#which ends up making it easier for Orion to drive a wedge between them

[ninugh29]

Does anyone have any fic recs similar to Dear Moony by BarneyLove on ao3???

Basically a Sirius centered fic that takes place during their school years (magic or muggle au idm) that focuses particularly on Sirius’ relationship with his brother and his cousins and his parents while also having to hide what’s going on at home from his friends?? If you haven’t read Dear Moony I can’t recommend it enough, it’s technically a prequel and it’s a wip but trust me it’s absolutely amazing.

[kiss-my-freckle]

Something new. It’ll be easier, but a lot longer, and end up random as fuck. 

Episode 7x9

Orion Relocation Services. They kill the innocent to service the criminal. Liz in her Ruin deleted scene. “I don’t have a home without you.” The “Sold” sign in front of the house reminds me of Takoma Park. Taking photographs for that new wall space. The photo Liz has of Katarina with her face blown out. Husband is supposed to be retiring. Same with Fakerina. She was out of the game. They pulled her in just to set her up. Orion clients hardly knew the neighbors. Like Liz with Fakerina across the hall. “As we say at Orion, Good Luck. Wherever fate takes you.” Again, bringing fate into it. Arrows and angels. The hunter. Silver linings. Stark’s treatment didn’t work for a reason. They didn’t get that lead from Aram for a reason. Fate at work. Pharma-Karma’s a bitch. A saran wrap smothering that reminds me of Liz in 5x8. And her dialogue at the end of 6x22. “Like I can feel every breath. I’m not used to that.”

Liz calling Agnes “Munchkin.” The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Transitional object is usually a physical object which takes the place of the mother-child bond. I’m bringing this up because it makes me think of Liz’s fulcrum bunny. Agnes won’t go anywhere without that bugged up Barbie. One of two things is gonna happen. Either Fakerina will use it to track Liz and Agnes, or Red and Liz will use it to trap Fakerina. That’s my prediction for the Barbie. I still have Agnes’ pink glitter shoes in mind. I also believe Red’s “Never underestimate the power of glitter” dialogue will come in when this happens. Whatever way they play it. Especially when they continue to make mention to “underestimating” Fakerina. Berdy is upset about the Barbie. Without those ears on Liz, they depend on getting intel from Ilya, and they’re no longer one step ahead of Red. Berdy refers to Liz as  “the daughter.” Quack doctor speaking of two women: “Your friend” and “Katarina Rostova.” One is looking for the other. 

Red speaks to Liz as if he suspects she’s assisting Fakerina. There’s only one way she’d know about Steinhil. Liz was on the phone with Red at the time she gave him this intel. Unless Red or Liz contacted the team, no one would know but Liz and Red. Process of elimination, but it appears Red is now dumb. He states Ilya is like a brother to him. Sounds like something Katarina would say about her childhood friend. Red shows concern for Liz, but I don’t understand how he can rely on protective service when they have no idea what the woman looks like. Another mention to ghost stories. Assassins, traitors. Sounds like Rederina. A traitor to Russia and the US. Definitely a killer. 86 bodies, not including the ones overseas. Criminals hiding in plain sight. Just like Rederina. Murder becomes central to the exchange of identities. For Orion, they kill the innocent, criminals then take their identities. Rederina falls in parallel. Real Red was already dead. She took his identity. For Fakerina, she fell in parallel with the innnocent to protect the criminal Katarina was. Red wasn’t involved. Confirmed through Dom and Ilya conversation. The harder Ilya fights, he surrenders. He surrenders quite a bit, which tells me he’s fighting like hell not to tell. This feels much like Orchard and the Braxton recall. The real Rostova wouldn’t need these memories, she would remember them herself. Confirmation Katarina is an imposter. 

