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touchstarvedsam · 4 years

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I was really gonna ignore that "superior"natural thing but I saw that they seem to have some talented artists. So I thought maybe they are doing something interesting (even if it's destiel) so I checked out their Google doc and omg I'm HOWLING! Eileen calls Sam moosie, Cas calls Dean squirrel. Dean calls Cas kitten, Sam calls Eileen otter. They say it's just a incollection of ideas that might not make it into the project, but you get a sense of what you're dealing with there. And this is from1/?

A brief perusal to see how much attention Sam gets compared to Dean & Cas (a word search gave 27/87/100 results for each respectively, so not too much attention to Sam. But sure, Sam is the favorite character of some of their writers). I'm sure a deeper reading will unearth more (like, Dean saying you are home to Cas, who says we're not at the bunker, Dean replies but you are home. That sounds like something Dean would say. And Dean wishes a tulpa into existence 'cause he misses Cas too much)2/?

They say they want to eliminate plot holes but it seems what's a plot hole depends on whether it serves their ship: purgatory stays (we know they love that arc) even if it makes no sense for Crowley and Cas to go through that much in S6 when apparently there are many ways in and out. Cas, the guy who failed at almost everything he's done, is a "master strategist". Every other retcon of later seasons stays as long as it serves ship purposes. Sam gets his fair share of attention but Dean is the3/?

One who teaches Cas about being human including the textures of food (Sam and Cas pbj moment erasure) and Cas should be the one to teach Jack about his powers (no mention of Sam and Jack's relationship). Other ooc things: Cas rides a bike and when Dean asks says it reminds him of flying. After Cain, Dean takes Cas to the farm for bees (?). Cas and Dean snuggle. Knowing Cas is alive gives demon Dean strength to fight to be cured? Dean speaks enochian to Cas. Cas making a mixtape for Dean. 4/?

Cas being in regarding Dean. "Baby jack walking around in cas’s trench coat going “I’m an angel”." Home alone type ep with Jack. Dean kissing cas's forehead when he's dead in 13.01. Crowley is Jack's godfather and gets him a hellhound pet. Sam has a pet fish? Dean sings you're my sunshine to Cas as he sleeps. "Uncle Gabe". Apparently John dropped Sam and Dean off at Bobby's all the time? I don't think this is canon? Keep 15.18 but change 19&20 (of course). There's no drama or angst like 5/?

Kevin's death or Crowley's death or anything that might add tension to the story. Unless of course it serves the ship so plenty of trauma for Cas including darkness (from the empty) and sharp objects (from Naomi). A small mention of Sam's trauma with Lucifer, thank God, but it's interesting that they have so little Sam. They can say they'll flesh out more arcs for Sam but it's clear he's not a priority from how he's not present where he should be. For example, Dean will explain everything 6/?

To Mary and break her out of her brainwashing. But where's Sam? She's his mother too. Other than Eileen Sam's most meaningful relationship seems to be with his pet fish (still confused about that). Even if this project gets better in the future, which I doubt, it's clear what the direction here is. It baffles me that they think this is superior to the show we have, as problematic as the show is. I wish them best of luck but I don't have any high hopes for this. Thanks for the laughs though. 7/7

Sorry for that long ass rant in your inbox. It's in the middle of the night but I'm cackling after reading their doc and I had to share it with someone. I thought you might find it amusing as well. Hopefully all my asks go through. On the one hand, I feel bad hating on a fan project. But the way they've positioned it ("superior"), the blatant disrespect to Sam, and all the shit their side has pulled since the finale (and long before that) has really irked me. Again, sorry.

I just- this whole thing was a whirlwind of nonsense, it took me a whole week to process it. I don’t even know where to start here, or if I want to just yeet my laptop out my bedroom window into the snow. They really consider their ideas superior to the original show? More like Inferiornatural, to be honest. Superinferiornatural? They can’t even seem to characterize them correctly, let alone come up with a decent plotline or idea.

So we’ll start with the nicknames, since that is where you started. The whole thing is painfully out of character, but the worst (and funniest) of them all is Dean calling Cas “kitten,” I might actually laugh myself into an early grave with that one. Dean gives nicknames to shorten people’s names (besides Sam; Sammy is the only person who gets an extended nickname). He’s not going to give someone a longer nickname than the original nickname he uses for them! And Cas wouldn’t actually give nicknames, especially not giving Dean the nickname Crowley gave him??? Otter?! Moosie?! W H A T. Can we move on from grade school kiddie crush nicknames?

I’m currently manifesting Dean saying “kitten” in his gruff voice with that lip curl he does sometimes and I’m cracking up about it. Thanks for the amusement, heIIers.

Of course Sam would only be mentioned 27 times to Cas’ 100 because Sam means nothing to them. He’s only ever either been in their way or a cheerleader for that horribly characterized ship of theirs. I just love how, in order to make DestieI, they have to butcher the characters so irreparably that they’re unrecognizable. Good for them, they can’t even have fanfiction of their ship where the characters keep their canon personalities. 10/10 would laugh at again.

I love the Sam erasure. It’s true to the heIIers’ character at least. They’re a one-trick pony. I’m so used to it by now that I’m totally desensitized to their bullshit. But Dean speaking Enochian? What? When and how did he learn that? I can’t see Dean in his 30s sitting there willingly to learn the language of the angels. Not even if his “kitten” is the one to teach him. Dean doesn’t give a fuck about that. If any of them is going to learn Enochian, it’ll be Sam, and they can fight me on that. I will kick anyone’s ass that argues.

I hope the mixtape Cas makes for Dean is just 4 hours of that Spaghetti song by The Wiggles because Cas sucks at doing human things.

I’d love to see the Sam erasure in the Regarding Dean one. Just swap Sam out for Cas? So Cas is the only one Dean recognizes? Hmm. Where would Sam go? A smoothie place? Yeah, as if Dean would remember the angel who he’d barely known for 8 years at that time over Sam who he’d known since he was 4 years old, lol. Sure, Jan.

The entire 5th ask is WILD, nonnie. A pet fish? Dean singing you are my sunshine? Dean kissing Cas’ forehead? LMFAO. Crowley is Jack’s godfather. The KING OF HELL is Jack’s GODfather. I’m- hgfjdksl I’m sure Dean who was ripped apart by hellhounds would love for Jack to have a pet hellhound. Yeah. Absolutely. “Uncle Gabe” yeah, fuck that guy in particular. Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t erased Eileen to make SabrieI endgame in their fic. SabrieI is the Sam version of DestieI. It’s just as nasty and abusive :) which was why the heIIers ship it. They’re into abuse. It’s their shtick.

I do wonder what the point of the fish is... Sam has always loved and wanted a dog... you’d think they’d give Sam a dog... but I forgot they don’t pay attention to the show unless the episode has Mushy in the credits. I literally saw a heIIer say they skipped episodes if Mushy wasn’t in the credits... so they don’t know how to characterize Sam or Dean, but from this message they don’t even know how to characterize Cas who seems to be their precious uwu baby angel so I’m not surprised. I can’t wait for them to start releasing this shitshow. It makes for good fodder to make fun of them all over again. They really watched a grand total of 146 out of 327 episodes and thought, “Yeah, my opinion about the show definitely matters,” and I think that’s fucking hilarious.

Sorry for taking so long to respond! Hope I did a good job, nonnie. <3

#anti destihellers #anti destiel #hellers really can't characterize worth shit huh #this is honestly sad and pathetic #hellers are good for nothing if not for laughs #long post #sorry guys #anon #kiri answers asks

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goose-books · 4 years

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whoa, it sure is about time around here for a post, huh!

today i offer you 1.7k words about cressida and rory simply being soft. that’s all. this is the happiest thing i’ve ever written in the darkling canon and making this moodboard reminded me that it’s because these two are the only kind and friendly people in the entire book.

more details about cressida and rory’s home WIP, darkling, can be found here! (short version: it’s a speculative fiction king lear; there’s magic but it’s weird about being magic; half the characters are gay trans and neurodivergent because i said so.) this takes place about a year before the story starts; the two of them have just turned sixteen and seventeen, respectively!

also, i wrote all of this while listening to “kentucky” by hippo campus on repeat. the lyrics aren’t quite as relevant as the vibe. if you catch me yearning on main mind your own business /j

Lorelai Rory Flowers is afraid of thunder.

This is a bit of an embarrassing thing to admit, as they’re seventeen (“at least seventeen,” they like to tell people, “maybe two hundred, who’s to say?”) and generally wise beyond their years, or whatever it is that adults say about kids with too much psychological baggage. Being afraid of thunder is not a very wise-beyond-one’s-years trait. And yet the state of affairs remains: loud noises make Rory want to melt into the earth. Back when they still went to school, even the fire alarm sent them scuttling under their desk to hide.

Right now, in the elevator, all they can do is shrink into their sweater.

They haven’t let go of Cressida’s hand yet.

Beside them, Cressida is soaked, long golden hair and long white dress dripping. Rory rocks up onto their toes and back down, anxiety worming along the back of their neck like an itchy coat. This was not the plan. The plan was not “get caught in the rain and run through a storm for two blocks.” The plan was for the two of them to go walk by the river and - who knows, talk about Joan of Arc or the Kennedy assassination or something. Swap special interests. Maybe swap spit. Probably not, though. It’s not a date. It’s not not a date - but, like, Rory still does work for Cressida’s dad, so who knows how awkward things could get. Plus Cressida’s hard to read. She doesn’t really make facial expressions, and that’s usually fine, because Rory can’t really read facial expressions so it’s about the same to them, but in this particular situation -

“I trust you,” Cressida says, squeezing their hand, “but where are we going?”

The rain’s left Rory’s glasses fogged up enough to render them effectively blind. They take their glasses off and squint at the elevator buttons. They are still effectively blind.

“Is that a five or a six?” they say, pointing.

Cressida peers over their shoulder. “Which one do you want?”

“Five.”

Cressida presses the five button with her free hand. The elevator, which is about the size of a broom closet, jerks into unsteady, fitful motion.

The thing is that the apartment building is kind of - well, not a dump. It’s not horrible. There aren’t cockroaches. But Cressida lives in a manor, literally. Stayer Manor. Capital S, capital M. And there was never any sort of plan for today, even in the wildest of circumstances, that involved Rory bringing the city’s golden girl to a building the size of a shoebox. But then it was raining, and Cressida kept saying she didn’t mind the rain despite clearly minding because if she ruins her dress her dad will go rabid-dog on her, and Rory’s cognitive wheels were spinning like they were powered by a well-greased hamster, and none of the restaurants close enough to duck into were appropriate places for them to safely freak out about the thunder, and their apartment was only two blocks away.

So.

Here they are.

“Sorry,” Cressida says. “Where are we going?”

Rory attempts to dry their glasses on their soaked-through sweater, to little avail. “We are going,” they announce, “to a world of pure imagination.”

Outside, thunder cracks the sky. They know Cressida sees them flinch, because she squeezes their hand again.

The apartment is 505. Cressida waits as Rory digs around in their jacket pocket, shuffling past loose coins and two pairs of headphones and four melted Starbursts and way too many scraps of paper until they finally unearth their key. Their lock sticks - their lock always sticks - so once they’ve turned it, they have to drop Cressida’s hand and plant one wet Doc Marten on the wall and yank. The door swings open.

“Voila,” Rory says, performing jazz hands. “Willy Wonka wants what I have.”

Their apartment is purple. Not startlingly purple. Gently purple. Purple like it creeps up on you. Purple like you don’t realize exactly how purple it is until you realize everything - walls, gauzy flower-patterned curtains, plushy armchair, compass-rose-shaped clock, old-fashioned record player on the table - is the same shade of soft lavender.

There is at least one nail sticking up out of the hard-wood floor. Rory snags a sock on it every time they dance around with their headphones in.

Two people have been inside since Rory started renting the place a year ago. And that’s them and the landlord. This is their place, their safe haven, their nook, and it’s the size of Cressida’s bathroom, and rich pretty Cressida Stayer is standing, dripping, in the threshold.

“Don’t touch anything,” Rory says. Cressida draws her hands in like the walls might electrocute her. “That was a joke. You can touch things.”

“This is your apartment,” Cressida says.

“Indeed.”

“You live here.”

“That succeeds the first!” They give her an encouraging smile. “Subsequent statements! How cogently lucid of you!”

Cressida looks down. The hem of her dress is dripping onto the floor. “I don’t suppose you have a vent I could sit on…?”

“In fact I do!” Rory directs her, aircraft-marshall-style, to the heating vent on the floor. They’re jittering. They’re using way too much arm movement. They can’t get their heart to stop skidding around, because normally! They do not! Let people in here!

They stand and drip. Cressida sits and drips. She gazes around, and Rory gazes with her, trying to see it through her eyes.

“Where’s your bed?” she says.

Rory skips over to the closet and pulls the door open, with the grand gestures of a magician presenting a trick. The inside of the tiny closet is lined with a thick downy comforter; there are sheets and pillows scattered around atop it, and there are glow-in-the-dark stars stuck up all over the walls and ceiling.

Cressida gazes at it. “On purpose, right? Not because -”

“On purpose. Yes. I could have bought a bed. I just think it’s cozy.” Oh, Rory is going to lose it right here. Their foot is tapping the floor at about a million miles an hour. Granted, being in their apartment helps the overstimulation a little - just being where it’s safe and everything’s always the same and they control their space. That always helps. But it’s not like they can just curl up in their closet with their headphones in and the door shut, because Cressida is here -

Cressida, for her part, looks a little impressed.

“It’s nice,” she says, wrapping her arms around her knees. “You just live here? By yourself?”

Rory shrugs. “I’m emancipated,” they say, which isn’t strictly true, but they work for the most powerful man in the city, who has their back if anyone actually looks into their files, so it’s as true as it really needs to be - and then thunder roars outside again and Rory skitters sideways and falls over their armchair.

“Oh! Oh my God -” Cressida jumps to her feet.

Rory scrambles up from where they’ve tumbled to the floor. “Sorry sorry sorry!” they say, except really they yell it because they have their shaking hands over their ears. “Sorrysorrysorry, I - I really don’t like loud - I d-don’t -”

“Can I -” All of a sudden Cressida’s in front of them. Rory doesn’t move away, just stands there, chest heaving, and Cressida slides her still-damp hands very gently up both of their arms, and she very gently pulls their hands off their ears.

The thunder, again. Like a cannon blast. This time Rory yelps a little. Cressida pulls them in close to her and sits both of them down on the vent, which, at the very least, is warm and also on the floor, so Rory can’t really trip over anything when they flinch.

“You don’t like loud,” Cressida repeats. She’s a good deal taller than they are - Rory’s exactly five-foot in their Docs - and so it makes logical sense for her to settle down with her chin on their head, probably.

“I don’t. I don’t. I really don’t.” They’ve started fluttering their hands a little; their voice is getting that shaky tilt it gets when they’re in sensory overload. “Fun story, back in high school we went on a field trip to this play where they used gunfire blanks for sound effects and I had a full-on crying-and-screaming public meltdown. I like to tell fun stories from high school like it wasn’t actual purgatory, because I cope through humor!”

“I know,” Cressida says simply, and she wraps her arms around them so they can lean back into her chest. The next thunder crash comes, and she tightens her grip. “Is this helping?”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. A lot. Like a weighted blanket.” Rory tilts their head back to give her a shaky upside-down grin.

They don’t like making eye contact, so they don’t, but they are aware that Cressida’s gaze is resting pretty solidly on their face, which is - fine, and normal behavior for friends, and the fact that they’re cuddling on a vent and they can feel her heart beating against their spine is, like, normal also, probably -

“Rory,” Cressida says tentatively, “can I…”

Rory tilts their head. “Can you what?”

Cressida hesitates; then she leans in. It is a very very gentle kiss, almost hesitant; she pulls away after a second or so, to find Rory staring at her dumbfounded.

“Whoa,” they say, face assembling itself into what they’re fully aware is a stupid doofy grin. “Whoa. Hi. Hey. I - yeah! You can do that!”

They both cling to each other’s hands for a second; they both let out a breath that is, Rory thinks, equal parts relief and euphoria.

Then Rory leans in and kisses Cressida again, and this time neither of them pull away, and when the thunder crashes overhead Rory thinks they’ve never felt safer than they do right now.

#max.txt #darkling tag #lorelai flowers #cressida stayer #fun fact about this: i wrote it for my school creative writing class and we had to do peer feedback circles #and of the three people who gave me feedback only ONE of them got rory's pronouns right #while the other two played choose your own adventure i suppose?#(i'm not; like; pissed off i just think it's funny.... cis people let me study you /j)#max actually writes

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ambvrs · 4 years

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[ HANDE ERCEL, CIS FEMALE, SHE / HER ] shh ! JOSEPHINE AYDIN, the TWENTY ONE year old SECOND year GRAPHIC DESIGN & CREATIVE WRITING major from EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND, is known as an AMBER around here. SHE was invited to join because SHE UNEARTHED STRATHMORE'S BEST KEPT SECRET, and now, they’re here to stay. SHE reminds me of HOT CUPS OF COFFEE CRADLED IN SWEATER - CLAD HANDS, KNOWING GAZE CAST OVER THE PAGES OF A WELL - VERSED NOVEL, & RIBBONS TYING BACK SEA OF DARK CURLS.

hello friends 🥺👉👈 i’m andie ( she / her, twenty one, est, no stable sleep schedule ) & i’m here to bring my precious babie, the second - year amber, josephine aydin ! i’ve included a link to her google docs ( which is extra as all hell, please don’t @ me ) which has most of the information i have on her, but for everyone’s sake, i’ll include some tl;dr bullet points here !

biography .

josephine’s google doc includes a stat breakdown, how she’s perceived by a number of people, her aesthetics, a more or less biography ( which apparently i’ve basically detailed below i am too long winded for my own good ), and a handful of wanted connections ! i’ll have it up on a page on her blog soon !

the basics .

third youngest of the aydin children, josephine was constantly overlooked in favor of her established prodigy siblings; a brother who inherited mother’s natural skill for music and a sister who, while not musically inclined, took after her mother’s obvious drive for ambition. perhaps she’d be a doctor like her father, top of her class and a prime candidate at any prestigious medical school, or an actress, for she already commanded the stage well. but josephine showed no interest in any of those things, so unlike her family that most forgot she bore the aydin name.

a youth best spent in shadows, at siblings every performance and undoubtedly their number one fan. she didn’t blame them for her parents disinterest in her, and for what it’s worth, they were always the ones most willing to get her to step out of comfort zone. to try new hobbies and activities her parents had discarded for her. she was still young, but her siblings offered her an unwavering support just as she did them.

a wild imagination and an eye for finer details lead her to be a publish writer, even if it’s in just the smallest sections of the school newspaper or your english teacher’s bulletin board. an avid member of the writing club, the school book club, and a visitor to most art classes, she took more joy in what is hidden within books and on paper than how she appeared to others. she took great pride in her work, of course, but she almost never called attention to herself; growing up sheltered from the critical eyes of others will do that to you.

( death mention tw ) short stories that detail her siblings as knights and fair maidens and her parents as the evil that plagues the kingdom, it’s no wonder her parents were never privy to her interest. but for every story detailing them as her savior, she could only wish to be theirs when news of their death reaches her. both killed under mysterious circumstances in their childhood home while parents were away and she was on a school trip, she bears their death as though she’s at fault. as if she could have done anything to save them, and she would’ve done it all, if she could.

the end of her secondary school career is plagued by their loss, one that weighs heavily on her shoulders and heart. parents who can’t bear to look at her as a reminder of what they’ve lost, who push her so far away that her only solace is strathmore, an entire country away. they do not bid her farewell and she does not seek their approval when it comes time to decide her future’s path. a double major in creative writing and graphic design, a knack for creativity finally unlocked.

no longer the other aydin, she created herself as josephine within strathmore’s walls, her own dreams and ambitions and no more crushing weight of parent’s expectations. but it is a dangerous line she walks, always too curious, too used to being a fly on the wall, for her own good and innocent research into any number of topics - history of the school you now call home, of words she heard whispered like a ghost in the wind. as if they hadn’t been real at all. it’s in the midst of researching for a story when she stumbles across something more concrete, the same latin words whispered now doting some of the oldest books the library held.

it’s a rabbit hole she can’t pull herself from, free time spent learning about a society so secret that it’s mere existence seemed like a myth. she doesn’t put much stock in it, of course, surely it had slipped away like most clubs do over time, until the mysterious individual stood waiting outside her dorm at the start of the year, equally as questionable invitation in hand. symbols and latin both equally recognized, instinct tells her that she’s dug too deep and they’re ready to keep her quiet. but it’s not near as malicious as over - active imagination declares and she finds herself at a small advantage. but how advantageous was it to know of secrets that were kept that way for a reason ?

the opal society is sketchy in the way she imagined most things of this nature to be, right up there with questionable greek life activities behind closed doors, but there is excitement that buds eagerly in her chest. a chance to be a part of something bigger than herself, to know she was picked out of thousands to uphold a legacy that stands for more than what most would think. she'd made friends easily enough before this, but now she has friends that she shares something special with, an experience as trying as it was bonding, and she couldn't be more excited for what was to come.

more aesthetics .

glossy lips tinted strawberry red curled into ghost of a smile, cheeks kissed by the winter wind, the habitual tugging of a loose thread from worn sweaters and pressed button - downs, elegant script turned messy scrawl in a flurry of last minute notes, the pastel color coordination of detailed notes; so well kept that it’s impossible not to follow, polaroid photos strung above dorm room bed; memories always kept so close to heart, cracked spines of leather bound books read too many times, the feeling of cool metal jewelry pressed flush against skin; dainty silver professing an obvious delicacy.

wanted connections .

the fellow creator. someone with a craft all of their own, be it a shared interest in the literary arts, a visual artist, or musical prodigy. perhaps they share it as an interest, or is something they've both managed to excel at.

the unlikely friend. someone she never would have crossed paths with outside of the opal society, who she would never have befriended otherwise. not because they differ so greatly that a friendship was impossible, but because they never would interacted on campus.

the rival. perhaps it is a rivalry that stems from knee - jerk dislike, or someone that rubbed her the wrong way or with equally notable skill in an area she considers herself just as adept. always at each other just trying to be the absolute best at whatever they do.

drinking buddies. for as quiet as she is, she’s a whole other person when loosened up by alcohol. someone she can share a few drinks with and just hang out with for hours at a time.

conspiracy theorist. i’m not saying that josie fully believes in conspiracy theories, at least not outwardly, but she definitely enjoys them conceptually and will broach them for hours with you. please don’t enable her.

this tag ( that i’m not directly linking bc aesthetic tags are the Devil ) and this tag !

anything and everything thank you please plot with me i like memes

#opalsintro #please take tldr bullet points very loosely i am so sorry #death mention tw

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archadianskies · 4 years

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40. “I never stood a chance, did I?” for nines/simon? >:3c

→ on Ao3

The truth of the matter is: he has a knack for bringing people together. Even before the revolution, people tended to gravitate to him for no discernible reason other than perhaps his harmless demeanour. PL600s were designed to look soft and friendly and open, purposefully non-confrontational and gentle for raising children.

With no human family to look after, Simon had registered the Jericho deviants as his family unit and cared for them as best he could. So zealous was he in his desperation to play house that he prevented anything from happening to them, bad and good. It took Markus falling into their lives for him to learn to let go, to take risks for the good of his family.

