Good Morning, Fellas!

Day 3 - “Hands All Over”.

@theblacklistrareshipsweek

I'm here to extend my sincerest thanks to @skiesfallithurts and @yddraigwyllt for creating, planning, and hosting The Blacklist Rare Ships Week! You are both amazing. All your hard work and organization for this special week made the event so much fun! 😊🎆🎇✨🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉🎡🎢❤🧡💛💚💙💜

Thank you also to everyone who took part with so many thoughtful, inventive contributions. Your participation made Rare Ships Week a rocking success! 🤘👍🙏🕺💃🤸‍♂️🤸‍♀️🤸💗💞💕

(Gif is not mine. Credit to the original gif artist.)

#the blacklist rare ships week #TBLRSW #thank you

Day 8. Free theme.

Prost!

Mondays are such a... Well, you know.

But we're hoping it won't keep you from celebrating your fav things about The Blacklist with us!

Hope your Monday is better than Don's :)

Day One: When I first saw [You] Reddington

A/N Jumping in on day one for the “TBL Rare ships week”, despite the fact that I’m already two days late XD I’ll have to get cracking to catch up!  _____ I wanted to punch him! Nothing has ever brought me to that level of sheer ferocity than the day I met Raymond Reddington.

After breaking into the building, my team and I had carefully picked our way down the dark passages. The tunnels had been hot and humid in the Vietnamese Jungles. We’d met with some trouble on our way through, and my team and I got separated in what I could only describe as a damned labyrinth.

By sheer luck I’d burst into his room. Decorated in soft cream panels, tasteful silk sheets on the four poster bed, and a deep red carpet. I was baffled that such a room could exist in the grimy tunnels I’d just left. But I’d quickly recovered and aimed my gun, the thrill of having him in my sights almost making my hands tremble. To this day I regret not firing immediately. 

“FBI!”

He spared me a lazy glance over his $1000 sunglasses, a bubbling glass of champagne still in hand and a look of utter bemusement on his face. Curious yet half-way uninterested at the same time. Like a peculiar bug which had stumbled onto his plate, but not into the caviar just yet.

“Get on the ground!” I’d yelled, gun aimed at his head. My team had gotten pinned down somewhere, chances that they would even get here in time would be a miracle in of itself. Dembe, dour and serious, had pulled out his own gun, pinned in turn on me, but a casual wave of Reddington’s hand had most likely prevented him from blowing my head off.

“Ah,” Raymond had said, taking a long sip of champagne, “Another dog sent to chase me, let’s hope this one can keep up.”

I would, I always would, but catching him would prove impossible. I hadn’t known that yet.

The flash of anger had me almost baring my teeth. “Get your ass on the ground, Reddington!”

As a response he’d chuckled, and I could see it for what it was. A dismissive action meant to make me feel small and worthless next to him and his posse. “Agent Donald Ressler, is it?” he’d asked, clear disdain in his voice. Like plucking the words up with tweezers to prevent himself from touching them.

I wasn’t surprised he knew me. But I didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“You have a lot to learn.” And the world exploded.

Many years has passed since that first day. Part of me still hates everything that he is, from that hated suit and hat, to that quiet composure and his utter disregard for my experience and achievements – like a sour cocktail I have to drink every fucking morning. We work for him now. As lackey’s and hunting dogs, as pathetic and disposable as they sound. But a dog gets some affection from his master. He gets treats and pats and recognition for the work and loyalty he offers.

I get nothing but disdain, eyerolls, cutdowns, insults and sneers.

I hate that it’s so, but mostly I hate that I care. Hate that every time he does acknowledge my achievements and good deeds, I preen like a good dog, I wag my tail and I want to reach up to his face and do something completely different than punch.

@theblacklistrareshipsweek

Day 1, “When I First Saw You”. The scene which made you fall in love with your ship

It was my engagement with you that ended that relationship.

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Day 8. Висящий на цепи Ресслер и немножко нервно

Day 4: “The Things You Do Aren’t Good For My Health”. Red/Berlin

Alcohol isn’t good for health.

Good morning, fellas, and let’s roll!

Day 5: “Come On Closer” 

Are your favs social distancing these days? Or is it, “Personal space? What space?”

Confused? Brush up your memory here: FAQs|Guidelines|Daily Themes|Ship Ideas|

WE TRACK: #the blacklist rare ships week, #TBLRSW (#tblrsw).

Day 4: The Things You Do Aren’t Good For My Health/I’ll Take Care of You

He wakes up to the intense burn of a florescent light. His eyes sting against the glare, piercing straight through his skull, and it takes a long time before he can properly see through the blurring pain.

The machine next to him is incessantly beeping, making the growing headache spike. Hospital. What the hell am I doing in a hospital?

The tubes catch on his arms as he tries to get up, but sudden strong hands are on him, holding him down, gently but firmly. Something is wrong, he doesn’t know what, but something is very wrong.

“Donald, please calm yourself.” A man with a hat is standing next to him. His eyes betray a level of intense exhaustion, but they are filled up with worry and kindness. His doctor?

“You were in an accident.” He comes to sit next to him on the bed, his smile a little relieved. “I’m glad you’re awake,” The man glides a gentle hand over his forehead and briefly into his hair, making him shudder, “You got hurt while saving my life, remember? Typical,” there is a sweet fondness in his voice, “But the doctor’s say you’re going to be fine.”

He shakes his head violently, ignoring the pain. “No…” he struggles again, “… wrong… no.”

Again, strong hands hold him down firmly – he spares a glance to the tall black man next to him and his heart contracts again.

The kind man pushes himself close, grabbing his face in both hands, forcing him to look him in the eye, His expression is fiercely compassionate, but growing with worry. “Donald, just breathe, and tell me what is wrong.”

He blinks, feeling the slide of tears slip into his hair, “Don’t know… “he shakes his head, “Don’t know who I am.”

The expression falls slack, all the softness and compassion shattered in an instant, revealing only a horrible look of surprise and sharp pain. He has the terrible urge to apologize, to at least try and remove that look utter devastation.

When the man finally pulls away, he is already firing off orders to the few others in the room - and there is the doctor, and probably a nurse. 

He turns on his side, trying to block out all the noise, he curls up and desperately tries to remember who he is. ____ A/N: I’ve always wanted to write an amnesia fic, but it never comes out the way I want - the whole point of reading a paring is to see their interactions. When one has amnesia, then it kinda defeats the purpose, because that individual isn’t himself anymore. So you’re technically writing an OC with another character XD Anyway, a short drabble is a good way to get it out of my system. Thanks for reading! :)