“Fellas, gals, non-binary pals ....” A Rederina bit. So obvious. Rostova dinner in the dark. Graffiti on the walls. One bit says “Tom-Tom.” I’ll go back at some point, slow it down to see if I can read more. “In food, our eyes betray us. With visual cues. With predisposed expectations ...”  Past experiences. Memory isn’t like a video recorder. Predisposed to assume every male you see was born male. Liz dining with Red in the dark is perfect. Dining without prejudice. Dining on pure flavor. Basically, Liz would be tasting Red’s soul so long as she didn’t hear his manly voice. If only her eyes and ears didn’t deceive her. Katarina Rostova was never seen or heard from again. Raymond Reddington was. Liz’s mother spent half her life in the dark. Liz profiled her mother’s ghost in The Freelancer. They show this through the end of Ruin. Dinner in the dark, quite perfect for mother-daughter Rostova. “Plus one” speaks to parent and child in parent-child stories. Like this one. 

“Her father helped get us out of Russia, but it wasn’t enough. She needed to disappear. Needed a plan.” Ilya’s dialogue coincides with Dom’s story. He got rid of the bodies and got into America. But for Katarina, it wasn’t so easy. Fakerina demanding to know about “that” plan because she knows nothing about it. She wasn’t there. She didn’t even know Red is an imposter. That’s why she asked Ilya “how?” More proof she’s an imposter. Fakerina speaks as if she’s the real Katarina. In doing so, she basically deceives Ilya into revealing more. She wants to know who this plan involved. Again, she would know if she were the real Katarina, and believe when I say she didn’t have her memory manipulated. The straws people will grasp because they refuse to accept the truth. That’s why they immediately throw Katarina into the belief that another man became Raymond. She has absolutely no idea that Ilya already answered her question - in full. Only three were involved: Ilya, Katarina, and Dr. Koehler. Katarina arranged the surgery because she’s the one who got the surgery. Koehler is dead and Frank Bloom is Ilya. There’s no remembering the man who impersonated Reddington because no man did. A woman did. Fakerina acting as the real deal no longer has a hold on Ilya. Quack doctor states Ilya has a different memory because they reached an answer he shouldn’t reveal. He basically shifted to Belgrade and refused to answer her question. She pushes anyway, hoping to get Red’s real identity. Real Katarina would know his identity already. She arranged the surgery. More proof she’s an imposter. They basically pull the same with Ilya as they did with Liz in Braxton’s recall. Quack doctor wants to pull him out because of his physical symptoms.  

Back to dinner in the dark. Blakiston's fish owl. They prey on fish. 

"Owls live within the darkness, which includes magic, mystery, and ancient knowledge. Related to the night is the moon, which owls are also connected to. It becomes a symbol of the feminine and fertility, with the moon's cycles of renewal. Even the mythology relates owl to this wisdom and femininity.”

“Owls have great wisdom and insight, and can see beyond the illusions in life. They encourage you to look at all situations with a keen eye, and not to take everything as it appears. ... The owl spirit animal usually symbolizes death, but it can also mean a great change will come into your life.”

Katarina Rostova is an illusion. A figment of the collective imagination. 

I’m not sure if I heard this correctly, but I think he mentioned the all-seeing eye. OMG, I love Red’s love for animals. I find it interesting how Red mentions Liz’s loss of Tom. Looking forward, not back. Reminds me of their Caretaker scene, 3x16. Again, Red makes me question if he suspects Liz working with Fakerina. Reminding us that all this suitcase shit started with Tom Keen. "Unfortunately, the last person I would want to find Ilya is the person I need help from to find him." Basically, Red doesn’t want Liz to find Ilya. But he needs her help to find him. If Fakerina drives any wedge between Red and Liz, it won’t be her playing the mother card. It’ll be Liz learning Red isn’t Ilya Koslov. Red questions Liz about Morozov. Only two reasons she’d know that name. Either she was threatened, or she’s working with Fakerina. 