Six months feels like a lifetime ago, and with the snow thawing and the life starting to bud and bloom, Simon feels like that dark tumultuous chapter can finally be closed. He’s a new person, a living sentient being recognised by the law. There’s, as always, much to do in terms of rights and laws and social challenges but it also feels like there’s enough normality to slow the breakneck speed into a more manageable pace. So he does what he does best: he brings people together.

It starts simple, it starts with one close to him: North. She burns with such determination, such fire, and what fleeting fascination she held for Markus passes after the revolution. She is, like Simon, prone to giving her hearts to anyone who shows a scrap of kindness. It’s a weakness, but a strength too, Simon thinks, to love so readily. When they meet with Elijah Kamski for the first time, when they see their creator face to face he looks not at the human but at the android, at the First of their kind. Chloe RT600 is almost eighteen years old, older than all of them, and she stands there with equal measure of grace and power. There’s something enigmatic about her, as though immense strength simmers beneath her lovely skin, and that’s when he decides she must get to know North.

North falls, of course she falls, hard and fast and endearingly earnest. Chloe is all sweet smiles and coquettish demeanour but North sees the fire too, sees how eighteen years of answering to no one has led her to become the most powerful android ever to be underestimated. The Jericho Four return CyberLife to the hands of Elijah Kamski, who in turn hands it to the one who should’ve held it all along: Chloe.

Seeing North so in love brings him great joy, and really in the end that’s all he wants: for those he loves to feel joy and in return he can leech such happiness too, like basking in the glow of the sun. Next is his brother Daniel, granted a second chance with the passing of the Sentient Life Act that not only recognised all androids as living, sentient beings, but also wiped clean any and all crimes committed before the 1st of December 2038.

That’s not to say it’s been easy for Daniel, but Simon had been there at his reactivation, and so had Connor. It had been a lightbulb moment for Simon, seeing the concern creasing Connor’s brow, that quiet desperation to be forgiven though no forgiveness was required; androids cannot be held accountable for their actions before deviation, when humans still pulled their strings. Connor had nothing to atone for, but he still longed to do it, to introduce the real him to Daniel, for Daniel to know the real him and not the Android sent by CyberLife that lied. It had been a simple matter of giving them time with each other, of quietly encouraging Daniel’s endeavours to reintegrate.

Danny gets a job as a baker in Greektown, tucked away in the kitchen with the ovens and the doughs, away from the prying eyes of humans and androids alike. Simon encourages him to be open to friendship, and he encourages Connor to persevere, to never give up on Daniel and he doesn’t, and Simon is rewarded with the privilege of seeing them fall in love. It’s a beautiful thing, to see his brother once so closed off to everyone, lashing out at any outstretched hand, now reaching out to tangle his fingers with Connor’s.

He’s not sure about Josh, not yet. And then there’s Markus, of course, but he’s too selfish to matchmake Markus, he’s not ready to sever his pining, his longing for Markus. So he turns to the other Manfred, to Leo Manfred now clean and finished with rehab, slowly recovering and coming into his own. He loves him dearly, treasures him like a broken bowl he pieced together and sealed with gold, all the more beautiful, stronger, for having been broken and made whole again. Maybe that��s just how Simon is, maybe he just has bleeding hearts for broken people and that’s why Jericho happened the way it happened.

Matchmaking Leo happens by accident, happens while Leo’s helping Simon out with menial household errands. Not that Simon needs help with menial household errands but he knows it’s more for the company, more for the friendship, than for the help. They’re out buying coffee beans and Tearium for the household when they run into Detective Gavin Reed whose immediate reaction is to open his mouth and out tumbles-

“You still gettin’ high as fuck Manfred or is this your rehab nannybot?” To which Leo’s resounding response is to ram his fist into the detective’s face. There’s a scuffle and Leo is a scrappy brawler, he hasn’t had any training like policemen have and so he’s pinned to the ground in no time and Simon’s trying to placate him, trying to diffuse the situation as Leo thrashes, enraged.

“His name is Simon you fuckin’ asshole! That’s Simon of the Jericho Four show some fucking respect! And I’ve been clean for months now! I’ve even got my 120 day chip around my neck!”

“Sir, please don’t arrest him-”

“Oh shit really?” Gavin releases him and Leo warily gets to his feet, still stepping in front of Simon protectively.

“Yeah look.” He fishes out the small plastic token looped through with leather string. “Checked into rehab as soon as the docs gave me the all clear from my concussion.”

“Well look at you- wayward Manfred son, clean and off the streets.” Gavin whistles low, impressed, as he bends to swipe up the bag of groceries he’d dropped in the scuffle. He’s still looking at Leo even as he holds out the bag for Simon to take.

“I just needed someone to not treat me like a shitstain on their shoe. Funny how treating someone like a person helps them become a better person.” Leo rolls his eyes. They move on and that’s the end of that; Simon’s more than happy to put that moment behind him.

And then it’s a few days later and they’re bumping into Detective Gavin Reed at Starbucks. Leo digs out his phone.

“Hey, that raid you guys did on that abandoned urban farm was pretty cool.” He shows him some photos he’d taken. “I scoped out the place and got these shots.”

“You broke into a crime scene?” Gavin cocks a brow.

“Uh no obviously not, because you guys already finished rounding up the bad guys or whatever.”

“It’s still a crime scene when we’re not there, dipshit, until the case is closed.”

“Whatever.” Leo rolls his eyes. “Look, that fancy machine thing they made casts all this refracted light here at dusk.”

“...That’s kinda cool.” Gavin concedes and Leo perks up.

“Right?” He pockets his phone and digs out another item. “Here.” He places a small pink crystal into Gavin’s hand. “It’s failed red ice. The colour is pretty neat isn’t it? It looks pink but if you put it against a light source it refracts blue like thirium.”

“You’re giving me something you stole from the crime scene you broke into?” Gavin deadpans and Leo looks offended.

“Ok well I’ll take it back then!”

“No! You already gave it to me!” The detective scoffs, jamming it into his coat.

Simon turns his head to hide a smile. It’s not the match Simon had imagined for Leo, but it’s highly amusing. As Leo waits for their order, Simon stops Gavin before the detective can exit the cafe. He gives him the details of Leo’s upcoming photography exhibit on Friday night, and on Friday night there he is, Detective Gavin Reed with his hands jammed in his pockets looking a little out of place. Leo lights up and there’s Leo digging in his pocket and placing an iridescent feather into Gavin’s hand, like a magpie collecting trinkets. There’s Gavin rolling his eyes as if he’s being put upon, and yet he’s ever so careful as he tucks the feather into his coat. Another match made, another glowing sun to bask in.

It’s a monumental undertaking, a game of politics and subterfuge to retrieve the RK900 from the arctic tundra. Designed in secret and deployed in silence, the upgrade to the RK800 prototype was smuggled out in all but name and stationed in the arctic to guard the thirium reserves from the Russians. It takes Chloe combing through all of CyberLife’s files, unearthing, unlocking, decrypting mounds of data to find whispers of a new android, the RK800 spliced with military capabilities. The government put in an order for 200,000 units but first the unit must prove itself capable before the order is put into production. The government denies the order, the previous CyberLife team deny the deployment and it takes the unrelenting pressure of the Jericho Four for an investigation to be opened. Connor does not rest now that he knows he has a brother out there, and it takes nearly all six months to bring him home.

Simon meets him by chance, passing by central station just as Connor and his brother are heading inside.

“Simon!” Connor greets cheerily, waving him over. The RK900 looms behind him, imposing and intimidating with steely grey eyes that seem to bore into his very positronic core. “This is Ronan, my brother. Ronan this is Simon.”

“Of the Jericho Four.” Ronan adds, offering his hand. His clipped British accent is a surprise, but it seems to suit the rather regal air about him. “An honour to meet you, Simon.”

He shakes his hand and he feels his hearts sink because he knows this is it. This is the match he will make for Markus, this is the one android who matches him, complements him in every way; a state of the art weapon, softened through deviancy into an Austen gentleman.

“It’s wonderful to see you home with your brother.” Simon smiles though he aches inside because the android is handsome, oh so handsome; a sharper, older visage compared to his prototype and not out of place in a Vogue Homme photoshoot much like Markus. “And with our people.”

“With thanks to you and the efforts of the Four.” Ronan says with a grateful nod. “I am to be stationed here now, partnered with Detective Reed.”

“Oh, my condolences.” Simon teases airily and Connor laughs. “You should meet Markus. It was through his leadership that allowed us to fight for your right to be brought home.”

“I look forward to it, and to meeting North and Josh as well.”

He doesn’t want to introduce them, he’s not ready to let Markus go but he must. The importance of his friends outweigh his own, of course. It’s not like Markus would ever be interested in him romantically anyway, and yet it still hurts. He suggests hosting a dinner at the Manfreds, and Gavin can come over and so can Hank and Simon will cook a three course meal for them. Carl provides the wine for the beef casserole, and another fine red for consumption. Markus receives a special order of flavoured Tearium, coded to match the taste of red wine. There’s still no way for them to eat, but as the two domestics in the Four, Markus helps Simon with the cooking and they pause to taste their creations to ensure it’s palatable for their guests.

There’s something tortuous about this, about knocking elbows gently at the sink, laughing and talking about their day, about the sheer domesticity of it all and being so close yet worlds apart. He loves him, he’s so very in love with him and now he must let him go. Now it’s time to match Markus with someone who deserves him, and bask in the glow to come.

“Markus, this is my brother Ronan.” Connor introduces with a proud smile, and Simon watches as they shake hands and it’s like sealing both Markus’ fate and his.

“Glad to finally meet you, Ronan. Welcome to Detroit, welcome home.” Markus smiles that charming smile and Ronan inclines his head politely.

“May I take your coat?” Simon holds out his hands and Ronan’s smile is just as polite as he hands over the thick woolen item.

“Thank you Simon. It’s good to see you, I hope you are well?” He stands aside so Hank and Connor can follow through.

“Busy as always but in a good way.” Simon hangs up the article on the rack. “An idle PL600 may as well be a dead one, so I mustn't be idle.”

“We are more than our programming.” Ronan frowns, and even that, Simon thinks, he does handsomely.

“It’s a useful part of me, don’t worry.” Simon reassures, guiding him to the dining table. He sits him next to Markus, of course, and rounds the table to sit opposite him, beside Leo who’s already in deep discussion with Gavin. There’s a small smooth pebble by Gavin’s napkin; Leo’s latest trinket offering. It makes him smile, and he tucks away that little moment to carry him through the evening.

*~*~*

“Simon, are you able to drop these off at central station?” Josh’s expression is one of contrition. “I’m meeting Markus tonight, and clearing the admin backlog took way longer than I estimated.”

“Of course, don’t worry about it.” Simon takes the box from him and sets it carefully on the table.

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” He leans over and gives him a quick hug. “Markus and I have been trying to escape to that new museum for weeks now but, you know how crazy it is.”

“I sure do.” He makes a shooing motion. “Go on, I’ll see these safely to the Andersons.”

“You’re the best, I mean it.”

“I know.” Simon winks as Josh laughs and makes his escape.

Central station is a familiar location for him now, and he’s grown accustomed to dropping off files and meeting with Lieutenant Hank Anderson and his sons. Without meaning to, he’s become the liaison for Jericho and the DPD, acting as the bridge to keep both parties in the loop with Detroit’s ever changing social climate.

“Oh, Simon, here let me help you with that.” Ronan takes the box from his grasp and Simon offers him a grateful smile.

“Josh sends his apologies, he’s meeting with Markus tonight.”

“An unexpected but not unwelcome surprise, then, to see you.” He says in that polished accent and Simon wonders if Markus finds it just as charming as he.

“Would you like me to lend a hand with these?” Simon follows him to his desk. “I haven’t looked inside but I’m hazarding a guess they’re parts from the warehouse raid.”

“Only if you wouldn’t mind? I don’t wish to keep you from any plans.”

“Oh Ronan.” Simon laughs good naturedly as he takes a seat. “I never have any plans, I’m a bit of a homebody.”

“Then I’d appreciate your help.”

By the time they finish examining, recording and registering each part it’s later than Simon expects.

“Shall I walk you home to your apartment, Simon?” Ronan offers, fetching his coat from the back of his chair.

“No, it’s alright I’ll call a cab. Bit too chilly for an old PL600 to be out and about.” Simon sighs, pressing a hand to his chest and the broken thermal regulator within.

“Then I shall wait with you until it arrives.” And so they stand at the curb, shoulders nearly brushing. Simon sneaks him furtive glances and thinks yes, he must get him to spend more time with Markus. The love must grow naturally, must be nurtured like saplings in the Spring until it blossoms.

*~*~*

He has a small tidy apartment in the reclaimed area by Jericho, but he hardly spends time there. Markus offered him the use of Carl’s sunroom, and it’s there Simon calls home. It’s airy and bright with state of the art heating and there’s something about the way the sunset makes the entire room fill with golden light. It’s tucked towards the back of the house and feels like a self contained abode, and in a way that too seems right- that he’s a part of Markus’ life, and apart too. It’s a soft Spring afternoon and he has the doors open to the backyard, letting the warm breeze in as he curls up on the couch.

“Permission to pester?” Calls a voice from the door leading inside the house.

“Permission permanently granted to pester, Leo.” Simon smiles as the young man sets down a tray of mugs on the coffee table and plops down on the couch beside him. “How was your date last night?”

“Insufferable.” Leo groans, but there’s a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “He likes pineapple on pizza.”

“Oh a complete write-off.” Simon sighs dramatically as Leo tries and fails to stop a grin.

“The fucker looked me right in the eye when ordering it, as if waiting for my reaction.” Leo wriggles closer and Simon pulls the knitted couch throw off the armrest and tucks it around them both. “I ordered onion rings and extra onions in my burger to piss him off.”

Simon laughs and Leo’s grin is achingly endearing and this, this is exactly why he does, why he tries to bring people together. Their happiness is as warm as the Spring breeze and just as pleasant to feel after the biting cold of Winter, the despair and desperation of the revolution.

“Ronan’s coming over tonight, to work on that case with you guys.” Leo states curiously. “Do you like having him around? He’s kinda cool.”

“He’s a very capable, impressive android. A good headstrong man, able to keep up with Markus’ plans.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Leo elbows him playfully.

“Well I see a lot of him at the police department.” Simon tips his head thoughtfully. “I’m the liaison with the DPD so we work together often. He’s very kind.”

“I wouldn’t mind having him around more often.” Leo declares with a cheeky grin.

“I think you’ll see more of him soon enough.” Simon says, though his grin feels a little too forced even for him.

He leaves Ronan and Markus to discuss the case, preferring to get on with clearing up after dinner. They’ll need to exchange vast amounts of data, and quickly too, and Simon can handle neither of those things. He tidies up the kitchen and sets about giving the house a good once-over. The simplicity of housekeeping always grounds him, always keeps him occupied but in a way completely devoid of stress unlike his Jericho duties. It lets him forget he’s purposefully sequestered Markus and Ronan in the studio, where they are no doubt getting to know each other and strengthening their bond of friendship and camaraderie hopefully into something more. He doesn’t want to think about, he wants to just somehow skip ahead to when they are together and in love and he can feel some sort of contentment in bringing happiness to another set of friends. And then it will be only Josh left, his oldest and dearest friend.

It’s nearing 2am when he finally checks in on them, bringing them mugs of hot Tearium coded to taste like strong black coffee sweetened with honey. There’s sounds of Markus’ bright laughter and a softer amused chuckle no doubt from Ronan. He knocks on the doorframe as the studio door slides open.

“Just checking you’re both still alive.” Simon quips as Ronan steps closer to take the tray from him. “Thought you might want something hot to drink seeing as the temperature has plummeted.”

“Thank you Simon, that’s very thoughtful of you.” Ronan murmurs, offering the tray to Markus so he can select a mug first.

“We’ve made a lot of headway into CyberLife’s database, though I think it’ll be faster once Josh gets a hold of this tomorrow.” “Today.” Simon corrects and Markus’ brows raise in surprise.

“Oh, you’re absolutely right. I’m so sorry to have kept you, Ronan.” Markus apologises, expression contrite.

“It’s alright. This is important.”

“I’ll leave you two be.” Simon excuses himself.

“Thank you for the drinks, Simon.” Markus gives a short wave and he takes his leave. The door slides shut behind him and somehow it feels all too final.

*~*~*

Miss Chloe is a lovely creature, all big blue eyes and soft blonde hair and a pleasing, delicate face. She is a work of art on a surface level, but on a deeper level Simon isn’t ashamed to admit he’s terrified of her. It’s a good thing she is bright and cheery and kind. Simon does not want to think of what their lives would be like had Miss Chloe possessed no fondness for humans.

It’s a wonder to see her here in North’s apartment where they’re all crammed in, jostling for space as they wrangle yet another unearthed cache of hidden CyberLife files. She’s wearing North’s jacket over a t-shirt he guesses must be borrowed from Elijah Kamski’s wardrobe for it’s far too large to fit either of them. On the myriad of screens set up around the living room she’s streaming endless rivers of data and they’ve been assigned a screen each to parse any important information.

“Simon?”

“Yes Miss Chloe?”

“How’s Ronan settling in?”

He blinks at her blankly. “Ronan?”

“Yes, you’re the DPD liaison and I know you spend a lot of time with the Anderson brothers as a result.” He tries not to buckle under gaze.

“He seems to be settling in well, Miss Chloe. He’s very diligent, as Markus can attest.”

“He’s a good confidante.” Markus chimes in, smiling. “Still a little nervous about big social gatherings, but he’s an excellent conversationalist and probably the most polite android I’ve ever met.”

“That’s good.” Chloe smiles proudly. “I worry about him, you know? He’s so new to all this, he was so far away when the revolution happened, and purposefully cut off.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Chloe.” Simon smiles and he thinks it’s very convincing this time. “Markus has made him feel very welcome. He’s a part of the Jericho family already.”

*~*~*

It’s a gentle Spring evening, not too chilly, not too warm and he finds himself tidying Josh’s desk. His friend rolls his eyes and grabs his hands to stop him.

“Simon.” There’s a warning tone in his voice and Simon sighs, choosing to sit himself on the corner of the desk instead.

“I’m trying to make myself useful.”

“You do not need to be ‘useful’ to me Simon, you’re my friend.” Josh laughs, giving his hands a squeeze before releasing them. “Go home already, it’s late!”

“We hardly have time to relax together, I just want to stay a moment.” Simon doesn’t mean to make it sound so pathetic, but there’s something, a glint of pity it must be in Josh’s eyes. “You’re always cooped up here in Administration, and when you’re not here you’re with us poring over files.”

“That’s not true.” Josh reassures him gently. “Markus sneaks me out when he can. We went to the museum last week, remember? Finally got around to see that pre-Raphaelite exhibit. And Theobald let us visit the cafe two days ago after closing. Kept it open just for us.”

“To think, all those nights in Jericho when all we did was huddle together. We thought that was all there was to life- to be free from our programming, and to die.” Simon sighs tiredly, and Josh stands up from his chair to come over and wrap him in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be awful company tonight.”

“You’re not awful company Simon.” Josh murmurs reassuringly. “I understand what you mean. Our lives are so different now, it’s hard to keep up with how fast it’s changing.”

It changes too fast, far too fast, the very next day when Markus asks to enter the sunroom and pulls out a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside is a thin band of silver inset with a glowing line of neon-blue.

“So. What do you think?” Markus’ grin is a little wobbly, a little nervous and Simon thinks the entire world has stopped- at least both his hearts. “...Simon?”

“Oh- um- Markus I- I- I-” He gulps too much air in, and blinks rapidly as if to refresh his optics because surely this can’t be right? “Are you- is this-?”

“You think Josh will like it?” Markus scratches his nape.

“Josh?” He echoes numbly.

“I had it made with my LED. If he says yes, the wedding ring will be made with both of our LEDs.” Markus’ smile is distant and dreamy. “Ronan was such a great help. After the scrapyard was claimed by CyberLife, the DPD worked hard to help retrieve and identify the victims that couldn’t be saved. He notified me my LED had been found and signed off so it could be returned to me.”

“Ronan?” Simon parrots, voice an octave too high.

“I really can’t thank you enough for introducing us. He gave me a piece of my life back, and encouraged me to embark on a new chapter too.” Markus pockets the ring and grasps Simon’s shoulders, squeezing gently. “I didn’t believe North when she said it, but you really do have a knack for bringing people together.”

Simon sits heavily on the couch when Markus leaves. This is not what he planned, this is- he doesn’t know what this is. He settles on indignant anger instead, and he lets that fuel him, let’s it fill his circuits with fury and he fumes the entire duration of the drive in the cab until he’s at the DPD. He all but storms into the precinct, grabs Ronan’s arm and yanks him towards one of the interrogation rooms.

“Simon- wait-”

“Josh?!” Simon demands, locking the door behind him. “You set Markus up with Josh?!”

“Wh- oh, did he propose?” There’s a hint of a smile on his lips and Simon throws his hands up in frustration.

“Markus was meant to fall in love with you!”

“With me?!”

“Yes with you!” Simon jabs his chest. “And then you had to go and meddle and ruin everything! I wasn’t- I haven’t even looked for a suitable person for Josh! I was going to focus on him after Markus!”

“I didn’t set Markus up with Josh, he was already in love with him!” Ronan argues, gesturing animatedly. “That’s why I encouraged him, that’s why I made sure to find his LED so he could have it made into a ring! He was just nervous, that’s all, he just needed a little push.”

“But I introduced you to him!” Simon feels the anger drain from him and leaks out and leaves nothing but exhaustion in its wake. “I thought you two would fall in love, I thought finally I’d found an android who could match him in every way because I never stood a chance, did I?”

“How could you think to match us when we were both already in love with someone else?” Ronan’s voice is surprisingly soft, and Simon looks at him in confusion. “Why on earth would I ever love Markus when there’s you?”

“This is,” he takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, feeling the tears run down his cheeks “the cruelest joke anyone’s ever played on me. I’ve been made a fool of and I hate it, I hate all of it.”

“Simon, no.” Ronan seeks his hands, holding them gently before guiding them to rest on his chest. “I loved you the moment I met you.”

“I’ve nothing to offer, I’m a broken, obsolete PL600, why would anyone be interested in me? Least of all you? The RK900?”

“Your worth is not the sum of all you can offer, Simon.” Ronan reaches out and cups his cheek, thumbing away his tears. “Your worth is the sum of your actions, your decisions, and you choose to be kind. You are the kindest soul I’ve ever met, and you may not inspire them to follow you through a revolution, but you inspire them to be just as kind. To seek joy in the small moments, and to treasure time spent together.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he continues to stand there like the fool he feels himself to be, crying helplessly as Ronan embraces him.

“This isn’t how I wanted to ask you but-” the other android moves his hand towards his pocket, and Simon grips his wrist to stop him.

“No. Don’t.” He wipes his tears hastily and steps back so he can look him in the eye. “We’re- we’re going to pretend this didn’t happen. I’m- I absolutely did not try and set you up with Markus. An- and you know nothing of this. We’re going to start over. Properly.”

Ronan’s eyes are wide with surprise before he smiles, and oh it’s already radiant enough for Simon to bask in. “Alright. We can start over, properly.”

“Like- um, like going somewhere nice after work. Together.” Simon can scarcely concentrate, can scarcely process all that’s happening and it’s all the more frustratingly difficult when Ronan’s looking at him with such open fondness.

“Like a date, Simon?” He steps closer and fingertips brushing the back of his hand and it feels like he’s been set alight. “And if you were matchmaking us from the start, where would you have us go?”

