not willing to love her back, and cannot find a way to grow loyal to a country she holds no affection for. her husband is unfaithful and unbothered, and so she finds no problem in finding her own indulgences. still, she fulfills her duty as a wife when she can, if only to not be killed or disregarded completely. her true love is born out of a loveless encounter with an inebriated tsarevich and tsarevna, and despite not being considered an heir for her gender, karina brings life to nagasani's life. she is her only tie to russian lands, and although she might wish she had none, she does not hesitate in including her daughter in her plans to leave the country.

iv ; hometown glory - her grudge for her brothers do not diminish her love for hindustan, that much is true. she aches to return home, if only to see her land again, her sisters and her old friends, her nieces and nephews, her new sister-in-law whom she has yet to meet in person. going back to living as a begum, however, does not suit her interest. it is true that she has yet to come with a plan for what happens after she frees herself from russian hold, yes, but would it be so far fetched to dream of a loving marriage? would she have to beg akbar and murad not to trade her off again? she is not sure she would survive such a thing. that the future holds for nagasani is still unclear, but while that is yet to come, she makes sure to do what she can to improve her odds at getting it her way.

plot points ;

murad mirza ; chasing pavements - a game of blame is played between siblings. nagasani blames murad (although she doesn't exempt sultan akbar from his share of blame) for her failed marriage, for he was aware of her wishes to remain in hindustan. she fails to understand why roshanara was allowed to marry a once kitchen servant and her forced to marry a man like tsarevich yuri. murad blames nagasani - she was supposed to lure the man into her grace. had she not been raised to be a devout and graceful wife, after all? the dispute is bound to become clearer as siblings reunite in swiss grounds, and nagasani does not wish to mask her resentment for the actions taken by her brothers. 

tsarevich yuri ; rumour has it - her marriage was rotten from the start, that was clear as day. nagasani had no desire to be taken northwest to moscow, and yuri, on the other hand, no desire to be married to a foreign woman. his heart belonged to another, and nagasani not once hoped to gain her husband's affection (although some respect would have been nice). throughout their marriage yuri has not made an effort to hide his endeavours, and nagasani has made no attempts to stop him. she does not care and, in fact, takes his shamelessness as encouragement for her own rendezvous. unlike him, she is more secretive, for she knows a woman has more to lose than a man, and being foreign doesn't help her case. yuri is the embodiment of nagasani's curse and for that, she despises him. the only good thing that ever came from him was karina, and even then, she is unsure of her daughter's truest parentage.*

*note: karina is, in fact, yuri's daughter. i guess in the 1550s there was just no way of really knowing!!