Dom said the Reddington ruse didn't work, it only angered those who already want Katarina dead. Ilya responded that she is dead. Because she is. She died when she became Raymond. Dom stated, “Nonsense.” Because she’s not dead to the Directive. They basically want a body. Neville Townsend is at the top of a very long list of people who want her dead. Likely why they call it the Townsend Directive. Perhaps that very long list coincides with the blacklist. Her enemies taken down number by number. A theory George on fb has on the blacklist itself. Anyway, Neville likely runs the bounty. That's why I believe he'll hit #1 or #2 on the blacklist. Red is the real Rostova, he’ll wannna shut it down. Dom is worried they'll find Masha. this coincides with Katarina’s dialogues in Cape May. So long as she drew breath, her daughter would be hunted and killed. One of the many contradictions in this woman’s character. For Dom, this was definitely all about Masha. Ilya tells Dom they should tell Raymond. Dom states, "We are not telling HIM anything." Ilya then replies, "I know how you feel, but Reddington deserves to know what we have done." 

"I know how you feel..." Excommunication right there. 

Why .. why does Reddington deserve to know Because he is a part of this You are protecting him I made a promise

He pledged his life and a promise is a promise. But he didn’t wanna betray this woman. He cared about her, just not as much as he cared about Rostova. His tears are proof. I think he and Fakerina may have had a past relationship. It comes off that way. Fakerina refers to him as “love.” 

"And don't worry, she'll be safe with me. I'm a lot tougher than I look." Agnes is definitely in danger. Dom saying they were supposed to confirm Katarina died when they only confirmed she's very much alive. The entire point of informing Raymond. He's the real Rostova and they just made it worse for his daughter. Exacerbated his need to build a criminal empire to keep her safe. They'll be hunting her down, hoping to use her as leverage. Fakerina interrogates Ilya to the point of seizure. She wants Red’s identity. Ilya can’t give it, Red is the real Rostova. Quack doctor pulls him out of the extraction. Same basic thing Orchard said to Braxton. You can't get the truth if he's dead.

Back to the Orion agent. She tells her client she has a good feeling about this next chapter for her. The client responds, it can't get any worse. Same concept Red said to Patrick. It can get worse. And it will for Liz. Woman tries to escape her pos man. Kate telling Liz to walk away before it’s too late. The client speaks of having nothing but painful memories. Exactly what Liz is going to have. Back to Liz's deleted scene in Ruin. "I don't have a home without you." Her home will be filled with nothing but painful memories because of her love for Tom Keen. Back to my earlier statement, about the way Orion kills. It can't get any worse. Saran wrap suffocating the woman as Liz was suffocated in 5x8. Garvey's men and the carpet, now men with carpet preparing to roll up a body for Orion. What does the agent say next? "You want something done right, you gotta do it yourself." Back to Brimley. Like being impaled by a unicorn. I believe Agnes is next to get the blade. The saran wrap, the knife. Add in the guns. Basic 5x8 repeat, only it’s Agnes. 

Liz, oh Liz. With her gun on Fakerina. The entire point. She has to choose what her mother chose 30 years ago. To choose Raymond and kill off Katarina. In doing so, she’ll truly come face-to-face with losing Raymond. Because he’s her mother. I just hope Liz chooses wisely. So here’s the thing. Fakerina is now in the same position as Garvey was. She has enough intel to destroy Raymond in learning he’s an imposter, but her life depends on ending the Directive. She has Townsend’s first name, so it’s all about getting to him. Getting to him will lead to uncover every player. This cannot happen. If Fakerina gets what she needs, Red will die because he’s the real Rostova. Red speaks of hope, which has me a bit worried. That’s exactly what he spoke about when Liz betrayed him in S6. He let his hopes convince him. Shit is definitely gonna drop. Soon. Let’s hope Liz has the patience to get those answers from Red. If not, she’s going to use Fakerina to get them. And if she does, Fakerina will likely get what she needs. If that happens, I believe the Townsend Directive will be the final big bad, and it will kill Red. Given what Fakerina has already done, Liz could choose either way. 

Like I said, random and long. But I didn’t wanna forget anything. 