“I never had any plans to match anyone with me.” Simon confesses bluntly, and the playfulness drops from Ronan’s face. “The happiness of my friends has always been the most important goal.”

“And they are happy.” Ronan traces his jawline with the back of his fingers, gaze infinitely soft. “So now it’s your turn.” Curling his fingers beneath Simon’s chin, he tips his face up and leans down to press their lips together. It's a quick, fleeting thing, a flighty gesture full of nervousness and hope and Simon decides he likes it so much he must kiss Ronan in return.

There’s a loud click that startles them apart, and then a voice over the speaker.

“Okay that’s cute and all son, but we need the interrogation room.” Hanks’ voice is brimming with amusement and Ronan looks mortified. “Simon, do you want to come to family dinner night on Friday?”

“Oh um, yes Lieutenant that would be lovely-?”

“Good. Now scram, both of you. Some of us have work to do.”

“Yes sir.”

“We’ll see you at seven on Friday, Simon.”

“At seven on Friday, Lieutenant.”

They both exit the room and there’s Hank leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and a big grin on his face. Ronan still looks like a deer in headlights, LED bright red as he awkwardly guides Simon out of the precinct. When they’re out of the building Simon bursts out laughing and Ronan soon joins him. Tangling their fingers together, Ronan brings Simon’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles.

“May I see you tonight, after work?”

“You may.” Simon allows, perking up on his toes so he can press their mouths together again. “I don’t have any plans. Surprise me.”

#detroit: become human #dbh simon #rk900 #dbh markus #gavin reed #leo manfred #dbh but make it Austen #annie writes: dbh #getoutofthewater #adventures in text posts

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eeveevie · 4 years

Text

indecent promposal

From this prompt list: basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss

Introducing: Rosemary “Rosie” Sheridan! She’s baby. Also has a super suppressed crush on Butch. It’s complicated. Thank you @dreamxng-forever for prompting and letting me write for her! I went overboard!

Butch Deloria x Rosie Sheridan (Lone Wanderer)

2473 words | [read on Ao3]

Rosie thrived on scavenging—she loved discovering new wasteland objects or pre-war oddities that reminded her of home—Vault 101. She supposed the real reason she enjoyed surrounding herself with so much junk was because she was still trying to figure out her place in the Capital Wasteland, still forging her own path now that she was on her own.

Well, mostly alone.

Butch—she could hear him rummaging though boxes in a different part of the store, shouting little exclamations over to her when he’d find something of interest. He was something else that reminded her of home—she liked to think that was the only reason why she had agreed to string him along after finding him in Rivet City. Weeks of bickering had turned into months of amicable companionship, bordering on friendship. Rosie slowly found she disliked him less but was unable to formulate rational explanations in her mind as to why. Her childhood bully deserved civility, sure, but niceties? A second chance? Preposterous. Anything more than that made her head spin.

The light of his Pip-Boy illuminated his face as he unearthed an intact box, letting out a low whistle as he inspected the contents. “Hey Stitches, get a load of this!”

Butch had been calling her that since adolescence, as soon as she was old enough to begin assisting her father in the Vault clinic. About that time, the youngest Deloria would find himself needing Doctor James Sheridan for a myriad of reason, including stitches. It wasn’t uncommon that Rosie would perform these duties, and after so many visits, the moniker stuck. She would’ve preferred her actual name, but anything was better than Doc, or Nosebleed—both of which he still called her.

In the stretch of silence, Butch had brought the box over to her to see for herself. It wasn’t full of the usual wasteland garbage but instead contained what appeared to be pristine articles of pre-war clothing. Hesitantly she reached inside, gently touching at the soft fabric of the pink dress before removing it completely. She was careful as she unfolded it, holding it fall against her vault suit as she imagined briefly what it would be like to wear such a delicate piece of clothing.

Butch peered inside the box, tugging out a dark suit blazer from beneath another dress. He chuckled, eyebrows quirked up as he waved the arms of the jacket sleeves around. “Kinda reminds you of the gettup we wore to prom, huh?”

Rosie remained silent, sucking up her bottom lip between her teeth. She didn’t have fond memories of their time leading up to graduation, including the small dance the Overseer and adults had organized to celebrate the teenagers’ successes. She clung to the dress for a moment longer, before allowing the fabric to fold over her arms.

Butch’s expression faltered, but instead of becoming annoyed like he would’ve in the past he awkwardly shifted. “What?”

She decided that maybe an explanation was owed. “I didn’t go to the vault prom.”

“Whadd’ya mean?” he asked in return, brows furrowed. “You were there! With Amata!”

Rosie had to give it up to Butch’s memory and wondered how much more of their childhood he remembered. Though, this was only a few years ago, and they had known each other their whole lives. She sighed, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. “Fine. I was there for all of thirty minutes before you spilt punch on my dress, and I had to go home.”

She expected him to argue or to deny it even happened. What Rosie didn’t expect was the frown and glimmer of guilt that flashed through his expression when she glanced his way. She continued looking at the pink, satin dress in her hands, wondering why this civilized version of Butch unnerved her. Not that she wanted him to taunt and torment her, but at least that would be relatively normal—but after all this time, would it?

“It’s not like I had a date, anyways,” she added, resentfully. Not that she had very many boys her age to choose from anyways. “I’m sure you did.”

“Ya’ don’t have to guilt trip me, Stitches,” Butch finally spoke, his laughter indicating a teasing tone. “Let ol’ Butch make it up to you.”

Rosie groaned, detesting the third-person speak for two reasons—it was corny, and usually mean that ol’ Butch had an incredibly bad plan. She didn’t even want to ask, but he was already gesturing to the dress in her hands and waving the tailored coat he held around.

“We could get dressed up, the two of us—”

She cut him off immediately. “Absolutely not.”

He stumbled, not anticipating her strong refusal. “Whoa, whoa! Let a man finish! Some fancy clothes, some good drink from the bar, some music on your fancy jukebox?”

“What?” she questioned. “A prom do-over?”

Butch grinned. “Exactly!”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard the best part yet!” he argued.

She didn’t have to—did she even want to?. “No.”

“Come on, Rosie. Give a guy a chance why don’t cha?”

Sure, he was pouting a little too much for her tastes, but he had also done something so incredibly rare in speaking her name that her interest was piqued. She wished it wasn’t that easy for him to get under her skin, but something told her he wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought about what it would be like to be the center of attention for once—to be the center of his attention. Her skin crawled—and she couldn’t decide if that was a good or bad thing.

She relented. “Okay.”

Butch clenched his fist with a grin. “Alright! You won’t regret it.”

The mirror in Rosie’s bedroom was cracked and dusty but served its purpose as she examined her appearance. She had pinned back her long dark hair, applied what little makeup she owned and had left her glasses atop her nightstand—for the first time she looked more like the maturing woman she was supposed to be and not a scrawny teenager chasing her father’s shadow. An enduring thought reminded her that she was still young, she had time to grow into her womanhood.

When she took a step back, she felt a rush of anxiety flood her senses. The dusty pink dress was very flattering and fit her in all the right places—Rosie was materialistically a girl’s girl and loved the color and fabric—but overall, the very fact she was dressed up while the rest of her surroundings were in shambles seemed foolish. Why had she allowed Butch to talk her into this? They had countless of important matters to attend to—no time to be reliving the past just because he wanted to make amends. As she adjusted the tie around her waist, she reminded herself that maybe it was more than that—thoughts she didn’t want to dwell on.

Rosie could already hear the Ink Spots playing when she emerged from her room, glancing to the fuzzy outline that was the jukebox and determined that Wadsworth was floating nearby. With a steady breath she approached the stairs and gripped the railing tightly as she began her descent. Butch was leaning against the back of the downstairs sofa, arms crossed as he stared up at her. Or at least, that’s what she thought, suddenly wishing she had opted for practicality instead of vanity when forgoing her glasses.

Halfway down the stairs, he whistled at her and the cat-call made her flush in a foreign way. Butch chuckled, catching the way she nearly stumbled. “Where’re your frames?” he asked, gesturing to his face.

She didn’t dare to let go of the handrail until her heels were planted firmly on the first-floor ground. He was more reminiscent of a blob until she approached, features clearing up as she stood before him. He was wearing the black, styled suit he had found—sans the tie—with the first few buttons of his collared shirt left open. Rosie figured that had been on purpose—she could teach him how to fix a tie later. He pointed to her face, reminding her he had asked a question.

Still blushing from the way he had whistled at her, she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her face. She wasn’t entirely comfortable indulging her childhood insecurities. “Pretty girls don’t wear glasses to prom.”

“You’re such a dork, Stitches,” Butch softly laughed, but there was no insult to his words. Instead, he nodded at her, a hint of red peeking at his ears. “Ya’ look good,” he added. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Rosie smiled, still feeling flustered by the entire situation. She wondered if it was too late to back out and suggest dinner at the Brass Lantern instead. As if Butch could see the excuses formulating in her mind, he jumped into action, raising his hand up between them in offering.

“Does my best gal want a dance?”

She desperately wanted a respite from how flushed her cheeks felt, wondering if they were as pink as her dress. She was mortified by her own embarrassment, confused by her own emotions—it would be so much easier if she had somebody else to talk to about all this. Like her father. A second thought made her realize her dad would be overly clinical, blaming it all on teenaged hormones. But she did want a dance—what else did she want?

“No dirty dancing!” she said, in her own way of acceptance. She grasped his hand, biting back the sensation of warmth that radiated up her arm. That hand was usually pushing her away—she hadn’t expected it to be so comforting. Butch smirked as he carefully placed his other hand along her waist, prompting her to rest her palm against his shoulder.

“Do we need a ruler?” he joked, eyeing the space between them. Rosie rolled her eyes, shifting a little closer as he led them in a little square-step, all the space her home allowed. Butch was surprisingly a natural and predictably, she was awful.

“I’m bad at this,” she mumbled, looking down at her feet as she very nearly stepped on his toe for the third time.

Butch paused, nudging his hand against her chin to catch her attention. The action was so bizarrely intimate that Rosie stared at him bewildered, her skin aflame—but he didn’t seem to notice that he had shocked her senseless, gripping her fingers to lead them back into another step. It had to be intentional—no way he was that clueless—the way he touched her. He had to know exactly what he was doing to her, and she wondered if it was all some kind of big joke.

“Better than most,” he assured, bringing her back to her senses. He winked. “So you’re a good date after all.”

Rosie wasn’t good at matching his wit or his teasing, but she wanted to try. She couldn’t just stand there and be undone by some nice words. She thought about asking about the full prom package—reminiscing about the day after in the vault when a few lucky girls walked around the halls wearing hickies like badges of pride. Forming the right way to ask such a thing didn’t sound right in her head—she wasn’t a natural flirt, didn’t have the experience and after so many pretend conversations floating in her mind she had to stop and ask herself why she was thinking about Butch Deloria kissing her neck.

Her heart was racing as she found herself staring at him, wondering when he had sprouted up and became so tall. Years ago, when they were fifteen. She had stayed tiny while he filled out, muscles more defined now that he was her companion out in the wasteland. Of course, he still cared about his hair—thick black strands quaffed to the front like the gangster-type he aspired to be—too bad he was the only Tunnel Snake left. When she met his baby-blue eyes, she was done for, cursing the day she found him in the Muddy Rudder. But maybe it was a forgone conclusion since their paths crossed that fateful evening—she’d forgive him, and eventually, gradually, perhaps begrudgingly fall in love with the boy.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Rosie thought, as Butch gradually scooted her closer despite her earlier warning. Nat King Cole was crooning a slow song, and they had slowed in their movements. He squeezed her hand in his, raising an eyebrow. “More quiet than usual, Stitches.”

She didn’t want to admit how annoyed she was with herself, and certainly wasn’t about to divulge how in that moment with Unforgettable playing from the balcony she wanted him to kiss her. She didn’t want a calling card on her neck—no, that could come later—what she wanted was something sweet and demure and chaste. What she wanted was something she had missed out on in her youth—her first real kiss. Ridiculous didn’t even cut it, feeling incredibly absurd for thinking she could ever get it from Butch—that she even wanted it from Butch.

“Um,” she hesitated, thinking he must’ve been able to feel her pulse racing along her wrist. She tried not to stare at his mouth, darting back up to his eyes—but that was worse. The heat radiating off her face could cook a brahmin steak.

He smirked, lips quirking up to the side. At first she assumed he was all too entertained by the sight of her aflutter but when she studied him carefully, she realized it was an endearing look and beneath the surface, he was perhaps just as nervous as she.

“Come’ere,” he tugged her right into his chest, and before she could protest he had wrapped his arms around her waist and back, one hand resting against the back of her head. “Dance like this for a lil’ bit.”

Not a question, but a statement. After a few sways, Rosie adjusted, tucking her arms around his middle and resting her cheek against his shirt.

The longer she stayed there, swaying to the songs that continued to play, the more she understood that they both needed this distraction that evening. Butch wanted to apologize, make up for the past in his own way, sure, but what they really needed was one night where the wasteland wasn’t demanding their attention. She was just as confused as ever, heart and mind filled with endless questions about life and love and everything in between, but for the first time in months, Rosie felt calm. Kissing Butch could wait, if only it meant she could dance with him for a little while longer.

#fallout 3 #butch deloria #butch deloria x f!lone wanderer #rosie sheridan #otp: it's just a flesh wound #because ya know she's a medic lol #I have no idea what I'm doing with this ship oh god #also I wanted to write sweet baby rosie here she is #young stupid teenaged love #these two are dorks and I am in love with them

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scrunchyharry · 4 years

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RIP WIP: if you see this post, respond with a snippet of a fic you (sadly) won’t be completing.

So, this inspired me to go through my google drive and unearth this fic that I’ll most likely never finish. I haven’t touched it since March 2014, so, you know. I might as well have not written it myself.

meet this 1950s, Oxbridge, shy librarian worker meets bad boy AU that almost was. the title of this google doc was “kill your darlings - library sexcapades”, so you can see where my mind was. I was in library school, I’d just gone to see Kill Your Darlings in theatres, it was so predictable, really. reading through it earlier, I realize that I used many of the underlying ideas I had for this fic in fondre ton absence, which I first started only two months after I abandoned this one (and I only posted it in 2019, I know.)

I abandoned it because, if I remember correctly, it was only my second ever historical AU (the first one wasn’t in this fandom, it’s a glee fic, if you bully me enough I can provide a link) and I really, really struggled with it, not only with keeping it free of anachronisms, but also relevant to 1950s British culture rather than American culture, which I am more familiar with as a Canadian. I vividly remember panicking when I couldn’t figure out if Brits went bowling in the 1950s, or even now???? we had different problems in ye olde days before the pandemic, hm?

now, of course, I’ve come to love the pain of researching historical AUs, it’s literally the only thing I’ll write, but 6 years ago was a different story. also, I’m not in grad school anymore, so I have more free time. this helped a lot with fleshing out my fics, this whole “no longer being in university” thing (that I say while being 5 years out of university and now only posting a single fic per year).

anyway. enough from me. here’s the fic. it’s 6500 words long and stops abruptly.

Lying awake in his bed, Harry listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain hitting the windowpane, the yellow streetlamp outside his dormitory room’s window casting distorted shadows on the floorboards as it filtered through the water running down the glass and the sheer curtains. On the other side of the room, Niall was fast asleep, his breathing regular and slightly wheezing from the cold he’d caught playing football out in the rain the day before. Every six or seven inhale, he’d snore loudly, rousing Harry from the half-sleep he had managed to slip into. Staring at the ceiling, Harry was trying to tell the shadows of the bare tree branches from the cracks in the off-white plaster. The room smelled dank like the rest of the building, the wood creaking and beads of water oozing from the walls from the rain that had been plaguing them for close to a week.

Harry turned on his side, wincing as his joints ached in the cold, humid air of the room, Niall’s congested nose asking for the window to be left ajar, which only let more humidity in. His bedsheets were moist and stuck to his skin in a way that made him feel queasy and promised to rob him of sleep for the entire night.

From somewhere down the hall came a peal of laughter, the sound piercing through the still night air and drifting to Harry’s ears. The sound was almost comforting, breaking through the oppressing bubble of his insomnia to remind him that he was not stranded, or alone. There were other people alive, other people asleep in the rooms next and above and below his, and the sun would rise even if it was behind grey clouds, and not being able to sleep was not the end of the world, no matter how it felt as he lay in his bed, restless and exhausted.

He reached for his alarm clock, the bells quietly chiming as he moved it, and he frowned when he saw that it was half past three. He had to be up in four hours, hours which he knew he wouldn’t sleep. With a final sigh and a resentful glance at the sprawled shape of Niall, Harry rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown, a plaid atrocity his sister had given him as a joke two Christmases past.

The hallway was quiet as he made his way down to the creaking staircase, holding on to the railings as he went down so his slippers didn’t skid on the polished wood. He nodded at the night guardian reading a library copy of A Christmas Carol, his feet up on the desk by the double, windowed entrance doors.

“I’ve still got two more days to read this, haven’t I?” the man asked, lowering the book to squint at Harry in the dimness of the hallway.

“Three, sir,” Harry replied, hands deep in the pockets of his robe and shoulders slumped forward as a shiver ran through him. He could smell the fireplace burning from the common room and yearned to reach it soon.

“Greg, give Harold a break, will you? He’s not working right now,” Zayn said, appearing out of the dark hallway and stopping by Harry’s side. “It’s already tedious enough to watch you read a Christmas novel in November, don’t make it worse on us by bothering poor Harry here about his job in the middle of the night.”

With a wink to Harry, Zayn dropped a pack of cigarettes on the guardian’s desk before walking past him again, back where he had come from, a quick nod inviting Harry along. He followed and closed thankful eyes as he crossed the common room’s threshold and was met by a wall of warm, dry air.

“Liam’s nicked logs from the hall across campus,” Zayn explained as he slouched in an armchair by the fire.

“Bless him,” Harry said, sitting opposite Zayn, close to the hearth. He extended his feet and let the flames warm them, feeling as if every crackle eased his weariness from the past few days.

September had been a neverending blur of mixers and social events to try and make friends as quickly as possible before it was too late and you were relegated to the ranks of social outcast. By the time October rolled by, Harry had managed to be late in all of his classes and had found himself locked in the library even when he did not have to work, his entire universe reduced to the dusty smell of books and ushed voices whispering about classnotes and midterms. On most nights he had to stay up well into the early hours, the grey light of dusk filtering through his foggy mind like through dirty glass as he tried to read three novels at once. Now that midterms were over, he had hoped he might be able to sleep while he counted down the days until finals, but he had managed to well and truly mess up his sleep rhythm.

“No offence, mate, but you look like shit,” Zayn commented after a while, startling Harry out of his most-welcomed doze.

Rubbing his eyes, Harry let out a small laugh. “Can’t sleep.”

“I know a guy--”

“No, thanks,” Harry cut him, not unkindly.

Zayn always knew a guy, who knew a guy, whose brother could get you whatever you needed. He himself took nothing, keeping a record as straight as his ridiculously white teeth; scholarship kid, they said. Harry knew better than that, because he was one himself and had never seen Zayn at any of the disastrous mixers the financial aid office tried to organize. Besides, scholarship students were expected to work on campus, which Zayn did not do. He always seemed to be drifting from place to place, black hair carefully styled so that a swirl appeared to carelessly fall on his forehead and jacket nonchalantly hanging off his shoulder like something out of a magazine, without a care in the world. Harry figured it was the sort of attitude you had to adopt when you had a name like Zayn Malik. Not that Harry gave a damn about any of that, but, to put it mildly, it was not because people were quick to point a finger at Germany for what they had let happen that they were willing to face their own ignorance. In short: people whispered, and all of this despite the thick Northern accent that surprised the wits out of Harry the first time he heard it come out of Zayn’s mouth.

“It’s not healthy, though, is it? You should go see a nurse or something about it, you can die from sleep deprivation.”

Blinking slowly, Harry stared at his oldest friend on campus silently for a moment. “I hope you never make it into medical school, you’re going to be a shit doctor. ‘You can die from sleep deprivation,’ you tell the insomniac at four in the morning.” With a long sigh, Harry shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Zayn laughed. “Don’t worry, mate, I’ve heard worse. Have you met Louis?”

Harry rolled his eyes at Zayn. “Yes,” he replied despite knowing that this was a rhetorical question. “I know Louis.”

He shifted in his seat. Mentions of Louis had the pesky side-effect of making Harry’s stomach churn uncomfortably. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at the curls as he yawned. He watched as Zayn light a cigarette and shook his head when offered one, instead pulling his legs up on the chair and curling up in it, arms wrapped around his knees.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m still up at this hour?” Zayn asked after discarding his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

Tearing his eyes from the fireplace, Harry blinked slowly at him. “Do you want to tell me?”

Flashing him a wicked grin, Zayn winked. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I should have seen this one coming.”

“But you didn’t and that’s why we love you, Harold.” Zayn stretched and got up, picking his jacket off the back of the armchair and shrugging it on. “With this, I’m off to bed.” With a pat to Harry’s head, he headed out of the room.

“Goodnight!” Harry called after him before turning back to the fire, resting his chin on his knees with a sigh.

Harry considered following after Zayn for a moment, but the thought of his cold room made him wince. Instead, he carefully placed more wood into the hearth and pulled the armchair closer. He wrapped his dressing gown tighter around himself and then closed his eyes, turning his face to the warmth with a smile as his thoughts drifted through his memories.

The first time he had seen Louis did not technically count as the first time he had met him. His first glimpse of him had been a fleeting one: a knock at the door of his room and the flash of a crooked grin before a sharp voice called Niall out and the door slammed shut. It had been a whirlwind of sights and sounds, there and gone in a matter of seconds, and promptly discarded as one of Niall’s many boisterous friends.

The first time he met Louis, on the other hand, had made a much stronger impression. Harry had been working the counter at the library, alternating between reading a novel he kept hidden under the desk and staring off into space, eyes on the specks of dust as they drifted through the sunbeams pouring in from the tall windows. It had started with a gust of autumn wind sweeping into the room as someone threw opened the heavy oaken doors, causing the occupants of the library to look around in disgruntled curiosity. Harry himself had found himself craning his neck to try and see who was the utter idiot who was entering a library like it was a barn.

Louis had come running at top speed, muddy wingtips squeaking and skidding on the linoleum and his opened jacket flying behind him. He braced himself on a table as he took a sharp turn to the left and headed towards the counter, vaulting it and crouching down before Harry could stop him. He had stared down at him silently, blinking slowly, until the boy had pulled him down by the front of his shirt so he would kneel next to him.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had said lamely, feeling ashamed of the yelp he had let out as he looked at the red-faced, breathless boy still holding his shirt in his fist.

“Hi, I’m Louis,” the boy had said, letting go of his shirt to extend his hand for Harry to shake.

“You can’t stay here,” Harry had repeated, ignoring his hand. “And I’m Harry.”

“I know,” Louis had replied, smirking. “So, I may or may not have dressed the statue outside the principal’s office in a dress. And I may or may not be currently running away from the school security.” He had paused to look up at Harry with big, pleading eyes. “My life depends on you, Harry. Please, hide me.”

“You--what? Why would you do that?”

Louis had squinted at him, an amused smile playing on his lips. “For fun?”

“Well, you can’t stay here, we--”

Louis had shut him up with a hand over his mouth. “Please, Harold. I’ll owe you one.”

“No, I mean, there’s--” Harry had mumbled against his hand, eyes darting to the top of the heads of the guardians he could see coming closer to the counter.