[tallsamjones-blog]

David

I woke up to Chinese water torture. Condensation was accumulating on the inside of my tiny tent and little drops of water fell on the bridge of my nose, one after another. Deep breath. Opening my eyes, the gray nylon was illuminated and long shadows were cast from the low winter sun, barely risen over the horizon. It was Friday. My favorite class was meeting today at 10:30 and it took a good 40 minutes to walk there. I had lost progress after having worn shoes for only about a week in Washington and Oregon so I still had trouble with the gravel path that ran along the lagoon.

I climbed out of my tent and dug around in my big pack. I pulled out my notebooks and a pack of instant oatmeal. Standing to watch the gulls and the runners at the edge of the sea cliffs, I ate the oatmeal raw and thought about my dad. His name was David, just like his dad. They called me Samuel David when I was born. At this point I hadn’t made it back home yet, hadn’t asked my widowed grandma for grandpa Dave’s leather-bound bible. I had yet to read about how David got lucky with a slingshot and then proceeded to lose his mind and write Psalms about pain and fire and death. I had the luck part down, at least.

Don’t believe me?

I found a pair of glasses on the ground, just lying in the dirt. Black, rectangular frames with both lenses scratched but still intact. They fit my prescription, so I wore them. I picked a yellow flower and rolled my black jeans up to my knees as I walked down to the music building. I missed World Music with Professor Novak by about five minutes. I could have probably walked in late but I looked like a goon with the flower in my hair and the pine cone hanging around my neck on a string and all. Plus I wasn’t technically signed up for the class or enrolled in the University and I was camping illegally on an area of campus that was reserved for indigenous wildlife. I took it all in stride and went to check the cans by the library instead.

After a couple of half-eaten sandwiches and probably some chips or something, I made for my recently-discovered happy hippie hole down in IV, a communal living project called The Faux Op. This was off-campus, hidden behind a bunch of more recent apartments and only accessible via a crooked driveway with a secrete entrance on Abrego Road. 

Things were relatively quiet when I got there. Everyone except for a few of the heavier mid-week drinkers had gotten up and had breakfast before going to work or school or whatever else. I still wasn’t familiar with all twenty-something people who lived there, so I took the opportunity to slink unnoticed past the mirrors and paintings and couches of the “outdoor living room” and sniff around downstairs. 

I walked into a cloud of thick, sweet-smelling white smoke. I followed the hazy trail, feeling crumbs and weird sticky stuff on the tired shag carpet with my feet. The vapor trail led to Sam and Stef’s room which they shared with two parakeets and a guy who was still asleep in his bed at the far end of the room. Sam had been talking animatedly about how the house was falling apart. Some shenanigans with the chore system and somebody wasn’t doing their dishes. I caught a glimpse of Stef putting on her most patient face before she noticed me looming in the doorway.

“Tall Sam Jones! You’re back!” She jumped up in exclamation and she and Sam both charged me and hugged around my torso. “Well hey you two!” I retreated back against the opposite wall, we all now stood in the vape-filled hallway. “Glad to see someone’s still around.” 

“Fuck yeah we’re still around!” Sam replied, stepping back and gesturing with his vape rig as he spoke. “We were just about to get dabbed out for the day. You wanna smoke some wax with us?”

I raised my eyebrows “Duuuude thanks for the offer, that sounds queso. I’m chillin’ on it though, I was actually wondering ... Stef, you said something about tripping later this weekend?”

“Uhh, yeah! We’re doing it today!” 

“Aww no way? Did I totally guess right then?”

“Mm-hmm” She nodded her head. I saw Sam get kind of distracted standing behind her. She wore her dark hair in a long braid that ran way down her back. “We’re gonna eat them and then go dance at this David Bowie party that our friend Claire told us about.” I asked about the party with the only piece of information I had relating to the late great rock star: “Woah, didn’t he just die?” Sam cut in while exhaling another dragon blast of candy smoke. “Yeah, it was just gonna be, like, a ‘funk party’ at first but I think they’re making it a tribute thing now.”

“Hey, maybe I can go play my sax there!”

“Oh! Is it at your camp?” Stef perked up a bit. “Maybe we can eat the mushrooms here and you can take us to go see your spot and grab your Saxophone and then if we feel like it we can go dance!”

That’s exactly what ended up happening, which was kind of a strange shift for me. I had been used to hitch hiking and just bumping around solo without much of a plan besides “meditate, be kind, and play music.” Now that I was latching on to my friends, I just followed the easy rhythm that they liked to lay out in front and then follow. We ate a couple of stems and caps each in the late afternoon and walked parallel to the beach on Del Playa Drive under a warbly, deep-red sunset. We had to go by the stars by the time we made it to the big field where my campsite was hidden. Somehow that method of navigation seemed easier as the Psilocybin kicked in. 

I think that seeing the place I had been living helped my new friends believe that I was for real. We sat on sandy soil in the little clearing I had made, fenced in by a natural-looking barrier of sticks and living bushes. It was all talking and laughing and feeling the sea breeze bring a chill across the mesa. The day before I had found the skull of a red fox half buried in the grass. I named him as my new pet “Smilin’ Tom Fox” as he still had some skin and whiskers and teeth on one side of his jaw that kind of pulled into a zombified grin. We buried the longest-stemmed mushroom in the sand there beside Smilin’ Tom as a “thank-you” offering to the earth. When we all felt good and it was time to go, I pulled my Soprano Saxophone and my trusty black suit jacket out of my tent. 

The stress and nervous calm-before-the-storm energy that Isla Vista had on Friday afternoon was replaced by the welcome-to-the-jungle energy of Friday night. The three of us strolled in the middle of the street among groups of giddy guys in button-ups and fierce packs of prowling high-heel miniskirt jungle cats. I remember some drama with trying to trying to persuade another group of people to come with us. With my musician’s jacket on and my horn case in my hand, pretty much all I was thinking about was “get to the funk party.” The others would end up there with us or else they’d be missing out. Stef came to the same conclusion and we continued. Music on all sides. Synchronized reactions to beer pong games cheering out over the music. Four houses on four corners all blasting different beats. It was an easy place to get lost. Luckily, I had two sentient street guides. I wouldn’t have needed one by the sound of the place. 

We entered the back yard to the fade-in intro from the Bee Gees’ “Stayin’ Alive.” At this point I became a barefoot funk monster who couldn’t stop dancing. I was instantly locked in. The party was a living and I could feel it breathing. I let instinct take over. There were floodlights illuminating a patch of grass with maybe 60 people dancing and milling around. There was a small garage with a cheap plastic table pushed against it. I ran around to the other side of the garage and threw my saxophone on the roof. Then I wedged my bare feet between two palm trees and scampered up there. The slanted A-frame gave me a minute to collect myself as I pulled the Soprano out of her case. I looked up toward the sky and saw Orion. The night was in my hands.

Lived up on that roof for a good three hours. I danced like the Pied Piper and ripped through some kind of jazz I don’t think anyone there had heard before, least of all me. I watched the size of the crowd double and then double again. Eventually people made it up on to the roof to give me cold cans of “jazz juice” and to smoke spliffs during square tunes. The night ended with “All-Star” by Smashmouth, which, in my mind, is the undisputed end-all anthem of my exact generation. Actually, the night tried to end there, with some help from the Sheriff's Department, but then somebody yelled “FREEBIRD!!!” and let me tell you, whoever was playing DJ that night, they were on it. 

I hopped down from the roof and joined in a mosh pit for that last one. I don’t know if we even played any David Bowie that night. It was mostly Ray Charles and Average White Band. I do know that he was smiling down on us that night though. He was talking me through it. 

I don’t know what much of this means. I wasn’t concerned with analyzing anything in the moment. I just went with what felt right. That’s what I’m still trying to do now. 

Pray for world peace.