“Harry Styles, I am begging you, please let me hide here.”

Prying Louis’ hand away, Harry had rolled his eyes. “Shut up and listen to me, there are two guards coming over here right now, you need to run.” He wouldn’t be able to tell what took him, but had he found himself adding, in a quick whisper, “I’ll distract them. Go.”

Louis had grabbed Harry’s face to plant a loud, wet kiss on his cheek before repeating in a rush that he owed Harry his life and running back the way he had come.

A month had gone by since their meeting and Harry still winced with embarrassment when he thought back to it. He had looked like a proper fool in front of Louis, who, it turned out, was friends with all of his friends. He always turned up, no matter what they were doing or where they were going, teasing and joking and mocking, always constantly there in Harry’s peripheral vision. He was a third year, the rumour was that he had the lowest average in the history of the university (which made no sense, considering he still managed to pass his classes; besides, Harry had checked in old yearbooks during a quiet afternoon in the library and had found that a certain Lionel Hearst allegedly had the lowest average back in 1931--chances were that each year had their own Lionel Hearst, and the class of 1954 had elected Louis Tomlinson as theirs), and he was quite possibly the most annoying person Harry had ever met.

And there was another problem, a massive one that was threatening to destroy Harry’s sanity: he was gorgeous. Not your inoffensive “I can recognize that, objectively, Humphrey Bogart and James Dean are attractive males”, which Harry could very easily and comfortably live with. No, Louis was the kind of gorgeous that had poisoned Harry’s mind until it was all his twisted mind could conjure whenever he had what a psychology textbook he found in Liam’s room had called ‘nocturnal emissions’.

When combined, Louis’ irritating personality and Harry’s inability to get him out of his head were a dangerous mix. One that he never missed an opportunity to use, because on a misguided evening, Harry had made the mistake to go out with Niall and had tragically confessed, over his fourth pint, that he was having unbecoming thoughts about Louis. The news had obviously rapidly travelled all the way to Louis’ ears and now it seemed he had made it his mission to make sure Harry never lived his shameful infatuation down.

Not to mention that, well, he was a boy infatuated with another boy. The same psychology textbook had told him that what he was had a name, and that it was diagnosable, and thus curable, but Liam had walked back in before Harry could read exactly what they meant by ‘aversion therapy’. He hadn’t dared ask Liam, not while Louis was sprawled on his bed, smoking with slow drags and slower exhales, winking at Harry whenever their eyes met.

Louis had asked what Harry was reading and he had mumbled something about insomnia (which had been his first goal, mind you) and a wicked grin had appeared on Louis’ face.

“You were reading about paraphilias, weren’t you, you naughty boy? Which one was your favourite? I’m quite fond of homosexuality myself.”

Zayn had thrown a wrinkled jacket at Louis at that, saving Harry the embarrassment of having to reply by saying through a laugh: “The shit that comes out of your mouth is astounding.”

“It’s not shit! What’s it classified under, again? Payne, help me out.”

Reciting dully, as if he was used to the question - and Harry suspected he was - Liam had rolled his eyes. “Sexual deviations are under personality disorders of the sociopathic subtype.”

“Thanks, mate. I didn’t understand half the words in there, but I like the ring of ‘sociopathic’, don’t you? It makes it sound so dangerous, so ‘I will kill you in your sleep and then shag your corpse’.”

“Someone’s won the roommate lottery,” Niall had said, earning himself a slap upside the head from Liam.

This particular exchange, and more specifically the image of Louis talking about sexual deviations while lying on a bed like some sort of caricature of a French painting, was running through Harry’s sleep deprived mind as he hurried to his morning class under the cold drizzle that had replaced the rain. He had managed to get a couple of hours of sleep, but had woken up when the fire was out and the room had turned frigid. Going back to his room, he had collapsed on his bed, only to hear his alarm clock ringing what felt like three minutes later. And now, as he hurried up to the fourth floor on the slippery stairs, he realized with a groan he had forgotten to do the assigned readings for the class.

He took his usual seat near the centre of the lecture hall, unpacking his notebook and fiddling with his pen to keep his mind busy and, more importantly, awake. A three hour lecture on Shakespeare was the last thing he needed at the moment, his eyes unable to focus on the board for more than a handful of seconds before they closed heavily, his entire body jerking back as he drifted to sleep and started to fall forward.

The door opened loudly and Harry didn’t have to look to know who had just entered. He always banged doors opened, making his entrance known as if his presence itself wasn’t enough to get him noticed.

“Harold!” Louis’ voice echoed around the half-empty hall, off the wood-panelled walls and the high, off-white ceiling. He was holding a notebook in his hand, the poor thing in tatters like most of what Louis owned. The usual swirl of hair was falling on his forehead, disheveled in a way that felt more genuine than Zayn’s calculated styling, with the sides ruffled and looking mostly unkempt.

Harry waved at him, shifting in his seat as he watched Louis climb the steps up to where he was sitting and make his way to the empty chair next to Harry. He rubbed his eye and braced himself for the tornado of Louis’ personality.

“Hi, Louis,” he said once Louis was settled. “How are you?”

“I’m brilliant. My day’s always off to such a good start when I get to see you first thing in the morning.” He patted Harry’s knee, a smirk on his lips. Harry swallowed around his dry throat. “You, on the other hand, look terrible.”

“Insomnia,” Harry replied with a shrug, stifling a yawn with his hand. “Nothing new.”

“Yeah, I see that, the bags under your eyes are terrifying.”

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but then forgot to close it as Louis reached up and stroked a thumb under Harry’s eye, lightly touching the paper thin skin. He could wax lyrical about how soft Louis’ skin turned out to be, or how unexpected the touch was, but neither of those things would be right. The fact of the matter was that being touched, stroked, petted or any other synonym describing fond, affectionate physical contact were common when Louis was concerned. That did not mean that Harry was used to it, and he found himself freezing under Louis’ careful finger, his words dying in his throat.

“It looks like you’ve got shiners,” Louis said, voice quiet and soft. “You have to take better care of yourself, Haz, or else someone will have to do it for you.”

Louis’ fingers were still lightly brushing his cheek, close to his ear, as his thumb moved back and forth, barely touching his skin, and Harry absolutely could not let out any sound resembling modern languages. Instead, he nodded, remembered to close his mouth, and cleared his throat to try and speak. All of his efforts were ruined when Louis patted his cheek and moved back, slipping lower in his seat and winking at Harry when their knees bumped.

Harry blinked to realize that the hall had filled while Louis was busy making him forget English. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket for his glasses and slipped them on, not missing the pleased noise Louis let out next to him. He glanced at him, frowning.

“Love the glasses, Harold.”

“Me too. They help me see.”

Harry did not particularly consider himself a religious man. He went to church when it mattered and tried not to do unto others what he would not want done unto him, but for the most part, he never really had God at the back of his mind whenever he did something. And yet, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered what he had done to anger God. His eyes widened and he felt a blush blooming on his cheeks, his skin burning with the shame and embarrassment of his reply. They help me see, way to state the obvious, Styles. Louis was obviously flirting and the only thing he could come up with was bloody “they help me see.”

Louis let out a bark of laughter, pushing his knee against Harry’s. “Good for you, mate. You wouldn’t want to strain those pretty eyes of yours.”

The professor walking in and setting up his papers behind the lectern saved Harry from having to answer. Harry kept his eyes trained on the front of the class for the first hour of the lecture, pointedly ignoring Louis’ constant shifting and squirming around in his seat. Liam often asked if he had ants in his pants, which usually prompted Louis to let out a vulgar joke about what he did have in his pants. It was better if Harry ignored him, then. He was already struggling to keep up with the deadpan droning of their professor, he didn’t need to think about the way Louis’ thigh brushed against his every time he moved.

The lightbulb closest to the door kept flickering, the rhythm varying from every other second to one every two or three minutes, and Harry found himself captivated by it. The ventilation buzzed in the background, a low metallic rumble pushing moist air into the suffocating hall. A strand of hair had escaped from his comb-over, falling into his eyes and curling from the humidity. He blew on it, watching it rise and fall and repeating the motion over and over again, until Louis elbowed him.

Harry turned to him, bracing himself for a witty remark that would turn him into a blubbering mess, but instead he was met with Louis’ profile, face set and serious as he had his hand raised in the air. Squinting, Harry turned to their professor in time to see him calling on Louis, who lifted his eyebrows, once, before an amused smile curled up his lips.

“Sir, there is something that has been bothering me since I read through the assigned pages last night. See, I can’t quite figure out what Shakespeare meant when he had Aufidius say: ‘Let me twine mine arms about that body, where against my grained ash an hundred times hath broke and scarr’d the moon with splinters,’ and then later when he adds: ‘but that I see thee here, thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw bestride my threshold.’”

Louis glanced up from the copy of Coriolanus opened in front of him, several lines underlined in blue ink, to give Harry a wink before looking back down and continuing.

“And when he writes: ‘thou hast beat me out twelve several times, and I have nightly since dreamt of encounters ‘twixt thyself and me; we have been down together in my sleep, unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat, and waked half dead with nothing,’ what I don’t understand, sir, is that it sounds to me like Aufidius is courting Marcius, doesn’t it? All this talk of,” Louis glanced down again, “nightly dreams of what sounds to me like some sort of wrestling? All of this leads me to think that there is a certain passion to Marcius and Aufidius’ relationship that you haven’t talked about, yet.”

Louis sat back in his seat, the line of his shoulders disagreeing with the look of candid innocence he had schooled his face into. The entire hall seemed to be waiting with baited breath for their professor’s response, the poor man looking terrified and offended and minuscule in his bulky tweed jacket. His lip quivered, making his grey, toothbrush moustache dance, and he narrowed his eyes at Louis.

“Ignoring Mr Tomlinson’s depraved mind, let’s have a short break. Class will resume in ten minutes.”

Chatter rose around them and Louis shook his head, a look of annoyed resignation on his face.

“I knew he’d do that. I bloody knew it. They’re always too stuck up to address the blatant homoeroticism of the material they assign us.”

Homoeroticism. The word rang in Harry’s ears, filling up his skull and flushing out everything else, leaving him with images of--with images of things he’d rather not put a name on. Of Louis’ lips as they curled into his trademark smirk, of Louis’ spread thighs as he lay on one of their beds, reading out loud from whichever book he had found on the bedside table, of Louis’ eyes and the way they had to always seek Harry’s, but also of older memories. Memories of swimming in a lake with his older cousin as a child and watching the drops of water running down his chest and shimmer in the sun. Locker room memories, a seemingly endless number of them, all strung one after the other in his mind like a neverending series of discomfort and shame as he caught glimpses of changing bodies. Memories of feeling wrong and twisted, an abomination that would bring shame to his family if he said anything.

There was a word for all this, a simple word which Louis uttered like it didn’t carry the weight of the world with it. A word which didn’t sound as ominous as the others did. That word wouldn’t be in Liam’s textbook. That word evoked ideas of art in Harry’s mind, not of therapy.

“Harold? Are you all right? I’ve lost you, here, haven’t I? Wake up, Styles, you’re not in your bed. I understand that it can be confusing for you right now because we all know you see me in your dreams, but--”

“That word you used,” Harry said, cutting him. He cleared his throat and decided it was better to ignore how accurate Louis’ teasing was.

“Which one? You’ll notice I speak quite a lot, so you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that.”

Lowering his voice, Harry leaned in. “Homoeroticism.”

“What about it?”

“It was the first time I heard it. I didn’t know it existed.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about.” Louis patted his thigh with a pout. “But don’t worry, I can teach you. I owe you one, remember?”

Harry let out a strangled noise and looked away so he would not have to see Louis’ smirk.

Harry spent the rest of the lecture in a haze, his mind preoccupied with what he tried so hard to ignore during the first half: Louis’ elbow brushing against his on the armrest, their knees bumping when he moved, the sound of his breathing, regular and deep, the way he tapped his pen against his notebook, the muscles in his forearm shifting as he took notes. By the time his torture was over, he realized with horror that he had not listened to a single word of the entire second half of the lecture and he bit his lip.

“And they say I’m the worst student this school has ever seen,” Louis commented after seeing the blank page that Harry failed to hide.

“I couldn’t concentrate,” Harry explained as he packed his bag hastily and followed Louis to leave the lecture hall.

“You can borrow my notes, don’t worry.” Once out of the hall, Louis turned to walk backwards, eyes on Harry. “Why, though? Why was Harold Styles, scholarship student, not paying attention in class? Thinking about boys, maybe?”

Without thinking about it, Harry lurched forward to put his hand over Louis’ mouth. “Shut up,” he hissed.

Unfazed, Louis lowered Harry’s hand with his, his expression softening. “So, you were? This is an interesting turn of events.” Looking up at Harry, he frowned. “Oh, you’re scared.”

“I’m not scared.” At the sight of Louis raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Harry licked his lips. “I’m terrified.” He glanced around, feeling like all eyes were on the pair of them as they stood in the middle of the hallway and blocked the traffic.

Louis nodded and took Harry’s elbow, dragging him along and out of the building. Outside, pale rays of sunlight were peeking through the clouds and the air felt light for the first time in days. Harry tried to avoid the puddles covering the cobblestones while Louis kept pulling him along, mindful of keeping his socks dry even as an outrageously flirtatious man he barely knew was taking him somewhere unknown.

“Do you have work today?” Louis asked over his shoulder as they crossed the campus towards their dormitory.

“No. Where are we going?”

“My dorm.”

Harry stopped abruptly, causing Louis to stumble forward before he caught himself and turned. “Why?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to molest you.” Letting go of Harry’s arm, he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I just thought you’d prefer to talk about your innermost secrets in private. Assuming you want to talk about it?”

Harry looked down at Louis for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Louis held his gaze, eyes wide and earnest, almost begging for Harry’s trust. Gnawing at his lip, Harry breathed in sharply and nodded, making the jump, stepping off the edge of the metaphorical cliff and choosing to trust Louis.

A small smile appeared on Louis’ lips, more subdued than what Harry was used to see, and it warmed up the bottom of his stomach in a way that was not unpleasant.

“Very well. Let us be on our way, then.”

A sense of dread descended upon Harry as they neared Louis’ room. His nerves were setting in, sparking up, exploding in bright flashes of what felt a lot like terror at the prospect of the conversation he was about to have and of its ramifications. Thinking it was one thing, admitting that he was thinking it was another, but voicing it was in the realm of impossibilities. The door shut behind them with a quiet click and then they were alone, shielded. Louis sat backwards on his desk chair and motioned for Harry to sit on his bed before he folded his arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Harry, tell me. How long have you known?” His voice was quiet and soft, so unlike Louis’ usual loud squawks that it eased Harry’s nervousness, if only partially.

Harry found that he could not look at Louis’ face and he let his gaze drift to the wall behind him, hung with pennants in the colours of Liam’s favourite teams. He brought a hand up to scrape his teeth against the knuckle of a finger, a nervous habit he’d been trying to get rid off for years. He could feel Louis’ steady gaze on him and he swallowed thickly, breathing out.

“I don’t know.” He forced his eyes back on Louis, briefly, to see him frowning. “How long have you known?”

“That I’m gay?” Harry winced at the word and it made Louis smirk. “Summer 1943, there was this bloke billeted at a neighbour’s house. He’d pop by to play with my sisters and I some times and I’d seen him almost every day for months, but that one particular day, he helped my mother with gardening and took off his shirt because of the heat. It changed my life.” He chuckled and scratched his cheek. “I was twelve. I spent the entire day in my bedroom, watching him from the window, absolutely confused about what was happening. I thought I was ill.”

“What’d you do?”

Louis shrugged. “I masturbated, obviously. That was a first. What a day.”

Heat spread on Harry’s face, bright red spots blooming on his cheeks at the words, and he muttered a scandalized ‘oh, my god’ that made Louis laugh.

“Have you never?” Louis asked, giving Harry a curious smile. “Have you really never touched yourself?”

Putting a hand over his eyes, Harry groaned. “Of course, I have, but I don’t talk about it with everyone,” he blurted out, ashamed.

“Why not? You have to stop listening to your minister, kid. It’s perfectly normal, everyone does it.”

Harry shook his head and wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. He could not remember having ever been as uncomfortable as he was in that instant. His nerves were raw and he felt too hot and too cold at the same time, safe and cloistered at once in the cramped dorm room. Looking at Louis, he found him observing him with a steady expression. Harry appreciated that he was not pushing for answers despite his obvious curiosity. He didn’t feel pressured to answer, but the possibility was there, hanging in the still, humid air between them. It was his choice to seize it and, with a shaky sigh, he did.

“I’ve always had, hum, suspicions that I wasn’t normal. I can’t--” he waved his hands around, “--put words on it, or tell you about specific incidents, but I’ve been having doubts since grammar school.”

“You’re normal.” There was an unexpected fire behind Louis’ words that made Harry frown.

“You can’t be serious. You heard Liam the other day, we’re sociopaths.”

Louis rolled his eyes, digging in his pockets for a cigarette. He placed it between his lips and cracked a match to light it, eyes on Harry through the rising smoke. “Do you feel like a sociopath?”

Harry shrugged. “Not particularly.”

Blowing smoke, Louis raised his eyebrows. “There you go. You’re not. Simple as that. Admitting a bloke needs to have his hands tied above his hands to be able to come, would you say he’s a sociopath?” When Harry shook his head, Louis continued. “But that’s still a paraphilia, ergo he’s mental. We’re not perverts, we just love differently. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

Harry licked his lips and nodded, transfixed by Louis’ verve. “And they say you’re the worst student of your year.”

Louis laughed, sharp and clear, smoke coming out of his nostrils. “I’ve had a bad freshman year and the reputation, sadly, stuck with me. Of course, I’m not a scholarship kid, so I don’t compare.” He winked a Harry.

“How do you know so many things about me? We’ve rarely spoken.”

Louis laughed again, but the sound was softer, more intimate, in an odd way. “Well...” He rubbed the back of his neck, discarding the butt of his cigarette in a dirty ashtray on his bedside table. “I asked around. You helped me a lot when you befriended Zayn.”

Harry shifted on the bed to rest his back against the wall, kicking his shoes off quickly to pull his knees up against his chest. “Why?”

Louis’ eyes widened, almost comically, before he shrugged. “Curiosity. You looked interesting.”

#caro writes fic #larry #larry fic #my fics #rip wip meme

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nicolewrites · 4 years

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We Stand, Fate-Tested - VI

And I finally start to earn that mystery genre tag here. Exams are almost done and then hopefully I'll be able to work some more on this story during social distancing. I already know chapter 7 will be a doozy, so get prepared.

Also, just a reminder to check dates as we’re jumping ahead a little in both timelines.

Rating: T+ Genre: Mystery, Friendship, Romance Characters: [Byleth/My Unit, Dimitri B.], [Byleth/My Unit, Claude R.] Words: 5,800

A strange symbol discovered during the dig has strange consequences. / Rhea delivers unpleasant news.

AO3 | FFN

VI - Am I Dreaming Or Awake

Old Monastery Ruins, Garreg Mach University - 19 Pegasus Moon, 733 AU

It was spectacular. She had noted the elegance of the old architecture the first time they had been down to the excavation site, but it was something that caught her off guard every time she came down here.

Byleth passed the security sign-in table and flashed her ID badge as the guards nodded at her and she moved over to the supply table. Shovels and trammels and boxes of gloves were littered over the table along with a carafe of coffee that someone had bought for the team. Byleth helped herself to a small cup of coffee and walked further into the chamber.

They had begun in one of the main tombs of the monastery. It was the one that had been worked on all those years ago, so Seteth had chosen it as the initial starting point for the current excavation. It was also the only chamber that had been approved for inhabitants by structural engineers. The two other known crypts were still under investigation to see if they were structurally sound enough to support a bunch of archeologists digging around in them. Then, of course, there were rumours that there were dozens of other sealed-off chambers down here somewhere.

Byleth sipped her coffee as she walked forward through the in-process dig. It was early, just past 6, so the only people who had arrived were herself, Seteth, and Harriet, one of the post-docs in Seteth’s lab. Byleth picked her way towards Seteth who was crouched in a marked square as he assessed a handful of ancient coins he had unearthed. She cleared her throat and he looked up.

“Good morning, Byleth,” he greeted politely as he stood up. “Reporting for duty?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I assume I can take the same sector as before?”

Seteth shook his head. “No, I’ve actually assigned that to James today. He’s working with Annette, Ingrid, and Ignatz over there. Harriet will take Lysithea and Linhardt, but I was hoping you would be able to manage Claude, Edelgard, and Dimitri.”

Byleth was surprised. Usually, Seteth split the undergrads into pairs, not a pair and two trios. Additionally, he usually had her working with Lysithea and Linhardt.

Seteth continued, not concerned with Byleth’s surprise. “I want you guys to start over there. I’ve already marked your area for the day.” Seteth gestured to the far wall of the tomb.

Byleth could see the staked-out area. It was further away from the main body of the dig than anyone else had been working, towards a crumbled section of what was probably a statue. She turned to Seteth and raised an eyebrow.

“Why the new site? We’ve been working fine in other places.”

Seteth sighed. “I’m starting to think there isn’t much in this particular chamber. As much as I hate to admit it, most of what was here was recovered by Catherine five years ago. She did good work while she was down here.”

Byleth smiled sympathetically at her advisor. “Seteth, we’ve only been working for a few weeks.” She gestured to the coins he had unearthed. “That’s something, isn’t it?”

He chuckled. “It’s a small start,” he admitted. “I do have an admission to make though,” he continued. “I intend to send a group of people up to Fhirdiad to retrieve some additional supplies from the National Museum this weekend. I was hoping you would be willing to do that.”

Byleth blinked. “Leave the dig and go to Fhirdiad?” She was almost a bit offended. She had spent so much time preparing for the dig and helping to prepare the undergrads that it felt a bit cruel to ask her to step out on a trip for errands.

Seteth hummed. “You would leave Saturday morning early and make it to Fhirdiad by the late evening. Sunday you’ll collect the supplies and come back. You should be back late Sunday night in plenty of time. I actually hoped to send some of our students with you.”

Byleth put a hand on her hip. “Which students?”

“Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude,” he explained. “Dimitri lives in Fhirdiad and both Claude and Edelgard have residences there due to their parents.”

Byleth sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it. I don’t have a car, though, you know that.”

Seteth shrugged. “You can borrow mine or take one of theirs if they have one. Flayn is in town for a while so I won’t be troubled if you do take mine.”

Byleth nodded. Before she could respond, a chatter of noise caught her attention and she turned and saw a gaggle of people at the sign-in desk including all of the undergrads. Seteth nodded to her and made his way towards them to assign their duties for the day. Byleth trailed after him, biting her lip.

Seteth was just giving out the directions when Byleth caught up and Claude caught her eye with a smug grin as Seteth explained that they would be working together that day and the next. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Since her trip to Almyra at the end of the term, she and Claude had become even closer. He still liked to bother her about random historical or archeological things and it happened even more frequently than it had occurred in the previous term because now she wasn’t his TA.

When Seteth finished the briefing, he turned to her. “Could you ask them about this weekend?”

Byleth nodded. She walked over to the supply table and plucked a pair of gloves out of one of the boxes, snapping them on. The undergrads were mostly chatting amongst themselves, but Claude turned his full attention to Byleth as soon as she approached.

“So, a new quadrant?” he questioned. Byleth shrugged.

She glanced at Edelgard and Dimitri who had also turned their attention towards her. “Good morning,” she greeted the three of them.

Edelgard smiled. “An early one,” she noted jokingly.

Dimitri laughed. “Claude, Ignatz, and Annette are the only three crazy enough to normally be up at this time.”

Annette gasped, offended. “Hey!”

Ignatz just chuckled. “Archery events are good at being scheduled super early.”

Ingrid laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m normally up too. Felix really doesn’t know how to stop messaging at 6 am when he’s up and going to fencing.”

Most of the undergrads filtered away then, leaving Byleth with her trio of students. She straightened her shoulders and fiddled with the hem of one of her gloves.

“Are any of you busy this weekend?”

Claude’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Uh,” he muttered, looking caught off guard.

Dimitri frowned slightly. “I’m supposed to celebrate Felix’s birthday tomorrow night, but not beyond that,” he admitted.

“Well, Seteth has asked the four of us to go to Fhirdiad to pick up some supplies. We’ll be back by Sunday.”

Edelgard pursed her lips. “I suppose that makes sense, but why all four of us?”

Byleth winced as she recalled a reason why Seteth might have chosen to send away Edelgard, Dimitri, and Claude in particular. Claude picked up on her expression right away and he laughed dryly.

“Probably has something to do with that argument last weekend,” he noted.

Edelgard and Dimitri both flinched as they all recalled the bitter verbal sparring match that had occurred the last time they had been on-site together. Claude had identified something Edelgard had unearthed before she had had the chance to and she had snapped at him. Claude had retorted right back which had caused Dimitri to step in and defend Edelgard. Of course, then both of them had snapped at Dimitri for intervening where he wasn’t needed. Tensions had been prickly between them all since, much to the discomfort of anyone forced to work with them.

“Well, maybe this will be a good thing,” Dimitri offered.

Edelgard huffed and turned her full attention to Byleth. “Where are we working today?”

Byleth gestured to the far-off plot. Edelgard nodded, grabbed a clipboard from the supply table and stalked off, heading in the right direction. Claude rolled his eyes at the dismissal from the Prime Minister’s daughter before he followed in her footsteps, spinning a small shovel in his hands.

Dimitri sighed. “This is weird for us, Byleth,” he admitted to her. Byleth eyed him curiously and Dimitri frowned after his friends. “It’s almost like being down here brings up some unspoken tension between us that we didn’t know existed.”

Byleth took a deep breath. “Well, let’s not let grievances get between us and work, alright?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

Dimitri immediately walked over to join the others at the dig spot. Byleth took a bracing breath and followed after them. She was going to need all of her patience today if the three of them were going to be as snippy as they had been previously.

Byleth was about to kneel down next to Edelgard to begin her own digging when something on the wall caught her eye. She stepped over the boundary rope and narrowed her eyes. The three students paused in their own work to watch her. There was something etched faintly in the crumbled stones.

“Dimitri, hand me a brush please,” she requested. Dimitri fumbled with the brush for a moment before he pressed it into her palm.

Claude crossed the rope to stand next to her, eyes sharp and curious. “What do you see, Teach?”

Byleth ran the brush gently over the surface of the wall. A few layers of dirt drifted off, but it was clear that the sigil she was curious about was more deeply buried. “Something right here,” she murmured quietly, gesturing to the area she was brushing.

Claude made an affirming noise and this drew both Edelgard and Dimitri closer as the four of them stared at the mark on the crumbled wall. Byleth pressed the pointed handle of the brush against the mark and scraped at the stone. Dust and dirt fell away, revealing the pattern more fully. Byleth brushed it again, clearing away more layers of dirt until she’d uncovered what portion she could.

The carving was some kind of looping pattern. It was incomplete, with probably only a third of it intact, but it seemed weirdly familiar. Byleth lowered the brush and lifted her hand. She pressed a gloved finger into one of the pattern’s grooves. As soon as she touched it, it felt like something in her had been electrocuted. She jerked back, glancing between her finger and the stone.

“Teach?” Claude questioned. He sounded concerned, but Byleth’s curious instincts were stronger.

She pressed her hand against the marking again and felt a similar prickle of energy. This time she didn’t pull back, pressing her palm to the stone as well. The energy spiked and Byleth blacked out so fast she didn’t realize it was happening.

She dreamt of the weird throne again.

This time, the chamber was intact and not in the state of decay she normally saw it in. Byleth turned, assessing the massive room. It was some kind of tomb, she already knew that, but she wanted to find a hint of where it was. Massive stone statues decorated the four corners of the tomb, but as she turned toward the throne again, there were two figures standing in front of it.

She tried to step towards them, but her feet were anchored in place. She blinked and the figures blurred as if they weren’t really there, but they didn’t fade away. It appeared to be a man and a woman, but their details were fuzzy no matter how hard Byleth tried to focus on their features.

They were conversing quietly. Byleth heard the murmured timbres of the two voices and reaffirmed her suspicions of one man and one woman, but the words themselves felt like they were travelling through water to reach her so she couldn’t pick out anything in particular.

She tried again to force her body to move quickly, but a pulse of energy rippled through her so strongly she almost keeled over. She reflexively lowered her head and closed her eyes tightly When she lifted her head again, the figures were gone and her surroundings had changed. She was staring at the throne head-on from the base of it.

Byleth exhaled in surprise. She lifted a hand carefully and touched the stone arm of the throne. Oddly enough, the stone felt hot to the touch. The warmth tingled in her fingertips and there was a flash of white before her face. Byleth’s vision whited out from the burst of light, but when it came back to her, there was a sigil floating in front of her face.

It was the sigil that had been carved in the stone at the dig site but complete, with intricate loops and a crisscrossed pattern. It hovered in the air in front of her as she kept her hand pressed to the throne. Byleth lifted her free hand and tried to touch the symbol. Her hand passed through it cleanly, but she could feel a warmth emanating from it.

“Byleth!” a voice cried out, loud and sharp and concerned.

She spun, drawing her hand back to her chest. She was alone in the chamber, but her sudden turn caused her vision to dim as quickly as it had during the dig and the dream faded.

Byleth blinked open her eyes slowly and immediately winced at the bright sunlight overhead. It took her only the briefest second to realize that someone was holding her in their arms and her head was resting against a shoulder. Voices filled her ears as her senses returned to her and she let out a low groan. The arms holding her instantly tensed and Byleth tilted her head and looked up to see that it was Dimitri holding her.

“Byleth!” Seteth exclaimed.

She tipped her head away from Dimitri, ignoring the faint ringing in her ears and saw her thesis supervisor standing next to him, staring at her in concern. “Seteth?” she mumbled.

“Teach, are you okay?” Claude asked. Byleth’s eyes flicked to him where he stood next to Seteth. Edelgard was hovering on Claude’s other side.

All four of them looked extremely concerned. Byleth shifted in Dimitri’s grip and flicked her eyes back to him.

“Can you put me down?” she requested. “I’m fine,” she said.

Dimitri frowned, but he did lower her to her feet. Byleth was surprisingly steady on her feet, but all of her muscles felt weirdly sore.

“What happened?” Seteth asked. By his tone, it was clear this was not the first time he had asked the question. He also had clearly directed it at the three students, not at Byleth.

“I touched that symbol and then everything went black,” Byleth said, answering him anyways. Seteth frowned.

Edelgard folded her arms. “But, why would that make you pass out?” she prompted.

Byleth shrugged, genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But, I feel fine now.”

Seteth studied her face with a creased brow. “You’re not going back down there today,” he said firmly. “Or tomorrow.” Byleth opened her mouth to protest and Seteth shook his head sternly. “Absolutely not,” he insisted.

Byleth huffed. “Seteth, I’m fine.”

“Byleth, you just collapsed. I don’t really think it’s fair to say that,” Dimitri said gently.

She pressed her lips into a line. She glanced around and noticed that they were standing at the courtyard just outside of the entrance to the dig site. She couldn’t have been unconscious for that long if they had only gotten this far when she was out.

“How about you and I go back to the lab and do some cataloguing?” Claude suggested, lifting the clipboard he was holding. “We can get started on entering this stuff into the database.”

“That’s agreeable,” Seteth consented. “I still want you to call Flayn tonight though.”

Flayn was a nurse and Byleth knew that Seteth wanted Flayn to do a full check-up, but having Byleth call her was his way of compromising with her. Byleth sighed and nodded.

“I’ll call her later,” she said.

“Great, well if that’s settled, we can head out, Teach,” Claude said cheerfully.

He gestured towards the main university campus and Byleth sighed again and headed in the direction of the lab with Claude following on her heels. They walked in silence right up until they entered the building when Claude finally couldn’t hold his tongue.

“What happened, Teach?”

Byleth glared at him half-heartedly before shrugging. “I fainted, apparently,” she muttered dryly.

Claude laughed. “No, what did you dream about?”

She stopped mid-step and stared at him. “How the hell do you know that I dreamed?”

He shrugged. “Honestly, that was a wild guess, but I’m glad it was correct.”

Byleth groaned and kept walking, trying to outpace Claude. He mostly kept up and caught up right outside the door to the lab.

“Was it bad?” he ventured carefully.

“Confusing,” Byleth corrected and slipped past him into the lab.

“Confusing,” Claude echoed as he followed her. “Care to elaborate.”

“Same throne, but there were people. I couldn’t hear or see them clearly,” Byleth said shortly.

She dropped into her chair and grabbed a pad of paper. Closing her eyes, she conjured the symbol that had appeared when she had touched the throne. She grabbed a pencil and made a very rough sketch of what it had looked like. She slid it across the table towards Claude.

“I saw this too.”

His eyes widened as he obviously recognized it from the dig site. He slid his pen off of the clipboard and carefully drew a half-circle around the part of it that Byleth had uncovered. He tapped the pen tip against the page and stared at her.

“What does this mean?”

“I have no idea,” she sighed. Byleth rubbed at her temples. “Everything about this is giving me a headache.”

Claude laughed at her. “Well, let’s do something distracting then.” He grabbed a TV remote from one of the shelves and pointed it at the lab TV in the corner.

Most of the time, James just used the TV to play whatever satellite music channel he wanted, but sometimes Seteth or Harriet would have the news on in the background as they worked. It appeared that Seteth or Harriet had been using it last since it was playing the news when it turned on.

“Enbarr Police are investigating the mysterious death of a woman recently identified as Monica Ochs,” the TV reporter explained.

Every muscle in Byleth’s body went completely rigid and she rose to her feet, staring at the screen in disbelief. The screen changed from the reporter at a desk to two images: one a plain portrait photo and the other a police sketch of the same girl. Byleth’s blood ran cold as ice as she recognized the police sketch. Both detailed a woman with delicate features and a slender face. She had dark red hair and thin lips.

Claude looked between Byleth and the TV. “Teach?” he inquired.

“I know her,” Byleth said reflexively.

“Ochs was identified as a person of interest in a murder investigation in the central city of Remire five years ago. A witness described the sketch on the right which was identified to be Ochs. At the time, police had been unable to locate Ochs for questioning and the investigation was eventually left unsolved,” the reporter continued.

Claude touched Byleth’s arm. “You knew a wanted murderer?”

“I described that sketch,” she said numbly, pointing to the police sketch.

Claude’s hand on her arm tightened and he immediately shut the TV off. “What?” he said, sounding startled.

Byleth sank back into her seat and stared blankly at the table in front of her. Her blood was racing and she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. Monica’s face was engraved in her mind. It had been for five years and it was jarring to see it again after so long. Her hands trembled and she was shot straight into a memory of a dark rainy alleyway in Remire as her father bled out in her lap with sirens wailing in the background. She started to feel lightheaded.

Byleth didn’t realize she wasn’t breathing until Claude forcibly placed himself between Byleth’s chair and the table and gripped her face between his hands. “Byleth, you need to breathe,” he ordered. “Breathe out,” he instructed sternly.

Byleth exhaled and Claude shook his head, shifting a hand to press against her stomach.

“Exhale,” he said harshly.

Byleth pushed out more air until it hurt and Claude nodded and she took a desperate breath in out of reflex. Claude continued coaxing her to breathe for several minutes. Byleth’s chest ached from the action of it. The fuzziness at the edges of her vision she had barely processed faded and Byleth started to come back to herself. Her eyes were burning and her head was pounding and her cheeks were wet as she belatedly realized she was crying.

Claude was kneeling on the floor in front of her, still holding her face and staring at her with a concerned expression on his face. “Are you alright?” he asked her quietly once her breathing had settled.

Byleth closed her eyes and felt her whole body tremble with a half-sob. “She killed my father,” she whispered.

Claude said something sharp in Almyran which was probably a curse before he gently pulled her head down so that he could press their foreheads together.

“I’m so sorry,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine what this feels like. Do you want me to get Seteth or someone else?”

“No,” Byleth mumbled. With Claude’s forehead pressed against hers, she could feel his breaths gently fanning against her face. She focused on breathing in time with him. His presence was calming and comforting. “Just don’t leave,” she added quietly.

- ~ - ~ -

Fhirdiad Royal Palace - 3 Pegasus Moon, 7 AU

As soon as the servant had left the chamber, Dimitri kissed her. He kissed her like he was drowning and she twisted her fingers into his hair as she kissed him back. He hardly waited a minute into the kiss before his hands were under her thighs, lifting her up so her legs closed around his hips.

Byleth broke their lips apart to trail kisses along Dimitri’s jaw as he walked slowly towards the bed. A growl rumbled in his chest and she almost laughed at the sound. She tilted her head further to try and kiss at his neck, but the collar of his shirt impeded her motion and she huffed.

“Dimitri,” she complained, tugging at the collar.

He laughed, a low rumble that she felt resonate through her body. He dropped her abruptly back on the bed and climbed onto it after her. Byleth instantly went to work at the buttons on his shirt, her fingers slipping over the silk-capped buttons as she struggled with them. Dimitri finally managed to get his shirt open and he leaned back to slip off his jacket and shirt.

Byleth was able to admire her husband for a moment before a pang of deep-seated guilt flooded her chest and her smile dropped. Dimitri dropped his jacket and shirt to the floor, but as he turned back towards her, Byleth pulled her knees up to her chin and cast her eyes to the side, withdrawing from him. Dimitri paused and stayed seated on the end of the bed as he watched her.

“Byleth?” he questioned softly.

She closed her eyes and inhaled shakily. She pressed her forehead against her knees and wrapped her arms over her shins, her fingernails digging into the sides of her calves. Dimitri didn’t press her for words, but she felt the bed dip as he started moving towards her slowly.

“Can I touch you, my love?” he asked carefully.

Byleth opened her eyes and saw him kneeling on the bed next to her. She tipped sideways into him and he caught her, wrapping his arms around her. They sat in the middle of their bed for a long moment without saying anything. Dimitri ran his hands through her hair soothingly, pulling out combs and pins and placing them aside until her hair was limp down her back. Byleth closed her eyes again and let him remove all of the pins without complaint.

“The court hates me,” Byleth said quietly once Dimitri had finished his task. Her husband tensed, but she didn’t let him cut in. “I see it in the way that they whisper when we’re together. The only reason they’re not open about it is most of them are scared to death of Felix and Ingrid. The common people can’t be any better.”

“Byleth,” Dimitri murmured. “The people love you. You are a hero of the Unification War and the leader of the Central Church of Fódlan. You have been a wonderful queen and no one looks down upon you,” he assured.

Byleth twisted so that she could look him in the face. “We have no heir, Dimitri,” she said bluntly. “We have stripped the politics from the church and we are building a free Fódlan. The people want security on the throne.” She ran a palm along Dimitri’s bare chest. “I bear no children, that we can be sure of.”

Dimitri frowned. “We are young yet. There should be no worry of children yet,” he said stubbornly.

Byleth pursed her lips and let her hand wander up to touch the side of his face. “Ingrid and Sylvain have three beautiful daughters. Annette and Felix have a son with another on the way. Mercedes and Dedue have two of their own.” Her thumb grazed Dimitri’s cheekbone. “We are outnumbered, my love.”

Dimitri closed his good eye and shook his head. “You are my wife, Byleth. The court does not get a say in that matter. There were certainly no protests when we were wed.”

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “There were,” she countered. “They were just never brought to your attention.”

Dimitri stared at her. “There were?”

“Some of the church officials didn’t like the idea of the union because they rightfully thought I would remove power from the church to distance state and religion. Seteth had them removed from their positions of power. Some of the nobles didn’t like the idea that the Saviour King would marry anyone other than their own flesh and blood. Especially someone who was born a commoner. Felix and Sylvain and Ingrid are quite good at squashing rumours in court,” Byleth explained sadly.

Dimitri looked pained. “You’ve carried this for 6 years and you never told me? Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

She kissed him between the eyes. “You had enough to worry about. I loved you and I was good enough at ignoring whispers. I believed in what we were doing.”

“You say loved,” he mumbled, looking almost nervous.

Byleth kissed his lips. “I love you,” she corrected herself. “I will always love you.”

“We can figure the rest out later,” Dimitri murmured.

Byleth sighed wistfully at his optimism. “Dimitri, I do not know how much longer the kingdom will wait for an heir.”

He scowled. “We went through hell to create this kingdom.” His hands on her waist tightened possessively. “They can wait.”

Byleth pecked him again. “I’ve asked Seteth to take me to see Rhea,” she confessed suddenly. “She has settled in Zanado and Catherine keeps watch over her. Seteth has agreed to accompany me.”

Dimitri stilled. “When?”

“Three days from now. After I return to the monastery.”

He considered her words for a moment. “I suppose I cannot come with you.”

“No,” Byleth agreed. “Seteth says she will likely only speak with me.” She cupped his face between her hands. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to receive Ashe and Petra with you.”

Dimitri chuckled faintly. “I’m not worried about Brigid. Ashe is a good friend and he and Petra are a well-suited match. I do sorely miss his skills as a scout and spy,” Dimitri added.

Byleth shifted so that she was facing Dimitri fully, kneeling between his legs. She reached up and pressed her palms against his bare chest, pushing him back against the mattress. “I miss having all of our friends around, but there are certainly certain perks of having just us around.”

Dimitri’s hands squeezed her waist as he guided her on top of him and they didn’t need words for the rest of the night.

Somewhere in Zanado - 6 Pegasus Moon, 7 AU

“Byleth,” Seteth said, catching her attention.

She turned towards him, tearing her attention from the small house that was just down the road. “Yes?”

Seteth gave her an unreadable expression. “I am unsure if what Rhea is willing to tell you will actually be of much help. I am also sorry that Flayn and I were unable to tell you more ourselves. I had hoped to avoid this.”

Byleth touched Seteth’s arm. “Flayn is alright,” she assured. “She wrote last week saying she is safe and is travelling with Ignatz.” Byleth smiled faintly to herself. “I still almost can’t believe I never noticed the connection there.”

Seteth frowned. “I wish she would have stayed.”

Byleth squeezed his arm. “She is young at heart, Seteth. You cannot be her concerned father and her overbearing older brother at the same time. Let her have this time.”

He nodded. “We are not here to discuss my relationship with my daughter.” He gestured towards the house. “Come.”

Byleth followed Seteth towards the house. Catherine stood outside, straight-backed and poised, just as Byleth remembered her. She was carrying Thunderbrand and her hand rested comfortably on the Relic’s hilt.

“Hello Catherine,” Byleth greeted once the knight had nodded in greeting to her.

Catherine’s eyes were sharp and not exactly welcoming. “I wish you didn’t have to have this conversation.”

“Rhea said she would have it,” Byleth countered sternly.

Catherine backed down immediately and opened the door, gesturing for Byleth to enter. Byleth stepped past her and into the small house and closed the door behind her. She heard Catherine and Seteth start talking in quiet, muffled tones.

The house was small and Byleth had stepped right into the kitchen. Rhea was seated at the table nearby, her posture straight and neutral as Byleth approached and sat across from her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, until the silence became so heavy that Byleth grew uncomfortable.

“Seteth told me what you did,” she began.

Rhea’s lips tightened. “I saved your life.”

Byleth forced her expression not to show her distaste. “You used me to try and resurrect Sothis,” she corrected.

“I created your mother,” Rhea said, ignoring the accusation. “I did many things to try and save my mother, but creating your mother was one of my many regrets. She was born dead and I saved her by placing the Crest Stone within her heart.”

This much, Seteth had known and had explained to her. She also knew the story of her parents’ meeting and getting married thanks to her father’s journal.

“My father bore the Crest of Flames too, didn’t he?” Byleth questioned.

Rhea looked straight into her eyes and the pale green of them was cool and unflinching. “I gifted it to him when he saved my life all that time ago. When he and your mother conceived, I feared for you. I did not know if Sitri could bear children. My concern was apparently warranted. You were born without a heartbeat so your mother begged me to transfer the Crest Stone to you to save you. I did and you lived and she died.”

Byleth felt her face twitch with pain and she inhaled sharply to regain her composure. “So you placed the Crest Stone inside of me and that is why I have no heartbeat.”

“That is why you are alive,” Rhea corrected. “You would have been dead without it.”

Byleth frowned. “What am I?”

“I don’t know. Your mother wasn’t truly mortal, and neither were you, but since you merged with the goddess it has been far more complicated than that.”

Byleth twisted her hands and pressed them, below the edge of the table, against the flat of her stomach. “I’ll never be able to have children, will I?”

This time there was a glimmer of sympathy in Rhea’s gaze. “My dear,” she said softly, “I don’t believe your body could ever handle that stress.” She studied Byleth for a moment and Byleth caught a flicker of guilt in Rhea’s face. “There is something else about the Crest Stone too,” she continued softly.

Byleth felt ill, but she had a pretty good idea of where this conversation was going. “Sothis kept its power contained when she was inside me. It’s been killing me since then, hasn’t it?”

Rhea looked down as the guilt swallowed her expression. “The Crest Stone’s power is not meant for mortal bodies. There is a reason your mother was so frail. It is likely then, that its power is eating you from the inside out. But, without it, you are dead anyway.”

An hour later, Byleth burst out of the house, slamming the door open, and scared both Catherine and Seteth. She immediately stalked away from the house, trembling with grief and pain. Seteth followed immediately while Catherine disappeared to check on Rhea.

“Byleth!” Seteth called. He ran ahead to cut her off and grabbed her by the upper arms, forcing her to acknowledge him.

“The Crests came from the blood of the Nabateans. The Relics came from their bones,” Byleth said. Rhea had confessed the origin of the weapons shortly after admitting Byleth was running on borrowed time.

Seteth looked saddened, but not overly surprised. “I suspected as much,” he admitted.

“I’m dying,” she said next.

This appeared to catch Seteth more off guard as his hands dropped from her arms. “What?” he demanded.

Byleth closed her eyes. “Sothis kept the Stone’s energy at bay. It’s consuming me slowly now that she is gone.”

“Then we remove it,” Seteth said sternly.

“I’m dead without it,” Byleth continued. She opened her eyes to look at him and saw the grief and sadness in his face. “Thank you for bringing me here to answer my questions,” she said. “I would like to fly back alone to have a moment to think, so feel free to stay here and catch up further if you would like.”

She didn’t wait for a reply before she headed off to where they had left the wyverns they had flown here on. She did hear his footsteps following behind her as he pursued her, but he did not try to speak to her again and for that she was grateful.

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fortheheavenssake · 5 years

Text

💜💜 PG MM Anon 💜💜 Interpretation Collection - 1

Anon said:

You go PG!!! 😊😊😊🌸🌸🌹🐼🐼🐝🐝👍👍👍💖💖💖🌻🌻🌼🌼🌼😊😊😍😍💜💜🌹🌹🌹🌺🌺🌺💙💙💙🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌹🌹🌹❤❤❤👍👍👍👍 Violets 🌼

Anon said:

💗🌲🌞😺 hi Skippy this is for PG and JG🏡🌲🥰🥰🧚‍♀️👑👑🐱🐰🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🐥🌺🌹🌼🌸💐🐿

*****. 💜💜PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON 💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

PG re: MM ANON

Hidden depths , entertaining alliance

Wonder about part of a film, or Nespresso cameo? Hidden depths made me think of a wine cellar and maybe wine advert?

Markle Sparkles , well WORN

Double entendre , referring to the BBC show and public taking notice of articles on excessive jewelry she has but more importantly noting changes to engagement ring and asking why?

Antagonistic font wedding 2.0 l wonder she wanted that emerald tiara wasn’t allowed it and was angry, wondering if she will not be allowed to use the font kept in the Tower of London and she is throwing a fit over that!

Tight for nation of royals..

We have seen that and it will continue. They are closing ranks and even at events she attends or will attend it’s very frosty!

Wolffish ultimatum, SHIP out?

Definitely the financial reporting by Chris Ship, making the public even angrier. SHIP is upper case, several meanings to me, one be Patronship, l think especially of the theatre. Might she lose some of her ships?

A Firm distaste for Moniker is regarding using the name of the previous Duke of Sussex for Archie.

To be or not to be WAS the question

Seems that something was offered but she refused and there is no turning back!

I am no emsi but these are my thoughts.

PG😊GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you….this is great!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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20 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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PG are:MM ANON

Independence/Schoenberg lol sounds like it blithe and not even an issue anymore.

Diamonds are a friends worst girl

Hmmm is JM involved somehow, fake jewelry and lots of public notice about her jewelry

Evil is the route of all money Excellent news

I am wondering if money has been wired, notice the word route of money, nefarious people wiring or being wired money.

An Easter promise will miss the children, this is obviously the Cambridge’s tour that was announced, meaning the children will stay at home.

Will English girls receive a royal cheer?

This is clear reference to the women’s soccer team playing in the female World Cup.

A-tiresome LIST doesn’t impress this hallowed chapel

Whatever A listers she invites to the Christening are not worthy of the honour of either being a royal, fake we know, godparent or being in that Holy place.

Swapped insults receive a nations glee but a royal reprimand.

There may be some sort of public row??Wimbledon, if she crashed in the Royal box? Oh wouldn’t people love a good telling off by Catherine!!😁Who knows.

Thank you PG!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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32 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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PG 😊re: MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Hickory Wood tests the public water. isolated arrogance fuels National distain. Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider. Back scratching … buy one’ get one free. Wolffish medication control kicks in. Conception Deception …Born in the USA??? Was possible …“My little President” shawl-y not !! A royal 2020 hatched ‘matched ‘dispatched.

Hickory Wood tests public water.

The two words are capitalized HW. I can think of only one HW in the news, friend of Epstein, l cannot figure this out at all.

Isolated arrogance fuels national distain

Distain vs disdain, mean to stain the honour of… disrespect for BRF , tradition. The word isolated confounds me, is the person isolated or are the behaviours isolated, meaning infrequent??

Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider.

This had something to do with Wimbledon, the word net. I cannot think …l am no emsi

Back scratching…but one’ get one free.

I wonder if this means not just one Obama daughter at Wimbledon but both.

Wolffish medication control kicks in.

LG supervision ensuring medical treatment and medication are kicking in, which is crude way to say, the medication (s) are starting to be effective for what they were prescribed for.

Conception.Deception.Born in the USA??? Was possible….

Did the surrogate fly to America and delivery the baby there? But was possible, meaning maybe some uncertainty.

“My Little President” shawl-y not!!

“My Little President” is an English animation, l can’t figure beyond that. The shawl may be reference for a Christening baby blanket or shawl that the O family gifts the baby.

A Royal 2020 hatched ‘matched’ dispatched .

Hatching, matching dispatching was a CBC show about ten years ago about a family that owned a bridal shop, ambulance service and funeral home all in one stop shopping😂

Hatched lI see this as a pregnancy ? Eugenie, Zara, Catherine,

Matched, l see as possible wedding for Princess Beatrice.

Dispatched l see as final of justice tied up for mm.

This is my best for a very confusing riddle

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you…interesting!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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25 notes

Jun 30th, 2019

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MM ANON INTERPRETATION

MM ANON … An independence collective four a small celebration …absolutely rejected by California dreaming,… two people’s separated by a common language. Must try harder. A steady drizzle followed by a gathering down-poor. Subjected,inspected rejected by a wolfish grin. Re-habitual behaviour causes confusion. A font-farewell.

It’s July 4th, Happy 4th to our American friends😊 🇺🇸! sounds like only four people to celebrate with, l wonder about only four at the Christening. I wonder if her mother, ie California, is unable or unwilling to come.

Separated by common language…sounds like some legal issues between the U.K. and the U.S. needed to try harder to settle.

Steady drizzle…down pot, not pour… steady dri0 drip in the media and a gusher is coming…also poor, she has no longer got endless money being supplied to her, hence poor, noted at Wimbledon she wore shabby, for Wimbledon clothes that she had previously worn.

Baby, subjected to DNA, results inspected, no DNA from Harry, rejected, not royal. Wolffish grin, LG has tightened things even further.

Font-farewell, NO LILY FONT!! Not a royal baby!

PG😊

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Thank you😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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49 notes

Jul 4th, 2019

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MM ANON, PG INTERPRETATION

Buzz lightyear phrase was ‘to infinity and beyond ‘ sounds like he may have already been Christened.lily font was used? I am baffled.

Little Lord Fauntleroy is an old English story. Concise involves a scheming woman trying to take the place of nobility for money. Sound familiar? Also a young lad who is taken under the wing of a benefactor. I wonder if the Queen, due to Christian charity will be the benefactor for this poor child.

Photos already taken, grim, stoic faces by faces by POW and DOC. As per usual photos are black and white and Instagram style.

We might see an earlobe? 🤪

Mm will be asked to move back to America. But she doesn’t want anything to stop her current path ie TIRADE.

Give a little take a lot, she may agree to a move but take ££££££££££.

I get no sense of , adoption, if surrogate, whose egg? Who knows?

Think of this as you will, l can’t get more out of it. I am VERY saddened if the Lily font was used…..we may have to breathe and take some awful tasting medicine, metaphorically, as this continues.

My prayer of protection stands firmly. Let’s support one another, this is not just social media interest. This is the very foundation of all we have ever known. The Queen is on every piece of money, coinage, stamps etc etc.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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10 notes

Jul 6th, 2019

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PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Week Foundations contravene building good relationships,Controversy ahead. Air brushed into infant history, well worth the millions. Total blackout at fortresses frog shack. The slow chip of de-Nile unearth a river of exposures. Photos Don’t lie…… unless you suppress the truth. An old AGE issue comes to light,but quickly buried.

Week foundations………the separation of the ‘fab four’ foundation contravene, means prohibition of conduct of order, there are issues, with the new foundation, we have seen unusual things like who owns the copyright to SR, or trademark. Does week infer problems arising soon? Like in a week?? Controversy ahead, maybe to some already here!

Air brushed infant into history well worth the millions. Photos airbrushed? Seems others have said they notice more than just that. Millions?? Surely photographer wouldn’t charge millions, surrogate?? Or another??? Or others even?? I am being very careful with my wordage.

Total blackness at frog shack……no one living there, so that continues.

Slow chip of de-Nile unearths a river of exposure photos don’t lie…..Nile river. Are we back to Morocco and that part of the world? Will photos be unearthed, term used in archaeology, unearth, clear photos??? Unless they are suppressed….who knows at this point.

An old AGE issue, evidence of real age comes out but quickly hidden.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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30 notes

Jul 7th, 2019

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MM ANON INTERPRETATION BY PG😊

MM Anon

MM ANON, Tangled up in BLUE ,films the southern district. Steering a path through double jeopardy will bring the scum to the surface. Immunity will be bought to bury embarrassment. Right … royally screwed Six ways from Sunday. A glossy editorial won’t hide past buried bodies. A safe full of secrets ‘and only one hidden kea

As l had submitted earlier the SDNY , Southern District New York is the largest and does the racketeering, organized crime, terrorism etc they are the elite in America. BLUE , old fashioned naughty films were called blue film….safely say any films they have are beyond the pale of naughty.

Slow solid case against JE has been built or is still to avoid double jeopardy with the case in Florida he got a slap on the wrist. I can’t believe this is involving mm…..this is much much MUCH worse than anything l had imagined

Immunity to avoid embarrassment….who gets immunity PA? I don’t know …

Right….royally screwed…someone Royal is in big trouble hence the of screwed, double entendre.

Six ways from Sunday….will something drop in six days from yesterday??

Big mm Vogue issue won’t hide things she has long long buried.bad things.

A safe full of secrets and only one kea…..kea is a bird in NZ…….major player in media is RM. That’s as big league as can get.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you…great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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18 notes

Jul 8th, 2019

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PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON, not so much ‘Humbug humbug as Humbert humbert. Love labours “lost”. Who was REALLY Directing the “Traffic”. NO CAMERAS’ a spoonful of sugars help the medicine go down. All the Presidents men’ and women!!! “ “we’re going to need a bigger yacht!!” “Well whats the real benefits of being mega rich.” Are you serious!! ……………“I’m untouchable “.

The film , Lolita , is about a professor who rents a room for the summer. The landlady has a daughter about 12. The entire film, she tries to seduce the man but he has no eyes for her. He has developed a totally sick perverse sexual obsession for the child.

Loves labour’s “lost” we have had this BRF from MM ANON.

It is from Shakespearean play where three men decide not to take company of women for three years to pursue studies. It’s kind of a bet, like that Seinfeld episode but nothing about any of this is funny.

Who was REALLY directing Traffic? Steven Soderbergh directed the film. His films are in the realm of sex, violence etc. Interesting, he also directed the film Sex, Lies and Videotape. Who REALLY directed , another double entendre from MM ANON, is LG directing the media flow, ie traffic?

No cameras, no photos at Wimbledon, her sugars are still 100% moving, working all the machinations going on.

All the presidents men and women! Many are working and have been to come to this point in the Epstein case. Also title of the old film about the two newspaper journalists who broke the watergate mess. Does this mean politicians are involved and we have high up people seeking immunity, especially women, refer the article posted today here about the four women recruiters of underage girls. This is all so perverse!

Need a bigger boat in Jaws because the shark was much larger than they thought, here the word yacht is used, l take this to mean, this goes deeper involving more people than first thought.

Benefits., being untouchable. The ultra elite are narcissistic, remind you of anyone?, get anything and l MEAN ANYTHING they want. Seems one has now been called to answer for his crimes…many many untouchables are quaking.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Great job!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️

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18 notes

Jul 9th, 2019

———————-

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,… universal media backlash tells diva “ stop digging. ‘A Royal demands………“protocol,protocol,protocol !! Blog parties at royal residence enthuse laughter and contempt. Future monarchy enjoys riding this CREST. … “No worries” she’s never unattended with sophisticated surveillance. The southern district likes a deeper, longer shade of orange. A Malt-Tease Falcon.

She has been mercilessly criticized in the media, diva to stop digging herself in deeply and deeper dislike from the public and most royals too!

Protocol…….her outfit and conduct at Wimbledon we’re atrocious, someone gave her the gears for it.

We have heard rumours that the royals gather bi-weekly to read the blogs. Sounds like some are laughing, as we predicted here, and one person, hmmm who could it be finds contempt in the blogs.

Future monarchy riding high in popularity, especially Catherine, don’t we love💜💜💜💜💜 our Cambridge family? CREST capitalized, the crest of an ocean wave or mountain either way you’re high up ie popular, well loved.

A reassurance that she is well under supervision and never a second alone with that baby, which by the looks of today , would be ghastly unsafe.

SDNY, still strongly inferring there is some criminal conduct that she may trad3 the khaki dress for orange jumpsuit. When? Yesterday, it was six ways from Sunday, l proposed it might be six days from Sunday who knows. But certainly sounding dire for her.

Maltese Falcon is my favourite old films, all sorts of intriguing, unsavoury, grifters trying to get their hands on a worthless statue of a falcon. Here it is MALT-TEASE. Besides the obvious grifter connection, is she drinking a lot of malt liquor and eating Malteasers? Lol

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Eating Malteasers!😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

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31 notes

Jul 10th, 2019

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10.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON …a tentative return for a final privacy. Boxed in on all snides. An offer of “Blockbuster”proportions sends the greys apoplectic. A Frogumental resentment causes more stroppy headlines. Media throws caution an ill wind. (Brothers in arms’ …… around each other.…) LG will enjoy a Stepford trouble & strife. August is a wicked month

Tentative return….possible that she will attend the finals to watch SW, she wanted pricey…no photos, so this use of privacy is referring being at Wimbledon. Yikes where will she sit? Might she bring two dollies and Malteasers? Oh that’s mean, sorry, not sorry 😮😊 Boxed in on all snides, she may be in the royal box or not but lots of side-eyes and tsks tsks A’s took place last time, people too polite to boo, but this could happen people are so disgusted with her.

‘Blockbuster�� , don’t know if it still exists due to my own health situation but that was a rental of movies DVD etc. So if this inferring she can watch a video of Lion King versus walking the red carpet and attending?? Oh , madness, and madness intertwined, greys is this reference to her real hair colour, that’s too easy. Not sure .

Frogmental, play on words, Frogmore Cottage and mental, as in mental state, resentment and ensuing behaviour of her part will bring more horrible headlines. Bad PR, lets think even two weeks ago, did we fathom things would have steam rolled as they have??

Media throws caution an ill wind, brothers in arms. Previous MM ANON used the phrase six ways from Sunday, l proposed that possibly six days from last Sunday something might big happen. I take this that the media, all together, brothers 8n arms, will let loose all the information they have been sitting on for so long, and the combined media will be scathing. Let’s be ready to hear things, even we had not fathomed!

LG will enjoy Stepford trouble and strife. Step ford wife, from film and tv show, wealthy neighbourhood, each man married to gorgeous, perfectly dressed, obedient , no mind of her own due to being brain altered into a robotic. So LG Cheshire Cat grin at her behaviours and his long work dealing with this mess is nearing an end. The only way she could be royal, would be the Stepford way, which obviously isn’t possible nor wanted🤓. God bless our LG!

August is a wicked month, hey not that wicked my birthday is in August! The cover of the book is a photograph done by Lord Snowdon! Book by Edna O’Brien. Woman separated from her husband, city she dislikes, finds herself living in a city she hates - a place that denies her past and offers no hope for her future. Determined to change her life, she decides to go south in search of sun and companionship. Is this foreshadowing. Going South? Africa? When is justice coming?? We wait and see.

I am nowhere near being an emsi247 , 💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Very interesting!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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28 notes

Jul 11th, 2019

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11.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON , sorry it’s so late

MM ANON …Rumours are not rumours. “ The facts ma’am just the facts”. “It is twice blessed”… “every breath you take,I’ll be watching you”. Tunnel vision gives an odious perspective. ‘You can take a girl out of the yacht’but you can’t ……………… “. Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall …Testis Hostili.

I haven’t had a chance to read the blog to see if anyone else tackled this but l will give it a go.

Rumours are not rumours. What we have been hearing and talking about for so long is true. Everything is fake, a lie, no pregnancy, no happy romance etc etc.

The fact ma’am just the facts. Remember Dragnet, the old police show, one office went on to be Colonel Potter on MASH but l digress. The interview technique he used was pen and paper and that was his tag line, just the facts, no opinions JUST FACTS!! THEY HAVE THE FACTS, On our humanitarian.

Every breath you take….is from a song by The Police, my fave back in the day, Sting was the sing..interesting juxtaposition of words title…THE POLICE ARE WATCHING HER 24/7/365!

Tunnel vision….if you only see one way it’s extremely unpleasant , however there is only one way this will end for her..

You can take a yacht girl…..based on old line, which in i essence means you are what you are, putting lipstick on a pig, sorry pigs, it’s still a pig, so even given the family she never had😕🤮, million and millions of bespoke Givenchy etc, she still what she is a grifter, a user, vile,.

Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall. Is the MA, JM? Who ? I expect witnesses plural!

Testis Hostili DNA DOES NOT LIE, NOT A ROYAL BABY CASE CLOSED INFINITY!!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Looks great! Thank you!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜

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36 notes

Jul 12th, 2019

:::::::

PG INTERPRETATION, PART I FORGOT

I forgot the twice blessed/blest. Another Shakespearean reference from The Merchant of Venice….what price is mercy….twice blest…meaning if you show mercy, the person shown mercy is blessed and the person showing mercy is also blessed. Sorry l forgot l am not feeling up to a lot today. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

That’s ok….it’s just nice having you here with us….no worries!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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13 notes

Jul 12th, 2019

——————-

12.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,Shallow Celebrity over military duty . Beyond-ce a joke. A nations distain is bulging. An astute idiot, or needy boy? Extravagant American psycho is victimised. 🎼The circle of strife🎼 …🎼 “THEY” are the champions 🎼… A dose of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Bel-morale will offer a reclusive distance. It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo.

Shallow celebrity over military duty.

Harry spent years in the military from 2000-2015 and served Operation Herrick in Afghanistan until he had to be removed quickly for the safety of the unit because someone wrote back home and out came the secret. People are wondering what happened, where did the Prince Harry go, the one that was so beloved appears to have become a shallow celebrity. Lots and lots of international sadness.

Beyond-ce a joke.

That yellow carpet appearance was pathetic, the body language from Bey and JayZ was iced! Neither posted this internet crashing, according to moi, event. A joke indeed! But not funny.

A nations distain is bulging.

Dare l say the Commonwealth is bulging was well. There is so much discontent, ever downright hate for lack of respect and the comment she made to Pharrell, ‘they make it hard’ exactly who is they? When it all comes out, exactly what has the grifter done in the past to make life hard for many many many!

An astute idiot or needy boy?

With rumours of Harry disappearing for 48 hours, along with everything else, the public is desperately trying to discern who Harry has become.

Music the circle of strife, THEY are the champions.

Circle of life, song from Lion King, Champions obviously QUEEN😁

Lots of trouble with mm his wife/strife, we had that in an earlier riddle. Is the Queen , the they she referenced, or the entire royal family and it’s system? The Firm, thank God for LG!

A does of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Apple is referred to Americans, apple pie, big apple etc. A dose is medication, EPS in psychiatric meds, l worked in adult mental health services for 20 years so l know a wee bit about this😉. EPS are extra pyramidal side effects of some psych meds, tremor, shakiness , torticolis, etc. Is she on anti-psychotic meds?? Nothing is stopping her!

Bel-morale…. play on Balmoral, offer a reclusive distance, is this for the Queen, her family, or will mm be there to distance her??

It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo. Why is ROYAL all caps? Wrestling sometimes a royal rumble. Will someone need to be knocked out with medication?? Either way, this duo could not be more disenchanted. I hope the end is near. I really and truly fear for our dear Harry’s sanity.

Thank you so much! Great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

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31 notes

Jul 17th, 2019

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roominthecastle · 6 years

Note

For someone who hasn't seen TBL since... early season 4? (and even then only watched a couple episodes) could you give me a quick rundown of what I have to know in order to watch the beginning of season 6? If that's too much hassle I understand but I thought if anyone can put that car crash of a show into a sorta sensible summary it's you.

“car crash of a show” well, that is… too real. like you can’t help but stare and wonder what might emerge from the wreckage. :)

Thank you for the vote of confidence, I tried my best to recall the main events from each season. If something important is missing or I misremembered, hopefully somebody corrects that in a reply or a comment, and you will be able to see those, too.

(putting the rest behind a cut bc length)

Alexander Kirk is the latest contestant of the increasingly crowded “who’s your daddy” competition. He was in love w/ Liz’s mom, has a life-threatening blood disorder, and a pathological fondness for kidnapping. He takes Liz and Agnes to her childhood home that triggers some vague memories of Katarina. Kirk is sure he is her father and has a DNA test to prove it. Liz also finds Katarina’s journal in which Katarina mentions how she was assigned to honeytrap Reddington.

Meanwhile, Red uses Mr. Kaplan’s connections to learn where Kirk keeps Liz and Agnes, then tips off the task force. Despite feeling betrayed by the fake death stunt, they roll out to rescue her but Kirk gets away and they take Agnes, too (they play hot potato with that poor kid). Red takes Mr. Kaplan to the woods and shoots her for her betrayal. But she survives the headshot (not unprecedented as we learn later that she survived a head injury before and has a metal plate in her head) and is nursed back to relative physical health (but apparent psychological unwellness) by a hermit in the woods. For now, nobody else knows she is alive.

Kirk is trying to find a cure. Tom and Liz keep failing in their side-mission to get Agnes back, but Red uses Kirk’s doctor to track him. This leads him to a trap but Liz tips him off just in time. This is the first time (IIRC) that Red hesitates to trust her (kinda understandable since he’s still reeling from the fake death thing) and he almost dies as a result. Then Liz lures Kirk, gets Agnes back, but Kirk collapses and is hospitalized. He needs a donor to survive. Liz volunteers bc getting answers trumps everything. Red tells her that the DNA test proving that she is Kirk’s daughter was faked and it gets confirmed bc Liz is not a match, she can’t save him. Kirk’s goons rescue him from the hospital and Liz is taken again. Red volunteers to trade places w/ her and even manages to secure the cure for Kirk to sweeten the pot. Liz is released but Kirk, now aware that he is not the father, tortures Red. He demands Red confess that he (Red) is Liz’s father, which he finally does under insane duress, then whispers sth to Kirk that convinces him to let Red go. We still don’t know what he whispered or where Kirk is now, but this is the end of the first big arc of S4.

Liz gets her FBI badge back thanks to Red applying pressure and securing a presidential pardon. She and Tom try playing house and keep failing bc Tom will never be what she wants him to be: his meek teacher cover role from S1. Red looks for and finds a new cleaning crew but what he did to Mr. Kaplan is eating at him. Dembe gets worried about his mental state and tells Liz what happened to Kaplan, which drives Liz further down the “blame Red for everything” path but they continue working together. After Kaplan recovers, her revenge mission kicks into gear and the various ways in which she tries to dismantle Red’s criminal empire is the second big arc that lasts until the end of the season.

Kaplan tries to strip Red of his resources and connections. Her methods range from clearing out his back accounts to trying to sabotage the Task Force. She goes as far as poisoning Red, for which she tries to frame Dembe to destroy their relationship but Dembe (w/ Aram’s help) proves he didn’t betray Red and their bond becomes tighter than ever. Then Mr. Kaplan unearths 86 bodies (including Diane Fowler’s, so Cooper & Co. now know Red killed her), which launches an official investigation that threatens to expose the Task Force and its ties to Red. Mr. Kaplan also meets with Liz, tells her about their past connection (in a flashback episode, we learn that she worked for Katarina as Liz’s nanny and she handed her off to Sam after the fire, then started working for Red at his request), and tries to convince her to turn on Red but Liz refuses.

Meanwhile, Ressler is trying to get justice for the murder of Fowler’s replacement, Reven. He knows Hitchen (the National Security Advisor) killed her but he has no solid proof. Mr. Kaplan reaches out to the doctor who tampered w/ Liz’s memory when she was a child, and hires him to mess w/ Ressler’s head, planting fake memories and almost driving him to kill Hitchen. He is stopped in time, the doc is captured and he tells Liz he was also hired 2 years ago to take away some of her memories again (concerning Red) at the request of a man they both know, but we still don’t know who this person is. Red denied it was him and I, for one, believe him.

Red decides to set a trap for Mr. Kaplan, playing on her blind fixation on Liz. He hires a blacklister to kidnap Liz, feeds clues to Kaplan that lead her to where Liz is kept. Red tells Liz he is willing to refrain from killing her (Kaplan) but if Kaplan doesn’t stand down, she has to die. When she walks into the trap, Red offers truce. Mr. Kaplan refuses, the FBI also shows up, there’s a shootout and Mr. Kaplan escapes. Red visits Dom bc he needs a key he hid on his property and tells him his granddaughter, Liz, is alive. Then he meets with Kaplan, offers her that key to a remote and secure paradise in exchange for ending this war but she once again refuses. The agent investigating those 86 bodies shows up but Red escapes and Kaplan agrees to testify in exchange for immunity.

Red and Ressler reach out to the blacklister who cleaned up after Hitchen and use the evidence he kept to blackmail her into scrapping the inquiry concerning the task force, Red, and those bodies. Vague national security excuse works every time. Liz reaches out to Kaplan and they go on a drive. Kaplan promises answers but Red and his men show up and she commits suicide by jumping off a bridge. Her death triggers a protocol to release Red’s secret, aka the suitcase w/ the skeleton in it, that lands in Tom’s hands but for now nobody knows he has it. Ressler visits Hitchen and accidentally kills her when they get into an argument, so he calls the blacklister that previously cleaned up after her to clean up after him now. Cooper runs a DNA test on a sample from an old bloody shirt in evidence that belonged to Reddington, compares it to Liz’s sample and tells her it’s a match. Liz tells him she ran a test too, soon after Red showed up in her life, but never checked the result bc she was afraid to know. She now confronts Red w/ the news and he neither confirms nor denies, just lets her hug him - which is their basic dynamic in the first half of the next season.

Most of the first block of this season is about Red trying to rebuild his organization from scratch in various ways - first as a bounty hunter and then once again working w/ the task force. He seems to enjoy the freedom that comes w/ hitting rock bottom. Liz helps out, too, acting jarringly happy. Meanwhile, Tom decides to keep the suitcase a secret from her and asks Nik to help him identify the human remains inside. He also steals Liz’s ID to be able to access official databases and they reach out to another guy to have the bones DNA tested. Then Nik is killed when he goes to get the results and the skeleton gets taken.

Still not knowing about Tom’s involvement or the suitcase, Liz asks Red to help find Nik’s killer and Red soon discovers that Nik was working with Tom and that he had the skeleton. Tom tracks down the girlfriend of the guy who ran the DNA test to ask for help finding him. She helps, they find him, but then all of them get captured by a US Marshall named Garvey who is v much interested in the skeleton, too, bc he has a very personal ax to grind w/ Red. Tom escapes and he takes the skeleton. He calls Liz and tells her to meet at home but reveals nothing concrete, so you know he is not long for this world. That’s where Garvey and his men find them. He stabs Tom and Liz gets badly injured, too. Red and Dembe come to the rescue and take both to the hospital.

Tom dies, Liz is in a coma for 10 months and struggles a lot after she regains consciousness. She asks Tom’s mother, Scottie, to look after Agnes, makes Red promise to keep working cases with the task force and to not follow her, then moves to a remote cabin in Alaska where she saves a witness from the bad guys who want to silence him by killing them all in a Home Alone meets The Shining manner. After this, she decides to return to find out why Tom was killed and get revenge. She works this case separate from the task force.

The blacklister, Prescott, who cleaned up after Ressler last season starts blackmailing Ressler, threatening to reveal that he killed Hitchen if Ressler doesn’t derail an investigation. Ressler refuses but with Red’s help they manage to arrest Prescott who then intends to deliver on his threat. Red kills him and removes any implicating evidence. So Ressler goes to Cooper to deliver his written confession but Cooper says he will hold onto the letter as long as the task force is up and running bc none of them are who they were before, each of them has a letter like that, so to speak, but the work they do here is too important. They will hold each other accountable after it’s done.

Liz is investigating on her own. She tracks down one of Garvey’s goons and ends up killing him when they get into a fight but she also learns that Nik was helping Tom. She then dissolves the body Stewmaker-style but leaves a piece of evidence behind by accident, so she also breaks into the evidence room and steals it to cover her tracks. She draws the attention of a detective in whom she later confides about looking for Tom’s killer and even shows him the Post Office. Red helps out w/ her investigation, too, they both want the suitcase back after all. Liz confronts him about his motives (saying he only wants to keep his secret, nothing else matters) and responsibility in Tom’s death. Red tells her Tom died bc he didn’t heed his warning and that this secret is something he has to keep, so he isn’t telling.

Liz finds some notes among Tom’s belongings that eventually lead her to Dom. She doesn’t know he is her grandfather, he doesn’t tell her, but they talk. Dom denies being a spy code named Oleander (from Tom’s notes) but tells her he used to work as an analyst and came to the US after the Cold War (he really is Oleander, tho). He also tells her he knew Katarina well but doesn’t reveal their connection other than “we worked in the same building”, and he refuses to say anything about Red.

Red learns that whoever killed Tom and took the skeleton has law enforcement ties and Liz decides to rejoin the Task Force but only to up her chances at capturing Tom’s killer. This reinstatement requires a psychological evaluation and Liz goes a few rounds with Dr. Fulton who later turns out to be a serial killer killer/vigilante. Liz corners her at a crime scene but then lets her go bc she might need her help one day, and Fulton green lights her official reinstatement.

With the help of the detective she confided in, Liz finally identifies Garvey as Tom’s killer but Garvey kills the detective. They wanna take Garvey down by proving he is not only a murderer but also has ties to drug trafficking. Liz also approaches a woman Garvey keeps visiting in a diner and tells her everything, hoping she will flip on him. This is when the woman reveals she is Jennifer Reddington whom Garvey has been protecting from her father for decades. Red wants to kill Garvey but he cannot do that as long as he has the skeleton, so he kidnaps him. Then Garvey escapes and goes to the diner. Red and Dembe follow him there. Garvey shoots Red. Liz and Dembe shoot Garvey. Garvey later dies in the hospital w/o revealing anything.

While recovering, Red uses one of Garvey’s goons to track the skeleton to Costa Rica and learns that it’s in the possession of another enemy of his, Sutton Ross. Liz follows Red and wants to find the remains first. Ross is captured by the Task Force. Liz offers a secret deal and he agrees bc he was tasked by Garvey to reveal the skeleton’s secret bc Jennifer deserves to know the truth. Together they put on a show for Red: Ross escapes, takes Liz hostage and then pretends to torture her to force Red to give up his secret. Just when Red is about to break and reveal it, the Task Force storms the place and captures Ross again. Red doesn’t seem to know he has been played but he takes the skeleton, shoots Ross, then walks away. He takes the remains back to Dom’s place where he burns them. Dom warns him that Liz is not gonna give up. He is not wrong bc it is revealed that Liz was not only working w/ Ross, she now also knows the remains belong to the real Reddington, so Red is an imposter and not her father. She vows to find out his real identity and then destroy him w/ the help of her half-sister, Jennifer.

Oh and Samar and Aram’s relationship takes a few turns over the season as well. They start dating and then Aram prepares to propose, which ends in a fight and an almost break-up. Then Samar gets abducted by a blacklister and the last thing she says to Aram is that she would have said yes. She also ends up in a coma but regains consciousness at the end of the finale, so their engagement is now official.

#apicturewithasmile #the blacklist #long post

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kzbrandt · 4 years

Text

“Why don’t you tell me about your dreams,” Grayson Dawn was just like a fine wine, perfectly aged and smooth all around. Pushing a strand back to a suave, bush tinged with silver, he tapped a wooden clipboard with an obsidian pen, inscribed with Octavian Industries . The doctor was a fox, making females and males alike swoon for decades. There wasn’t a soul alive, who didn’t love him. You might call him an overseer of sorts. The one playing the game who held all the cards, but even games have rules.

“There are so many dreams, but it's more like they’re an adumbration waiting to reveal something forgotten, not lost. Right when I start to make sense of anything, there is this darkness clouding my way.”

“Hmm. Tell me about last night.”

“Well, it was weird, I was on this strange island and the sea was purple, it was… so beautiful, everything I saw was vibrant and throbbing with life. I found my way to an ancient tomb and a fearless Skeleton King, he was monstrous and alluring all at once. I couldn’t resist him, I didn’t want to. I knew him and I didn’t. It's confusing.”

“Do you believe in past lives, Strega?”

“I’m not sure, but why wouldn’t it be possible?”

“I personally believe that some people are bound to repeat lives until the cycle is broken or satisfied. Within this circle are certain people that we find each alternation. For some it may repeat for hundreds or thousands of years. This is where the term old soul comes into play.

Perhaps I might help you reveal the nature of these dreams. I have an elixir that is a bit unorthodox, but would clarify whether this is simply a fantasy or if it is something more.”

“How does it work?”

“Once you drink it, you will either enter into your past life, or stay here accompanied by slight fatigue.”

“Doc, what do you mean go to a past life?”

“Strega, you know as well as I, this world is riddled with paradoxes and unexplainable phenomena, being descendant from a long line of witches, this should come as no surprise.”

“How do you know--”

“That you're a witch? Ah, well it's my job to know. I tend to only take on particular clients, your secret is safe here as long as you keep mine. Besides, the waiver you signed is terribly binding, best not to chance it… So, what do you say?”

Strega Arcadion pondered carefully, this was most unordinary, but what did she have to lose? The dreams were getting stronger.. It was impossible to know when she was sleeping or awake, always so lucid, so real. This way at least she would get some answers, however unexpected. “Alright, let's do it.”

While she waited for Dr. Dawn to prepare the curious potable, she tapped her foot impatiently. Patience was never her strong suit, impulse drove every molecule, it was now or never. You can live life on the sidelines or grab it by the balls, her norse roots were still very prominent, the Gods of old were never far away. The ones men tried to blot out and pacify breathed on, their fire burned in and through her. It was precisely this fire that bled into every life, inevitably brimming on the edge, until her cup overflowed. You’d think that the god-touched would lead full and harmonious lives, but unfortunately with such power comes unavoidable, tragic responsibility..

Grasping a cool, stemless wine glass, a sloshing liquid swirled in colors of green-apple and maraschino-red. Swishing the bizarre, but delirious flavor in her mouth, a tart edge made her moist, pink tongue squirm and pucker.

“Whew, quite a kick!”

“Yeah, should’ve warned you. Tabian drinks know how to pack a punch.”

Wiping her forehead, something felt… wrong. That’s when it all went a little sideways.

Why do I feel so weird… Wow, that drink was quite… Hey, who are they?

Trying to see through a massive fog, everything was different. Nothing was solid, but fluid instead. Reaching out, Strega was desperate to touch anything, something to hold her steady. The silent whispers got stronger, old memories once faded and buried, rose up once again revived. They continued to murmur in a repetitive circle no longer willing to be forgotten.

“Asna

Volva

Vanadis

Nikol Grace

Juliet

Cleopatra

Valfreín…”

Over and over they sang, spinning and spiraling out of control.

“Show yourself to me!”

Suddenly, the maddening merry go round ceased and the smog cleared. At first, it was as if the sun would burn her eyes to ash, it was too bright, too hot. Lifting her hand away, the blurred lens was wiped clean, but for a moment, Strega wished she had kept her eyes closed.

Where am I? This place looks so terrifying, but somehow I know there is something more.

“Who are you, all of you? 8 different faces and yet the same, there is nothing and everything here. Please, tell me your secrets.”

The exhale of a primal unseen entity blew the dust and space away, tombs unearthed. You couldn’t hide in this land of death and wonder. If ye are faint of heart, then go no further. Turn back and lose the key you’ve found and never think of it again. The soft and fragile didn’t survive here, only the adept, never the weak.

So, you want to take your chances do you? I like your spirit, come inside and take a look around. Ymíra dwindled on the precipice of the light realms and the shadow lands. Both good and evil laid within her, capable of such stunning and ghastly marvels. She was an Ancient one who was cast from the Vale, never again to drink with the Elders on the Island of Ness, the original home of the lost garden. The oasis of Eden had a habit of moving often, indecisive, too wounded to stay in one place, a body without a soul. Ymíra had only one offspring, her daughter Eden, or Edenita refused to follow her into exile and the great mother has never been the same.

“This place feels like a memory, music I've never heard before, yet I can perceive the heart of it, the meaning.”

As they circled and closed in around her, one of the eight began to utter a string of words, but she spoke too quickly. One by one, Strega found the pattern beneath the babble, the message within the pages.

Asna, Eve, Vanadis, here us now and fly unbound

Nikol, Juliet, Valfreín, look deep inside yourself and feel our pain

Cleopatra, Volva, wand-wed, Seidr, united as one inside the ether, time disallowed, remove the shroud

Their poetic epochs churned the belly of Ymíra, waking from a mindless slumber, tasting one of her own. The majestic verse wound and spindled, until all their voices became unanimous. Sorting through a maze of puzzles, she found one piece to focus on, and their melodic, complacent faces turned blank and empty. All but one.

Husker hvor vi gikk, husk Valean donnigen, apne doren, inviter meg, lase opp vart hemmelige helvete...

(Remember where we walked, remember the Valean swell, open the door, invite me in, unlock our secret hell.)

A deep, penetrating, vibration pierced her flesh, an archaic rhythm aroused the tremors of a gyrating descant, only few could make sense of. Beneath the pulse of infinitesimal cords of voice was one word, Huldra.

Volva’s eyes perforated Strega’s and their souls reached out to one another. Separated they were only shards, useless, but joined all the shadows fell down, illuminated. Opening her mouth, she welcomed her past into the present. What came next would change the course of the future, but some doors should never be opened.

But, who ever wanted a leery telling, or a bland tale? Take the leap with Strega Arcadion and swim through these unfathomable waters leading down the rabbit hole into the pit of peril. Looking intently down the tunnel that hungered and coaxed us, what would be waiting for us on the other side? What would our thoughtless actions unleash?

To be continued

#fantasy #kz #blog series #darkening #universe #abstract #artists on tumblr #reincarnation #sunday

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winterhawkkisses · 7 years

Note

I'm v sick and would like some Bucky taking care of sick Clint pls

313.

“Not sick,” Clint said, his head resting in the crook of his elbow, forearm shading his eyes.

“Yeah, stand up and tell me that,” Bucky answered off-hand, attempting to fit a cucumber into the salad crisper with all the goddamn beer. He shoulda known better, of course, ‘cos the next thing he heard was a loud crash. He span around to see Clint lying on the floor, his arm still propped up on the coffee table, which’d been shoved forward with his weight.

“Ow,” he said, soft and pathetic, and he was a shade of pale that was honestly starting to be a little worrying.

“Okay, that’s it,” he said, “you’re going back to bed, don’t even try to argue that with me.”

Clint just kinda grunted in response, squinting against the dull gray light, and he didn’t protest when Bucky pulled him upright and draped his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Close up, Clint was shaking a little, a fine tremor that he must be working hard to keep so unnoticeable. He was sweating through his shirt, and radiating heat, but his teeth were starting to chatter.

“Dammit, Clint,” Bucky said. He half-supported, half-carried him over to the staircase, then made an executive decision and bent down so he could haul Clint over his shoulder. And that worked fine most of the way up the stairs, right up until Clint started struggling. Weakly, sure, but it was enough to almost make Bucky lose his balance, especially when Clint’s knee got him right in the ribs.

“All right, asshole,” he said, dumping him onto the messed up sheets, “I get that you’re a strong independent woman who don’t need no - Clint?”

Clint was moving weakly, trying to push himself backwards and away from Bucky, sweat beading on his forehead. “I don’t wanna,” he said, and he sounded confused, not contrary. “You don’t have to -”

“Clint,” Bucky said, and he crouched next to the bed, reaching across so he could put his palm against Clint’s forehead. “Clint, baby, you’re burning up. You got a thermometer around here?”

“I - er.” Clint licked his lips, frowned. “I think -” he gestured vaguely towards the bathroom. Bucky diverted to open the windows, letting in the sound of traffic and a fresh spray of rain, and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Er, Sergeant Barnes?” The voice on the other end was a little hesitant, which made sense - it wasn’t like him and Bruce Banner had ever exactly been friends.

“Hey,” he said, rummaging through the medical cabinet above the sink that was stacked almost to bursting with band-aids. “Sorry to bother you, doc, but Clint’s got a fever and I figure things’ve changed a bunch since I was helping Steve out in the ‘30s. What should I -?”

“Lots of water, keep him cool but not cold, cool cloth on the forehead - he’s not hallucinating?”

“Clint’s sense of humor, who can tell?” Bucky said. “Nah, I think we’re good on that - he’s a little confused, maybe.”

“I can come over if -”

“We’re good,” Bucky said, “I know you’re on vacation. I’ll take him to the doctors if I think we’ve got issues.” He cleared his throat a little, awkward. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“My pleasure, Bucky,” Bruce said, and Bucky hadn’t known he knew the doc well enough to hear the smile in his voice.

Bucky ran a little water over a washcloth, leaving the faucet running as he tried the basket of random crap Clint kept by the side of the shower. He always figured it for pocket contents, ‘cos there was a hell of a lot of loose change, but he finally unearthed the thermometer from under a magazine about home repairs. It was pretty cute, how hard Clint worked at the landlording thing.

Armed with the thermometer, damp cloth, a plastic beaker of water, Bucky returned to the bedroom to find Clint half under the blankets, one arm, most of his legs and rumpled blond hair still visible.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky said, soft and fond and a tone reserved entirely for Clint and Lucky. “Let’s get you settled.”

Clint protested vigorously at having his shirt pulled off over his head, scowling with his arms crossed over his chest and - with his hair standing up on end - looking like the world’s largest five year old. He submitted to the wipe-down, though, Bucky careful and thorough and gentle, even left-handed, and he even muttered a graceless thank you when Bucky’d carefully maneuvered a fresh shirt over his head.

The pillows were easily switched out for the ones from his side of the bed, plusher and fresher ‘cos Clint was the secret kinda sweetheart and Bucky was selfish enough to let him get away with it, in no small part because Clint’s preferred position was to sleep with his head mostly on Bucky’s chest. Bucky assumed that was a little why Clint was still scowling when Bucky took away the half-drained beaker and made him lay back. He brushed the hair away from Clint’s forehead and set to smoothing away the frown with his thumb.

“How’re you so good at this?” Clint asked, every blink taking a little longer, “is this a Steve thing?”

“Some of it,” Bucky said, “some of it was my little sister, always catching somethin’ nasty from the kids at school. Anyone do this for you?”

“Didn’t get sick when I was a kid,” Clint said, half-asleep already. “They didn’t have time for it.”

“I always got time for you, Clint,” Bucky said, soft, as Clint’s breathing slowed with the sweep of Bucky’s thumb. “You always gotta make time for the people you love.”

#winterhawk #h/c fluff #Anonymous

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segadores-y-soldados · 7 years

Note

Omg yes that is fantastic. *also bangs hands on table* more jack and Lena content. Docs or art I don't care. I am planning on some in my r76 Big Bang fic. And thanks. Hardcore rt trash here. The red vs overwatch content makes me cry happily as canon rvb currently destroys me. But omg super large Reyes Morrison family give me more headcanons and stuff fandom

NICE, omg, dude, you should totally send me your fic when it goes up! I’ll give it a read!AND BRUH. SUPER HARDCORE RT TRASH HERE TOO. I just recently got @starsherit into RVB and I’ve been giggling “like a right mung” since she started. SO HYPED FOR SEASON 15, YES, MORE WAR CONSPIRACIES.And bruh, bruh - let’s see....So when you look at timelines and “the lore,” the first playable character recruited by OW after the Crisis was probably Mei. Now, I know Mei has quite the in-game reputation, but I really love picturing her with the old Strike team. I imagine she and Jack had really intense, passionate conversations about protecting the environment and restoring damaged regions of the world to their natural state - they’re both really intense about preserving the longevity of the planet’s natural resources at any cost. But also like... Gabriel taking Mei to visit San Francisco and Los Angeles for the first time, showing her some of the most famous American Chinatown neighborhoods, showing her some heritage Chinese villages here in California. Jack taking her to New York City and the UN Headquarters for the first time. Torbjorn showing her the Northern Lights in Sweden. Reinhardt walking her through the Black Forest as they birdwatch. Ana giving her a tour of Giza and Cairo and talking about the pyramids.And then Jesse. Oh BOY. I got a lotta headcanons about Jesse. I’m firmly in the camp of “Gabriel took in this semi-broken, orphaned 17yo to prevent him from spending the rest of his life in jail” as opposed to the “Gabriel blackmailed him into joining Blackwatch.” Gabriel has a soft spot in his heart for “problem cases” - when they return to Grand Mesa, Jack is frustrated that Gabriel “effectively adopted a child without consulting him first,” but he’s on board, he too would never turn down helping someone like Jesse. The two of them essentially teach Jesse the remaining high school topics that he missed out on, and then they get him to take the GED. Jesse is reluctant to be a part of OW at first, but everyone - Gabe and Jack, the Strike team, Fareeha, Torb’s niece Angela - they all make him feel so welcome and so at home, and even though Gabe and Jack tell him he can look for other jobs in the States or Mexico when he turns 18, Jesse knows the only place he wants to be is with his new family.Angela is a bit unique - she’s Torbjorn’s niece through his wife’s family, but since her parents died in the war, her father’s siblings have helped raise her. She’s a bit detached from OW in the beginning because she is determined to pursue med school. So she spends many years continuing her education before she ever formally joins OW, but by the time she does, everyone already loves and cares for her. They all barely understand half the jargon and terminology she uses, but they encourage her to talk about her projects and ideas. Surprisingly, Gabriel is the one to first get her to talk about her ideas for the Caduceus Staff - he loves the idea, not because “it’ll be a useful tool,” but because he KNOWS it will save lives, because he had to watch Jack struggle through healing them all with only biotic fields during the war.Post-Recall, the newest addition to the family is Sombra. In my headcanons, Sombra has a number of ideological and personality parallels with Soldier/Jack - she is very anti-corporation, very anti-corruption, very pro-“do-it-yourself”-justice. She has a mischievous, playful nature that reminds Reaper/Gabriel of Jack in a number of ways, right down to the “You don’t mind if I call you ‘Gabe,’ right?” line. And Gabriel knows he shouldn’t act fatherly towards her, because she is a grown woman with her own hopes and dreams and ambitions, but he feels protective of her - he’ll do anything to prevent her from losing that passion and hope the same way that Jack lost his. Her goals of bringing down corruption and unearthing the conspiracy align with his, and as they form an alliance they grow closer - Gabriel by rediscovering a lot of his own lost dreams, and Sombra by finding familial stability she has lacked so far.

#oh boy #this got outta hand #the reyes-morrison family #team talon #jesse mccree #sombra #gabriel reyes #jack morrison #reaper #soldier 76 #mei #zhou mei-ling #mercy #angela ziegler #thank you!#headcanons #silly stuff #saingirl101

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newagesispage · 3 years

Text

JUNE 2021

The Rib Page

Head out for the dates on the final tour of The Monkees that we still have left. Mike and Micky are saying bye bye, bye bye, bye bye.

*****

Days of our Lives has been renewed for 2 more seasons!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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The last CONAN will be on TBS on June 24. We’ll be waiting to see ya on HBO MAX.

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Condom sales are up 24%.** They are saying it is the start of slutty summer??**There are reports that STD’s are on the rise in certain counties.

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Hemp Hemp Hurray!- Tommy Chong

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An old species of a giant tortoise on the Galapagos was found. Tests match a tortoise not seen since 1906. Scientists are now looking for a mate for the female to revive the species.

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Black-ish will end after season 8** Ellen is calling it quits and will end her show next year.** Thursdays will be Wolf night. With the addition of Law and Order: For the defense, NBC will have an entire L&O night! A friend said, “It’s almost as if the shows are made to lull the elderly to sleep.” I see it every day with the elderly: Law and Order on all day as they nap.

*****

American Housewife and Rebel have been cancelled.

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Bill Maher tested positive for Covid as did most of the Yankees. They were fully vaccinated.** Gov. Newsom was in the Kimmel audience talking about the lottery in California for those who were vaccinated.

*****

Ewan McGregor was so WOW! as Halston!!

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Illinois may be getting about 110 new pot shops.

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Breeders got picked up for season 3.

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The Piglet, Nick Lachey won the 5th season of The Masked Singer.

*****

Can’t wait for Val, the doc about Val Kilmer.

*****

John Dickerson will leave 60 minutes and concentrate more on the Morning shows. He has been promoted to chief political analyst and senior national correspondent.

*****

In Texas there are more barriers to riding a motorcycle than wearing a gun. They seem to encourage people to have guns on them with no training and no license.

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Why do we still have to hear anything about Meghan McCain? She tries to shame Kamala Harris for her “long weekend” comment as she is out gambling and partying for the Memorial day weekend. What does that have to do with honoring the fallen?

*****

Bill Hader was given the Masters of Comedy award at the USC Comedy Fest.

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Cellmate secrets is coming to Lifetime on June 4 with host, Angie Harmon.

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JP Morgan Chase collected about 1.5 billion in overdraft fees in 2020.

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Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch will come out on October 22. The film stars Bill Murray, Elisabeth Moss, Frances McDormand, Timothee Chalomet, Owen Wilson, Angelica Huston, Jeffrey Wright, Saorse Ronan, Tilda Swinton and Benecio del Toro.

*****

Billboard awards giving tribute to Pink as a “legend.” What? Nothing against Pink or any of the other people that are honored too young in the award shows but… really?? There are so many mature legends that get forgotten that deserve some love for their well lived talent. It seems way too obvious that they just want the promo of someone still quite popular for the ratings.

*****

Did ya know that St. Chad’s church in Shropshire has the real tombstone of the fake Ebeneezer Scrooge?

*****

Politics is war without bloodshed, war is politics with bloodshed. –Huey Newton** The Black Panthers had it right in so many ways. I would love to see buildings and programs again named in memory of the slain victims of police violence.

*****

Kroger paid its CEO $22mil, but can’t find the $ to give its essential workers hazard pay during a pandemic? Disgusting! –Robert Reich

*****

Ariana Grande married Dalton Gomez.

*****

25% of Americans think Trump is really President, 25% of Germans supported Hitler.

*****

People in this country have to be told not to put gasoline in baggies? India is begging for more vaccines and many in this country have to be bribed to get a shot to help themselves and their fellow man?? I love U America but there are some really selfish, stupid people here.** But, we also must remember that the poor may be a little fearful of the vaccine. Many cannot believe that they can get something for nothing. Free vaccine? Many hard working poor never get a break and have to wonder what the catch is.

*****

Days alert: Xander gets better and better. Thank you writers for his lines like when he spoke of birds of a feather as he was in an intimate moment, “Why not flock?”** Ken Corday said he was “on my knees, begging” for Days renewal. Jackee’ Harry (Paulina) and Robert Scott Johnson (Ben) have signed new contracts. Shatner congratulated them on Twitter.** Gwen and Xander both living in the old Horton house? Will he find out her secret? Oh my.. not them together??** EJ is on his way back and will be played by Dan Feuerrlegel on June 9.** Eric is on the way back. It looks like Jonny Dimera is all grown up and will join his sister. ** Word is that Paulina will live at 227. Chloe and Philip may get together yet.** Will a dead body wash up in Salem??

*****

So $10 billion for a Jeff Bezos space firm bailout?? Is that true??

*****

From 1980-1993, the Israeli government prohibited artists from using the colors of the Palestinian flag in their work.

*****

Chevron got into trouble for their pollution problems. Steven Donziger who helped take them down has been on house arrest for 2 years. Why? He is begging to be prosecuted.

*****

I am really routing for Naomi Osaka. Nobody should be forced to respond to ridiculous questions from reporters. I get that it is part of their job but if one is willing to pay the fine, who cares?? I can’t imagine being exhausted and putting up with the nonsense. It reminds me of running up to victims of a tragedy and getting in their face. We can communicate by social media now. I am all about writers but use your heads. Much like Marshawn Lynch, it is time to stand up!! Protect your mental health!!** Well, this updated just before June. Officials warned her that she would be expelled so she left the French open. She was honest about her anxiety. I see this every day. When will people be allowed to truly be themselves with no penalty?? I think this when I see a restaurant worker forced to wear a humiliating costume or a cashier with a giant name tag with ridiculous advertising slogans. Yes, a company or event is paying you so they should have their promotion but put yourself in their shoes. These are all varying degrees of the same problem. Why must we be pushed into the same lane all the time??

*****

It costs about 2 mil to remove 4 statues due to litigation and safety for the removers.

*****

Hooray for the Texas Dems who walked out to block the outrageous voting bill there. I mean, amongst other things, the GOP want to make it EASIER for a judge to throw out votes based on ALLEGATIONS. They say the removal of hours for Sunday voting was just a “mistake.” There is talk of not paying the Dems but I don’t think they can do that. The GOP claims there are hundreds of incidents of voter fraud and they will prove it when the time is right. Um…..

*****

Bruce Dern, Olivia Munn and Keith David will star in The Gateway.

*****

The complete story of the Gettysburg address is in post- production. Look for voice work from David Strathairn, Cary Elwes, Sam Elliott, Michael C. Hall, Dermot Mulroney, Keith David, Matthew Broderick, Lili Taylor, Victor Garber, Ed Asner, Jason Alexander and Lois Smith.

*****

Was anyone surprised when the Son of Sam doc on Netflix wound around to Manson? I guess it depends on the books that you have read.

*****

Oh Andrew Yang, I have become so disillusioned with you.

*****

A Colorado man charged with murdering his wife submitted her absentee ballot in the 2020 election. He thought, “other guys” were cheating so he would give Trump another vote. –Reid Wilson

*****

The commonwealth of Kentucky has never elected a black person to federal office. –Charles Booker

*****

Have ya seen Woke with LaMorne Morris and J.B. Smoove?

*****

M. Night Shyamalan is back with Old.

*****

The Friends had their reunion.** China cut about 6 minutes out of the broadcast.

*****

Matthew Modine is running for SAG President again with his running mate, Joely Fisher.

*****

Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction. –Blaise Pascal Pensees** Are you sick of hearing about the angry white men on shooting rampages. It is alarming how we always hear about how everyone knew of their anger or that they had been looked at before and just left to go on their merry way. C’mon law enforcement, stop picking on minorities and old women and concentrate on the real threat.

*****

Brendan Fraser, Matt Damon, Jon Hamm, David Harbour, Benecio del Toro, Ray Liotta, Don Cheadle and Kieran Culkin will star in No Sudden Move on July 1.

*****

Can’t wait for the release of the 3 LP vinyl collection, Jonathon Winters: Unearthed. Look for it on Record Store Day, June 12.

*****

Concerning Marjorie Taylor Greene’s abuse: “I used to work as a bartender. These are the kinds of people that I threw out of bars all the time.” : AOC** In answer to MTG’s Jewish star comparison, some have started wearing “not vaccinated” stars. What the fuck is wrong with people?

*****

Could Drew Barrymore and Dylan Farrow be related? They look so much alike.

*****

Jimmy Carter and Joe Biden got together with their wives and talked of old times. Much was made of the photo of that meeting that was released. The Biden’s looked like giants.

*****

Word is that Arizona congressman Andy Biggs was one of the main organizers of the insurrection. GOP Rep from Oregon, Mike Nearman, was caught on camera letting the culprits into the capitol on Jan. 6. TREASON! When will the wheels of justice get to them?** Newt Gingrich said of the Biden administration: They are “attacking people of traditional values,” by flying the “gay flag at American embassies.”** When will this latest religious fervor die down?** Word is that Tiffany Trump and Vanessa Trump had flings with secret service.

*****

Fuck you Trump, you left us on the battlefield bloody and alone. –Proud Boys leader Ethan Nordean. He explained that “We followed this guy’s lead and never questioned it.” I mean what kind of sheep are these guys? Can they not think for themselves?** There is talk that Trump’s justice department was spying on reporters. ** Hey Kimmel: Can you stop talking about Trump? Enough already!! And.. Reality is boring? What?

*****

On Trump: I imagine it is a chilling final turn of the plot. His world is coming to an end. He will never have another good day. Loser label will haunt him, the law will pursue him. Mental illness will hobble him. His properties will bankrupt him. –Peter Marks

*****

So, the terrorist GOP in the senate does not want Jan. 6 investigated. Of course they do not want to shine a light on their wrong doings. They say they love law enforcement and then they shit on them like this. The very people that were killed or injured trying to protect them mean nothing to them. ** Mitch McConnell thinks he can stop the full truth from coming out. He cannot. The House can empower a bipartisan select congressional committee to investigate the insurrection. The select committee would also have stronger subpoena power because GOP members can’t block subpoenas.

*****

Rand Paul is to medicine what Flashdance is to welding. – Rob Reiner

*****

“We birthed a nation from nothing, I mean, there was nothing here. I mean, yes, we have Native Americans but candidly there isn’t much Native American culture. It was born of the people who came here, pursuing religious liberty.” –Rick Santorum** CNN has dropped him as a political contributor.** Only a fuckboy scumbag could be this clueless and wrong. –Michael Ealy

*****

The latest sexual misconduct news: Danny Masterson will stand trial on 3 rape charges.** Bill Cosby was denied parole.

*****

Trump is ignored and irrelevant on pretty much every major social media venue. –Mia Farrow

*****

The George Floyd family came to the White House on the 1 year anniversary of his death.

*****

The Kennedy Center honors have been given and will air on June 6 on CBS. This year we honor Dick Van Dyke, Joan Baez, Midori, Garth Brooks and Debbie Allen.

*****

Since 2000, the wealth of billionaires has increased by 238%. – Robert Reich

*****

The moon, in its orbit is spiraling away from Earth by about the width of 2 fingers every year. –Neil deGrasse Tyson

*****

Why is everybody surprised about the UFO revelations? Of course there are UFO’s. Nobody is saying they are filled with space aliens. Another country could be testing them. There are always things we cannot explain.** We also can’t be surprised that the Q types fight the UFO stories. Once scientific voices of reason come into play, they turn away.

*****

The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame has announced their class: The early influence awards go to Kraftwerk, Charley Patton and Gil Scott- Heron. Music excellence goes to LL Cool J, Billy Preston and Randy Rhoads. The Ahmet Ertegun award goes to Clarence Avant. The Performers honored will be Tina Turner, Carole King, The Go-Go’s, Jay-Z, Foo Fighters and Todd Rundgren. The 36th annual show will take place on October 30th.

*****

We are all just rapidly decaying meat bags. – Mr. Griffin on AP Bio

*****

Scientists have developed the whitest white: Ba so4

*****

John Mulaney is back on stage with the stand up.

*****

Killers of the flower moon is finally being filmed. The Scorsese film stars Leo, DeNiro, Jesse Plemons and Lily Gladstone.

*****

2 out of every 3 people in the U.S. get their drinking water from rivers. Support American Rivers.org

*****

House Dems passed the pregnant workers fairness act. Employers with more than 15 employees and public sector employees must make reasonable accommodations for pregnant workers

*****

HBO has shown a first look at House of the Dragon, the prequel to Game of Thrones.

*****

Bridgerton is spinning off Queen Charlotte.

*****

Purple lipstick is a really hot item.

*****

Peoria and Scranton are the hub of getting an extra family. JB Smoove

*****

Yamiche Alcindor is the new moderator of Washington Week. I miss Robert Costa but if they had to move on, I had fingers crossed for Weijia Jang or Yamiche.** Costa went on Twitter for the first time since 2020 to congratulate her. I can’t wait for his book with Woodward!!!!!!!

*****

The firing squad is back in South Carolina.

*****

So, there is a worker shortage?? Perhaps if we made it easier to get hired, things would work better. Can owners and managers actually look at a person and go with their gut? Can we get rid of drug tests and long online applications and psych exams? The $ spent on administrative work for hiring is ruining this country. A normal person has to jump thru hoops just to wash dishes anymore. We are not ll cookie cutter people. Often there are no rewards for loyal employees, not to mention benefits. And the laziness of employers who will then not do anything about bad employees that disrupt the work place is astounding. C’mon, give people a chance and then hold them to account and reward the hard workers. Most everyone I know has these same complaints. Who wants to go thru that?

*****

Medina Spirit failed a drug test after the Kentucky Derby.** You know who doesn’t care about who wins the Kentucky Derby? The horses. It’s time to ban horse racing. -Larry Charles

*****

I’ve had a wonderful time, but tonight wasn’t it. –Groucho Marx

*****

If you don’t need a mask because God will protect you, why do you need a gun?- anonymous

*****

How shady is the GOP when it comes to these recounts to support the big lie? Taxpayer $ is being used for this and now there will have to be new voting machines. Since the auditors have mishandled the machines and insisted on passwords, Maricopa County will have to start over!! Can we keep reminding the public that this is costing us all a lot of $???** Even the majority of republicans say that the audits are keeping the base energized for the next election so mission accomplished

*****

Tulsa survivors spoke in front of congress as a reparations bill was introduced.

*****

Men who think they can decide for the women who carry the consequences of their ejaculations that life begins at conception, need to put their $ where their misogynist, hypocritical mouths are with laws that require instantaneous and permanent child support or shut the fuck up. –Bradley Whitford

*****

It is estimated that there are about 50 billion birds on the planet.

*****

Maggie Q, Samuel L. Jackson and Michael Keaton are bringing us The Protégé.

*****

There has been a ceasefire between Israel and Hamas after 10 days of fighting. Well done on the Middle East, Jared!!

*****

Andrea Mitchell, a hard ass working journalist seems to be slowing down.

*****

Legos has added some LGBTQ characters.

*****

Can we put Finn Wittrock and Leo in a film together?

*****

Check out the Traveling Diary Tour.

*****

Jamie Foxx has some mega product placement in the new, Dad stop embarrassing me!

*****

Brooklyn 99 will air 2 episodes a week in this final season.

*****

Three Doctors who treated Navalny are missing.

*****

Laverne Cox will be the new host of E!’s red carpet coverage. Giuliana Rancic has left.

*****

Look for the book Bull Twit … and whatnot from George Wallace.

*****

R.I.P. Vernon Jordon, Ed Ward, Tawny Kitaen, Olympia Dukakis, Bo, the Obama’s dog, the latest mass shooting and stabbing victims, Roger Hawkins, Paul Mooney, Shock 6, Eric Carle, Charles Grodin, Diamond Girl Taylor, John Davis, Kevin Clark , Jim Clendenen, B.J. Thomas, Buddy Van Horn and Norman Lloyd.

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mortvivanthqs-blog · 6 years

Photo

welcome to the outpost, landon scott, we’re sure you’ll find the place accommodating. daniel sharman is now taken! please review our checklist and send in your account within twenty-four hours!

🡶 OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME andres

AGE 24

TIMEZONE mst

PRONOUNS he&him

🡶 IN CHARACTER:

NAME landon scott

FACE CLAIM daniel sharman

GENDER & PRONOUNS cismale / he&him

BIRTHDAY november 13, 1991

BIRTHPLACE london, england

JOB(S) commander-in-chief, medic, floats generally though (mostly field but sometimes hospitality work)

KILL COUNT twenty-one (a couple of these during his time in the u.s. army, the rest post apocalypse)

ANYTHING ELSE? leader of original and current group

🡶 BIOGRAPHY:

a smudge of orange acrylic accidentally adorns strong features, but he’s spotted all over, touches of reds and blues and yellows and all those shades in between. a canvas, flesh, pigmenting a canvas, cotton.

mum and dad never liked that very much, the young boy’s hobbies, the psyche permanently in the clouds. utters of you’re no van gogh, go outside, go play football with the boys your age. this’ll get you nowhere, they said, crushing, nowhere but a mess.

he was a quiet boy– shy even; too timid to speak up, too afraid of consequence to stand up for himself…. he, an easy target. with a single friend to his name and a rocky home life – parents too acquainted with the bottle – primary was relentless.

‘s not so bad, landon, ‘least both your parents are still together, your dad only strikes you to knock a little man into you.

sixteen, oh sixteen, supposedly sweet. nothing was sweet about the binds he had to his home. all wasn’t lost. he met someone, online (myspace), couple years his senior, an american. a man. david, who he spent hours upon hours skyping, sacrificing his sleep just for a few more hours to see that face he adored so much. they went on this way, couple of years, landon’s brain unable to remember the last time he’d gotten a full eight hours of sleep. everything was on david’s schedule, david’s timezone, david’s convenience. was alright though, landon always told himself, david was worth it. david was all he had.

he’s twenty now, attending vocational schooling, working one too many jobs. he and his “main squeeze” still in cahoots, though he still hadn’t relayed the truth of his sexuality to the ‘rents. something inside him, something deep in the gut, knew that talk could never end well. so, landon internalized. internalizing: landon’s specialty. the loneliness. the inadequacy– never living up to his parents expectations. never the son they wanted. the feeling of indestructible shackles.

an impasse, he versus himself.

let’s get married, a blinding smile tugs at his features, c’mon, david, you love me, don’t you? we’ll head up to new york, tie the knot. I could be with you, there’s heartbreak pooling in impossibly blue eyes, it’s been four years, we can finallybe together.

no.

david, he isn’t ready. doesn’t know when he’ll be ready.

landon packs his bags anyway. clothes, small trinkets. everything else is sold or donated. hands clutch the handles of his entire life, boot clad feet lead his person to heathrow, never even spares a glance out the window at the country he leaves in the dust.

marching down in the valley I heard a loud roar, curly locks litter the floor, it was a bravo trooper treating alpha like a toy, he drops and gives his sergeant twenty, so put your feet on the peddle step down on the gas, left faces every corner, legs marching in sync with a cadence ringing in his ears, move over awful alpha let the mighty bravo pass, wonders what he’s gotten himself into. bravo company is on the go.

68w combat medic, landon finds himself stationed in texas, fort sam houston in san antonio. texas, a state away from david. yet david never, in landon’s five years of service (when not deployed), does he visit landon. he offers to pay for his airfare, babe, one weekend, please, to no avail.

doc… you can’t save them all.. rounds in afganistan both hardened and crippled, gaining and losing brothers and sisters, if i try.. i can if i try.. that sweet and timid boy from london, who loved to paint, who was afraid of his own shadow, buried underneath a lifetime of horrors. and landon, the poor fool, still spent every minute of leave with david, the man who wouldn’t dare spend a cent or second to come to landon, who barely wrote, barely called. that innate need to be loved, even with an element of pretending, to be touched, and feel wanted for just a little while won over the soldier every single time.

it’s april, he’s twenty-six, still a fool sprung on a man who if he’s ever loved the londoner, hasn’t in a long time. the pair are seated outdoors, a rhythmic jazz in the new orleans air, coffee in paper mugs: one sickeningly saccharine, a scoop of unbothered bliss, no real strings attached to the man opposite him; landon takes his coffee black these days, bitter to the core, hurt etched in the heart. the man-at-arms rests his leg over his thigh and pretends, pretends he’s fine, pretends being on holiday with a man who he’s expendable to. if david was his king, landon was nothing but a jester in his court.

a screech, piercing and afraid – screaming bloody murder – rattles the ear drums. he furrows his brows, what was that? david doesn’t even spare a glance, mind ya business, landon. dick. a sea of pedestrians rush down the street of the french quarter, berserk. a harmony of emergency alerts sound from hundreds of cellular devices. the beginning of the end.

time clocks, the end of may creeps around the corner, humidity’s risen. it’s all the same, death and the dead unwilling to stay dead. the ex soldier’d gone awol shy of two months back. every passing day hope slips, he slips, nothing will ever be the same. david grows more and more useless, obscenities and degradation constantly on the tongue (falling on landon, toward landon). and something snaps, a deep-seated anger brewing for years and years and years unearthing.

snarling and restless, decay hanging from reanimated extremities clawing, clawing, and clawing. a man and his “lover” prisoned atop a rooftop; fresh meat. it’s been hours baking in the sun, emptied magazines and a single can of peas between two. they’re surrounded every which way. Hands, greasy and matted, run through brown curls. eyes, blue and bloodshot, capture the undead in their crosshairs then to david. this isn't where you die, not for this man, never for this man.

“y’know, david,” there’s something sick, something sinister pulling at the englishman’s lips, the ghost of a smile, “been a decade now. gave you my whole life– and that’s on me. i’m the fool. but there comes a point in a man’s life,” fingers feel over the hilt of the blade strapped at the thigh, “where he needs to shed the dead weight holding him back.” hunting knife unholstered, landon marvels the blade, “trim the fat.”

david’s wrestled to the ground now, he never loved you, landon, fists fly and a strike manages to connect, never gave you the time of day. a snigger escapes chapped lips, and perhaps, perhaps a sliver of humanity too. david’s pinned– landon’s taller, stronger, hungrier. a blade rests at the back of the elder man’s ankle. funny how much one mutilated tendon can have a man down, how much he can scream, how lips who utter nothing but self-serving charm and bile can beg for mercy.

he never loved you anyway.

combat boots force the mass of dead weight to the ground, a sacrifice, living and breathing. the horde pools in like a herd of starved hogs. he takes off the opposite direction, feet catching himself hitting the foundation beneath him. never looks back. but that scream? that scream went on for miles.

landon indulges in carnal pleasure, thrives in the lawless of the land. robs and kills, and not just the dead. every man for himself. the thing that keeps a man human further and further. never recognized himself in a mirror again.

yet, he meets a character or two along the way – forces violent and irrational tendencies down, far, far from the surface – allies himself. there’s a strength in numbers, one man is nothing to twenty. he’s got a plan now. a vision. throws on the charm, undigs the courageousness he’d held in his few years of serving. his true – now true, this world’s truth, that landon scott of the old world gone with the wind – colors too untrustworthy to stand a chance in rallying people, in gaining their trust. they hole up in an old baptist church and he offers himself (protection, direction, and a promise of a better tomorrow) in exchange for skills. empires aren’t built alone. stragglers come and go, landon offers a night or two and a hot meal at most to some, and a permanent position to others. the leader goes out of the way to gain the people’s trust, build a personal relationship with each and every one, acts in fearlessness and ‘selflessness,’ and never lets a wicked thought bleed through. it’s important people can vouch for the man they take a chance on. he’s nearly always out, always gathering and collecting, to stockpile supplies. never comes home empty handed. works his ass off. proves himself.

they’re nine when they abandon the church. lugging along scavenged necessities (food, water, firepower), in route to somewhere much larger. we need to stop just surviving out here, he says, create something the future generations can inherit and thrive in this madness.

but, it’s only a matter of time, a ticking time bomb, ‘till lost-and-never-found sanity uncoils at the seams.

#accepted #landon scott #fuck around n deny my own app

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